Fairy Tales

THE MOST INCREDIBLE THING

HE WHO COULD DO the most incredible thing was to have the King’s daughter and half the kingdom.

The young people—well, the old ones too—strained all their thoughts, tendons, and muscles over this. Two died from over-eating, and one drank himself to death. All trying to do the most incredible thing according to their taste, but that wasn’t how it was supposed to be done. The little street urchins practiced spitting on their own backs. They thought that was the most incredible thing.

On a pre-assigned day everyone was to produce what they had to show as the most incredible thing. The judges were children from the age of three all the way up to folks in their nineties. There was a whole exhibition of incredible things, but everyone soon agreed that the most incredible was a huge clock in a case, remarkably artistic both inside and out. At the striking of the hour, lifelike images appeared to show what time had struck. There were twelve performances in all with moving figures and song and speech.

“This is the most incredible thing!” people said.

The clock struck one, and Moses was standing on a mountain writing the first commandment on a tablet: “You shall have no other gods before me.”

The clock struck two and the Garden of Eden appeared, where Adam and Eve met. They were both happy despite not owning so much as a clothes closet. They didn’t need it either.

At the stroke of three the three wise men appeared. One was as black as coal, but he couldn’t help it. The sun had blackened him. They carried incense and precious objects.

At four o’clock, the seasons of the year came out. Spring with a cuckoo on a leafed-out beech branch. Summer with a grasshopper on a ripe ear of corn. The autumn with an empty stork’s nest for the bird had flown away. And winter with an old crow that could tell stories in the stove corner, old memories.

When the clock struck five the five senses were there. Sight came as a maker of eye glasses. Hearing was a coppersmith. Smell was selling violets and woodruff. Taste was a cook, and Feeling was a funeral director with mourning crepe hanging down to his heels.

The clock struck six. A gambler was sitting there throwing dice. The die landed with the highest number up—it was six.

Then came the seven days of the week or the seven deadly sins. People couldn’t agree which they were, but of course they belong together and aren’t easy to tell apart.

Then a choir of monks sang eight o’clock matins.

The nine muses followed at the stroke of nine. One worked at the observatory, one at the historical archives, and the rest belonged to the theater.

At ten Moses came back again with the tablet of laws. Now all God’s commandments were there, ten of them.

The clock struck again and little boys and girls hopped and ran around. They were playing a game and singing along: “Four plus seven, the clock strikes eleven,” and that’s what it was.

Then twelve struck and the night watchman came out wearing his hat with ear-flaps and carrying his spiked mace. He sang the old song of the watchman: “It was at midnight that our savior was born,” and as he sang roses grew and turned into heads of angels, borne by rainbow colored wings.

It was lovely to hear and beautiful to see. The whole thing was an exceptional work of art. Everybody said it was the most incredible thing.

The artist was a young man, good-hearted and as happy as a child. He was a faithful friend and helpful to his impoverished parents. He deserved the princess and half the kingdom.

The day of decision had arrived. The whole town was decorated, and the princess sat on the throne of the land. A new curled horsehair stuffing had been added, but that didn’t make it any more comfy or classy. The judges looked around slyly at the one who was going to win. He stood there confident and happy. His happiness was assured, for he had made the most incredible thing.

Just then a tall, strong strapping fellow yelled, “No, I’m going to do that now! I’m the man to do the most incredible thing!” And then he swung a big axe at the work of art.

“Crunch, crash, smash!” There the whole thing lay. Wheels and springs were flying all over. It was completely destroyed!

“I was able to do that!” said the man. “My strikes have struck down his, and struck down all of you. I have done the most incredible thing!”

“Destroying such a work of art!” said the judges. “Yes, that really was the most incredible thing.”

All the people agreed, and so then he was to have the princess and half the kingdom, because the law’s the law, even an incredible one.

From the embankments and all the town’s towers it was proclaimed that the wedding was to take place. The princess was not at all happy about it, but she looked beautiful and was magnificently dressed. The church was ablaze with candles, late in the evening when it looks best. Young noble maidens of the town sang and attended the bride. Knights sang and attended the groom. He strutted as if he could never snap.

Then the singing stopped, and it was so quiet that you could have heard a pin drop. In the middle of that silence the big church doors flew open with a rumbling and tumbling—“boom!” The entire clock mechanism came marching right up the church aisle and stood between the bride and the bridegroom. People who are dead can’t walk again, we know that very well, but works of art can haunt. The body was broken, but not the spirit. The spirit of art was spooking, and that was no spoofing matter.

The work of art looked just like it had when it was whole and untouched. The hours started to strike, one after the other, all the way to twelve, and the figures swarmed forth. First came Moses, and it was as if flames shone from his forehead. He threw the heavy stone laws tablets on the bridegroom’s feet which pinned them to the church floor.

“I can’t pick them up again!” Moses said. “You chopped my arms off! Stay as you are!”

Then came Adam and Eve, the three wise men from the East, and the four seasons. All of them hurled unpleasant truths at him. “Shame on you!”

But he wasn’t ashamed.

All of the figures that every hour had at its disposal stepped out of the clock, and all grew to a tremendous size. There almost wasn’t room for the real people. And when at the stroke of twelve, the watchman stepped out with his hat and spiked mace, there was a singular commotion. The watchman went right up to the bridegroom and struck him on the head with the spiked mace.

“Lie there!” he said. “Tit for tat! We are avenged, and so is our master! We’re leaving!”

And the whole great work of art disappeared. But the candles changed into big flowers of light throughout the church, and the gilded stars on the ceiling sent out long, clear rays. The organ played by itself. Everybody said that it was the most incredible thing they had ever experienced.

“Will you summon the right one?” said the princess. “The one who made the artwork—he shall be my husband and master.”

And he stood in the church with all the people as his attendants. Everyone rejoiced, and everyone blessed him. There wasn’t a person who was jealous. And that was really the most incredible thing!