What Men Live By, and Other Tales
me none, tell me so, and I will return home."
"Here comes some one running," said the hermit, "let us see who it is."
The King turned round, and saw a bearded man come running out of the
wood. The man held his hands pressed against his stomach, and blood was
flowing from under them. When he reached the King, he fell fainting on
the ground moaning feebly. The King and the hermit unfastened the man's
clothing. There was a large wound in his stomach. The King washed it as
best he could, and bandaged it with his handkerchief and with a towel
the hermit had. But the blood would not stop flowing, and the King again
and again removed the bandage soaked with warm blood, and washed and
rebandaged the wound. When at last the blood ceased flowing, the man
revived and asked for something to drink. The King brought fresh water
and gave it to him. Meanwhile the sun had set, and it had become cool.
So the King, with the hermit's help, carried the wounded man into the
hut and laid him on the bed. Lying on the bed the man closed his eyes
and was quiet; but the King was so tired with his walk and with the
work he had done, that he crouched down on the threshold, and also fell
asleep--so soundly that he slept all through the short summer night.
When he awoke in the morning, it was long before he could remember where
he was, or who was the strange bearded man lying on the bed and gazing
intently at him with shining eyes.
"Forgive me!" said the bearded man in a weak voice, when he saw that the
King was awake and was looking at him.
"I do not know you, and have nothing to forgive you for," said the King.
"You do not know me, but I know you. I am that enemy of yours who swore
to revenge himself on you, because you executed his brother and seized
his property. I knew you had gone alone to see the hermit, and I
resolved to kill you on your way back. But the day passed and you did
not return. So I came out from my ambush to find you, and I came upon
your bodyguard, and they recognized me, and wounded me. I escaped from
them, but should have bled to death had you not dressed my wound. I
wished to kill you, and you have saved my life. Now, if I live, and if
you wish it, I will serve you as your most faithful slave, and will bid
my sons do the same. Forgive me!"
The King was very glad to have made peace with his enemy so easily, and
to have gained him for a friend, and he not only forgave him, but said
he would send his servants and his own physician to attend him, and
promised to restore his property.
Having taken leave of the wounded man, the King went out into the porch
and looked around for the hermit. Before going away he wished once more
to beg an answer to the questions he had put. The hermit was outside, on
his knees, sowing seeds in the beds that had been dug the day before.
The King approached him, and said:
"For the last time, I pray you to answer my questions, wise man."
"You have already been answered!" said the hermit, still crouching on
his thin legs, and looking up at the King, who stood before him.
"How answered? What do you mean?" asked the King.
"Do you not see," replied the hermit. "If you had not pitied my weakness
yesterday, and had not dug those beds for me, but had gone your way,
that man would have attacked you, and you would have repented of not
having stayed with me. So the most important time was when you were
digging the beds; and I was the most important man; and to do me good
was your most important business. Afterwards when that man ran to us,
the most important time was when you were attending to him, for if you
had not bound up his wounds he would have died without having made peace
with you. So he was the most important man, and what you did for him was
your most important business. Remember then: there is only one time that
is important--Now! It is the most important time because it is the only
time when we have any power. The most necessary man is he with whom you
are, for no man knows whether he will ever have dealings with any one
else: and the most important affair is, to do him good, because for that
purpose alone was man sent into this life!"
THE COFFEE-HOUSE OF SURAT
(After Bernardin de Saint-Pierre)
In the town of Surat, in India, was a coffee-house where many travellers
and foreigners from all parts of the world met and conversed.
One day a learned Persian theologian visited this coffee-house. He was a
man who had spent his life studying the nature of the Deity, and reading
and writing books upon the subject. He had thought, read, and written so
much about God, that eventually he lost his wits, became quite confused,
and ceased even to believe in the existence of a God. The Shah, hearing
of this, had banished him from Persia.
After having argued all his life about the First Cause, this unfortunate
theologian had ended by quite perplexing himself, and instead of
understanding that he had lost his own reason, he began to think that
there was no higher Reason controlling the universe.
This man had an African slave who followed him everywhere. When the
theologian entered the coffee-house, the slave remained outside, near
the door, sitting on a stone in the glare of the sun, and driving away
the flies that buzzed around him. The Persian having settled down on a
divan in the coffee-house, ordered himself a cup of opium. When he had
drunk it and the opium had begun to quicken the workings of his brain,
he addressed his slave through the open door:
"Tell me, wretched slave," said he, "do you think there is a God, or
not?"
"Of course there is," said the slave, and immediately drew from under
his girdle a small idol of wood.
"There," said he, "that is the God who has guarded me from the day of my
birth. Every one in our country worships the fetish tree, from the wood
of which this God was made."
This conversation between the theologian and his slave was listened
to with surprise by the other guests in the coffee-house. They were
astonished at the master's question, and yet more so at the slave's
reply.
One of them, a Brahmin, on hearing the words spoken by the slave, turned
to him and said:
"Miserable fool! Is it possible you believe that God can be carried
under a man's girdle? There is one God--Brahma, and he is greater than
the whole world, for he created it. Brahma is the One, the mighty God,
and in His honour are built the temples on the Ganges' banks, where his
true priests, the Brahmins, worship him. They know the true God, and
none but they. A thousand score of years have passed, and yet through
revolution after revolution these priests have held their sway, because
Brahma, the one true God, has protected them."
So spoke the Brahmin, thinking to convince every one; but a Jewish
broker who was present replied to him, and said:
"No! the temple of the true God is not in India. Neither does God
protect the Brahmin caste. The true God is not the God of the Brahmins,
but of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. None does He protect but His chosen
people, the Israelites. From the commencement of the world, our nation
has been beloved of Him, and ours alone. If we are now scattered over
the whole earth, it is but to try us; for God has promised that He will
one day gather His people together in Jerusalem. Then, with the Temple
of Jerusalem--the wonder of the ancient world--restored to its splendor,
shall Israel be established a ruler over all nations."
So spoke the Jew, and burst into tears. He wished to say more, but an
Italian missionary who was there interrupted him.
"What you are saying is untrue," said he to the Jew. "You attribute
injustice to God. He cannot love your nation above the rest. Nay rather,
even if it be true that of old He favored the Israelites, it is now
nineteen hundred years since they angered Him, and caused Him to destroy
their nation and scatter them over the earth, so that their faith makes
no converts and has died out except here and there. God shows preference
to no nation, but calls all who wish to be saved to the bosom of the
Catholic Church of Rome, the one outside whose borders no salvation can
be found."
So spoke the Italian. But a Protestant minister, who happened to be
present, growing pale, turned to the Catholic missionary and exclaimed:
"How can you say that salvation belongs to your religion? Those only
will be saved, who serve God according to the Gospel, in spirit and in
truth, as bidden by the word of Christ."
Then a Turk, an office-holder in the custom-house at Surat, who was
sitting in the coffee-house smoking a pipe, turned with an air of
superiority to both the Christians.
"Your belief in your Roman religion is vain," said he. "It was
superseded twelve hundred years ago by the true faith: that of Mohammed!
You cannot but observe how the true Mohammed faith continues to spread
both in Europe and Asia, and even in the enlightened country of China.
You say yourselves that God has rejected the Jews; and, as a proof, you
quote the fact that the Jews are humiliated and their faith does not
spread. Confess then the truth of Mohammedanism, for it is triumphant
and spreads far and wide. None will be saved but the followers of
Mohammed, God's latest prophet; and of them, only the followers of Omar,
and not of Ali, for the latter are false to the faith."
To this the Persian theologian, who was of the sect of Ali, wished
to reply; but by this time a great dispute had arisen among all the
strangers of different faiths and creeds present. There were Abyssinian
Christians, Llamas from Thibet, Ismailians and Fireworshippers. They all
argued about the nature of God, and how He should be worshipped. Each
of them asserted that in his country alone was the true God known and
rightly worshipped.
Every one argued and shouted, except a Chinaman, a student of Confucius,
who sat quietly in one corner of the coffee-house, not joining in the
dispute. He sat there drinking tea and listening to what the others
said, but did not speak himself.
The Turk noticed him sitting there, and appealed to him, saying:
"You can confirm what I say, my good Chinaman. You hold your peace,
but if you spoke I know you would uphold my opinion. Traders from
your country, who come to me for assistance, tell me that though
many religions have been introduced into China, you Chinese consider
Mohammedanism the best of all, and adopt it willingly. Confirm, then, my
words, and tell us your opinion of the true God and of His prophet."
"Yes, yes," said the rest, turning to the Chinaman, "let us hear what
you think on the subject."
The Chinaman, the student of Confucius, closed his eyes, and thought a
while. Then he opened them again, and drawing his hands out of the wide
sleeves of his garment, and folding them on his breast, he spoke as
follows, in a calm and quiet voice.
Sirs, it seems to me that it is chiefly pride that prevents men agreeing
with one another on matters of faith. If you care to listen to me, I
will tell you a story which will explain this by an example.
I came here from China on an English steamer which had been round the
world. We stopped for fresh water, and landed on the east coast of the
island of Sumatra. It was midday, and some of us, having landed, sat in
the shade of some cocoanut palms by the seashore, not far from a native
village. We were a party of men of different nationalities.
As we sat there, a blind man approached us. We learned afterwards that
he had gone blind from gazing too long and too persistently at the sun,
trying to find out what it is, in order to seize its light.
He strove a long time to accomplish this, constantly looking at the sun;
but the only result was that his eyes were injured by its brightness,
and he became blind.
Then he said to himself: