At which the ring stirred in the palm of his hand and said:
“The expression ‘do what he can’ indicates merely that King Genius, lacking a kingdom, is a king of limited means. He appeals to you, O constructor, as one philosopher to another—and apparently is not mistaken in so doing, for these words, I see, uttered though they be by a ring, do not surprise you. Be then not surprised at His Highness’ somewhat straitened circumstances. Have no fear, you shall receive your payment as is meet, albeit not in gold. Yet there are things more to be desired than gold.”
“Indeed, Sir Ring,” observed Trurl wryly. “Philosophy is all very well and good, but the ergs and amps, the ions and the atoms, not to mention other odds and ends needed in the building of machines—they cost, they cost like the devil! So I like my contracts to be clear, everything spelled out in articles and clauses, and with plenty of signatures and seals. And, though I am hardly the greedy, grasping sort, I do love gold, particularly in large quantities, and am not ashamed to admit it! Its sparkle, its yellow hue, the sweet weight of it in the hand—these things, when I pour a sack or two of tinkling ducats on the floor and wallow in them, warm my heart and brighten my soul, as if someone had kindled a little sun within. Aye, damn it, I love my gold!” he cried, carried away by his own words.
“But why must it be the gold that others bring? Are you not able to supply yourself with as much as you desire?” inquired the ring, blinking with surprise.
“Well, I don’t know how wise this King Genius of yours is,” Trurl retorted, “but you, I see, are a thoroughly uneducated ring! What, you would have me make my own gold? Whoever heard of such a thing?! Is a cobbler a cobbler to mend his own shoes? Does a cook do his own cooking, a soldier his own fighting? Anyway, in case you didn’t know, next to gold I love to complain. But enough of this idle chatter, there is work to be done.”
And he placed the ring in an old tin can, rolled up his sleeves and built the three machines in three days, not once leaving his workshop. Then he considered what external shapes to give them, wanting something that would be both simple and functional. He tried on various casings, one after the other, while the ring kept interfering with comments and suggestions, until he had to close the can.
Finally Trurl painted the machines—the first white, the second an azure blue, and the third jet black—then rubbed the ring, loaded the phaeton which instantly appeared, climbed in himself and waited to see what would happen next. There was a whistling and a hissing, the dust rose, and when it fell, Trurl looked out the window and saw that he was in a large cave, the floor of which was covered with white sand; then he noticed several wooden benches piled high with books and folios, and then a row of gleaming spheres. In one of these he recognized the stranger who had ordered the machines, and in the middle sphere, larger than the rest and etched with the lines of old age, he guessed the King. Trurl stepped down and gave a bow. The King greeted him kindly and said:
“There are two wisdoms: the first inclines to action, the second to inaction. Do you not agree, worthy Trurl, that the second is the greater? For surely, even the most far-sighted mind cannot foresee the ultimate consequences of present undertakings, consequences therefore so uncertain, that they render problematical those very undertakings. And thus perfection lies in the abstention from all action. In this then does true wisdom differ from mere intellect.”
“Your Majesty’s words,” said Trurl, “can be taken in two ways. They may contain, for one, a subtle hint intended to belittle the value of my own labor, namely the undertaking which has as its consequence the three machines delivered in this phaeton. Such an interpretation I find most unpleasant, as it indicates a certain, shall we say, disinclination regarding the matter of remuneration. Or else we have here simply a statement of the Doctrine of Inaction, of which it may be said that it is self-contradictory. To refrain from acting, one must first be capable of acting. He who does not move the mountain for lack of means, yet claims that wisdom did dictate he move it not, merely plays the fool with his display of philosophy. Inaction is certain, and that is all it has to recommend it. Action is uncertain, and therein lies its fascination. As for further ramifications of the problem, if Your Majesty so wishes, I can construct a suitable mechanism with which he may converse on the subject.”
“The matter of remuneration let us leave to the end of this delightful occasion which has brought you to our shore,” said the King, betraying by slight revolving motions the great amusement Trurl’s peroration had afforded him. “You are our guest, noble constructor. Come therefore and sit at our humble table among these faithful friends and tell us of the deeds you have performed, and also of the deeds you chose not to.”
“Your Majesty is too kind,” replied Trurl. “Yet I fear I lack the necessary eloquence. Perchance these three machines may serve in my stead—which would have the added merit of providing Your Majesty with the opportunity to test them.”
“Let it be as you say,” agreed the King.
Everyone assumed an attitude of the utmost interest and expectation. Trurl brought out the first machine— the one painted white—from the phaeton, pushed a button, then took a seat at the side of King Genius. The machine said:
“Here is the story of the Multitudians, their king Man-drillion, his Perfect Adviser, and Trurl the constructor, who built the Adviser, and later destroyed it!”
The land of the Multitudians is famous for its inhabitants, who are distinguished by the fact that they are multitudinous. One day the constructor Trurl, passing through the saffron regions of the constellation Deliria, strayed a little from the main path and caught sight of a planet that appeared to writhe. Drawing nearer, he saw that this was due to the multitudes that covered its surface; he landed, having found—not without difficulty—a few square feet of relatively unoccupied ground. The natives immediately ran up and thronged about him, exclaiming how multitudinous they were, although, as they all talked at once, Trurl couldn’t make out a single word. When finally he understood, he asked:
“Multitudinous, are you?”
“We are!!” they shouted, bursting with pride. “We are innumerable.”
And others cried:
“We are like fish in the sea!”
“Like pebbles on the beach!”
“Like stars in the sky! Like atoms!!”
“Supposing you are,” returned Trurl. “What of it? Do you spend all day counting yourselves, and does that give you pleasure?”
“Know, O unenlightened alien,” was their reply, “that when we stamp our feet, the very mountains tremble, and when we huff and puff, it is a hurricane that sends trees flying, and when we all sit down together, there is hardly room enough to breathe!!”
“But why should mountains tremble and hurricanes send trees flying, and why should there be hardly room enough to breathe?” asked Trurl. “Is it not better when mountains stay at rest, and there are no hurricanes, and everyone has room enough to breathe?”
The Multitudians were highly offended by this lack of respect shown to their mighty numbers and their numerical might, so they stamped, huffed and puffed, and sat down to demonstrate their multitudinality and show just what it meant. Earthquakes toppled half the trees, crushing seven hundred thousand persons, and hurricanes leveled the rest, causing the demise of seven hundred thousand more, while those who remained alive had hardly room enough to breathe.
“Good heavens!” cried Trurl, packed in among the sitting natives like a brick in a brick wall. “What a catastrophe!”
Which insulted them even more.
“O barbarous and benighted alien!” they said. “What are a few hundred thousand to the Multitudians, whose myriads are countless?! A loss that goes unnoticed is no loss at all. You have seen how powerful we are in our stamping, in our huffing and puffing, and in our sitting down. Imagine then what would happen if we turned to bigger things!”
“You mustn’t think,” said Trurl, “that your way of thinking is altogether new to me. Indeed, it’s well known that whatever comes in sufficiently large quantities commands the general admiration. For example, a little stale gas circulating sluggishly at the bottom of an old barrel excites wonder in no one; but if you have enough of it to make a Galactic Nebula, everyone is instantly struck with awe. Though really, it’s the same stale and absolutely average gas —only there’s an awful lot of it.”
“We do not like what you say!” they shouted. “We do not like to hear about this stale gas!”
Trurl looked around for the police, but the crowd was too great for the police to push through.
