Are there no
battles or earthquakes or famines in the world? Has no man
murdered his wife or robbed his neighbour? Is no one oppressed by
tyrants or lied to by their officers."
The boy shrugged his shoulders.
"I hope not," he said. "But if it were so, and I knew, I should not
tell you. I don't want to make you unhappy."
"But of what use are you then, if it be not to rouse in us the
discontent that is alone divine? Would you have me go fat and happy,
listening to your babble of kingfishers and cuckoos, while my
brothers and sisters in the world are starving?"
The boy was silent for a moment.
"I give my songs to the poor for nothing," he said slowly. "Certainly
they are not much use to empty bellies, but they are all I have to
give. And I take it, since you speak so feelingly, that you, too, do
your best. And these others, these people who must be reminded hourly
to throw their crusts out of window for the poor--would you have me
sing to them? They must be told that life is evil, and I find it
good; that men and women are wretched, and I find them happy; that
food and cleanliness, order and knowledge are the essence of
content while I only ask for love. Would you have me lie to cheat
mean folk out of their scraps?"
The baker scratched his head in astonishment.
"Certainly you are very mad," he said. "But you won't get much money
in this town with that sort of talk. You had better come in and have
breakfast with me.
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