Utouch and Touchu

One bright autumn day, two boys went out to gather nuts. The first, Alfred, had sharp eyes and walked with a self-important air.

The other, Ernest, had gentle, deep eyes and moved like flowers swaying in a soft breeze. Alfred climbed the tree and shook it. "I wish I owned a dozen trees like this," he said, "and had all the nuts for myself."

"Oh, look how beautifully the setting sun shines through the branches onto the trunk! It glows like gold!" exclaimed Ernest.

"If the sun were like old Midas from our schoolbook," replied Alfred, "there'd be some fun in it. If it turned everything it touched to gold, I could peel off the bark and buy a horse with it."

Ernest gazed silently at the golden sea of clouds in the west, then at the warm light it cast on the old walnut tree. He stood there only a moment, for his companion threw a nut at his head and shouted, "Hurry up and fill the basket, you lazy fellow!"

They soon gathered the nuts and stretched out on the grass, chatting about school. A flock of birds flew overhead, heading south. "They're flying away from winter," said Ernest. "How I'd love to go with them where palms and coconuts grow! See how beautifully they glide through the air!"

"I wish I had a gun," Alfred said. "I'd have some of them for supper."

It was a mild autumn evening.

The cows had left the pastures, and everything was quiet except for the steady chirping of crickets. The boys' occasional whistling faded into a dreamy silence. As they lay there, half asleep, Ernest saw a strange little dwarf peeking out from under a twisted root of the walnut tree.

His tiny blue eyes looked cold and glassy, like bits of turquoise. His hands were like bird claws. But he was clearly a gentleman of wealth, for his brown velvet vest was embroidered with gold and a diamond sparkled on his hatband.

While Ernest wondered who this could be, a bright little vision caught his eye, hovering in the air before him. At first he thought it was a large insect or a small bird, but as it floated closer, he saw a lovely little face with tender, luminous eyes.

Her dress shimmered like soap bubbles in the sun, and her bonnet was made from an upside-down white petunia blossom. Her curls shone like fine gold threads. She held a wand made from the stamen of a white lily and reached it toward him, saying in a soft, pleading voice, "Let me touch your eyes!"

"You'd do better to touch my wand," croaked the dwarf from under the walnut root. "Look here! Wouldn't you like this?" He shook a purse full of coins as he spoke.

"I don't like your cold eyes or your skinny fingers," Ernest replied. "Tell me, who are you?"

"My name is Utouch," said the gnome. "I bring great luck wherever I go."

"And what's your name, dear little spirit of the air?" Ernest asked.

She looked at him lovingly and answered, "My name is Touchu. Will you be my friend for life?"

He smiled eagerly. "Oh yes, yes! Your face is so full of love!"

She floated down gracefully and touched his eyes with her lily stamen. The air filled with a delicate perfume, like fragrant violets kissed by a soft south wind. A rainbow arched across the sky and reflected its image in a misty mirror. The old tree seemed to reach out friendly arms and cradle the sunbeams. Flowers nodded and smiled at Ernest as if they knew him well, and the little birds sang straight into his soul. Then he felt himself rising gently, floating on the air like a winged seed caught by a breeze, and he sailed away on fleecy clouds under the rainbow's arch.

A mocking laugh jolted him from his trance. He heard Utouch jeer, "There he goes on a voyage to one of his air-castles in the moon!"

Suddenly Ernest felt himself falling, and then he was on the ground again. The birds, flowers, and rainbow were gone. Twilight had turned into a dreary evening; the winds sighed through the trees, and the crickets kept up their mournful singing. Ernest was frightened to be alone. He felt around for his companion and shook him by the arm. "Alfred! Alfred, wake up! I had such a wonderful dream here on the grass!"

"So did I," Alfred said, rubbing his eyes. "Why did you wake me just as the old fellow was dropping a purse full of money into my hand?"

"What old fellow?" Ernest asked.

"He called himself Utouch," Alfred said. "And he promised to be my constant companion. I hope he keeps his word, because I like a man who gives me a purse of gold when I ask for it."

"I dreamed of that same man," Ernest said, "but I didn't like his looks."

"Maybe he didn't show you the full purse?" said Alfred.

"He did," Ernest said. "But I felt such love for the little fairy with the tender eyes and heart-melting voice that I chose her as my life-friend. And oh, she made the earth so beautiful!"

Alfred laughed. "I dreamed of her too. So you chose that floating soap bubble, did you? I should have guessed as much. But come, help me carry the nuts home. I'm hungry for supper."

Years passed, and the boys grew into men. Ernest sat writing in a small room that faced the setting sun. His little child had hung a prismatic chandelier drop on the window, and he wrote surrounded by the rainbows it cast on his paper. On his desk sat a simple vase holding a stem of brilliant red cardinal flowers. Unseen by him, the fairy Touchu circled his head, waving her lily stamen, and fine golden dust fell on his hair like a fragrant shower.

Outside, in the green grass, two beautiful yellow birds sat among the catnip blossoms, picking seeds while swaying on the wind-stirred plants. Ernest smiled to himself. "The dandelion blossoms that scattered golden stars across my grass are gone," he thought. "And now these winged flowers come to refresh the eye. When they fly to warmer places, the yellow butterflies will come in pairs. And when they too depart, the yellow tones sleep here in my oboe, always ready to wake and cheer me with their childlike gladness."

He picked up his oboe and played a small flourish. A little bird in a nearby cherry tree caught the tones and answered with a joyful trill, a tiny burst of sound. The poet sprang to his feet, his face glowing like a man transformed. But a slight cloud soon passed over his joyful expression. "Ah, if only you weren't afraid of me!" he said. "If you would come, little warbler, and perch on my oboe, and sing a duet with me, how happy I would be! Why are man and nature kept apart this way?"

Another little bird in the rose of Sharon bush answered him in low, sweet notes, ending with a wistful descending phrase. Tears filled the deep, tender eyes of the man who was still a child at heart. "We are not separate," he thought. "My heart is in tune with nature, for she responds to my deepest thoughts, just as one instrument vibrates in harmony with another. Blessed is nature and her soothing power." As he spoke, Touchu floated on a gentle breeze and spilled the fragrance of mignonette she had gathered from the garden below over him.

That same hour, Alfred walked in his greenhouse surrounded by fragrant geraniums and richly blooming cacti. He smoked a cigar and glanced idly from his embroidered slippers to the marble floor, paying no attention to the costly flowers. The gardener, watering a group of camellias, remarked, "This is a fine specimen that opened today. Would you like to look at it, sir?"

Alfred paused a moment and looked at a pure white blossom with the faintest rosy blush at its center. "It ought to be handsome," he said. "The price was high enough. But after all the money I've spent, the gardeners say Mr. Duncan's camellias are better than mine. It's annoying to be outdone."

The old gnome stood behind one of the plants, shrugged, and grinned. Without seeing him, Alfred muttered, "Utouch promised my flowers would be unmatched in beauty."

"That was last year," croaked a small voice, which Alfred recognized at once.

"Last year?" Alfred retorted, mimicking his tone. "Am I always to be toiling after things I never keep? That's wonderful comfort, you provoking imp!"

A retreating laugh echoed from under the pavement as the rich man threw his cigar away. "The devil take the camellias!" he cried impatiently. "What do I care? They're not worth worrying about."

Weeks later came the Sabbath day of rest. The little child who had made homemade rainbows dance across his father's poetry lay very ill, and his anxious parents feared that this beautiful innocent might soon pass away. Shadows from a Madeira vine waved across the window, and the room was filled with the delicate scent of its blossoms.

No sound broke the Sabbath stillness except the song of the little bird in the rose of Sharon bush, whose notes were as sad as the voice of memory.

The child heard it and sighed unconsciously, putting his little feverish hand in his mother's. "Please sing me a hymn, dear mother," he said. With a soft, clear voice, subdued by deep feeling, she sang Schubert's Ave Maria.

Many and wonderful are the intertwining influences in the spiritual world. What touched the little bird's heart and made it sing such plaintive notes? Those notes made the child long for a hymn, and both bird and child together woke Schubert's prayerful echoes in the mother's heart. And now the spirit of devotion from the composer in that far-off German land came to the father, carried on the wings of that beautiful music.

Ernest bowed his head reverently and knelt by the bedside. As he listened, Touchu glided softly into his heart and laid her wand upon it. When the sweet, pleading melody ended, Ernest pressed the singer's hand to his lips and remained silent for a time. Then a strong desire for prayer overcame him, and he poured out an earnest prayer. With deep eloquence, he asked for a humble and resigned spirit for himself and his wife, and for their little one, that whether living or dying, good angels might always carry him in their protecting arms.

As they rose, his wife leaned her head on his shoulder and whispered with tearful eyes:

"God help us, this and every day, / To live more nearly as we pray."

That same morning, Alfred rode to church in his carriage, and his servant waited with the horses while he performed his weekly routine of worship. Many-colored hues from the richly stained windows fell on walls and pillars, giving silk and broadcloth a metallic shimmer like peacock feathers. Gorgeous in a crimson robe, with a golden halo around his head, shone the meek son of Joseph the carpenter, and his humble fishermen of Galilee were radiant in purple and gold. The fine haze of dust, lit by the sunbeams, gleamed with prismatic reflections.

From the choir came Schubert's Ave Maria, flowing into Alfred's ear, but no Touchu was there to lay her wand upon his heart. To a guest in his cushioned pew, he whispered that he paid the highest price for their music and had the best money could buy. The sermon urged that some religious instruction be provided for the poor, lest there be no security for property against robbery and fire. Alfred resolved to start a subscription immediately and to give twice as much as Mr. Duncan, whatever the amount.

Utouch, who had secretly suggested this, turned somersaults on the gilded prayer book and made devilish faces, but Alfred did not see him, nor did he hear a laugh under the carriage when he said to his wife on the way home, "My dear, why didn't you wear your embroidered shawl? I told you we would have strangers in our pew. In such a handsome church, people expect to see the congregation elegantly dressed."

But though Utouch was a mocking spirit, Alfred could not complain that he had been untrue to his bargain. He had promised to give Alfred anything he craved from his kingdom of the outward world. Alfred had asked for honor in the church, influence at the exchange, a rich and handsome wife, and superb horses. He had them all. Whose fault was it that he was always looking around, anxious to see whether others had more of what he wanted?

He had wished for a luxurious table, and it stood covered with the rarest delicacies. But with a strained smile, he said to his guests, "Isn't it annoying to be surrounded by luxuries I can't eat? That pie crust would give me nightmares. Actually, I don't crave it much, for I sit at a loaded table half-famished for an appetite, as the witty Madame de Sévigné used to say."

Again and again, he asked himself why all the fruit that seemed so ripe and tempting on the outside was always dry and dusty within. And if he was puzzled to understand why he seemed to have everything and yet truly had nothing, he was even more puzzled to see how Ernest seemed to have so little and yet possessed everything.

One evening at a concert, he happened to sit near Ernest and his wife while they listened to Spohr's beautiful Symphony, "The Consecration of Tones." They were as delighted as children when the music seemed to bring the winds whispering through forests, the insects chirping, and one bird after another singing its joyful notes. How expressively they looked at each other during the tender, lulling Cradle Song! And how their faces brightened as the enchanting tones moved through the lively Dance into the exquisite Serenade. But when Cradle Song, Dance, and Serenade all came together in a wonderful three-part harmony, Ernest's transparent face glowed with inner joy. It was clear that Touchu had again laid her thrilling wand upon his heart.

"How the devil does he always manage to be so happy?" Alfred thought. "I wonder if the music really is anything special."

To find out, he turned from Ernest to watch the face of a musical critic nearby, one of those unfortunate men who enjoy music the way a proofreader enjoys the poetry he corrects. How can a beautiful metaphor please him while he sees a comma upside down or a period out of place? How can he delight in the melodious flow of verse while dotting an i or hunting for an inverted s?

The critic seemed less attentive than a proofreader, for he was looking around and whispering, apparently ignoring the sweet sounds filling the air. Still, Utouch whispered to Alfred that this critic was the one to tell him whether he ought to be delighted by the music. So at the end of the symphony, Alfred spoke to him and said, "I invited a French amateur this evening, hoping he would get a good impression of music in America. You are an excellent judge. Do you think he'll be satisfied with the performance?"

"He may be pleased, sir, but not satisfied," replied the critic. "The composition is very fine, but he has surely heard it in Paris. Until you've heard a French orchestra, you can have no idea what music is. Their rhythmical precision is absolute perfection."

"And do you think the orchestra played well tonight?"

"Tolerably well, sir. But in the Cradle Song, the clarinet lagged a bit once or twice, and the effect of the Serenade was spoiled because the cello was tuned one-sixteenth of a note too low."

Alfred bowed and went away, congratulating himself that he had not been more delighted than was proper.

The idea that he couldn't truly understand music without going to Europe rekindled an old wish. He closed his magnificent house and set off on the fashionable tour. Ernest, who was now also a painter, happened to meet him in Italy. Alfred seemed glad to see his childhood friend, but he soon turned from cheerful topics to complain about a statue he had bought. "I paid a fortune for it," he said, "thinking it was a true antique. But experts now tell me it's a modern piece. It's so annoying to waste money."

"But if it is truly beautiful and pleases you, the money isn't wasted," Ernest replied. "Though it is certainly upsetting to be cheated. Look at this ivory head of Hebe on my cane! I bought it for a trifle yesterday. Its value is small, but its beauty gives me endless delight. If it isn't an antique, it deserves to be. It troubles me that I can't find the artist and pay him more than I gave.

Perhaps he's poor and hasn't yet made a name for himself, but whoever he is, the divine spark is surely in him. See the beautiful curve of the breast and the graceful turn of the head!"

"Yes, it's a pretty thing," Alfred said disdainfully. "But I'm too angry with that scoundrel who sold me the statue to get excited over a cane handle. What makes it worse is that Mr. Duncan bought a real antique last year for less than I wasted on this modern piece."

After failing to share his warm outlook with Alfred, Ernest bade him goodbye and returned to his modest lodgings outside the city. As he lingered in the orange groves listening to the nightingales, he thought, "I wish that lovely little fairy from my boyhood dream would touch Alfred with her wand, because the purse old Utouch gave him brings him little joy."

He happened to look up, and there, close by his hand, was Touchu, balancing on tiptoe on an orange blossom. She had the same luminous, loving eyes, the same prismatic robe, and the same golden glow in her hair. She smiled and said, "So you don't regret your early choice, even though I couldn't give you a purse full of money?"

"Oh, no indeed," he said. "You have been the greatest blessing of my life."

She kissed his eyes and, waving her wand, said affectionately, "Then take the best gift I have to offer. When you are an old man, you shall still remain, to the last, a simple, happy child."