Behind his coffin solemnly walked his three grief-stricken daughters with their young husbands, and his son, a poet, who was in love with all the beautiful women in the world. The students sang: "Eternal Memory." They sang loudly and with animation, but badly. Over his grave his colleagues, the professors, made flowery speeches, referring to the well-ordered metaphysics of the departed; everything was done in correct style; it was solemn, and at times even touching.
"Well, the old man is dead," said a student to his comrades as they were leaving the cemetery.
"Yes, a pessimist and a conservative." "What, the bald-headed one was? I had not noticed it."
The fourth student was a poor man, and he inquired expectantly:
"Shall we be invited to the obituary feast?"
During his lifetime the deceased had written a number of excellent books, in which he proved, in glowing and beautiful language, the vanity of life. Needless to say, the books were bought and read with pleasure. Whatever may be said to the contrary, man likes what is beautiful.
His family was well provided for--even pessimism can achieve that.
The obituary feast was arranged on a large scale. The poor student had a good meal, such as he seldom had, and as he went home he thought, smiling good-humouredly:
"Well, even pessimism is useful at times."
A man, thinking himself a poet, wrote verse. But for some reason it was poor verse, and the circumstance disconcerted him.
Walking in the street one day, he saw a whip lying in the road, lost by a cabman. An inspiration came to the poet, and the following image at once formed itself in his mind:--
"In the road, in the dust, the snake lies, Like a whip in the dust of the road. In a swarm, like a cloud, come the flies, And the ants and their kind in a swarm.
Thro' the skin, like the links of a chain, Show the ribs--they show white thro' the skin. O dead snake, thou remind'st me again Of my love, my dead love, O dead snake."
Suddenly the whip stood up on end and, swaying, said to him:
"Why are you telling lies? You are a married man, you know how to read and write, yet you are telling lies. Your love has not died. You love your wife and you are afraid of her."
"They are better than you could make. You can only crack, and even that you cannot do by yourself."