Max Havelaar
209
And once again you wept when Saudeen[1] told you
That yonder in the hills a little lamb
Fell in a deep ravine, and died alone.
Then flowed your tears a long time . . . that was feeling.”
—“But, mother, is then feeling pain?”
—“Yes, often!
And yet not always, sometimes not! You know,
When little sister catches at your hair
And crows, her little face squeezed against yours,
Then you laugh merrily, that’s also feeling.”
—“And little sister then . . . she cries so often:
Is that for pain? Has then she also feeling?”
—“Perhaps, my child, but that we do not know,
For she is yet too small to tell us it.”
—“But, mother . . . listen! what was that?”
—“A deer
Belated in the woods, and hurrying now
To find its home again, and there to rest
With other deer it loves and longs for.”
—“Mother,
Has such a deer like me a little sister?
And mother also?”
—“I don’t know, my child.”
—“That would be sad, if it were not so, mother!
But, over there . . . what gleams there in the shrubs?
See how it hops and flits . . . is that a spark?”
—“It is a firefly.”
—“May I try to catch it?”
—“You may, but the small creature is so soft,
You surely then will hurt it, and as soon
As all too roughly with your hand you touch it,
The poor thing sickens, dies, and gleams no more!”
—“That were a pity! No, I shall not catch it!
See, now it disappears . . . no, it comes this way . . .
But I won’t catch it! Now it flies away,
And is quite joyful that I have not caught it.
There, high it goes! . . . High up there . . . what is that,
Are those too, yonder, little fireflies?”
—“Those
Are stars.”
—“Oh, count them! one, and ten, a thousand!
How many may there be?”
— “I cannot tell,
That yonder in the hills a little lamb
Fell in a deep ravine, and died alone.
Then flowed your tears a long time . . . that was feeling.”
—“But, mother, is then feeling pain?”
—“Yes, often!
And yet not always, sometimes not! You know,
When little sister catches at your hair
And crows, her little face squeezed against yours,
Then you laugh merrily, that’s also feeling.”
—“And little sister then . . . she cries so often:
Is that for pain? Has then she also feeling?”
—“Perhaps, my child, but that we do not know,
For she is yet too small to tell us it.”
—“But, mother . . . listen! what was that?”
—“A deer
Belated in the woods, and hurrying now
To find its home again, and there to rest
With other deer it loves and longs for.”
—“Mother,
Has such a deer like me a little sister?
And mother also?”
—“I don’t know, my child.”
—“That would be sad, if it were not so, mother!
But, over there . . . what gleams there in the shrubs?
See how it hops and flits . . . is that a spark?”
—“It is a firefly.”
—“May I try to catch it?”
—“You may, but the small creature is so soft,
You surely then will hurt it, and as soon
As all too roughly with your hand you touch it,
The poor thing sickens, dies, and gleams no more!”
—“That were a pity! No, I shall not catch it!
See, now it disappears . . . no, it comes this way . . .
But I won’t catch it! Now it flies away,
And is quite joyful that I have not caught it.
There, high it goes! . . . High up there . . . what is that,
Are those too, yonder, little fireflies?”
—“Those
Are stars.”
—“Oh, count them! one, and ten, a thousand!
How many may there be?”
— “I cannot tell,
- ↑ Name of a Malay.
