Long, long ago in the days of wise King Solomon, the Crow and the
Pheasant were the best of friends, and were always seen going about
together, wing in wing. Now the Pheasant was the Peacock's own
cousin,--a great honor, many thought, for the Peacock was the most
gorgeous of all the birds. But it was not altogether pleasant for the
Pheasant, because at that time he wore such plain and shabby old
garments that his proud relative was ashamed of him, and did not like to
be reminded that they were of the same family. When the Peacock went
strutting about with his wonderful tail spread fan-wise, and with his
vain little eyes peering to see who might be admiring his beauty, the
Peacock's cousin and his friend the Crow, who was then a plain _white_
bird, would slink aside and hide behind a tree, whence they would peep
enviously until the Peacock had passed by. Then the Peacock's cousin
would say,--
"Oh, how beautiful, how grand, how noble he is! How came such a lordly
bird to have for a cousin so homely a creature as I?"
But the Crow would answer, trying to comfort his friend, "Yes, he is
gorgeous. But listen, what a harsh and disagreeable voice he has! And
see how vain he is. I would not be so vain had I so scandalous a tale in
my family history."
Then the Crow told the Peacock's cousin how his proud relative came to
have so unmusical a voice.
* * * * *
When Adam and Eve were living peacefully in their fair garden, while
Satan was still seeking in vain a way to enter there, the Peacock was
the most beautiful of all the companions who surrounded the happy pair.
His plumage shone like pearl and emerald, and his voice was so melodious
that he was selected to sing the Lord's praises every day in the streets
of heaven. But he was then, as now, very, very vain; and Satan, prowling
about outside the wall of Paradise, saw this.
"Aha!" he said to himself, "here is the vainest creature in all the
world. He is the one I must flatter in order to win entrance to the
garden, where I am to work my mischief. Let me approach the Peacock."
Satan stole softly to the gate and in a wheedling voice called to the
Peacock,--
"O most wonderful and beautiful bird! Are you one of the birds of
Paradise?"
"Yes, I am one of the dwellers in the happy garden," answered the
Peacock, strutting. "But who are you who slink about so secretly, as if
afraid of some one?"
"I am one of the cherubim who are appointed to sing the Lord's praises,"
answered the wicked Satan. "I have stopped for a moment to visit the
Paradise which He has prepared for the blest, and I find as my first
glimpse of its glories you, O most lovely bird! Will you conceal me
under your rainbow wings and bring me within the walls?"
"I dare not," answered the Peacock. "The Lord allows none to enter here.
He will be angry and will punish me."
"O charming bird!" went on Satan with his smooth tongue, "take me with
you, and I will teach you three mysterious words which shall preserve
you forever from sickness, age, and death."
At this promise the Peacock was greatly tempted and began to hesitate in
his refusals. And at last he said,--
"I dare not myself let you in, O stranger, but if you keep your promise
I will send the Serpent, who is wiser than I and who may more easily
find some way to let you enter unobserved."
So it was through the Peacock that Satan met the vile Serpent, whose
shape he assumed in order to enter the garden and tempt Eve with the
apple. And for the Peacock's share in the doings of that dreadful day
the Lord took away his beautiful voice and sent him forth from the
pleasant garden to chatter harshly in this workaday world, where his
gorgeousness and his vanity are but a reminder to men of the shame which
he brought upon their ancestors.
* * * * *
"And therefore," said the Crow, concluding his gossip, "therefore, dear
Pheasant, I see no reason why we should envy your cousin. We are very
plain citizens of Birdland, but we are at least respectable. I like you
much better, having nothing to make you vain, nothing of which to be
ashamed."
* * * * *
So the Crow spoke, in the wisdom which he had learned from Solomon. But
the Peacock's cousin refused to be comforted. The shabbiness of his coat
preyed upon his mind, and he fancied that the other birds jeered at him
because in such old clothes he dared to be the Peacock's cousin. It
seemed to him that every day the Peacock himself grew more haughty and
more patronizing.
One day the Crow and the Peacock's cousin were sauntering through the
Malay woods when they met the Peacock face to face. The Crow looked
defiant and stood jauntily; but the Pheasant tried to shrink out of
sight. The Peacock, however, had spied his poor relative, and was filled
with cousinly resentment at his appearance.
He stopped short. He stood upon one leg. He puffed and ruffled himself,
spreading out his thousand-eyed tail so that its colors flashed
wonderfully in the sunshine. He frilled his neck feathers and snapped
his mean little eyes maliciously; then turning his back on the shabby
couple said, as he stepped airily away,--
"Ah, I have dropped some of my old feathers back there a little way. You
can have them if you like, Pheasant. They will freshen you up a bit; you
really are looking shockingly seedy. But for mercy's sake don't wear
them in my presence! I can't bear to see any one parading in my cast-off
elegance." Then the Peacock minced away.
The Peacock's cousin stamped on the ground and flapped his wings with
rage. If he had been a girl he would have burst into tears. "I cannot
stand this," he cried. "To be treated as if I were a beggar! To be given
old clothes to wear! Crow, Crow, if you were any kind of friend you
would help me. But you stand staring there and see me insulted, without
turning a feather! What is the use of all your wisdom that you learned
from King Solomon if you cannot help a friend in need? I tell you, I
must have some better garments, or I shall die of mortification."
"Don't be excited," said the Crow soothingly. "I have been thinking the
matter over, and I believe I can do something. Listen. Yesterday I found
brushes and a box of colors in a room of the King's palace. They
belonged to the Court Painter. Now they belong to me, for I have hidden
them away in a hollow tree where no one else can find them. I thought
they might be useful, and I think so still."
"Well, well! What do you propose to do with paints and brushes?" cried
the Peacock's cousin impatiently.
"I propose to paint you, to varnish you, to gild you," patiently
answered the Crow.
"Oh, you dear Crow!" exclaimed the other, clapping his wings. "You will
make me brilliant and beautiful! You will make me worthy of the
Peacock, will you not? How clever of you to think of such a thing!"
"Yes," replied the Crow; "I watched the Court Painter at work in the
garden one day, and I know how it is done. I will make you as gorgeous
as you wish. But you must return the compliment. If you are to be an
ornament of fashion, so must I be; for are we not inseparable cronies?
And when you become beautiful it would not do for you to be seen with
such a dowdy as I am."
"You dear creature!" said the Peacock's cousin affectionately; "of
course we will share alike. I will paint you as soon as I see how you
succeed with me. Ah, I know your skill in everything. You will be a fine
artist, my friend! But come, let us get to work at once."
So the flattered Crow led him to the hollow tree where he had concealed
the brushes and the gilding and the India ink, and all the gorgeous
changeable tints which an Eastern artist uses in his paintings. "Here we
are," said the Crow. "Now let us see what we shall see, when Master Crow
turns painter."
The Crow set to work with a will, splashing on the colors generously,
gold and green and bronze iridescence. He had the Peacock in mind, and
though he did not exactly copy the plumage of that wonderful bird, he
managed to suggest the cousinship of the Pheasant in the golden eyes of
his long and beautiful tail. When he had finished, the Crow was
delighted with his work.
"Ah!" he cried. "Now bend over this fountain, my dear friend, and
observe yourself. I think you do credit to my skill as an artist, eh?"
The Peacock's cousin hurried down to the water-pool, all in a flutter of
excitement. And when he saw his image he cried, "How beautiful, how
truly beautiful, I am! Why, I am quite as handsome as Peacock himself.
Surely, now he need not be ashamed to call me cousin. I shall move in
the most fashionable circles. Heavens! Look at my lovely tail! Look at
my burnished feathers! I must go immediately and show my new dress to
Cousin Peacock. I should not be surprised if he became jealous of my
gorgeousness." And off he started as fast as he could go.
"Hold on!" cried the Crow. "Don't run away so quickly. You have
forgotten something. Don't you remember that you promised to paint me
beautiful like yourself?"
"Oh, bother!" answered the ungrateful friend, tossing his head. "I have
no time now for such business. I must hasten to my cousin, for this is a
matter of family pride. Run along like a good creature; and by the way,
you may as well gather the feathers which Peacock mentioned. I am sure
they will make you look quite respectable. Besides, I will give you some
of mine when I have worn them a little. Ta-ta!" And he stepped airily
away.
But the Crow strode after him, shaking his wings and crying, "Come back,
come back and perform your part of the bargain, you selfish, ungrateful
creature!" And he caught the Pheasant by one of his long tail-feathers.
"Let go my train, impertinent wretch!" shrieked the Peacock's cousin,
turning upon him fiercely. "I tell you I have no time to spend in such
nonsense. I must be presenting myself in high society."
"Villain!" croaked the Crow, and he rushed forward fiercely, intending
to tear out the beautiful feathers which he had painted for his
ungrateful friend. Thereupon the Pheasant exclaimed,--
"You want to be painted, do you? Well, take _that_!" and, seizing the
bottle of India ink which was in the Eastern artist's paint-box, he
hurled it at the poor Crow, deluging with blackness his spotless
feathers. Then laughing harshly, away he flew to his cousin the Peacock,
who received him with proud affection, because they were now really
birds of a feather. For the Peacock's cousin was become one of the most
beautiful birds in the world.
But the poor Crow was now a sombre, black bird, wearing the
seedy-looking, inky coat which we know so well to-day. His heart was
broken by his friend's faithlessness, and he became a sour cynic who can
see no good in anything. He flies about crying "Caw! Caw!" in the most
disagreeable, sarcastic tone, as if sneering at the mean action of that
Malay bird, which he can never forget.