Three Parables
by Prudentibus Narr
The Squirrel Who Wanted to See Everything All From One Spot
The King Who Adored His Own Splendor
The Artist Who Created Works of Perfection
The Squirrel Who Wanted To See Everything All From One Spot
There was once a squirrel who wanted to see everything all from one spot.
One bright morning, he scurried up to the topmost branch of the poplar in which his mother had built her nest. The breeze was soft and the air crisp. The little fellow breathed deeply and looked out over the meadow below. There, at its far side, was a doe. Across from her a turkey hen and her poults pecked their way through the tall grass. A heron flew overhead and above the heron the squirr el watched the clouds shutter and unshutter the sun. It was late enough in the spring that the bolder stalks of Queen Anne's lace had begun to unfold their flowers but not so late that the crossvines had faded, their yellow and red trumpets still freckling the cedars. The squirrel looked here, and he turned and looked there. It was all so interesting, and so lovely. He was deeply happy.
"'Morning, friend squirrel."
Startled, the squirrel turned again and saw the crow roosting on the branch beneath him.
"Oh, good morning Crow," said the squirrel. "You gave me a fright, I didn't see you fly in."
"I didn't fly in. I've been here all night." The crow stretched, and yawned, as only a crow can yawn very long and very gravely and very black and continued, "but you were so fixed on clambering up to this tree top that you passed right by my branch. Lucky for you I wasn't an owl, or even worse, a bobcat."
"Oh my, oh yes," said the squirrel, "yes I am glad for that, not a bobcat, that would certainly be a problem, but it's such a beautiful morning, I so wanted to climb up, to get to the top quickly because there is so much to see and from here I can see everything all from one spot -- I guess I missed you entirely."
And the squirrel told the crow all the interesting things he could see from his perch at the tree's top.
"Yes, indeed, it's a fine spot for a view, so much to take in," said the Crow. "Do you see that tall stand of pines, just beyond the meadow's edge? And do you see that very tall pine, taller than all the rest, in the middle of that stand?"
The little squirrel looked beyond the meadow. There, on its far side, was a stand of pines that that rose up against the sky. And there in the middle of that stand was a tree taller than all the rest.
The crow stretched himself again. "I've flown many times to that pine and it's a lot taller than the tree we're in now. You can see much father from it and besides, that stand of pines rises up so high that you can't see the valley and range of hills behind it."
The little squirrel was startled. He had been on this branch many mornings before, in fact he'd been on this branch every morning since the first one when he left his mother's nest, yet although he had seen that stand of pines he never before really noticed it and even more, imagined that something might lie beyond it, out of sight. Really? Truly? A valley, and beyond it, a range of hills? It must be so interesting, so marvelous to see, and so beautiful. The squirrel thought hard. And, from that pine, he reasoned, wouldn't he be able to see back to his familiar poplar and meadow too? Couldn't he see both his poplar and meadow and the valley and hills beyond, everything all from one spot?
"Is it far to that pine tree, Crow?" the squirrel asked, hesitantly.
"No, not terribly far, it's just across the meadow. But it is the meadow"
Yes, the meadow. The squirrel remembered right away the little squeaks he had heard yesterday afternoon. The noise, so strange and unexpected, caught him by surprise and he wheeled around on his branch to just catch a glimpse of a hawk climbing back into the
sky out of the meadow, a bunny in its talons. He had been taught to avoid the open meadow, to stay, as much as possible in the trees, and he had followed that advice, leaping from branch to branch, tree to tree and venturing out onto the open ground only when necessity compelled him. But the meadow, no, he had not ventured out there.
Yet, as he looked across the meadow to the grove and the tall pine, the squirrel grew restless and annoyed. He chuck-chucked under his breath. How could he have not seen that grove and that pine before? He found his present perch, which he had previously thought so congenial, cramped and stunted. Even the air seemed close. He looked, fleetingly, down at the crow. He felt very young, and stupid.
The sun had climbed higher now and the clouds that had intermittently shadowed the squirrel's view were gone. The meadow was bright with light and the tall pine across the meadow stood black against the horizon.
But the view. The squirrel so wanted to see everything all from one spot. He had to get to that pine. Tail raised, body tensed, he steeled himself for a dash across the meadow. All its threats the hawk, the bobcat, the rattlesnake taunted him in his head. But in a flash of decision he bolted from the ling ering shadow of his poplar home and raced across the open field.
Luck was with him. Twenty seconds of focused terror and the squirrel was across the meadow and enfolded in the dark green shadows of the pine grove at its far side. Heart thudding, the squirrel sprang up into the nearest pine, leaping from branch to branch, from tree to tree, going deeper into the grove until he had found the oldest and tallest tree at the grove's center. And up to the top of that tree he raced.
At the pine's top branch, a cool gust caught him by surprise and the squirrel lost his balance for just a second. But with a flip of his tail he quickly righted himself and paused to look.
The view! Yes, there, just as the crow said, beyond the stand of pines, was a valley, and rising up beyond the valley were hills, rolling off to the east. There was a village in the valley, and a river, and a bridge out of the village crossing the river and a road running up that disappeared into the hills. There were people on the road, and carts, and horses. There were fields with mules hitched to plows and men calling to each other, and he could even hear the grinding gears of the mill , its blades turning in the wind It was a whole new world, a fascinating, thriving, beautiful world! The squirrel turned and looked back, over his shoulder, and saw too, beyond now the tops of the black green pines, the meadow and on the meadow's far side , his poplar home, looking sweet but now small and very quiet. The sun was now fully over head and the world was filled with light. There was so much to look at, so much to take in. And it was so beautiful. The squirrel looked and looked and was deeply happy.
The squirrel made a nest for himself in the pine and spent his days looking over the grove and the valley and the village and the hills beyond. In the night he would fall
asleep, watching the lights in village go out as the stars moved across the sky, the noises of the village dying way to the crackles of the insects and the croaks of the frogs.
One morning, as the squirrel was enjoying watching the comedy of a farmer teaching his son how to harness mules to a plow and on which side which mule went the crow flew in and perched on a branch just below him.
"Hello Crow," said the squirrel as the crow settled himself on the branch. "You were so right! This is a wonderful view and there is so much to see!" And the squirrel hurriedly told him all about the village, and the river, and the men on the road and in the fields and the hills beyond, and about how happy he was because from her e he could see everything all from one spot.
"Yes, it's a wonderful spot, Squirrel. So much to see, and so interesting. You're certainly right about that." The crow breathed in deeply and then yawned ( as only a crow can yawn very long and very gravely and very black). "Do you see those hills, beyond the river, Squirrel?"
"Of course I see the hills," said the squirrel, more than a bit annoyed that the crow would think that he hadn't b ecause he had just told the him that he'd watched yesterday as a driver, loosing control of a cart on the road going up into the hills, was crushed as the cart rolled back down the hill and over him. "Yes, I've seen the hills and they are indeed very interesting, Mr. Crow." The squirrel raised his tail very tall, very stiff, and very proud.
"Yes," said the Crow, eyeing the squirrel's display, "Yes, yes, you have but have you noticed this? It's hard to see and only those with the sharpest eyes can see it from this distance. But maybe you can just glimpse it, right about the brow of the highest hill." The crow stretched his wing toward the farthest hills. "Look there."
The squirrel leaned forward on his branch and looked carefully, his gaze tracing the cusp of each arch of the hills. He wasn't certain, really not certain at all, but he thought that perhaps he saw just the tinniest hint of something thin and black, rising up above the horizon.
He turned to the crow.
"Yes, Crow. Of course I see that, it's very small and faint, but I can see it ,” said the squirrel, pointing in the same direction that the crow had gestured.
"Oh, very good. That is impressive indeed Squirrel," said the crow. " Few can see that. That's the topmost spire of the Cathedral of Die Heilige Weisheit. It's in the middle of the great city on the harbor and that lays across the plain on the far side of those hills."
The far side of the hills? There was a far side of those hills? The little squirrel was startled. He had been on this pine branch many mornings by now, looking at everythin g in the valley and in the town and up and down the river, and even across his shoulder to the meadow and the poplar now far back to the west, and then back again to the hills but he had never before really imagined that something might lie beyond those hills, out of sight. Really? Truly? There was a far side of those hills? A side that the squirrel hadn't seen? An unknown world just like the world that had laid beyond the meadow, beyond this stand of pines? A world with a great plain and a city and a towering cathedral? It must be so interesting, so marvelous to see, and so beautiful. And from the highest hill, he reasoned, wouldn't he be able to see back across the river and over the pine grove and even to his familiar poplar and meadow too? And the poplar, and the meadow, and the pine grove, and the village and the river, and the hills, and the pla in, and the great city and the Cathedral of Die Heilige Weisheit wouldn't he be able to see everything all from one spot?
The crow eyed the little squirrel. His tail was not as stiff as it had been.
"Is it far to the top of that hill, Crow?" the squirrel asked, hesitantly.
"No, not terribly far, it's just through the village, across the river and up the hill," said the crow.
The village, and the river, and up the hill and the carts, and horses, the men hurrying on the road and the dogs running in the fields. The squirrel had spent enough time in the pine looking out over the little valley to know the dangers in the crow's "not terribly far." The race across the meadow seemed now no more perilous than shifting himself in his mother's nest when he thought about getting to the top of those hills.
Yet, it must be so beautiful, and so interesting, and he so wanted to see everything all from one spot.
So, again the little squirrel steeled himself. And again, in a flash of decision, he bolted . He leapt off his perch in the tall pine, springing from branch to branch and from pine to pine, until he reached the edge of the grove and then ran down the slope to the road leading to the village. There were cartwheels and hooves of horses and cattle and sheep and snapping dogs and yelling men and boys with sticks. It was much further than the little squirrel had thought and the village was much bigger than he had imagined. The sun fell even before he made it to the bridge and the brave little squirrel waited through the night crouched in a cedar stump by the river's bank, the hooting of owls jarring his fitful sleep . His poplar home seemed very far away and he shivered, frightened and alone.
But the morning came and with it he found his resolve renewed. Sheltered by the long shadows of the dawn, he snuck along the bridge's railing, the water of the river below him as black as a crow's wing. And at the river's far side there wasn't just one
hill to climb, but one hill and then another, and then another each one a bit higher and steeper than the one before.
Finally, at as the sun was setting at his back, the little squirrel reached the crest of the highest hill. Tired and bruised and scraped he found a small oak and climbed up into it, so weary that he couldn't even raise his head. But just as the last rays of the sun cast their benediction the little squirrel looked up, and gasped. There to the east, gilded by the suns et, was the great spire of the Cathedral of Die Heilige Weisheit, raised like a jeweled scepter over the huge city. Further to the east was the harbor, filled with ships, and to the south the arch of a g reat bay. Behind him, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the little squirrel thought he could see, ever so slimly, the re beyond the river and the village, the silhouette of the pine on the meadow's far border and beyond that his poplar home. He was filled with wonder and he drifted asleep, his dreams sparked with the joy that
He woke deeply happy, his happiness compounded by the discovery that there was still and abundance of acorns within easy reach. For days the little squirrel looked over the city, noting the arrivals of the sailing ships, the clamor of the dock workers, the guards on the battlements, and even the arrival of the prince archbishop with his great carriage and mounted guards and gaudy standards. It was so interesting. And so beautiful. He was deeply happy and content.
"Quite splendid, isn't he, that prince archbishop."
Startled, the squirrel turned and saw that the crow had roosted on a branch just above him.
"Oh, hello Crow!" said the squirrel warmly. "I'm so very glad to see you," he continued. "You were right, this indeed is a marvelous place! And there is so much to see here!" And the squirrel rattled off to the crow all the wonderful things he had been observing the last several days, his words falling over themselves in his excitement.
"Yes, yes" finally said the crow. "I've been many places and this is certainly the most magnificent city in the world. There is no place else like it."
The crow paused, tilted his head slightly, and asked, "Don't you find that cathedral tower fantastic?"
"Yes! Yes, indeed" quickly answered the squirrel, and he went on to talk about the saints he'd seen carved on it sides and the intricacies of its stone tracery, which he had looked at carefully and thought that it reminded him of the vines growing up his poplar home beyond the tall pine and the meadow .
The crow interrupted the squirrel again. "Have you looked up at the very top?"
The squirrel had spent a good deal of time the past several days looking at the cathedral and he was now quite offended by the crow's tone.
"Yes, of course I've looked up at the top, Crow," said the squirrel. "At the top of the spire there's something like a knob and on top of the knob there's a cross and at the top of the cross there's a metal flag that moves with the wind."
The crow nodded. "Yes, indeed," crow said calmly. " And as you said, you looked up".
Up. Surprised, the squirrel thought to himself, yes, he looked up.
The crow stretched, and yawned, as only a crow can yawn very long and very gravely and very black and said, "You see, the tower of the Cathedral of Die Heilige Weisheit is much taller than even this hilltop, friend Squirrel. From here we're looking down on the great city but we must look up to see that tower's peak. There's no higher spot than the peak of the cathedral's tower. I have flown there many times and from there the whole world is at my feet. If you want to see everything all from one spot, as you have frequently told me, there is where you must be."
This time the squirrel didn't ask if it were far to the tower's top; he knew it would be a much longer journey than it looked, and far more dangerous. This was not a village, but the imperial capital. And the roads were filled not only with carts and flocks and herds and snapping dogs and boys with sticks but with wagons and carriages and mounted cavalry with swords and pistols. The city was walled and the wall surrounded by a moat
and the gate guarded by a portcullis. And the great cathedral was in the middle of the great city, across a great plaza that was never shadowed. And the great cathedral itself was not a poplar or a tall pine or an oak at a hill's crest, but a mountain of stone .
Yet the squirrel knew what he must do. He had come far and had risked much, risked everything really. But across the meadow, and through the village, and up this hilltop each time his luck had held. And each time the crow had been right. There was so much more to see, so much more to know, so much more to enjoy. And he so wanted to see everything all from one spot.
So, one more time, the little squirrel screwed his courage to the sticking place and with an explosion of grit sprang from his roost in the little oak and raced down the hill toward the great city and the Cathedral of Die Heilige Weisheit.
But it was a long way to the center of the city and the plaza before the great church, the longest way yet. The highway to the city was jammed with travelers and the little squirrel was constantly in danger of being trampled under foot, or hoof, or wheel. As he neared the bridge that spanned the moat he leapt onto a hay wagon, burying himself deeply in the hay but at the barbican that guarded the bridge the tariff collectors almost impaled him as they rammed their pitchforks into the hay, searching for contraband.
Inside the walls the streets were narrow and dark and filthy and airless and the little squirrel ached for the sun-dappled woods of his poplar home. But he pressed on for he so wanted to see everything all from one spot. He came to a great square and saw a mountain of stone rising up at its far side, and the squirrel dashed to its foot and scampered up its walls and up its tower but at the building's peak he looked out and saw, there still to the east, the far higher tower of the Cathedral of Die Heilige Weisheit. And he looked to his left and to his right and saw many towers on many fine buildings and he despaired at finding the cathedral in such a great city. Downcast and exhausted, the squirrel found a corner of a dormer where he huddled for the night, the glockenspiel striking off the hours below him.
It took him two days more to reach the plaza before the Cathedral of Die Heilige Weisheit. On the morning of the third day, the squirrel crept carefully around the corner of the palace that formed one whole side of the plaza, and looked up at the cathedral.
It was more than a mountain of stone, it was a continent. Ris ing up out from the plaza, the Cathedral of Die Heilige Weisheit shimmered in the afternoon sun. The tympanum where Christ in Majesty welcomed the redeemed and condemned the damned, the twenty-four elders, the statues of the liberal arts and the kings of Israel, the great rose window, the columns higher and higher the facade of the cathedral rose until it crowded out the sky.
Looking warily to the left and to the right, the squirrel zigzagged his way across the busy plaza to the cathedral's base. A service was beginning and thr ough the open doors he could hear the responses and smell the incense. He put out his paw and hesitantly touched the stone. It was warm. He touched it again and thought of the bark on the poplar tree and his mother's nest up in its branches, all now so far away.
A little leap and he was on a low cornice. A second and he was in a niche, a third and he was climbing up the twists of a wreathed column. Up the facade the squirrel climbed. Across the tracery of the great rose window, hop ping from one crocket to another, clinging to the stony robes of the Old Testament prophets; balustrades, corbels and finials and moldings, embattlements and grotesques all became stages of his ascent. He came to the windows of the belfry and climbed up the apostle who stood as a jamb at the opening's side. The wind whistled through the windows but the great bells hung silent, waiting for when they would peal across the city the paean of the Cathedral of Die Heilige Weisheit.
He was on the ledge above the belfry now, higher now than he had ever been. From below he could hear murmurs of the liturgy, Pange, lingua, gloriosi, Corporis mysterium ; birds flew around him, chirping their protests at his invasion of their realm, but he could not stop, he was not yet at the top.
Past the crow-headed gargoyles, up the carved gables, along the side of the Madonna, across the splayed buttresses and through the pierced railing that wrapped around the tower like a crown of thorns, the little squirrel finally reached the raked roof of the tower. Claw hold by claw hold he crawled up, fixed only on that one goal, to be at that one place where he could see everything all from one spot.
At last he reached the luxuriant finial that surmounted the roof, climbed up the iron cross which was mounted on its top and, pulling himself up on its arms, gripped the little metal flag that spun at its top, and stopped.
He held himself for a moment, and then looked.
There, opening itself to him in the east, lay the harbor of the city, the docks and the customhouses and the warehouses, the breakwater, the islands and the huge ocean sea beyond, stretching out forever. The moon was rising and the first stars were beginnin g to glitter through the purple dusk while high over him flew a wedge of swans, their lovers cries softly reaching him. To the south lay the arch of the bay and beyond that the wide salt marshes. To the west, bright now in the setting sun, the little squirrel could s ee the vastness of the city with her mansions and guildhalls and tenements and parish churches and towers and walls. And beyond the walls lay the fields and the hills, and the valley and the village and the pine and the meadow and the squirrel's poplar home.
The vastness of the view, its sweep and grandeur, it was all more b eautiful than he could ever have imagined. The fatigue and pain of the journey dropped from him and the terrors of the previous weeks were utterly forgotten. He had never before felt so completely alive and so magnificently happy. For here indeed, he could see everything all from one spot.
But as he looked to the east, out over the city and her harbor and across the bay to the islands and the wide ocean, the little squirrel suddenly realized that he couldn't see the hills and the village and the stand of pines and the meadow and his poplar home beyond. He quickly wheeled around and looked west. Yes, there they all were, the hills sharp outlined against the sunset, and far off in the distance and faint the poplar, still there, still his home. The little squirrel turned this way and th at as he clung onto the metal flag atop the cross, trying to find a position where he could see both the islands and the ocean sea as well as the hills and the village and the meadow beyond, to see everything all from one spot. He could find positions to see some things and even most things, but try as he might, it was always some, never all. He could see a bit of the ocean sea and some of the valley but not the meadow, or he could glimpse the meadow and the gate of the great city but not the arch of the bay. He turned this way and that, hung upside down on the arms
of the cross, twisted his head, but it was always the same, he could never quite see everything all from one spot.
The great service in the C athedral of Die Heilige Weisheit was ending and the bells in the tower below him were beginning to toll. Dumm, bhrang, dumm, bhrang, they sounded as they swayed, the tower shaking with their peal. The little squirrel, frantic now to see everything all from one spot, raced around the top of the cross and up and over the metal flag, spinning his head from one position to another hoping find someway, any way, where he could see everything all from one spot. But the bells continued their toll and, as the sun sank below the hills and the valley and the village and the stand of pines and the meadow grew dark, a wind came up from the harbor, suddenly twirling the metal flag and the little squirrel lost his purchase on the cross and fell.
He spun and twisted in his fall, his long, long fall, past the great bells and the apostles , past the kings and the saints, past the intricate tracery of the tower and the mullions or the rose, finally hitting a gargoy le and thrown off it like a discarded toy. He struck the pavement in the square before the doors of the cathedral just as the procession emerged, the prince archbishop, the clerks, the canons, the thurifers: praestet fides supplementum, sensuum defectui. . . .
The splendid company took no notice of the brave little squirrel, bloody on the pavement at their feet. On his back, now shattered, and his once proud tail crushed, he looked up. And as his eyes shuttered closed he saw the crow, gliding in the blackening sky above him and, just for a moment, a wisp of a moment, the little squirrel thought saw everything all from one spot.
