United Public Domain Gold 2/United Public Domain Gold 2.iso/literature/lit027c.dms/lit027c.adf/SOUP FROM A SAUSAGE SKEWER

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                                      1872
                     FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
                           SOUP FROM A SAUSAGE SKEWER
                           by Hans Christian Andersen

    "WE had such an excellent dinner yesterday," said an old mouse
of the female sex to another who had not been present at the feast. "I
sat number twenty-one below the mouse-king, which was not a bad place.
Shall I tell you what we had? Everything was first rate. Mouldy bread,
tallow candle, and sausage. And then, when we had finished that
course, the same came on all over again; it was as good as two feasts.
We were very sociable, and there was as much joking and fun as if we
had been all of one family circle. Nothing was left but the sausage
skewers, and this formed a subject of conversation, till at last it
turned to the proverb, 'Soup from sausage skins;' or, as the people in
the neighboring country call it, 'Soup from a sausage skewer.' Every
one had heard the proverb, but no one had ever tasted the soup, much
less prepared it. A capital toast was drunk to the inventor of the
soup, and some one said he ought to be made a relieving officer to the
poor. Was not that witty? Then the old mouse-king rose and promised
that the young lady-mouse who should learn how best to prepare this
much-admired and savory soup should be his queen, and a year and a day
should be allowed for the purpose."
    "That was not at all a bad proposal," said the other mouse; "but
how is the soup made?"
    "Ah, that is more than I can tell you. All the young lady mice
were asking the same question. They wished very much to be queen,
but they did not want to take the trouble of going out into the
world to learn how to make soup, which was absolutely necessary to
be done first. But it is not every one who would care to leave her
family, or her happy corner by the fire-side at home, even to be
made queen. It is not always easy to find bacon and cheese-rind in
foreign lands every day, and it is not pleasant to have to endure
hunger, and be perhaps, after all, eaten up alive by the cat."
    "Most probably some such thoughts as these discouraged the
majority from going out into the world to collect the required
information. Only four mice gave notice that they were ready to set
out on the journey. They were young and lively, but poor. Each of them
wished to visit one of the four divisions of the world, so that it
might be seen which was the most favored by fortune. Every one took
a sausage skewer as a traveller's staff, and to remind them of the
object of their journey. They left home early in May, and none of them
returned till the first of May in the following year, and then only
three of them. Nothing was seen or heard of the fourth, although the
day of decision was close at hand. "Ah, yes, there is always some
trouble mixed up with the greatest pleasure," said the mouse-king; but
he gave orders that all the mice within a circle of many miles
should be invited at once. They were to assemble in the kitchen, and
the three travelled mice were to stand in a row before them, while a
sausage skewer, covered with crape, was to be stuck up instead of
the missing mouse. No one dared to express an opinion until the king
spoke, and desired one of them to go on with her story. And now we
shall hear what she said.
                   WHAT THE FIRST LITTLE MOUSE
                   SAW AND HEARD ON HER TRAVELS

    "When I first went out into the world," said the little mouse,
"I fancied, as so many of my age do, that I already knew everything,
but it was not so. It takes years to acquire great knowledge. I went
at once to sea in a ship bound for the north. I had been told that the
ship's cook must know how to prepare every dish at sea, and it is easy
enough to do that with plenty of sides of bacon, and large tubs of
salt meat and mouldy flour. There I found plenty of delicate food, but
no opportunity for learning how to make soup from a sausage skewer. We
sailed on for many days and nights; the ship rocked fearfully, and
we did not escape without a wetting. As soon as we arrived at the port
to which the ship was bound, I left it, and went on shore at a place
far towards the north. It is a wonderful thing to leave your own
little corner at home, to hide yourself in a ship where there are sure
to be some nice snug corners for shelter, then suddenly to find
yourself thousands of miles away in a foreign land. I saw large
pathless forests of pine and birch trees, which smelt so strong that I
sneezed and thought of sausage. There were great lakes also which
looked as black as ink at a distance, but were quite clear when I came
close to them. Large swans were floating upon them, and I thought at
first they were only foam, they lay so still; but when I saw them walk
and fly, I knew what they were directly. They belong to the goose
species, one can see that by their walk. No one can attempt to
disguise family descent. I kept with my own kind, and associated
with the forest and field mice, who, however, knew very little,
especially about what I wanted to know, and which had actually made me
travel abroad. The idea that soup could be made from a sausage
skewer was to them such an out-of-the-way, unlikely thought, that it
was repeated from one to another through the whole forest. They
declared that the problem would never be solved, that the thing was an
impossibility. How little I thought that in this place, on the very
first night, I should be initiated into the manner of its preparation.
    "It was the height of summer, which the mice told me was the
reason that the forest smelt so strong, and that the herbs were so
fragrant, and the lakes with the white swimming swans so dark, and yet
so clear. On the margin of the wood, near to three or four houses, a
pole, as large as the mainmast of a ship, had been erected, and from
the summit hung wreaths of flowers and fluttering ribbons; it was
the Maypole. Lads and lasses danced round the pole, and tried to outdo
the violins of the musicians with their singing. They were as merry as
ever at sunset and in the moonlight, but I took no part in the
merry-making. What has a little mouse to do with a Maypole dance? I
sat in the soft moss, and held my sausage skewer tight. The moon threw
its beams particularly on one spot where stood a tree covered with
exceedingly fine moss. I may almost venture to say that it was as fine
and soft as the fur of the mouse-king, but it was green, which is a
color very agreeable to the eye. All at once I saw the most charming
little people marching towards me. They did not reach higher than my
knee; they looked like human beings, but were better proportioned, and
they called themselves elves. Their clothes were very delicate and
fine, for they were made of the leaves of flowers, trimmed with the
wings of flies and gnats, which had not a bad effect. By their manner,
it appeared as if they were seeking for something. I knew not what,
till at last one of them espied me and came towards me, and the
foremost pointed to my sausage skewer, and said, 'There, that is
just what we want; see, it is pointed at the top; is it not
capital?' and the longer he looked at my pilgrim's staff, the more
delighted he became. 'I will lend it to you,' said I, 'but not to
keep.'
    "'Oh no, we won't keep it!' they all cried; and then they seized
the skewer, which I gave up to them, and danced with it to the spot
where the delicate moss grew, and set it up in the middle of the
green. They wanted a maypole, and the one they now had seemed cut
out on purpose for them. Then they decorated it so beautifully that it
was quite dazzling to look at. Little spiders spun golden threads
around it, and then it was hung with fluttering veils and flags so
delicately white that they glittered like snow in the moonshine. After
that they took colors from the butterfly's wing, and sprinkled them
over the white drapery "which gleamed as if covered with flowers and
diamonds, so that I could not recognize my sausage skewer at all. Such
a maypole had never been seen in all the world as this. Then came a
great company of real elves. Nothing could be finer than their
clothes, and they invited me to be present at the feast; but I was
to keep at a certain distance, because I was too large for them.
Then commenced such music that it sounded like a thousand glass bells,
and was so full and strong that I thought it must be the song of the
swans. I fancied also that I heard the voices of the cuckoo and the
black-bird, and it seemed at last as if the whole forest sent forth
glorious melodies- the voices of children, the tinkling of bells,
and the songs of the birds; and all this wonderful melody came from
the elfin maypole. My sausage peg was a complete peal of bells. I
could scarcely believe that so much could have been produced from
it, till I remembered into what hands it had fallen. I was so much
affected that I wept tears such as a little mouse can weep, but they
were tears of joy. The night was far too short for me; there are no
long nights there in summer, as we often have in this part of the
world. When the morning dawned, and the gentle breeze rippled the
glassy mirror of the forest lake, all the delicate veils and flags
fluttered away into thin air; the waving garlands of the spider's web,
the hanging bridges and galleries, or whatever else they may be
called, vanished away as if they had never been. Six elves brought
me back my sausage skewer, and at the same time asked me to make any
request, which they would grant if in their power; so I begged them,
if they could, to tell me how to make soup from a sausage skewer.
    "'How do we make it?' said the chief of the elves with a smile.
'Why you have just seen it; you scarcely knew your sausage skewer
again, I am sure.'
    "They think themselves very wise, thought I to myself. Then I told
them all about it, and why I had travelled so far, and also what
promise had been made at home to the one who should discover the
method of preparing this soup. 'What use will it be,' I asked, 'to the
mouse-king or to our whole mighty kingdom that I have seen all these
beautiful things? I cannot shake the sausage peg and say, Look, here
is the skewer, and now the soup will come. That would only produce a
dish to be served when people were keeping a fast.'
    "Then the elf dipped his finger into the cup of a violet, and said
to me, 'Look here, I will anoint your pilgrim's staff, so that when
you return to your own home and enter the king's castle, you have only
to touch the king with your staff, and violets will spring forth and
cover the whole of it, even in the coldest winter time; so I think I
have given you really something to carry home, and a little more
than something.'"
    But before the little mouse explained what this something more
was, she stretched her staff out to the king, and as it touched him
the most beautiful bunch of violets sprang forth and filled the
place with perfume. The smell was so powerful that the mouse-king
ordered the mice who stood nearest the chimney to thrust their tails
into the fire, that there might be a smell of burning, for the perfume
of the violets was overpowering, and not the sort of scent that
every one liked.
    "But what was the something more of which you spoke just now?"
asked the mouse-king.
    "Why," answered the little mouse, "I think it is what they call
'effect;'" and thereupon she turned the staff round, and behold not
a single flower was to be seen upon it! She now only held the naked
skewer, and lifted it up as a conductor lifts his baton at a
concert. "Violets, the elf told me," continued the mouse, "are for the
sight, the smell, and the touch; so we have only now to produce the
effect of hearing and tasting;" and then, as the little mouse beat
time with her staff, there came sounds of music, not such music as was
heard in the forest, at the elfin feast, but such as is often heard in
the kitchen- the sounds of boiling and roasting. It came quite
suddenly, like wind rushing through the chimneys, and seemed as if
every pot and kettle were boiling over. The fire-shovel clattered down
on the brass fender; and then, quite as suddenly, all was still,-
nothing could be heard but the light, vapory song of the tea-kettle,
which was quite wonderful to hear, for no one could rightly
distinguish whether the kettle was just beginning to boil or going
to stop. And the little pot steamed, and the great pot simmered, but
without any regard for each; indeed there seemed no sense in the
pots at all. And as the little mouse waved her baton still more
wildly, the pots foamed and threw up bubbles, and boiled over; while
again the wind roared and whistled through the chimney, and at last
there was such a terrible hubbub, that the little mouse let her
stick fall.
    "That is a strange sort of soup," said the mouse-king; "shall we
not now hear about the preparation?"
    "That is all," answered the little mouse, with a bow.
    "That all!" said the mouse-king; "then we shall be glad to hear
what information the next may have to give us."
                WHAT THE SECOND MOUSE HAD TO TELL

    "I was born in the library, at a castle," said the second mouse.
"Very few members of our family ever had the good fortune to get
into the dining-room, much less the store-room. On my journey, and
here to-day, are the only times I have ever seen a kitchen. We were
often obliged to suffer hunger in the library, but then we gained a
great deal of knowledge. The rumor reached us of the royal prize
offered to those who should be able to make soup from a sausage
skewer. Then my old grandmother sought out a manuscript which,
however, she could not read, but had heard it read, and in it was
written, 'Those who are poets can make soup of sausage skewers.' She
then asked me if I was a poet. I felt myself quite innocent of any
such pretensions. Then she said I must go out and make myself a
poet. I asked again what I should be required to do, for it seemed
to me quite as difficult as to find out how to make soup of a
sausage skewer. My grandmother had heard a great deal of reading in
her day, and she told me three principal qualifications were
necessary- understanding, imagination, and feeling. 'If you can manage
to acquire these three, you will be a poet, and the sausage-skewer
soup will be quite easy to you.'
    "So I went forth into the world, and turned my steps towards the
west, that I might become a poet. Understanding is the most
important matter in everything. I knew that, for the two other
qualifications are not thought much of; so I went first to seek for
understanding. Where was I to find it? 'Go to the ant and learn
wisdom,' said the great Jewish king. I knew that from living in a
library. So I went straight on till I came to the first great
ant-hill, and then I set myself to watch, that I might become wise.
The ants are a very respectable people, they are wisdom itself. All
they do is like the working of a sum in arithmetic, which comes right.
'To work and to lay eggs,' say they, and to provide for posterity,
is to live out your time properly;' and that they truly do. They are
divided into the clean and the dirty ants, their rank is pointed out
by a number, and the ant-queen is number ONE; and her opinion is the
only correct one on everything; she seems to have the whole wisdom
of the world in her, which was just the important matter I wished to
acquire. She said a great deal which was no doubt very clever; yet
to me it sounded like nonsense. She said the ant-hill was the loftiest
thing in the world, and yet close to the mound stood a tall tree,
which no one could deny was loftier, much loftier, but no mention
was made of the tree. One evening an ant lost herself on this tree;
she had crept up the stem, not nearly to the top, but higher than
any ant had ever ventured; and when at last she returned home she said
that she had found something in her travels much higher than the
ant-hill. The rest of the ants considered this an insult to the
whole community; so she was condemned to wear a muzzle and to live
in perpetual solitude. A short time afterwards another ant got on
the tree, and made the same journey and the same discovery, but she
spoke of it cautiously and indefinitely, and as she was one of the
superior ants and very much respected, they believed her, and when she
died they erected an eggshell as a monument to her memory, for they
cultivated a great respect for science. I saw," said the little mouse,
"that the ants were always running to and fro with her burdens on
their backs. Once I saw one of them drop her load; she gave herself
a great deal of trouble in trying to raise it again, but she could not
succeed. Then two others came up and tried with all their strength
to help her, till they nearly dropped their own burdens in doing so;
then they were obliged to stop for a moment in their help, for every
one must think of himself first. And the ant-queen remarked that their
conduct that day showed that they possessed kind hearts and good
understanding. 'These two qualities,' she continued, 'place us ants in
the highest degree above all other reasonable beings. Understanding
must therefore be seen among us in the most prominent manner, and my
wisdom is greater than all.' And so saying she raised herself on her
two hind legs, that no one else might be mistaken for her. I could not
therefore make an error, so I ate her up. We are to go to the ants
to learn wisdom, and I had got the queen.
    "I now turned and went nearer to the lofty tree already mentioned,
which was an oak. It had a tall trunk with a wide-spreading top, and
was very old. I knew that a living being dwelt here, a dryad as she is
called, who is born with the tree and dies with it. I had heard this
in the library, and here was just such a tree, and in it an
oak-maiden. She uttered a terrible scream when she caught sight of
me so near to her; like many women, she was very much afraid of
mice. And she had more real cause for fear than they have, for I might
have gnawed through the tree on which her life depended. I spoke to
her in a kind and friendly manner, and begged her to take courage.
At last she took me up in her delicate hand, and then I told her
what had brought me out into the world, and she promised me that
perhaps on that very evening she should be able to obtain for me one
of the two treasures for which I was seeking. She told me that
Phantaesus was her very dear friend, that he was as beautiful as the
god of love, that he remained often for many hours with her under
the leafy boughs of the tree which then rustled and waved more than
ever over them both. He called her his dryad, she said, and the tree
his tree; for the grand old oak, with its gnarled trunk, was just to
his taste. The root, spreading deep into the earth, the top rising
high in the fresh air, knew the value of the drifted snow, the keen
wind, and the warm sunshine, as it ought to be known. 'Yes,' continued
the dryad, 'the birds sing up above in the branches, and talk to
each other about the beautiful fields they have visited in foreign
lands; and on one of the withered boughs a stork has built his
nest,- it is beautifully arranged, and besides it is pleasant to
hear a little about the land of the pyramids. All this pleases
Phantaesus, but it is not enough for him; I am obliged to relate to
him of my life in the woods; and to go back to my childhood, when I
was little, and the tree so small and delicate that a
stinging-nettle could overshadow it, and I have to tell everything
that has happened since then till now that the tree is so large and
strong. Sit you down now under the green bindwood and pay attention,
when Phantaesus comes I will find an opportunity to lay hold of his
wing and to pull out one of the little feathers. That feather you
shall have; a better was never given to any poet, it will be quite
enough for you.'
    "And when Phantaesus came the feather was plucked, and," said
the little mouse, "I seized and put it in water, and kept it there
till it was quite soft. It was very heavy and indigestible, but I
managed to nibble it up at last. It is not so easy to nibble one's
self into a poet, there are so many things to get through. Now,
however, I had two of them, understanding and imagination; and through
these I knew that the third was to be found in the library. A great
man has said and written that there are novels whose sole and only use
appeared to be that they might relieve mankind of overflowing tears- a
kind of sponge, in fact, for sucking up feelings and emotions. I
remembered a few of these books, they had always appeared tempting
to the appetite; they had been much read, and were so greasy, that
they must have absorbed no end of emotions in themselves. I retraced
my steps to the library, and literally devoured a whole novel, that
is, properly speaking, the interior or soft part of it; the crust,
or binding, I left. When I had digested not only this, but a second, I
felt a stirring within me; then I ate a small piece of a third
romance, and felt myself a poet. I said it to myself, and told
others the same. I had head-ache and back-ache, and I cannot tell what
aches besides. I thought over all the stories that may be said to be
connected with sausage pegs, and all that has ever been written
about skewers, and sticks, and staves, and splinters came to my
thoughts; the ant-queen must have had a wonderfully clear
understanding. I remembered the man who placed a white stick in his
mouth by which he could make himself and the stick invisible. I
thought of sticks as hobby-horses, staves of music or rhyme, of
breaking a stick over a man's back, and heaven knows how many more
phrases of the same sort relating to sticks, staves, and skewers.
All my thoughts rein on skewers, sticks of wood, and staves; and as
I am, at last, a poet, and I have worked terribly hard to make
myself one, I can of course make poetry on anything. I shall therefore
be able to wait upon you every day in the week with a poetical history
of a skewer. And that is my soup."
    "In that case," said the mouse-king, "we will hear what the
third mouse has to say."
    "Squeak, squeak," cried a little mouse at the kitchen door; it was
the fourth, and not the third, of the four who were contending for the
prize, one whom the rest supposed to be dead. She shot in like an
arrow, and overturned the sausage peg that had been covered with
crape. She had been running day and night. She had watched an
opportunity to get into a goods train, and had travelled by the
railway; and yet she had arrived almost too late. She pressed forward,
looking very much ruffled. She had lost her sausage skewer, but not
her voice; for she began to speak at once as if they only waited for
her, and would hear her only, and as if nothing else in the world
was of the least consequence. She spoke out so clearly and plainly,
and she had come in so suddenly, that no one had time to stop her or
to say a word while she was speaking. And now let us hear what she
said.
                WHAT THE FOURTH MOUSE, WHO SPOKE
                  BEFORE THE THIRD, HAD TO TELL

    "I started off at once to the largest town," said she, "but the
name of it has escaped me. I have a very bad memory for names. I was
carried from the railway, with some forfeited goods, to the jail,
and on arriving I made my escape, and ran into the house of the
turnkey. The turnkey was speaking of his prisoners, especially of
one who had uttered thoughtless words. These words had given rise to
other words, and at length they were written down and registered: 'The
whole affair is like making soup of sausage skewers,' said he, 'but
the soup may cost him his neck.'
    "Now this raised in me an interest for the prisoner," continued
the little mouse, "and I watched my opportunity, and slipped into
his apartment, for there is a mouse-hole to be found behind every
closed door. The prisoner looked pale; he had a great beard and large,
sparkling eyes. There was a lamp burning, but the walls were so
black that they only looked the blacker for it. The prisoner scratched
pictures and verses with white chalk on the black walls, but I did not
read the verses. I think he found his confinement wearisome, so that I
was a welcome guest. He enticed me with bread-crumbs, with
whistling, and with gentle words, and seemed so friendly towards me,
that by degrees I gained confidence in him, and we became friends;
he divided his bread and water with me, gave me cheese and sausage,
and I really began to love him. Altogether, I must own that it was a
very pleasant intimacy. He let me run about on his hand, and on his
arm, and into his sleeve; and I even crept into his beard, and he
called me his little friend. I forgot what I had come out into the
world for; forgot my sausage skewer which I had laid in a crack in the
floor- it is lying there still. I wished to stay with him always where
I was, for I knew that if I went away the poor prisoner would have
no one to be his friend, which is a sad thing. I stayed, but he did
not. He spoke to me so mournfully for the last time, gave me double as
much bread and cheese as usual, and kissed his hand to me. Then he
went away, and never came back. I know nothing more of his history.
    "The jailer took possession of me now. He said something about
soup from a sausage skewer, but I could not trust him. He took me in
his hand certainly, but it was to place me in a cage like a
tread-mill. Oh how dreadful it was! I had to run round and round
without getting any farther in advance, and only to make everybody
laugh. The jailer's grand-daughter was a charming little thing. She
had curly hair like the brightest gold, merry eyes, and such a smiling
mouth.
    "'You poor little mouse,' said she, one day as she peeped into
my cage, 'I will set you free.' She then drew forth the iron
fastening, and I sprang out on the window-sill, and from thence to the
roof. Free! free! that was all I could think of; not of the object
of my journey. It grew dark, and as night was coming on I found a
lodging in an old tower, where dwelt a watchman and an owl. I had no
confidence in either of them, least of all in the owl, which is like a
cat, and has a great failing, for she eats mice. One may however be
mistaken sometimes; and so was I, for this was a respectable and
well-educated old owl, who knew more than the watchman, and even as
much as I did myself. The young owls made a great fuss about
everything, but the only rough words she would say to them were,
'You had better go and make some soup from sausage skewers.' She was
very indulgent and loving to her children. Her conduct gave me such
confidence in her, that from the crack where I sat I called out
'squeak.' This confidence of mine pleased her so much that she assured
me she would take me under her own protection, and that not a creature
should do me harm. The fact was, she wickedly meant to keep me in
reserve for her own eating in winter, when food would be scarce. Yet
she was a very clever lady-owl; she explained to me that the
watchman could only hoot with the horn that hung loose at his side;
and then she said he is so terribly proud of it, that he imagines
himself an owl in the tower;- wants to do great things, but only
succeeds in small; all soup on a sausage skewer. Then I begged the owl
to give me the recipe for this soup. 'Soup from a sausage skewer,'
said she, 'is only a proverb amongst mankind, and may be understood in
many ways. Each believes his own way the best, and after all, the
proverb signifies nothing.' 'Nothing!' I exclaimed. I was quite
struck. Truth is not always agreeable, but truth is above everything
else, as the old owl said. I thought over all this, and saw quite
plainly that if truth was really so far above everything else, it must
be much more valuable than soup from a sausage skewer. So I hastened
to get away, that I might be home in time, and bring what was
highest and best, and above everything- namely, the truth. The mice
are an enlightened people, and the mouse-king is above them all. He is
therefore capable of making me queen for the sake of truth."
    "Your truth is a falsehood," said the mouse who had not yet
spoken; "I can prepare the soup, and I mean to do so."
                     HOW IT WAS PREPARED

    "I did not travel," said the third mouse; "I stayed in this
country: that was the right way. One gains nothing by travelling-
everything can be acquired here quite as easily; so I stayed at
home. I have not obtained what I know from supernatural beings. I have
neither swallowed it, nor learnt it from conversing with owls. I
have got it all from my reflections and thoughts. Will you now set the
kettle on the fire- so? Now pour the water in- quite full- up to the
brim; place it on the fire; make up a good blaze; keep it burning,
that the water may boil; it must boil over and over. There, now I
throw in the skewer. Will the mouse-king be pleased now to dip his
tail into the boiling water, and stir it round with the tail. The
longer the king stirs it, the stronger the soup will become. Nothing
more is necessary, only to stir it."
    "Can no one else do this?" asked the king.
    "No," said the mouse; "only in the tail of the mouse-king is
this power contained."
    And the water boiled and bubbled, as the mouse-king stood close
beside the kettle. It seemed rather a dangerous performance; but he
turned round, and put out his tail, as mice do in a dairy, when they
wish to skim the cream from a pan of milk with their tails and
afterwards lick it off. But the mouse-king's tail had only just
touched the hot steam, when he sprang away from the chimney in a great
hurry, exclaiming, "Oh, certainly, by all means, you must be my queen;
and we will let the soup question rest till our golden wedding,
fifty years hence; so that the poor in my kingdom, who are then to
have plenty of food, will have something to look forward to for a long
time, with great joy."
    And very soon the wedding took place. But many of the mice, as
they were returning home, said that the soup could not be properly
called "soup from a sausage skewer," but "soup from a mouse's tail."
They acknowledged also that some of the stories were very well told;
but that the whole could have been managed differently. "I should have
told it so- and so- and so." These were the critics who are always
so clever afterwards.
    When this story was circulated all over the world, the opinions
upon it were divided; but the story remained the same. And, after all,
the best way in everything you undertake, great as well as small, is
to expect no thanks for anything you may do, even when it refers to
"soup from a sausage skewer."


                            THE END