Andrea’s Horse

Press, Volume LXXV, Issue 22895, 16 December 1939, Page 4 (Supplement)

Andrea’s Horse

. ‘ When Andrew Finn died at the age t of 70, after 50 years spent in travelling through all those countries where the'sun shines' on such tropical flowers as ’ the" ‘.hibiscus, the cactus, the- mimosa, and the magnolia and - : on such"-’brilliant skins as those of the Indians,-the Africans, the Chinese,' and the Mexicans, it t was a great -surprise to his friends-that he left.no money to.-his five sons, Mark, Peter, Midas, Simon, and Andrea.It was certainly a surprise as well as a disappointment to Peter, Midas, and Simon; for all three had - looked forward to an easy life of comfort without work. And , now, in order to maintain the -large luxuriously furnished houses and lavishly planned gardens their - father had given them, they would have to toil so hard that they could see no prospect of enjoying the advantages of soft carpets and gentle fountains that sprayed rose and blue tinted water into pools where - coloured. fish swam. .. Mark had long ago sold his ‘ house. Nothing contented him for •more than a year. He was always having plans, but before one could ; be completed he had thought of an- : -other, and so his money trickled • away like milk out of a cracked bottle, and he lived in a small cottage where he enjoyed • himself - tremendously, starting first this and then that and .growing vegetables and keeping several cows which his children milked and several pigs and fowls- and geese which his / Wife managed. He had an inquir- , hig mind, and might have been a - scientist Had he applied himself. “Look at l fOolish Mark,” people said; “how he wastes his life! How miserable ■ for - his wife and children!” But his wife spent much of . her time ‘singingand his children danced 1 and -tramped over all the hills and up all the rivers and knew all they, could-find put *of birds and beasts' and - flowers- : and . neither - they, nor Martha his, wife ever reproached Mark for foolishness. Andrea still lived in his large house; but the first floor had been turned into a work room, where ' he- made the most. beautiful - tables ■and,; chairs of polished wood; men came from far arid near to buy them, and Andrea’s fame grew with the years. He did not become rich, however, for in the rooms of his house he let , many poor- people—f artists, craftsmen; poets, and- musicians—live for nothing; and as well as these he had a wife. ■ and • two sons and a kennel of , Irish setter dogs. ;. "Now although Andrew - T’ihn'left no: money, he had collected several rare pictures, sculptures, books, and Porcelains. The colours and textures' of his ’ Indian and Mexican “gures and weavings were such that as soon as men gazed upon them they wished to take a boat immediately and discover for themselves the colours and shapes from which these had been copied. Among these possessions was a set of five horses, each one slightly “jrger than the other and made *s°m pure gold. The tiny hooves were cut, from a soft terra-cotta coloured, stone and-the manes and tails ■ 2cre, most exquisitely modelled. / these gold horses had always-stood ;. ?h ,a table covered with a -piece of - Indian cloth patterned in ■'SpS? an< * flowers so that it seemed /'S''tfcthe little golden were ftlS? .-runaway horses of ,a band of /StJSapds. now wandering lazily |Sw9OS.-’ cr imson - and yellow :blos r ' 'Above the table had hung -v*marew Finn’s pipe standi, and

(By Helen Shaw)

whenever tHe old man stretched out his hand to take out a pipe he had a habit of muttering, “a pipe, . a well filled pipe, and a chair and what more can a man ask?” Then he 'would pick up one of the horses, hold it-by the head between his -thumb and first finger, and continue, “gold,* gold, real gold. What ■an island, and what a master he was to make-you so well, little ponies!” Then he would put it "carefully back on the Indian cloth, chuckle and light his pipe, “But a pipe and a man’s- thoughts-are the best things, eh? ■ Eh?” When he died the horses were sent off to the brothers. ■ For some weeks Mark and his, wife and children were delighted with their horse, which was the smallest. Then one day, Tom, a son of Mark, asked his father what real gold looked like when it was melted. And Mark, remembering his own passion for knowing how the sun. worked, how ice formed.

how mercury rose up a thermometer, how water produced electricity, took the gold horse, and after a certain amount of. time and trouble, melted it. Eventually the gold lump was given away to a man at the door who made rings. - For many weeks Midas took his horse from museum to museum having it valued, and here they would be of one opinion, and there of another. And at last he found a man -who offered him a great deal of money, not for its weight m gold, but because he was collecting all -the horses that had ever been carved or sculptured or modelled. Midas returned home and proudly showed his family the sum he now had in his bank book, and as he turned over the pages and pointed to the figures of his fortune, a fish shot into the rose coloured water of the fountain, like, a star, and then fell back. Midas, of course, did not see the fish. Peter put his horse into a glass cabinet and kept it Ipcked away and only brought it out on very special occasions when .he would stand- it on a polished stable with a number of other - objects, jade, ivories,terra-cottas, and tell his friends with pride thart his collection was worth so much, and that when he died he intended, to leave it all to the Mumsel Museum under the name of -the Peter Finn Curios; and this ambition impressed all the friends of Peter/ which was pleasant for him. ,

But Simon was so angry at not being left a fortune that he threw his gold horse into a drawer among some handkerchiefs, some undarned stockings, and some flies that he had once made for fishing when he was a little boy. Now, one day, several years after Andrew’s death, Simon, finding the noise of his youngest child’s drum and trumpet ' too much for him, climbed the stairs slowly—for he had grown fat and short of breath —until he came to one of the attics at the very top of his house. Here, he began to think sadly of the money he toiled for from weekto week to keep the grass smooth, and the fountains pure and his children happy. He sat down in a redplush chair, much of its horse-hair stuffing sticking through holes, like a poor man’s elbows through worn places in his coat, and lit a pipe. As the smoke blew up he lay back and followed its twisting journeys and thus it was that Simon caught sight of a bundle of books, thrown carelessly on the top of a discarded wardrobe. They had belonged to his father, but no one had bothered to read them, so great had been the brothers’ disgust at the meagre will of the old man. Simon pulled the bundle down. One was a leather covered scrap book.. It had a brass clasp, and Andrew’s name on the outside. The pages were yellov ed and stained wi,th sea water, and as Simon turned them over he began to wonder how much he had ever known of the real Andrew Finn. Here were pictures torn from tea and chocolatestins, postcards, signatures, drawings by his father of places he hri seen, of Mexicans, Indians; and Africans, all done in the same way—little creatures with round heads, egg-shaped bodies, and lines for arms and legs. “This is an African jungle” would be written under a group of trees such as you see in a child’s Noah’s Ark. And peering out from the trees would be an animal that might just as well have been a horse as a lion except for its colour. “This is the island” pame on the! next page. There followed a green circle, a tent, and a black smudge. “That’s where Beppy lives. That’s where we found the —” There was a blank. “But why Should we bother about this stuff that Beppy regards as we do sand or mud? Isn’t Beppy right? A pipe’s the thing. As long as we’ve tobacco, life’s all right.” More pictures of the island. “Beppy gives all this to me. He is smiling and grinning. ‘You have it, Master, if it will make you happy. It makes Beppy happy.’ But it wouldn’t make me happy. After all, I’m not a craftsman like Beppy. I’d grow fat and lazy if I took it. Beppy thrives on it. In his hands what beauty it becomes. I’ll resist the temptation. Mark and Andrea v/ould both agree with me. But the others!” And here there followed pictures of his three sons shaking- tHeif fists. VI leavg all the stuff with Beppy. I say good-bye to him and give him three pipes. He gives me a present of five horses. I take them with me, but I leave behind a wealth that would buy me all the tobacco and all the old pictures in the world.” Simon’s face grew red, his breath came in quick gasps, he rose slowly to .his feet, clenched his hand and shook it ‘‘The fool, the fool—to have left a fortune behind for some grimy old native.” He turned over the page. “There were infinite resources in , that island, but Beppy was so happy. And what would have happened to him if it had suddenly been turned into a human bee hive? And how the bees would go after all that gold!” Then he had drawn a host of little men, wings stuck on to their shoulder blades, crawling

down the hole of the island. “However,” Andrew had written on the second last page, “by the time any one reads these words I shall be dead and so shall Beppy. No one’s happiness would be spoiled. Perhaps I’ll tell them, after all, how to reach the gold. Yes, I will. I’d" forgotten, too, that Midas doesn’t like smoking. No pipe—no happiness. Gold’s the next best thing, Beppy told me. But then Beppy knows how to use it. Wonder what Midas’ll do with his share.” Simon shook. Perspiration poured from his face. The directions for finding the treasure on the island would be on the last page.. “Once again I am out at sea. It was painful saying good-bye twice to Beppy. But I thought it the best way to take back the gold horses. He was very amused at me. He kept calling me a Great Shrewd Master, Well, I had him* open one of the horses and inscribe full directions for finding the island, inside the hollow body. The directions are in Andrea’s horse. N.B.—There was a nice little tawny coloured animal that used to come out of a hole under Beppy’s hut. See if any of his grandchildren are still about.” Simon caught the first train to Andrea’s, in whose garden dogs yelped and scampered among the trees. Children were shouting. Someone played a mouth organ, someone a fiddle. The sun had set. Andrea stood in the doorway. He wore a blue smock. His hair was thick and brown. He smoked a pipe and as he leaned against the door post he pointed to the hills with his long thin fingers. “There are the hills, Simon,. I still enjoy them.. I teach my children that those hills and the stars and the sun are the greatest wealth they will ever know if they use them correctly.” “Yes, - yes, quite so',” muttered Simon. He was in a feVer of impatience. Darkness fell. The hills were but a purple shape, flat as cardboard. The two brothers went inside. “Andrea,” began Simon,, leaning forward. “I’ve come to ask you for something. You remember the gold horse father gave to each of us° Well, I’ve become most attached to mine. I have it beside me when I work and when I sleep. The other day, through carelessness or theft, I lost my horse. I am heart broken. I beg that you may" £ive me yours.” The room was very still. Andrea got up slowly. “My dear, brother” he cried, “of course I shall give it to you. Come with me," He opened the door of a small room and turned on a light. The walls were hung with striped blankets. Shelves ran along three sides. “I am' a craftsman you know, Simon.” On each shelf stood many little gold horses, each exactly the same, each with an exquisitely modelled mane and tail, each with terra-cotta coloured hooves. Simon’s mouth dropped open. “And which,” he asked, “which is the original one?” “My dear Simon, I haven’t the slightest idea. I was so charmed with the model that I began to make a copy. I became better and better. The ones I make now cannot be distinguished from the first. Indeed, I do not even know if the one my father left me stands on these, shelves or not. You see, I have given many away. Others I have sold. Andrea’s horses have been sent to all the countries in the world, from India to Norway. But take any one, Simon.” As his train rushed between rivers and fields Simon pulled pp a window, leaned out and threw the little gold horse through the air when it flashed for a second like a spinning sun and then was lost.