Chapter 11
Let us study the history of the great and famous nation of the Doasyoulikes, who came away from the country of Hardwork, because they wanted to play on the Jews’ harp all day long.”
These Doasyoulikes lived in the land of Readymade at the foot of the Happy-go-lucky Mountains, where flapdoodle grows wild.
Instead of houses they lived in the beautiful caves of tufa, and bathed in the warm springs three times a day. As for clothes, it was so warm there that the gentlemen walked about in little beside a cocked hat and a pair of straps, or some light summer tackle of that kind. The ladies all gathered gossamer in autumn (when they were not too lazy) to make their winter dresses.
They were very fond of music, but it was too much trouble to learn the piano or the violin. As for dancing, that would have been too great an exertion. So they sat on ant-hills all day long, and played on the Jews’ harp. If the ants bit them, they just got up and went to the next ant-hill, till they were bitten there likewise.
They sat under the flapdoodle-trees, and let the flapdoodle drop into their mouths. Under the vines, they squeezed the grape juice down their throats. If any little pigs ran about ready roasted, crying, “Come and eat me,” as was their fashion in that country, they waited till the pigs ran against their mouths, and then took a bite, and were content, just as so many oysters would have been.
They needed no weapons, for no enemies ever came near their land. They had no tools, for everything was readymade to their hand. The stern old fairy Necessity never came near them to hunt them up, and make them use their wits or die.
And so on, and so on, and so on, till there were never such comfortable, easy-going, happy-go-lucky people in the world.
“Well, that is a jolly life,” said Tom.
“You think so?” said the fairy. “Do you see that great peaked mountain there behind with smoke coming out of its top?”
“Yes.”
“And do you see all those ashes, and slag, and cinders lying about?”
“Yes.”
“Then turn over the next five hundred years, and you will see what happens next.”
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The mountain had blown up like a barrel of gunpowder, and then boiled over like a kettle. Whereby one-third of the Doasyoulikes were blown into the air, and another third were smothered in ashes so that there was only one-third left.
“You see,” said the fairy, “what comes of living on a burning mountain.”
“Oh, why did you not warn them?” said little Ellie. “I did warn them all that I could. I let the smoke come out of the mountain. Wherever there is smoke there is fire. And I laid the ashes and cinders all about. Wherever there are cinders, cinder may be again. But they did not like to face facts, my dear, as very few people do. So they invented a cock-and-bull story, which, I am sure, I never told them, that the smoke was the breath of a giant, whom some gods or other had buried under the mountain. The cinders were what the dwarfs roasted the little pigs whole with. There was other nonsense of that kind. When folks are in that humour, I cannot teach them, save by the good old birch-rod.”
Then she turned over the next five hundred years. There were the remnants of the Doasyoulikes, doing as they liked, as before. They were too lazy to move away from the mountain. So they said, “If it has blown up once, that is all the more reason that it should not blow up again.” They were few in number. But they only said, “The more the merrier, but the fewer the better fare.” However, that was not quite true, for all the flapdoodle-trees were killed by the volcano, and they had eaten all the roast pigs, who, of course, could not be expected to have little ones. So they had to live very hard on nuts and roots which they scratched out of the ground with sticks. Some of them talked of sowing corn, as their ancestors used to do, before they came into the land of Readymade. But they had forgotten how to make ploughs (they had forgotten even how to make Jews’ harps by this time), and had eaten all the seedcorn which they brought out of the land of Hardwork years since. Of course, it was too much trouble to go away and find more. So they lived miserably on roots and nuts, and all the weakly little children had great stomachs, and then died.
“Why,” said Tom, “they are growing no better than savages.”
“Look how ugly they are all getting,” said Ellie, “Yes; when people live on poor vegetables instead of roast beef and plum-pudding, their jaws grow large, and their lips grow coarse.”
She turned over the next five hundred ears.
There they were all living up in trees, and making nests to keep off the rain. And underneath the trees lions were prowling about.
“Why,” said Ellie, “the lions seem to have eaten a good many of them, for there are very few left now.”
“Yes,” said the fairy “you see it was only the strongest and most active ones who could climb the trees, and so escape.”
“But what great, hulking, broad-shouldered chaps they are,” said Tom “they are a rough lot as ever I saw.”
“Yes, they are getting very strong now. The ladies will not marry any but the very strongest and fiercest gentlemen, who can help them up the trees out of the lions’ way.”
And she turned over the next five hundred years.