Copyright by 
 
 The Open Court Publishing Co. 
 
 1909
 
 SAiN i'A BARBARA COLLEGE LIBRA] 
 
 INTRODUCTION.
 
 A GERMAN HUMORIST. 
 
 Wilhelm Busch was born April 15, 1832, 
 in Wiedensahl near Stadthagen in the 
 kingdom of Hanover, as the son of a small 
 merchant. Having passed through the 
 preparatory schools, he attended the Poly- 
 technic Institute of Hanover to study en- 
 gineering, but he changed his mind and 
 decided to become a painter, whereupon 
 he visited the art academies of Diissel- 
 dorf, Antwerp and Munich. In the latter 
 place he worked for some time in the stu- 
 dio of Professor Lenbach. But nature 
 had not intended him for an artist, and he 
 was not successful with his paintings. 
 
 Wilhelm Busch had views of his own 
 which seemed to incapacitate him for a 
 career on any of the traditionally pre- 
 scribed lines ; and it was not easy for him 
 to find his proper place in the world. He 
 was neither an engineer nor an artist. He
 
 disliked the exactness needed for a drafts- 
 man, and he lacked the love of beauty 
 that would enable him to become a dis- 
 tinguished painter. He was easy going; 
 and yet he was talented, full of original 
 wit and thought, and he felt that he could 
 accomplish something in the world, if he 
 would only understand his own nature. 
 
 At last, in his twenty-eighth year, he 
 began to become conscious of the possi- 
 bilities that were slumbering in him. 
 
 In 1859 he was engaged for the "Flie- 
 genden Blatter," and here he found a field 
 for his talent which consists of a peculiar 
 combination of caricature and satire. His 
 work found admirers, and so he was at 
 once encouraged to write comic books of 
 verses with illustrations of rough humor- 
 ous drawings executed in his own inge- 
 nious style. 
 
 The best known works of his hand are 
 "Max und Moritz," "Schnurrdibur," "Der 
 heilige Antonius," "Hans Huckelbein der 
 Ungliicksrabe," "Die fromme Helene," 
 "Pater Filucius," and "Plisch und Plum." 
 But he has also written unillustrated
 
 books such as "Kritik des Herzens" and 
 "Zu guter Letzt," both containing poems 
 filled with humorous contemplations of 
 various incidents in life. 
 
 The value of Busch does not so much 
 consist in the details of his stories, nor 
 their plots, not even in his drawings, but 
 mainly in the contemplative comments 
 which are incidentally thrown in by way 
 of moralizing. They characterize Busch 
 and are evidence of the good nature of his 
 misanthropy. 
 
 We quote a few instances culled from 
 his books at random. 
 
 Of bad people Busch says with refer- 
 ence to Fipps the monkey: 
 
 "Auch hat er ein hochst verrucht GelUst, 
 Grad' so zu sein wie er eben ist." 
 
 "The bad one maliciously listeth, you see. 
 Just such a one as he is, to be." 
 
 But the evil doer who succeeds rises in 
 the estimation of those whom he has 
 worsted. So Busch says of Fipps after 
 having exhibited a proof of his superiority 
 over the dog and the cat :
 
 "Scitdcm war Fipps bci diesen zween 
 Als Meister verehrt und angesehn." 
 
 "Since then Fipps was by both these two 
 Respected as master and honored too." 
 
 When the pious Helen drowns her mis- 
 ery in drink, Busch suggests: 
 
 "Es ist ein Brauch von Alters her, 
 Wer Sorgen hat, hat auch Likor." 
 
 "An ancient rule 't is and still true. 
 Who worry has, takes liquor too." 
 
 How humorous is the following obser- 
 vation : 
 
 "Ein guter Mensch giebt gerne acht, 
 Ob auch der Andre was Boses macht." 
 
 "A good man loves indeed to guess 
 That others too sometimes transgress." 
 
 Busch wrote in the album of one of his 
 friends this terse saying: 
 
 "Die Welt, obgleich sie wunderlich, 
 Ist gut genug fiir dich und mich." 
 
 "The world, though passing strange it be, 
 Is good enough for thee and me." 
 
 8
 
 Wilhelm Busch was never married, and 
 it almost seems that only a confirmed 
 bachelor could be so satirical and at times 
 almost frivolous as he. His muse does 
 not care for dignity or decorum. He 
 himself speaks of her as a country lass 
 who carelessly dances in wooden shoes 
 and does not stop to apologize when she 
 now and then steps on the toes of one of 
 the spectators; — such is the custom at 
 rustic merry-makings. 
 
 Concerning his way of presenting things 
 he says: "Nothing looks as it is, and least 
 of all man, this leather bag full of tricks, 
 not to mention caprioles and masks of 
 vanity." 
 
 Though Busch did not idealize life but 
 brought out in his caricatures the follies 
 of mankind, and though he himself has not 
 felt the influence of family life, we know 
 from one or two of his poems that the 
 softening influence of a woman's soul was 
 a steady guide in his life. The last poem 
 of his "Kritik des Herzens" shows this 
 feature of his character, and if Busch ap- 
 pears to the world as a crusty old bach-
 
 clor vvc should bear in mind the tender 
 background cf the history of his heart as 
 characterized in this verse which is well 
 worth translating into English: 
 
 "O du, die mir die Liebste war, 
 Du schlafst nun schon so manches Jahr. 
 So manches Jahr, da ich allein, 
 Du gutes Herz, gedenk ich dein. 
 Gedenk ich dein, von Nacht umhiillt. 
 So tritt zu mir dein treues Bild. 
 Dein treues Bild, was ich auch thu, 
 Es winkt mir ab, es winkt mir zu. 
 Und scheint mein Wort dir gar zu kiihn, 
 
 Nicht gut mein Thun, 
 Du hast mir einst so oft verzieh'n, 
 
 Verzeih' auch nun." 
 
 O thou, of all to me most dear, 
 Thou sleepest now full many a year. 
 While many a year alone I've pined, 
 Thee, dear good heart, I bore in mind. 
 When thee I bear in mind, by night 
 Thy faithful face appears so bright! 
 Whate'er I do, thy faithful face 
 Will warn me or approve in grace. 
 And if my word thou wouldst deplore 
 
 Or blame my deed, 
 Hast oft forgiv'n me! I once more 
 
 Forgiveness plead! 
 
 10
 
 The only work of Busch that can be 
 called philosophical is a fantastic exposi- 
 tion of his world-conception in the shape 
 of a reverie call "Eduards Traum," which 
 proves that the great humorist was more 
 of a thinker than might appear at first 
 sight. 
 
 Wilhelm Busch's fame spread rapidly 
 all over Germany, and it seems that he 
 might have enjoyed the respect and hon- 
 ors which were justly paid him by his in- 
 numerable admirers; but he hated pub- 
 licity and perferred a life of retirement 
 among the peasantry of a sequestered vil- 
 lage in the Harz mountains. No wonder 
 that in the opinion of many he was a mis- 
 anthropic pessimist and a "Sonderling," 
 an odd fellow. He lived in solitude and 
 succeeded well in keeping out of sight. In 
 spite of his fame he was little molested 
 by the curious and his private affairs re- 
 mained unknown and unheeded. He died 
 in his hermitage at Mechtshausen in the 
 Harz on January 11, 1908. 
 
 Rumors have gained currency that Wil- 
 helm Busch became pious in his old age,
 
 but it is not impossible that he was never 
 impious as his satires made him seem to 
 be. Many a jovial visitor who expected 
 to find a jolly, perhaps even a frivolous, 
 witticist was surprised to find a man of 
 unusual earnestness of life and their re- 
 ports ought to be interpreted in the light 
 of their disappointment, for we shall see 
 that the humor of Busch had its serious 
 background. 
 
 THE SIGNIFICANCE OF HUMOR. 
 
 Humor is a rare treasure which we need 
 not hesitate to prize most highly among 
 the very best things of life. It is none 
 of the ponderous gifts of heaven, such as 
 the serious religious ideals; it is not a 
 virtue in the narrow sense of the word ; it 
 is not a sister of that noble trio. Faith, 
 Hope and Charity; it is not sublime and 
 lofty, nor is it grand and noble; it does 
 not keep aloof from the common people 
 in the humble walks of life; on the con- 
 trary it mingles freely with all and in its 
 democratic judgment even seems to pre-
 
 fer the association of the lowly. And yet 
 the roots of humor go down into the most 
 secret recesses of the human heart and are 
 nourished by thoughts of a broad and pro- 
 found comprehension of life. 
 
 The more we investigate the nature of 
 humor, the more shall we understand that 
 this its substratum — we may call it the 
 philosophy of humor, or if you prefer the 
 religion of humor, or the serious back- 
 ground which unnoticeably gives humor 
 its setting — is an indispensable part of it. 
 Without it humor would be stale and un- 
 profitable ; it would fall flat, be like a joke 
 that has no point, it would be trite like 
 words without meaning, like a game with- 
 out a purpose; it would merely be non- 
 sense. 
 
 Humor as a rule appears frivolous and 
 flippant to the narrow-minded bigot who 
 glories in vinegar, and scowls at the silver 
 ring of a laugh as an impious demon- 
 stration; but experience will teach us 
 that humor is the child of grave, often 
 sad, experience, that it originates through 
 the wholesome reaction of a strong heart 
 
 13
 
 against all the host of sorrows and cares 
 of life, which vampire-like suck from out 
 our souls all vitality and the very joy of 
 life, and would leave us moral wrecks 
 sicklied over with melancholia, pessimism 
 and misanthropy. 
 
 Humor has a great task to perform, for 
 to humor we owe the silver linings of the 
 clouds of life. Humor offers us the in- 
 vigorating tonic that restores our spirits 
 and buoys us up when fatigue threatens 
 to overcome us. But in order to be effec- 
 tive humor should be the expression of 
 a conviction ; it ought to reflect the world- 
 conception of a thinker, it must be backed 
 by moral purpose. This serious element 
 of humor need not, nay it should not, be 
 in ostentatious evidence, but it can not be 
 missing, and I would even go so far as to 
 insist that no humorist has ever been suc- 
 cessful unless he was at the same time 
 consciously or unconsciously a philos- 
 opher. 
 
 Humor comes to us as a liberator. 
 When we meet with reverses, or are per- 
 plexed by untoward circumstances, we 
 
 14
 
 are annoyed and suffer bitterly. It is as 
 if a poisonous infection had gained en- 
 trance into our psychical system, but we 
 are cured as soon as we can laugh at our 
 own faults and follies. Our laugh proves 
 that humor has entered our soul, and hu- 
 mor comes only to the man who can rise 
 above himself. Humor is the reward of a 
 philosophical attitude in life. Yea, we 
 might say it is the triumph of a moral 
 victory we have won. 
 
 In my childhood I once met a carpenter 
 who did odd jobs around the house. He 
 was humor incarnate for he seemed to be 
 able to elicit smiles wherever he went. 
 His eye beamed with mirth and he saw 
 quickly the funny side of everything. 
 People said of him: "How happy he is! 
 He must never have seen misfortune." 
 But when the question was put to him 
 he grew very serious and answered: "I 
 wish it were so, but I would better for- 
 bear to tell the tale of my sorrows." This 
 incident made a deep impression on me, 
 for it proved that his gaiety merely re- 
 flected the ills of adversity. 
 
 IS
 
 It is not necessary that the background 
 of humor should always be misfortune or 
 sad experiences, but it seems to me that 
 it will always be a recognition of the se- 
 rious aspect of life, either in thought, sen- 
 timent or in action. And that this is so 
 may be seen in the humor of Wilhelm 
 Busch, the greatest humorist of modern 
 Germany. 
 
 Wilhelm Busch's humorous writings 
 are the expression of a world-conception 
 which teaches us to smile at the ills of 
 life, and the author has reached his point 
 of view by rising above himself and by 
 looking down upon the world from a 
 standpoint of good-natured and sympa- 
 thetic irony. 
 
 SOME PERSONAL REMARKS, 
 
 I myself have never been an enthusi- 
 astic admirer of Wilhelm Busch. I read 
 his productions as they came out, but 
 never paid any special attention to them. 
 His wit is not of the style in which I 
 would indulge if I were a humorist. Never- 
 
 x6
 
 theless I recognize in him a genius of 
 uncommon originality and his fame is not 
 due to accident. 
 
 A friend of mine, a university professor 
 and a man of high scientific standing, 
 finds more in Wilhelm Busch's works 
 than idle jokes or droll pleasantries. As 
 good Christians fall back on the Bible, 
 he quotes pertinent lines from Busch in 
 all the diverse situations of life, finding 
 in them consolation, or advice, or helpful 
 suggestion, as the case may be, and I was 
 surprised to note how well my friend's 
 method worked. Certainly he accomplished 
 the same purpose in spite of the fact that 
 the authority to which he resorted was 
 different from the Psalms or the Gospels. 
 How quickly did he recover from a mis- 
 hap through reference to a doggerel from 
 "Hans Huckelbein"; how mild was his 
 judgment of an all too human villainy 
 after the recitation of a rhyme from 
 "Plisch und Plum," and when one of his 
 dearest hopes remained unfulfilled, how 
 much comfort he took in a line from 
 "Max und Moritz"! Thus I had an op- 
 
 17
 
 portunity to observe that any book may 
 serve us as a Bible if we only learn to 
 quote from it according to our needs. 
 
 Wilhelm Busch's satirical works have 
 not been rendered into English so far as 
 I know, nor should they be translated into 
 any language. They can only lose thereby. 
 The flavor of his wit and the finest shades 
 of his sarcasm would be gone. Much 
 that is quite unobjectionable in German 
 would appear improper or even coarse in 
 English, and so we believe that the best 
 translation would be unfair to the author 
 and would not do justice to the original. 
 
 For this reason we are satisfied with a 
 presentation of merely the main ideas of 
 Busch's little book, "Eduards Traum," 
 which ought to be better known. 
 
 Let us glance through its pages, and I 
 will offer in a free translation those pas- 
 sages which appear to me noteworthy; 
 and if my readers understand German, 
 they may find delight in reading the orig- 
 inal. The perusal of these eighty-five 
 pages will fully repay the time spent on 
 them. The book is worth having in one's 
 
 i8
 
 library and its place is among the philos- 
 ophers. 
 
 ♦ * * 
 
 In one of his satires Horace praises the 
 art of smilingly speaking the truth, and 
 Wilhelm Busch has accomplished the task 
 in his little book, "Edward's Dream." 
 The plot of the little narrative is simple 
 enough. It is a dream, and in this dream 
 the author presents to the reader a num- 
 ber of philosophical problems which he 
 either solves in an aphoristic way, or, 
 only touching upon them, passes on to 
 other problems. He concludes his book- 
 let with the remark: "A book is not an 
 "organ with which the organ - grinder 
 "mercilessly tortures our ears. A book 
 "is even more unobtrusive than the pic- 
 "ture on the wall, which still looks down 
 "with a certain desire to be noticed. A 
 "book when it lies before us shut, is a 
 "bound, sleeping, and harmless animal- 
 "cule which hurts no one. He who does 
 "not rouse it, at him it does not yawn, 
 "nor will it bite the man who does not 
 "put his nose between its jaws." 
 
 19
 
 EDWARD'S DREAM. 
 
 21
 
 EDWARD FALLS ASLEEP. 
 
 It is bedtime. Edward is still up. His 
 litte boy, Emil, is in bed. Elise, his wife, 
 bids him good-night and retires. But Ed- 
 ward, in complacent rumination, still loi- 
 ters on the limits of the inconceivable. 
 He yawns, throws away the stump of his 
 cigar, takes the last swallow of his even- 
 ing drink (for we must suppose him to be 
 a Bavarian) and decides to retire too. 
 Having stared awhile into the light of the 
 candle he blows it out and goes to bed. 
 Before his eyes the image of the flame 
 still remains, and he begins to contem- 
 plate it attentively. Then he experienced 
 a feeling as if his spirit, his soul, or what- 
 ever you may call it, began to shrink. 
 His ego became smaller and smaller ; first 
 like a potato, then like a pill, then like 
 a pin's head, then still smaller, and at last 
 it was a point. But he was a thinking 
 
 23
 
 point and active he was too, moving about 
 in all directions, manufacturing his de- 
 mand of time and space quite "en pas- 
 sant" as a by-product. In this shape he 
 makes several excursions. 
 
 24
 
 I. THE WORLD OF PURE FORMS. 
 
 Edward describes his journey into the 
 land of mathematics as follows: 
 
 "With telegraphic swiftness of thought 
 I switched directly through the wall and 
 found myself in friendly surroundings. It 
 was the domain of numbers where a 
 pretty little arithmetical township lay. 
 
 "Strange! in a dream even flourishes 
 have life. 
 
 "Morning dawned. Several peasants 
 in the fields were husbanding their multi- 
 plications at an early hour. These people 
 live and multiply honestly; they do not 
 prosper greatly but they are frugal. 
 
 "More pretentious are the officials of the 
 town. They were talking about a certain 
 naught which had blocked the way of 
 many an honest fellow, and when one had 
 been advanced beyond his deserts, as they 
 thought, then it was certainly rumored, 
 
 35
 
 that as sure as twice two is four, the old 
 intriguing naught was behind him. 
 
 "In the fashionable quarter live the 
 gentry who can trace their lineage to the 
 oldest primers. A certain Mr, X is the 
 most sought-after person of all. But he 
 makes himself so scarce that almost daily 
 there are a thousand fools who ask for 
 him, before a wise man can point him 
 out. Other algebraical numbers are very 
 impertinent. Two fellows whom I met 
 in the park promenade introduced them- 
 selves to me tv/ice; first as Mr. A and 
 Mr. B; then again as Mr. B and Mr. A; 
 and they asked me conceitedly whether it 
 wasn't all the same, for A-)-B=^B+A. 
 "Tis all the same to me,' I said court- 
 eously, although I knew that the propo- 
 sition in one respect had a hitch. But 
 even in a dream we allow such little in- 
 accuracies arising from politeness to pass 
 unchallenged. 
 
 "I went to the market where the con- 
 crete numbers conducted their business. 
 Suddenly a sausage came running in hot 
 haste, and its price was marked ninety- 
 
 26
 
 three cents. Seventeen young tailors came 
 running after her with open shears and 
 open mouths trying to catch her. *We 
 have paid our money,' they shouted, 'and 
 now snip snap we will divide.' 'That 
 won't do,' gasped the sausage, which per- 
 spired fatty drops in her agony, for the 
 tailors had already pricked her with their 
 shears and had made thirty-four holes. 
 
 "At this moment an expert accountant 
 came. He wore yellow pants, forty-five 
 cents a yard, a hired dress suit, and un- 
 paid-for stove-pipe hat; he made a false 
 equation and brought the sausage on his 
 side ; but the tailors did not like the joke. 
 They cut off the tails of his evening dress, 
 ripped the buttons from his pants, and 
 had he not speedily withdrawn, leaving 
 the sausage behind, they would have dis- 
 severed him. Before they could again 
 attack the sausage, the wife of the butcher, 
 two hundred and fifty-seven pounds liv- 
 ing weight, appeared and caused great 
 consternation, for she said she had seen 
 no money and to give up ninety-three 
 
 27
 
 cents for nothing was against her human 
 shortage. 
 
 "At once all the clattering shears were 
 turned against the round sum of the 
 buxom butcher's wife, and the tumult was 
 great. The crowd was swelled by fifty 
 salted herrings, two score and ten eggs, 
 three dozen cheeses, one bottle of whis- 
 key, three-quarters of a pound of table- 
 butter, six pounds of cooking-butter, fif- 
 teen ounces of snuff, and numerous dittos. 
 Endangered by the points of the shears 
 the butcher's wife retreated. She stepped 
 into the three-quarters of a pound of 
 table-butter, fell down upon the six 
 pounds of cooking-butter, and while fal- 
 ling she drew two ounces of snuff up 
 her nostrils and began to sneeze, in con- 
 sequence whereof she turned a somer- 
 sault, squeezing three cheeses, and break- 
 ing the bottle of whiskey. When she 
 alighted on the ground her heavy heels 
 smashed two herrings so that their poor 
 souls fled out of their salted bodies. 
 
 "But when the complication was at its 
 height, the crowd dispersed, for a new 
 
 28
 
 and superior magnitude, the town police, 
 appeared upon the scene. The tailors 
 made themselves as thin as they could, 
 and the butcher's wife raised the sausage 
 in her right hand, exclaiming: 'There is 
 no justice left in the town; that's what I 
 say.' But the town police understood his 
 duty, noted down the two herrings who 
 had lost their souls, kept the cheeses, the 
 butter, and the glass splinters in his head, 
 added the woman and the sausage, put 
 them in brackets, transported them to the 
 town scales, where one was found too 
 heavy and the other too light, and sub- 
 traction was inevitable. The sausage was 
 subtracted for the exchequer. The re- 
 mainder was canceled crosswise thrice 
 three times in ink for contempt of court, 
 and the brave town policeman was raised 
 to the third power on the very same day 
 by the infinitely great mayor of the town. 
 Several other cases were attended to be- 
 fore the treasurer with the same prompti- 
 tude." 
 
 The town contains beautiful parks and 
 orchards full of golden percentages, and 
 
 29
 
 the dividends go up and down on paper 
 ladders. Some of them were seen drop- 
 ping to the ground, and they stroked their 
 bruised parts and limped drearily home. 
 There is also enough grief and misery 
 displayed on all corners of the streets. 
 One can see fractured numbers, swollen 
 denominators who carry small numera- 
 tors on their backs. How pitiful they 
 look! "But," adds Edward, "I remained 
 cool. I had no money with me, and if I 
 had had some I would not have given 
 them anything. I had changed my char- 
 acter. For wherever there is need of it 
 I do not mind a few pennies; that you 
 know, my friends." 
 
 * * * 
 
 Edward now came among the points, 
 a buoyant people who Vv^ere just practis- 
 ing sharp-shooting. "The smaller these 
 folks," he tells us, "the greater is their 
 pleasure." They were crawling and 
 squirming like merry infusoria in an old 
 barrel of rain-water. 
 
 "Like mosquitoes, the thinking-points 
 
 30
 
 were dancing with their beloved little 
 ideas, and I myself engaged one, and 
 waltzed around a few times. Still nim- 
 bler than they and windier in the terpsi- 
 chorean art were the purely mathematical 
 points, but they were so bashful that they 
 became smaller and smaller the more one 
 looked at them. One of them disappeared 
 entirely when I looked at him very closely. 
 
 "Queer fellows, this sort of points. Old 
 Brennecke, my mathematical professor, 
 used to say: 'Whoever cannot think a 
 point is simply too lazy.' I have often 
 since tried, but just when I think I have 
 it, I have — nothing. And we have the 
 same experience with all things ; as soon 
 as we look at them more closely, when 
 we are about to seize them with the ten- 
 derest comprehension, they secretly with- 
 draw into the corner of the incomprehen- 
 sible and disappear without leaving any- 
 thing behind, like the enchanted rabbit 
 whom the hunter can never hit. 
 
 "There were also some critical points 
 making mischievous faces and impeding 
 every one wherever they went. One of 
 
 31
 
 them, an impudent fellow, stepped upon 
 the train of a beautiful young idea and at 
 the same time upon the corn of her part- 
 ner, the thinking-point; this insolent be- 
 haviour interrupted all his arguments, and 
 he began to scream. That was the signal 
 for a lively scandal, for all the points of 
 dispute and the points of honor inter- 
 fered, to the great delight of the spec- 
 tators." 
 
 * ^: >:: 
 
 Continuing his journey, Edward came 
 to the atoms, who were just beginning a 
 square dance. 
 
 "With great assurance they danced their 
 complex molecular figures, and when they 
 were through, all had grown pretty warm. 
 They are not quite so stupid as one is in- 
 clined to believe, and are quite interest- 
 ing, as well as interested themselves, for 
 tender love-affairs are not rare among 
 them. 
 
 "One of the ladies among the atoms 
 seemed familiar to me. I must have seen 
 her, and, really! I remember, at Leib- 
 nitz's! It was the old monad, and she 
 
 32
 
 had grown quite young again. She ap- 
 proached me, shook hands, and held me 
 with her unsubstantial affinities, and 
 pressed a kiss upon my lips, saying : 'My 
 dear friend, let us be eternally united.' 
 But I was repelled. With great rapidity 
 I shot through the roof and hastened 
 away to distant spheres. When I looked 
 round I was not quite alone, for right near 
 I heard a cough. It was the mathematical 
 point whom I had tried to look at, and he 
 said: 'At home I cannot get on; now I'll 
 see what I can do in the geometrical 
 plane.' " 
 
 s'j :;: ^ 
 
 The geometrical plane lay before our 
 romantic traveler in the splendor of the 
 sinking evening sun. No tree, no bush, 
 no chimney loomed up. All was flat as 
 a pan-cake ; nay, a thousand times flatter. 
 And they were standing at the entrance 
 of an industrious city which lay flat on 
 its side. The door through which they 
 passed had only breadth, no height. "It 
 was so low," says Edward, "that my pate 
 was grazed, and even my tiny companion 
 
 33
 
 could just pass through. He got an ap- 
 pointment that very same evening with 
 an able geometer who took him at once 
 into his drawing-pen in order to transfer 
 him to the place of his future activity. 
 I wished him all success, but I myself 
 went to the hotel, where the waiter ap- 
 peared as a straight mathematical line. 
 Nothing could be more slender, and I 
 thought of what my little nephew, Peter, 
 once said. 'Uncle Edward,' he said, *a 
 ghost must be real slim for one doesn't 
 see it at all.' 
 
 "How ridiculously thin such a mathe- 
 matical line is! In the room next to me 
 there were thirty in one bed, which was 
 not broader than a cigar-case, and yet 
 there was plenty of space left. At first 
 they were quarrelling, for there was a 
 Pole among them who suffered from 
 nightmares and was very restless until 
 he was nailed tight by two points; then 
 he became quiet. I tried to pronounce 
 his name, Chr — rrr — rrrr, but at that mo- 
 ment I heard a voice saying, 'Edward, do 
 not snore.' It was the voice of my wife, 
 
 34
 
 I awoke for a moment but soon fell asleep 
 again." 
 
 Edward slept in the hotel and when he 
 awoke the next morning in the geomet- 
 rical plane, he found that everybody had 
 to crawl around on his stomach. "High 
 and low are difficult to distinguish at 
 first sight, and if one has cause to be 
 polite one must look out with great cir- 
 cumspection, for as there is no height, 
 there are no shadows, and everybody, even 
 the most square fellow of great contents 
 appears as a simple line. The absence of 
 shadow makes photography impossible, 
 and the people of this city have to forego 
 the ornament of pictures in their rooms. 
 But they do as well as they can. They 
 call in the carpenter, they measure their 
 friends, and make a proportional figure in 
 the album, noting the real square contents 
 together with the year and date, and the 
 memorial is ready. 
 
 "Some of the inhabitants told me that 
 a few postmen had become so thin by 
 constant crawling on their stomachs that 
 in their old age they were only half as thin 
 
 35
 
 as possible. This seemed to me remark- 
 able on account of congruence, for if the 
 report was correct an actual congruence 
 of equal figures which appeared to me at 
 this highly depressed locality impossible, 
 did not seem to be excluded under all cir- 
 cumstances. I inquired for the congru- 
 ence office, an institution which is simi- 
 lar to the county clerk's office where mar- 
 riage licences are given. As no one could 
 give me any information I went to the 
 mayor and was told, 'We have no such 
 nonsense; any one anxious for such an 
 experience, especially if it be a case of 
 symmetrical congruence, will please go 
 to the third dimension.' 
 
 "As the atmosphere in the mayor's of- 
 fice was very close I bade him good-bye 
 and went through the ceiling into tri- 
 dimensional space where stereometric lib- 
 erty prevails and where spatially sympa- 
 thetic couples have the licence of marriage 
 relations. But even here no exceptions 
 were allowed. 
 
 "I just saw two spherical triangles, one 
 the exact reflected image of the other. 
 
 36
 
 They returned in tears from the congru- 
 ence office where they had been refused. 
 A pair of infinitely delicate gloves, one 
 left one and one right one, were grooms- 
 man and bridesmaid, and they comforted 
 the unfortunate couple, saying that they 
 were in the same predicament and if there 
 was no other hope they could after all 
 elope into the fourth dimension where 
 nothing was impossible. *Alas!' sighed 
 the bride, 'who knows what the fourth 
 dimension is like?' One might have pitied 
 the poor people but we must not be too 
 quick with our sympathy, for the inhabi- 
 tants of this unsubstantial country are 
 hollow, sun and moon shine through them, 
 and any one who stands behind them can 
 easily count the buttons on their vests in 
 front. They look through one another, 
 and yet these people who have as little 
 contents as a cleaned-out sparrow's egg, 
 talk about the noble aspirations of their 
 souls and carry on conversation in the 
 most refined phraseology. I got sick of 
 this conceited world of empty figures and 
 hurried away. 
 
 37
 
 "When about to leave I was addressed 
 in a deep sonorous bass by a gentleman 
 who was so round and thick that he al- 
 most took up the whole space of the exit. 
 It was my former companion, the mathe- 
 matical point. By a clever turn in the 
 plane he had become a circle, and on emi- 
 grating into tri-dimensional space he had, 
 by another turn, developed into a sphere. 
 He was now on his way to a spiritualistic 
 medium for materialization, intending to 
 go as a globe to a high-school. The un- 
 important little fellow had become a regu- 
 lar snob who began to treat me conde- 
 scendingly. That was too much for me. 
 I did not intend to suffer it from a puffed- 
 up point, for such are all these people. 
 I turned and went through the wall where 
 I supposed that the complete world of 
 reality lay, but even this was only in 
 parts." 
 
 Having accompanied the sagacious 
 dreamer through the land of pure forms, 
 let us follow him into a more real realm ; 
 but here still he finds existence in parts 
 only. 
 
 38
 
 II. EXISTENCES THAT ARE IN PART. 
 
 Edward first visits the community of 
 heads. These live in nests in a high me- 
 diaeval place, and behind their ears they 
 have wings which are an appropriate ad- 
 aptation of their neck muscles. Some sit 
 around marshes; they are the water- 
 heads. They blink drowsily with their 
 eyes and let the sun shine into their 
 mouths. Then, there are the head-strong 
 who possess the vanity of their own opin- 
 ion in spite of argument, wrangling and 
 quarreling in the air. Almost every one 
 of them had bruises, black and blue. They 
 live on wind and earn their living as 
 stump-orators and singers in dime-mu- 
 seums. 
 
 In a place that looked somewhat like 
 the agricultural department of Washing- 
 ton, Edward saw an ugly old man with 
 a large face and a tiny body, busying 
 
 39
 
 himself with a large hotbed in which a 
 kind of asparagus grew. "What are you 
 doing here?" asked Edward, and the little 
 man with the big face said : "I am raising 
 heads. These are the best I have. They 
 will be used as heads of the different de- 
 partments in the government service. I 
 deliver them in good condition, but when 
 they have been used awhile they are no 
 longer good. Some turn tough, others 
 become regular loggerheads ! But they 
 are very valuable, for they make much 
 noise in the world and are sought for by 
 collectors of historical curios." 
 
 There were further all kinds of events 
 coming to a head but they looked very 
 ugly and Edward passed them by. 
 
 Lower down, on a mountain-range, 
 hands were living as scribblers, scrubbers, 
 stocking knitters, stringed - instrument 
 musicians, and other trades. The feet are 
 at home in the valley. 
 
 Leaving the land of separate limbs, our 
 tramping dreamer visits a village and de- 
 scribes its still-life. There were three 
 merry flies swarming over a pond, three 
 
 40
 
 joyous little fish caught them. A moment 
 later three ducks came along; each duck 
 snatched a fish and swallowed it. The 
 farmer's good-natured wife appeared in 
 the door of the house and with a few 
 crumbs of bread enticed the three ducks 
 into the kitchen. Then she seized them 
 and cut their throats, but being too hasty 
 she cut her finger at the same time. 
 
 The hatchet was rusty and the finger 
 began to swell. There were symptoms of 
 blood poisoning; the doctor came. He 
 understood the case. He cut off her fin- 
 ger, but it wouldn't do ; he cut off her arm, 
 but it wouldn't do ; he cut off her head, 
 but it wouldn't do; he cut off her waist, 
 but it wouldn't do; he cut off her knees, 
 but it wouldn't do; and when he came to 
 her sensitive corns a shriek was heard 
 and she was dead. 
 
 The farmer would not be comforted, 
 for the doctor's fee was $53.75. The doc- 
 tor put the honorarium into his pocket- 
 book and the farmer sighed. The doctor 
 put the pocket-book into his pocket and 
 the farmer fainted upon a chair, staring 
 
 41
 
 into emptiness. The doctor was a man 
 of the world. Slowly he rode away, nor 
 did he begin to trot until he was out of 
 sight. He was wholly unaware that his 
 pocket had a hole in it. The disconsolate 
 widower went to the pig-pen and looked 
 at the pigs. There were thirteen of them, 
 each worth $11.25. His tears began to 
 dry and when he came out again he had 
 become a new man. 
 
 Edward now left the farm house and 
 went to one of the neighbors. It was the 
 uncle of the farmer. Having just returned 
 unsteadily from a long sitting at the inn 
 he entered the room where his numerous 
 family awaited him in dread. The old 
 man threw his hat upon the ground and 
 shouted, "He who takes that hat up will 
 be thrashed; he who lets it lie, will be 
 thrashed, too." He was a very reliable 
 man and he kept his word. 
 
 Having witnessed this sad spectacle, 
 the pensive traveler sighs and says : "Alas ! 
 my dear reader, how often does fate throw 
 before us his tragic hat, and whatever we 
 do we shall have trouble." 
 
 42
 
 Continuing the story of his travel, our 
 dreamer finds himself confronted by a 
 philosopher whose greatness consists in 
 creating problems where there are none. 
 Edward says : "I went to the neighboring 
 farm. A thoughtful old man stood in the 
 cow-stable which he had just cleaned, and 
 he closed the barn-shutters. 'Strange,' 
 he said, resting his chin upon the dung- 
 fork. 'Strange, very strange! Indeed, 
 extraordinary! If I close the barn-shut- 
 ters it grows dark !' And so he stood for 
 a long time and thought and thought. 
 As if there were not worries enough in the 
 world without that! And it was very 
 dark in his mind and also in the cow- 
 stable." 
 
 In another farm-house our all-observ- 
 ing dreamer finds the dainty little daugh- 
 ter of the farmer sitting at the piano. 
 There is a knock at the door. "Is your 
 father at home?" asks the man who buys 
 sheep. "No, sir," she replied, in a lady- 
 like way, "papa is hauling dung." What 
 a pleasant instance of increasing culture. 
 
 43
 
 which still has something of the strong 
 odor of the soil from which it sprang ! 
 
 We pass over a number of pictures of 
 Edward's dream, which show us an in- 
 cendiary firing his barn; several topers, 
 one of whom pays the bill with counter- 
 feit money ; a broom-maker who finds the 
 doctor's pocket-book, and, having hidden 
 it in his boot, meets the doctor returning 
 on his horse in full speed. "Did you find 
 anything?" asked the doctor. "No, sir," 
 replied the broom-maker with composure, 
 and as the doctor hastens on, thinks to 
 himself, "that will be a lesson to him." 
 In this way a wise man had given to an 
 inexperienced fellow a valuable lesson 
 wtihout bringing him into the painful 
 situation of expressing his thanks — a good 
 deed, which is the more remarkable as he 
 never bragged of it. 
 
 Wherever Edward goes he finds the 
 world interesting, not less so than the 
 refined farmer who met him on the way, 
 and had just been looking at his potatoes, 
 which were doing splendidly. The sun 
 shone through his transparent ears, and 
 
 44
 
 he was happy, shouting in ecstasy: "O, 
 how beautiful is the world, how beauti- 
 ful!" 
 
 * * * 
 
 After some other excursions, Edward 
 visited the temple of science. There he 
 saw the high-minded investigators sitting 
 among their microscopes, retorts, and 
 guinea-pigs. Considering the use, the en- 
 hancement, and all the other advantages 
 which mankind owes them, and also their 
 own well-deserved pride, he left their 
 sanctum with suppressed reverence. But 
 he overheard a critic — for flies are every- 
 where — say to another critic who passed 
 him: "There are numbers in their heads, 
 and bacilli in their hearts. They grind 
 everything to powder — God, spirit, and 
 Shakespeare, and then the broom-guard, 
 those sages who sweep together the offal 
 from the back-doors of centuries" — Here 
 the critic interrupted himself and ex- 
 claimed: "Do you see that milk-cart? The 
 billy-goat that draws it looks as proud 
 as if he produced the milk himself." 
 
 In the art-museum the old masters had 
 
 45
 
 been newly varnished. Among the new 
 artists were the naturalists, one of whom 
 protested that he preferred one natural 
 peasant-girl standing knee-deep in the 
 mud to eleven thousand embalmed prin- 
 cesses dancing upon wires. "Nature," he 
 began to sing, "nothing but naturrrre!" 
 The other naturalists fell in and Edward 
 joined the chorus. "Naturrre," he sang, 
 "Naturrre!" 
 
 The dreamer was poked again by his 
 wife who said: "Dear me, Edward! How 
 terribly you snore!" 
 
 Edward did not allow his dream to be 
 disturbed. At the art-museum he saw an 
 old ruffian who looked at the pictures and 
 was morally disgusted with them. His 
 name is The-man-with-the-dirty-spec- 
 tacles, for the dirt that he finds he brings 
 with him. 
 
 In the world of politics Edward ob- 
 served that Bismarck had just left the 
 driver's box and resigned the reins of the 
 world. Surely that would create a com- 
 motion! But no, the world is like a pot 
 of porridge. If you take the spoon out, 
 
 46
 
 and be it the largest, the whole business 
 will close up again, and be as if nothing 
 had happened. 
 
 While still moved in thought, Edward, 
 after having seen many marvelous and 
 glorious things, greatly desired to see 
 once in his life a really good man. He 
 said to himself: "I am not especially an- 
 xious to see him; it is only for the sake 
 of completeness." 
 
 Now our dreamer was told that there 
 was a kind philanthropist whose posses- 
 sions weighed upon him like a burden, 
 and distributing them was his greatest 
 pleasure. Edward went to see him. 
 
 The philanthropist had just gathered 
 up five tramps from the street. "Breth- 
 ren," he said, mildly, "make yourselves 
 at home. We will all be equal." The 
 tramps were satisfied. They ate together, 
 they drank together, they smoked to- 
 gether, and they decided that on the next 
 morning they would shine their shoes to- 
 gether. 
 
 The case was so remarkable that Ed- 
 ward stayed until the next morning. On 
 
 47
 
 the next morning the six gentlemen met 
 at the breakfast table, and when the phi- 
 lanthropist saw his five brethren decently 
 dressed in good clothes like himself a tear 
 was in his eye, and shaking hands with 
 them he expressed his joy that every one 
 was now satisfied. Then one of them, 
 formerly a mason, cleared his throat and 
 said : "Well, that is so ; however, as you, 
 my brother, have had so much more spare 
 time for being satisfied than we, it would 
 be but reasonable that we should now 
 have a correspondingly better time than 
 you." The philanthropist was a just man, 
 and another tear came to his eye. He 
 nodded his consent. So everybody took 
 his mocha, except the philanthropist; 
 everybody took a cognac, except the phi- 
 lanthropist; everybody smoked his Ha- 
 vana, except the philanthropist ; and after 
 breakfast no one shined the shoes except 
 the philanthropist. When he now saw 
 his five brethren better dressed than him- 
 self, a third tear stood in his eye, and em- 
 bracing them, he expressed his joy that 
 at last everybody was satisfied. 
 
 48
 
 Then the mason again cleared his throat 
 and said: That may be so, but he should 
 now step under the window, for they 
 wanted to spit on his head and see whether 
 their brother was still proud. The phi- 
 lanthropist had a fourth tear in his eye, 
 and he declined. When his five brethren 
 observed that he objected, they seized 
 him by the collar of his coat and made 
 him "walk proudly," as they called it. 
 They carried him down into the hall, 
 whipped him one, two, three times, still 
 keeping him suspended, and at three 
 threw him out of the door of his house 
 into the yard where he frightened a cow ; 
 and while the poor fellow was lying in 
 the mud, the four tears which had gath- 
 ered in his eyes broke out at once and he 
 began to swear. What a disappointment 
 to Edward who now clearly recognized 
 that at the bottom of his heart the philan- 
 thropist was not really a good man. He 
 who wants to follow equality through 
 thick and thin must have high boots. 
 
 But after all Edward in his dream did 
 not give up finding a good man. He fol- 
 
 49
 
 lowed into a stately residence a collector 
 who had a list of names in his hands. The 
 owner gave him a quarter for foreign mis- 
 sions and a dime for home missions, and 
 having done so, fell a-dreaming when the 
 collector had left, saying, "I am too good, 
 I am much too good." So much was he 
 overcome with the almost criminal kind- 
 ness of his heart. 
 
 Now Edward was satisfied. He had 
 seen a good man, a man who was even 
 more than good. 
 
 Having taken a trip into vacuity in 
 order to see whether or not the world had 
 an end, and having returned along the 
 heavenly axis at the polar star, the rest- 
 less wanderer came back to our little 
 earth and reached a place where every- 
 body was in a state of indolent happiness. 
 The people had invented great burning- 
 glasses to collect the sun-heat sufficient 
 for all the machinery, stoves, lamps, and 
 kitchens that were needed in the country, 
 and in addition enough power for pur- 
 
 50
 
 poses of amusement, and everybody was 
 taken care of by the national administra- 
 tion. There were no thieves, for there 
 was no need of stealing. And if on account 
 of weakness of mind somebody took some 
 such thing as a cigar from his neighbor, 
 he was treated in an asylum and cured 
 by kindness and benevolent treatment. All 
 troubles were done away with; death 
 alone could not be banished. 
 
 "That is all very fine," thought Edward, 
 "but are not the stupid people envious 
 when comparing themselves with clever 
 folks, and the ugly with the beautiful?" 
 — "Well," replied one of the people, "for- 
 merly it was bad enough and we had 
 much trouble. But now all that is past 
 since the competition gland has been dis- 
 covered." Then he explained that this 
 injurious organ has its seat deep in the 
 brain behind the ear, and its extirpation 
 is obligatory. The success justifies the 
 method. There was no envy, no pride, 
 no ambition; and the good Lord and the 
 ten commandments had become redun- 
 dant. It was only a pity that all laughter 
 
 51
 
 had ceased. True, there were laughing- 
 clubs, but the laughter which they prac- 
 tised was wooden and hypocritical, it was 
 not natural. The genuine joy in mani- 
 festing our abilities which make us strong 
 to endure competition could not obtain 
 under these well-regulated conditions. 
 There was a certain soft monotony which 
 it appears even the inhabitants of this 
 country could appreciate only with diffi- 
 culty, for on almost every tree of their 
 fine parks hung some one who had grown 
 sick of life. The people, to be sure walked 
 through the parks and did not mind, but 
 Edward could not stand it. He left and 
 went to see a philosopher. 
 
 In the next episode of Edward's dream- 
 experiences Wilhelm Busch ridicules the 
 materialist's world-conception which re- 
 duces all processes of the world to matter 
 and motion, forgetful of the fact that in 
 sentiments, thoughts, and ideal aspira- 
 tions, the material and mechanical aspect 
 of an event is its most unessential feature. 
 
 52
 
 Ideas cannot be explained by, or classi- 
 fied under, the categories of matter and 
 motion. And Busch is right, for in the 
 spiritual world another and more subtle 
 element enters, which, although it appears 
 to a materialistic conception as non-ex- 
 istent, is after all the most important real- 
 ity of life. 
 
 * * * 
 
 Edward entered the philosopher's study 
 and was courteously received. Three par- 
 rots were swinging on perches. The phi- 
 losopher wore a red cap with a green 
 feather, a gown of moleskin, trousers of 
 buckskin, and slippers of crocodile skin. 
 He had several remarkable curiosities in 
 his collection which he was kind enough 
 to show. The three parrots swung them- 
 selves on perches in his study and re- 
 peated every word he said. 
 
 "Now look," the philosopher began, "at 
 this automatic piece of art." It was a 
 crane standing in a dish full of water 
 containing an eel. The philosopher wound 
 the mechanism and the crane bowed 
 down, caught the eel, lifted him up and 
 
 53
 
 swallowed him. While still standing in 
 thought as if satisfied, the eel glided out 
 at the next moment from behind, and 
 again with unfailing certainty the long- 
 billed bird caught him, swallowed him, 
 and waited for further consequences. The 
 eel returned to the water in the same way 
 to be devoured again in the same fashion, 
 and thus the circle continued. "This," 
 said the master, "is the circuity of things." 
 The philosopher now took an insignifi- 
 cant looking utensil from his cabinet. It 
 was a blowing-mill. He dusted it and 
 said with importance: "This, my friend, 
 is the thing-in-itself which before me no 
 one has understood." He pressed a but- 
 ton and the mill began to fan, producing 
 upon Edward a pleasant feeling as if some 
 one was tickling him behind the ears. 
 The philosopher pressed the button a 
 second time and a palatable dinner ap- 
 peared. He pressed a third time and an 
 agreeable odor arose. He pressed a fourth 
 time and fine music was heard; a fifth 
 time and fire - works began to play. 
 "Thus," the poUte host explained, "every- 
 
 54
 
 thing that happens between us and the 
 things is nothing but motion, now quicker, 
 now slower, now in a medium of ether, 
 now of air which may be thicker or thin- 
 ner. 
 
 "But how is it with thoughts?" Edward 
 asked the master. "It is the same with 
 thoughts," replied he. "You will see at 
 once." He put his blowing-mill away 
 and handed Edward a wind-mill. It was 
 small and built after the pattern of those 
 little instruments which are fastened to 
 cherry-trees to keep the sparrows away — 
 only smaller and with wings of paper. 
 Placing this mill before Edward he said: 
 "Well, my friend, now think deftly." Ed- 
 ward began to think and thought as much 
 as he could, and the more sturdily he 
 thought the brisker the paper wings of 
 the mill turned round and they clattered 
 so that even an old experienced sparrow 
 would not have dared to approach. "The 
 more wind the more noise," said the sage 
 in explanation. 
 
 "But the joys and the pains of our 
 heart," the inquisitive visitor retorted, 
 
 55
 
 "are they nothing but motion also?" "Cer- 
 tainly," the wise man said, "only they 
 turn in the screw fashion." Then he took 
 from his shelf a dainty holder in which 
 lay horizontally a corkscrew that could 
 be turned by a crank. "Well?" queried 
 Edward, expectantly. "Sit down here," 
 said the philosopher, considerately; "I no- 
 tice your constitution is a little abnormal. 
 Take a seat here, this is a chair of higher 
 sensitiveness." 
 
 It was a softly upholstered easy-chair, 
 and the master approached his visitor 
 screw in hand, turning it forward. What 
 a painful sensation pierced his innermost 
 being! He felt like screaming aloud. It 
 was as if his old great-aunt had died. 
 "Pain is positive," said the master, "but 
 now we will turn the screw backwards." 
 The pain disappeared, and an unexpected 
 happiness streamed through Edward's 
 whole system. It was as if the good de- 
 ceased aunt had left him a fortune of half 
 a million. "Joy is negative," explained 
 the philosopher, and returned the soul- 
 screw to its former place. 
 
 56
 
 Not to exhaust the patience of his host, 
 Edward thought it time to take his leave. 
 But the philosopher said: "One thing 
 more," and conducted him to his desk. 
 There, in a big glass of alcohol, he pro- 
 duced a strange creature, which greatly 
 resembled a rotten pumpkin, with a few 
 fibres which looked like undeveloped 
 limbs. "This," said the sage, "is man as 
 he was a thousand million years ago, be- 
 fore he degenerated into 'amphioxus lan- 
 ceolatus,' from whom we have started 
 up again, so that we can hope in the next 
 future to attain something extraordinary." 
 
 "Beautiful he is not," Edward said dis- 
 appointedly. 
 
 "But clever," replied the sage; "I have 
 searched his head. Those doubtful dis- 
 tinctions of here and there, of to-day and 
 the day after to-morrow, which involve 
 us in so many difBculties, did not exist 
 at that time. The question whether twice 
 two is four and everything else remained 
 undecided, and as to the principles of ge- 
 ometry, I can assure you that in those 
 
 57
 
 days the crookedest line was the shortest 
 path between two points." 
 
 Here the philosopher paused in order 
 to leave his guest time to express his ad- 
 miration, and to propose further ques- 
 tions. 
 
 "Honored sir," Edward said, "may I 
 ask another little question?" 
 
 The philosopher nodded kindly. 
 
 "What do you think of ethics? What 
 must man do so that he may prosper once 
 for all?" 
 
 Without hesitation the sage opened a 
 drawer, took out a flute, put it to his nose, 
 closed his mouth, and, blowing up his 
 cheeks, began to play as adroitly as a 
 skilled canary-bird, that had received the 
 first prize at the World's Fair. 
 
 "Understand me? Are you convinced?" 
 he asked when stopping. 
 
 "Not quite," Edward said. 
 
 Then the philosopher began to sing: 
 
 "Upon the man who does refuse, 
 Tweedle dee! 
 Our logic, and rejects our views, 
 Tweedle dee! 
 
 58
 
 We turn our backs to slink away, 
 And mind not what he think or say, 
 Tweedle dee!" 
 
 When he had finished his song, he blew 
 the flute again, turning his head com- 
 placently now to this side and now to 
 that. At last he stopped abruptly, re- 
 placed the flute in the drawer, and turned 
 his back upon Edward. 
 
 Without taking further notice of his 
 visitor, the philosopher wrapped his gown 
 tightly around him, whereupon, crouch- 
 ing down on the floor, he crowed like an 
 old Cochin-China rooster, and disappeared 
 in the next room. The parrots crowed 
 also. 
 
 Edward for a moment stood aghast and 
 then left the philosopher's study in great 
 haste. 
 
 59
 
 III. THE DOMAIN OF MORAL ASPIRA- 
 TIONS. 
 
 Having escaped from the philosopher's 
 study, Edward in his dream entered an- 
 other world. He found himself in a pleas- 
 ant valley, the roads fringed with fruit- 
 trees, and saw at a distance mountains 
 rising higher and higher, to disappear 
 finally in the clouds. The broad high- 
 road was crowded with merry people, 
 all traveling in the same direction. One 
 man only could be seen running back. 
 He looked wretched, was covered with 
 bruises and ill at ease. He jumped over 
 the fences and ditches without looking 
 behind him. "Tommy has gone crazy," 
 said the people, laughing, and went on. 
 
 Edward soon observed whither the peo- 
 ple were going. Where the highway ap- 
 proached the rocks, near a dark tunnel, 
 there stood an inn called "The Cloven 
 
 60
 
 Hoof," a spacious old mansion newly fur- 
 nished, and for ages very popular as a 
 pleasure-resort. The host, a jovial fellow, 
 limped slightlj/. People say that in his 
 youth he had been in a brawl in which 
 he got the worst of it. His seven daugh- 
 ters, who were jokingly called the "Seven 
 Deadly Sins," contributed greatly to in- 
 crease their father's business. From the 
 porch they threw kisses to the arriving 
 guests. 
 
 In the basement Edward saw the cook 
 standing in the kitchen, — an old, wrinkled 
 hag, the grandmother of mine host, the 
 landlord. All the guests at the inn were 
 extremely merry. There was music and 
 dancing, and no one thought of going 
 home. 
 
 Among the guests Edward found many 
 old acquaintances. As is usual in dreams, 
 he was not at all astonished; but there 
 was one thing he could not make out ; he 
 saw the really good man who had contrib- 
 uted his share to the collection for foreign 
 and home missions sitting in a corner 
 
 6x
 
 with one of the daughters of the host, 
 drinking champagne. 
 
 At midnight the hotel 'bus came to the 
 rear door. Its color was black, and it had 
 silver trimmings. It was not arranged for 
 sitting, but for lying ; and was not opened 
 behind, but above. It did not bring new- 
 comers, but took them away. The driver, 
 with his black coat, looked much pleased, 
 but he was pale and thin, like Hunger 
 personified. Shouting to the horses "get 
 up," he drove into the tunnel. But the 
 dance went on as before. 
 
 As the morning dawned our pilgrim in 
 dreamland approached the mountains and 
 came into the company of four travelers. 
 They were called "The Four Good In- 
 tentions." The name of the first was 
 "I-Had-Better," of the second "Shouldn't- 
 I," of the third "However," and of the 
 fourth "Never-Mind." Mr. I-Had-Better 
 had a red nose; Mr. Shouldn't-I had a 
 round belly; Mr. However had big black 
 spectacles ; and Mr. Never-Mind was a 
 sleek little fellow, who knew best himself 
 how pleasant he was. They inquired 
 
 62
 
 about Edward's affairs and asked his 
 name, whereupon he answered: 
 
 "I come from naught, 
 I am full of thought, 
 I'm not easily caught; 
 But my name I won't tell you." 
 
 "Then we'll call you SpirHfix," pleas- 
 antly shouted Mr. Never-Mind. The three 
 others laughed so heartily that Mr. I-Had- 
 Better's nose became blue, three buttons 
 of Mr. Shouldn't-I's vest sprang off, and 
 Mr. However's spectacles became hazy 
 with tears of laughter, Edward was not 
 very much pleased with the joke and flew 
 about three yards above the company. 
 
 Chatting humorously they walked on, 
 and the sun rose higher. Mr. Shouldn't-I 
 took off his coat and hanging it on his 
 stick carried it over his shoulder. Mr. 
 Never-Mind began to whistle, Mr. I-Had- 
 Better said "Move slowly, for I've got a 
 blister on my heel," and Mr. However 
 observed, "It is sultry. We may have a 
 thunderstorm." 
 
 When the sun rose still higher Mr. 
 I-Had-Better stood still, took out a bottle 
 
 63
 
 and said, "What do you think of this?" 
 Mr. Shouldn't-I took out a big sausage, 
 saying, "What do you think of that?" 
 Mr. However stopped also, beginning 
 slowly, "If we are only not — " but before 
 he could finish, Mr. Never-Mind took out 
 his knife, and shouting : "Come old blade," 
 proposed to cut the sausage. Then they 
 looked for a cool place, sat down and 
 took lunch. 
 
 Edward seated himself upon a withered 
 branch and looked at them. 
 
 "Spirlifix, come down," shouted the 
 good-natured Shouldn't-I, showing his 
 sausage, and I-Had-Better offered the 
 bottle. 
 
 "No, thank you," said Edward, for he 
 felt above these trivialities. 
 
 After a while the four travelers con- 
 tinued their march, and the sun shone 
 down almost perpendicularly. Their steps 
 became slow and their talk disconnected. 
 First, Mr. I-Had-Better remained behind. 
 He sat down under a big tree, took off 
 his shoe and rubbed his foot with tallow; 
 then Mr. Shouldn't-I stopped too and sat 
 
 64
 
 down behind another tree. But their 
 comrades did not notice the absence of the 
 two. They came to a place where they 
 could look down into the valley, and they 
 saw at the foot of the mountain the jovial 
 establishment from which they had 
 started in the morning. The sound of 
 pleasant music came up to them and Mr. 
 Never-Mind stood still, took out his opera- 
 glass, when he became aware of the many 
 pretty girls sitting in the garden he went 
 to the slope and slid down. Mr. I-Had- 
 Better saw where Mr. Never-Mind had 
 started and also began to slide down. Mr. 
 Shouldn't-I was at once inclined to do the 
 same and followed suit. 
 
 Mr. However, who was deep in thought 
 and did not notice the absence of his com- 
 panions, continued his march alone. 
 "Boys," he began, "the more I consider 
 it, the more I find that our project is a 
 very doubtful enterprise; what do you 
 think?" Turning round he saw no one 
 and said, "My spectacles are hazy, I have 
 perspired." And having wiped his glasses 
 he at last discovered his companions slid- 
 es
 
 ing down the hill. Mr. However was al- 
 ways given to reflection, but as soon as 
 he had made up his mind his decision was 
 firm. So was it now; he went down hill 
 too and arrived at the end quicker than 
 his comrades. 
 
 51: * * 
 
 In the meantime our dreamer continued 
 on his way. Before him walked a pedlar 
 carrying a wicker-basket full of glass- 
 ware. He was very careful, and passing 
 the stump of a tree placed the basket on 
 it. Relieved of his burden, he sat down 
 in the grass to rest. "Alas," he sighed, 
 "how troublesome is life." Suddenly a 
 gust of wind came and blew the basket 
 to the ground, so that all the glass broke. 
 "Woe is me!" said the pedlar, "I have 
 scarcely uttered a word of complaint and 
 this accident happens!" He was very 
 much crestfallen and went to the sandy 
 slope, placed himself in the empty basket, 
 used his stick as a rudder and slid down 
 hill. There he met the four Good Inten- 
 tions and was merrily welcomed by them. 
 He must have been an old acquaintance 
 
 66
 
 of theirs. The music was just playing a 
 splendid pot-pourri and the fun was great. 
 
 Continuing his upward journey the mi- 
 gratory dreamer came among the rocks 
 and found that unfortunate man of whom 
 Plato tells us tied to his seat in a cave, 
 with his back turned towards the light 
 and his face towards the wall; he has 
 by this time been reborn ten thousand 
 times and yet knows nothing of the things 
 which pass by at the entrance of his cave, 
 recognizing only the shadows which they 
 throw upon the wall. Edward stood still a 
 few seconds at the opening of the cave. 
 The Platonist thought it was a black fly- 
 speck on the wall and greeted his visitor 
 as such, who left him with a smile. 
 
 As our hero approached the next corner 
 of the rocks he heard a noise similar to 
 that which a cook makes when pounding 
 meat. Coming near he saw a man who 
 was whipping his naked back mercilessly. 
 "What are you doing, good friend?" asked 
 Edward. "Life is a blunder," the man 
 
 67
 
 said, busily continuing his work, "I am 
 scourging it." 
 
 Edward went higher and arrived in a 
 desert place where he saw a bald-headed 
 man looking fixedly at one and the same 
 spot. "What are you doing, old chap?" 
 Eward asked him. " Life is an error," the 
 bald-headed man said, " I think it away." 
 He had thought away all his hair and 
 continued to think. 
 
 Again our dreaming wanderer went 
 
 higher and reached a hermitage where a 
 
 hoary hermit sat motionless on a mossy 
 
 stone without stirring a limb. "What 
 
 are you doing, my friend?" Edward asked. 
 
 "Life is a sin," said the hermit, "I do 
 
 penance for it;" and he continued to sit 
 
 quietly. 
 
 ^ ^ ^ 
 
 Rising higher and higher, Edward came 
 to a green, flowery meadow in the middle 
 of which rose a mighty castle. It had 
 neither embrasures, nor chimneys, nor 
 even windows, but only one firmly locked 
 gate with a drawbridge. It appeared to be 
 built of smooth steel, so that no one, not 
 
 68
 
 even the hero of this story, although he 
 was a mere point, and a dreaming point, 
 too, could enter. 
 
 Edward made several attempts to pene- 
 trate through the walls of the castle, but 
 in vain. It was a painful sensation to 
 him, for either the liberty of unimpeded 
 motion which he had always imagined he 
 possessed had noticeably disappeared, or 
 there must be things which were too 
 strong for him. 
 
 Edward addressed himself to an old 
 forester who stood at the edge of the 
 woods, but he seemed deaf, for he placed 
 his hand behind his ear and began to 
 draw smoke from his pipe with greater 
 vigor than before. 
 
 "Old graybeard," said Edward, "can 
 you not tell me what that castle is good 
 for?" 
 
 "Little imp," he replied, "I too belong 
 to those who do not know, but my grand- 
 father told me often that he didn't know 
 either, and as to his grandfather he had 
 told my grandfather that its existence 
 was beyond recollection, and people sup- 
 
 69
 
 posed that a secret tunnel exists between 
 the castle on the mountain and the inn 
 down in the valley." 
 
 "What!" thought our dreamer, "does 
 he call me little imp?" Edward turned 
 his back upon the old fellow and looked 
 at the castle. In the moat a number of 
 little pitch-black devils were sporting. 
 They were trying to catch butterflies with 
 nets, and when they had caught one they 
 fastened it with pins. 
 
 Now the gate of the castle opened and 
 a long procession of rosy babies thronged 
 out over the bridge to the meadow. They 
 began to play merrily, and the little devils 
 mixed with the children, teasing them 
 and wrangling with them. But the color 
 of the little devils rubbed off, and the 
 children looked as if they had been play- 
 ing Old Maid, where the possessor of the 
 unlucky card is besmeared with burnt 
 cork. 
 
 Upon the trees which stood round the 
 meadow there were numerous stork-nests, 
 and in every nest stood a stork upon one 
 leg thoughtfully observing the children's 
 
 70
 
 games. Suddenly all of them flew down 
 upon the meadow, every one took a little 
 boy or little girl in his bill, and away 
 they went high above the woods. The 
 children screamed, but the little devils 
 turned somersaults and shouted merrily: 
 
 "Stork, thou red-legged twister, 
 Bring us a little sister. 
 Stork, fly to my mother, 
 Bring us a little brother." 
 
 The narrow pathway which led to this 
 place turned to the left into the forest, 
 and our wanderer came to a torrent which 
 roared down the hill. Thick thorns ob- 
 structed Edward's view and when he had 
 worked through the thistles he saw before 
 him another country and a path leading 
 ever higher and higher. The path was 
 very narrow, and a few quiet pilgrims, 
 each patiently carrying his burden, were 
 v/alking thereon. "Move slowly, my friend, 
 and take me along," said Edward to one 
 of them. 
 
 The pilgrim viewed the speaker with 
 a compassionate look and said: "Poor 
 stranger, thou hast no heart." 
 
 71
 
 Edward was amazed even in his dream, 
 and he paused. He followed the pilgrims 
 with his eyes as they modestly continued 
 their journey. They passed over the tor- 
 rent on a plank which served as a bridge. 
 On the other bank there was a wall with 
 a narrow door. The pilgrims entered, 
 and the door shut upon them. Our little 
 adventurer tried to get in, but the door 
 had no keyhole, and the walls to the right 
 and the left appeared impenetrable. 
 
 At last Edward climbed up and looked 
 over the wall, and there he saw a glorious 
 temple city built of precious stones and 
 illuminated by a transcendent light, much 
 more beautiful than sunshine. He tried 
 to fly over the wall, but a strong shock 
 repelled him. Beyond the first wall there 
 was a second wall — one which he had 
 not noticed — infinitely higher and of the 
 purest transparent crystal. He buzzed 
 for a while up and down, like a fly at a 
 window-pane, until he fell down ex- 
 hausted. 
 
 Suddenly a shadow passed over him and 
 when he looked back, one of the little 
 
 72
 
 black devils whom he had seen in the 
 meadow stood before him. "What are 
 you doing here, you rascal?" the ugly 
 creature shouted, and opened his grinning 
 mouth so far that Edward began to per- 
 spire with fright, and he stammered, "I 
 am not so bad." "What do you say?" re- 
 plied the black fellow. "I will catch you," 
 and he put out his long, red tongue, raised 
 his butterfly net, and tried to catch poor 
 Edward, who speedily hastened away. 
 
 In order to escape Edward went up 
 high into the air; the devil followed. He 
 ran round a tree several hundred times; 
 the devil was close at his heels, and would 
 certainly have caught him, had Edward 
 not happened to see a big giant with his 
 eyes shut and his mouth open, a stately 
 fellow, who lay asleep, and Edward 
 thought, "I must know this big man." 
 Dead with fright and in the last moment 
 of emergency, our dreamer's pursued soul 
 jumped into the giant's open mouth and 
 escaped into a kind of attic with two 
 windows. 
 
 73
 
 We let Edward finish the story of his 
 dream in his own words: "The morning 
 was dawning. There were pictures on 
 the walls which were not very faithful 
 portrayals of what they represented. The 
 hand of the clock pointed to half-past six. 
 The room was not yet put in order. An 
 odor of coffee came to me. I went down- 
 stairs and opened the door — there was a 
 dimly lighted reception room with red 
 curtains. Upon a little golden throne sat 
 the most beautiful of women, a portrait 
 of my wife, Elise. She smiled, opened 
 her lips, and said : 'Edward, get up ; coffee 
 is ready.' I awoke. My good Elise, with 
 our little Emil in her arms, stood before 
 my bed. I had recovered my heart and 
 that of Elise, and that of our little Emil, 
 too. All jesting aside, my friends, if one 
 only has a heart he will feel and confess 
 from the bottom of his heart that 'he is 
 no good.' All else will take care of it- 
 self." 
 
 74 
 
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