The Man Who Sculpted Angels

There once was a brick maker

who, when he was a young man,

decided bricks were too easy to make

and that it would be much better to sculpt

fine marble statues of transcendent angels

in various states of ecstasy

because this was harder and therefore

much more worth the effort.

“Look,” the brick-maker-turned-angel-sculptor said to himself,

“to make bricks I just stuff clay in cube molds

and then put the cubes in an oven.

That is so easy I can't believe it's a job.

Even the softheaded village idiot could do it.

And, besides, nobody remembers

the name of the man who made their bricks.”

So for many years our brick-maker-turned-angel-sculptor

did indeed sculpt the finest, most perfectly carved,

beautifulest angels you ever saw

and meanwhile the people built their

houses out of wood, and when that failed,

they prevailed upon the man who sculpted angels

to teach the softheaded village idiot to make bricks,

which he did forthwith, and bricks being

in demand, the idiot prospered greatly.

And so everyone got on very happily

except for the man who sculpted angels

because, after half his life was over,

everyone he met told him

how fine his angels were

but still he had not sold a single one

and what was probably worse to him

no more people remembered his name

than if he had been making bricks the whole time.

Of course, the son and the wife of the man

hated him, for their family was always poor

and had to walk everywhere and wear rags

whereas the softheaded village idiot

and his softheaded idiot children

wore the nicest clothing and rode in the finest carriage.

So, finally, the man who sculpted angels said, “Fine,

I will make bricks too!” And in a single night

he made more bricks and by far

what everyone agreed were better bricks

than the softheaded village idiot ever had.

And what do you think happened then?

Well, the man who sculpted angels

did indeed sell a lot of bricks

and all the people for miles around

really did live in much sturdier houses.

But still, he made very little money

because now bricks were so common

and since they were just bricks

nobody remembered his name either.

The only difference was

the angel-sculptor-turned-brick-maker

could now afford a brick house for himself

and the softheaded village idiot

was also poor.