days came again he went to the oak tree to let her out. But, to his
sorrow and surprise, he found the great tree lying upon the ground. A
winter storm had blown it down, and it lay with its trunk shattered and
split. And what became of the Dryad no one ever knew.
204
John Ruskin (1819-1900), the most eloquent of
English prose writers, was much interested in
the question of literature for both grown-ups
and children. He edited a reissue of Taylor's
translation of Grimms' _Popular Stories_,
issued "Dame Wiggins of Lee and Her Seven
Wonderful Cats" (see No. 143), and wrote that
masterpiece among modern stories for children,
_The King of the Golden River_. Its fine
idealism, splendidly imagined structure,
wonderful word-paintings, and perfect English
all combine to justify the high place assigned
to it. Ruskin wrote the story in 1841, at a
"couple of sittings," though it was not
published until ten years later. Speaking of it
later in life, he said that it "was written to
amuse a little girl; and being a fairly good
imitation of Grimm and Dickens, mixed with a
little true Alpine feeling of my own, it has
been rightly pleasing to nice children, and
good for them. But it is totally valueless, for
all that. I can no more write a story than
compose a picture." The final statement may be
taken for what it is worth, written as it was
at a time of disillusionment. The first part of
Ruskin's analysis is certainly true and has
been thus expanded by his biographer, Sir E. T.
Cook: "The grotesque and the German setting of
the tale were taken from Grimm; from Dickens it
took its tone of pervading kindliness and
geniality. The Alpine ecstasy and the eager
pressing of the moral were Ruskin's own; and so
also is the style, delicately poised between
poetry and comedy."
THE KING OF THE GOLDEN RIVER OR THE BLACK BROTHERS
JOHN RUSKIN
CHAPTER I
HOW THE AGRICULTURAL SYSTEM OF THE BLACK BROTHERS WAS INTERFERED WITH BY
SOUTH-WEST WIND, ESQUIRE
In a secluded and mountainous part of Stiria there was, in old time, a
valley of the most surprising and luxuriant fertility. It was
surrounded, on all sides, by steep and rocky mountains, rising into
peaks, which were always covered with snow, and from which a number of
torrents descended in constant cataracts. One of these fell westward,
over the face of a crag so high, that, when the sun had set to
everything else, and all below was darkness, his beams still shone full
upon this waterfall, so that it looked like a shower of gold. It was,
therefore, called by the people of the neighborhood, the Golden River.
It was strange that none of these streams fell into the valley itself.
They all descended on the other side of the mountains, and wound away
through broad plains and by populous cities. But the clouds were drawn
so constantly to the snowy hills, and rested so softly in the circular
hollow, that in time of drought and heat, when all the country round was
burnt up, there was still rain in the little valley; and its crops were
so heavy, and its hay so high, and its apples so red, and its grapes so
blue, and its wine so rich, and its honey so sweet, that it was a marvel
to every one who beheld it, and was commonly called the Treasure Valley.
The whole of this little valley belonged to three brothers, called
Schwartz, Hans, and Gluck. Schwartz and Hans, the two elder brothers,
were very ugly men, with overhanging eyebrows and small dull eyes, which
were always half shut, so that you couldn't see into _them_, and always
fancied they saw very far into _you_. They lived by farming the Treasure
Valley, and very good farmers they were. They killed everything that did
not pay for its eating. They shot the blackbirds because they pecked the
fruit; and killed the hedgehogs, lest they should suck the cows; they
poisoned the crickets for eating the crumbs in the kitchen; and
smothered the cicadas, which used to sing all summer in the lime trees.
They worked their servants without any wages, till they would not work
any more, and then quarreled with them, and turned them out of doors
without paying them. It would have been very odd if, with such a farm,
and such a system of farming, they hadn't got very rich; and very rich
they _did_ get. They generally contrived to keep their corn by them till
it was very dear, and then sell it for twice its value; they had heaps
of gold lying about on their floors, yet it was never known that they
had given so much as a penny or a crust in charity; they never went to
mass; grumbled perpetually at paying tithes; and were, in a word, of so
cruel and grinding a temper as to receive from all those with whom they
had any dealings the nickname of the "Black Brothers."
The youngest brother, Gluck, was as completely opposed, in both
appearance and character, to his seniors as could possibly be imagined
or desired. He was not above twelve years old, fair, blue-eyed, and kind
in temper to every living thing. He did not, of course, agree
particularly well with his brothers, or rather, they did not agree with
_him_. He was usually appointed to the honorable office of turnspit,
when there was anything to roast, which was not often; for, to do the
brothers justice, they were hardly less sparing upon themselves than
upon other people. At other times he used to clean the shoes, floors,
and sometimes the plates, occasionally getting what was left on them, by
way of encouragement, and a wholesome quantity of dry blows, by way of
education.
Things went on in this manner for a long time. At last came a very wet
summer, and everything went wrong in the country around. The hay had
hardly been got in, when the haystacks were floated bodily down to the
sea by an inundation; the vines were cut to pieces with the hail; the
corn was all killed by a black blight; only in the Treasure Valley, as
usual, all was safe. As it had rain when there was rain nowhere else, so
it had sun when there was sun nowhere else. Everybody came to buy corn
at the farm, and went away pouring maledictions on the Black Brothers.
They asked what they liked, and got it, except from the poor people, who
could only beg, and several of whom were starved at their very door,
without the slightest regard or notice.
It was drawing towards winter, and very cold weather, when one day the
two elder brothers had gone out, with their usual warning to little
Gluck, who was left to mind the roast, that he was to let nobody in, and
give nothing out. Gluck sat down quite close to the fire, for it was
raining very hard, and the kitchen walls were by no means dry or
comfortable looking. He turned and turned, and the roast got nice and
brown. "What a pity," thought Gluck, "my brothers never ask anybody to
dinner. I'm sure, when they've got such a nice piece of mutton as this,
and nobody else has got so much as a piece of dry bread, it would do
their hearts good to have somebody to eat it with them."
Just as he spoke, there came a double knock at the house door, yet heavy
and dull, as though the knocker had been tied up--more like a puff than
a knock.
"It must be the wind," said Gluck; "nobody else would venture to knock
double knocks at our door."
No; it wasn't the wind; there it came again very hard, and what was
particularly astounding, the knocker seemed to be in a hurry, and not to
be in the least afraid of the consequences. Gluck went to the window,
opened it, and put his head out to see who it was.
It was the most extraordinary looking little gentleman he had ever seen
in his life. He had a very large nose, slightly brass-colored; his
cheeks were very round, and very red, and might have warranted a
supposition that he had been blowing a refractory fire for the last
eight-and-forty hours; his eyes twinkled merrily through long silky
eyelashes, his mustaches curled twice round like a corkscrew on each
side of his mouth, and his hair, of a curious mixed pepper-and-salt
color, descended far over his shoulders. He was about four-feet-six in
height, and wore a conical pointed cap of nearly the same altitude,
decorated with a black feather some three feet long. His doublet was
prolonged behind into something resembling a violent exaggeration of
what is now termed a "swallowtail," but was much obscured by the
swelling folds of an enormous black, glossy-looking cloak, which must
have been very much too long in calm weather, as the wind, whistling
round the old house, carried it clear out from the wearer's shoulders to
about four times his own length.
Gluck was so perfectly paralyzed by the singular appearance of his
visitor, that he remained fixed without uttering a word, until the old
gentleman, having performed another, and a more energetic concerto on
the knocker, turned round to look after his fly-away cloak. In so doing
he caught sight of Gluck's little yellow head jammed in the window, with
its mouth and eyes very wide open indeed.
"Hollo!" said the little gentleman, "that's not the way to answer the
door: I'm wet; let me in!"
To do the little gentleman justice, he _was_ wet. His feather hung down
between his legs like a beaten puppy's tail, dripping like an umbrella;
and from the ends of his mustaches the water was running into his
waistcoat pockets, and out again like a mill stream.
"I beg pardon, sir," said Gluck, "I'm very sorry, but I really can't."
"Can't what?" said the old gentleman.
"I can't let you in, sir,--I can't indeed; my brothers would beat me to
death, sir, if I thought of such a thing. What do you want, sir?"
"Want?" said the old gentleman, petulantly. "I want fire, and shelter;
and there's your great fire there blazing, crackling, and dancing on the
walls, with nobody to feel it. Let me in, I say; I only want to warm
myself."
Gluck had had his head, by this time, so long out of the window, that he
began to feel it was really unpleasantly cold, and when he turned, and
saw the beautiful fire rustling and roaring, and throwing long bright
tongues up the chimney, as if it were licking its chops at the savory
smell of the leg of mutton, his heart melted within him that it should
be burning away for nothing. "He does look _very_ wet," said little
Gluck; "I'll just let him in for a quarter of an hour." Round he went to
the door, and opened it; and as the little gentleman walked in, there
came a gust of wind through the house that made the old chimneys totter.
"That's a good boy," said the little gentleman. "Never mind your
brothers. I'll talk to them."
"Pray, sir, don't do any such thing," said Gluck. "I can't let you stay
till they come; they'd be the death of me."
"Dear me," said the old gentleman, "I'm very sorry to hear that. How
long may I stay?"
"Only till the mutton's done, sir," replied Gluck, "and it's very
brown."
Then the old gentleman walked into the kitchen, and sat himself down on
the hob, with the top of his cap accommodated up the chimney, for it was
a great deal too high for the roof.
"You'll soon dry there, sir," said Gluck, and sat down again to turn the
mutton. But the old gentleman did _not_ dry there, but went on drip,
drip, dripping among the cinders, and the fire fizzed and sputtered, and
began to look very black and uncomfortable; never was such a cloak;
every fold in it ran like a gutter.
"I beg pardon, sir," said Gluck at length, after watching the water
spreading in long, quicksilver-like streams over the floor for a quarter
of an hour; "mayn't I take your cloak?"
"No thank you," said the old gentleman.
"Your cap, sir?"
"I am all right, thank you," said the old gentleman rather gruffly.
"But--sir--I'm very sorry," said Gluck hesitatingly; "but--really,
sir--you're--putting the fire out."
"It'll take longer to do the mutton, then," replied his visitor dryly.
Gluck was very much puzzled by the behavior of his guest; it was such a
strange mixture of coolness and humility. He turned away at the string
meditatively for another five minutes.
"That mutton looks very nice," said the old gentleman at length. "Can't
you give me a little bit?"
"Impossible, sir," said Gluck.
"I'm very hungry," continued the old gentleman; "I've had nothing to eat
yesterday nor to-day. They surely couldn't miss a bit from the knuckle!"
He spoke in so very melancholy a tone that it quite melted Gluck's
heart. "They promised me one slice to-day, sir," said he; "I can give
you that, but not a bit more."
"That's a good boy," said the old gentleman again.
Then Gluck warmed a plate, and sharpened a knife. "I don't care if I do
get beaten for it," thought he. Just as he had cut a large slice out of
the mutton, there came a tremendous rap at the door. The old gentleman
jumped off the hob, as if it had suddenly become inconveniently warm.
Gluck fitted the slice into the mutton again, with desperate efforts at
exactitude, and ran to open the door.
"What did you keep us waiting in the rain for?" said Schwartz, as he
walked in, throwing his umbrella in Gluck's face. "Ay! what for, indeed,
you little vagabond?" said Hans, administering an educational box on the
ear, as he followed his brother into the kitchen.
"Bless my soul!" said Schwartz when he opened the door.
"Amen," said the little gentleman, who had taken his cap off and was
standing in the middle of the kitchen, bowing with the utmost possible
velocity.
"Who's that?" said Schwartz, catching up a rolling-pin, and turning to
Gluck with a fierce frown.
"I don't know, indeed, brother," said Gluck in great terror.
"How did he get in?" roared Schwartz.
"My dear brother," said Gluck, deprecatingly, "he was so _very_ wet!"
The rolling-pin was descending on Gluck's head; but, at the instant, the
old gentleman interposed his conical cap, on which it crashed with a
shock that shook the water out of it all over the room. What was very
odd, the rolling pin no sooner touched the cap, than it flew out of
Schwartz's hand, spinning like a straw in a high wind, and fell into the
corner at the farther end of the room.
"Who are you, sir?" demanded Schwartz, turning upon him.
"What's your business?" snarled Hans.
"I'm a poor old man, sir," the little gentleman began very modestly,
"and I saw your fire through the window, and begged shelter for a
quarter of an hour."
"Have the goodness to walk out again, then," said Schwartz. "We've quite
enough water in our kitchen, without making it a drying house."
"It is a cold day to turn an old man out in, sir; look at my gray
hairs." They hung down to his shoulders, as I told you before.
"Ay!" said Hans, "there are enough of them to keep you warm. Walk!"
"I'm very, very hungry, sir; couldn't you spare me a bit of bread before
I go?"
"Bread, indeed!" said Schwartz; "do you suppose we've nothing to do with
our bread but to give it to such red-nosed fellows as you?"
"Why don't you sell your feather?" said Hans, sneeringly. "Out with
you!"
"A little bit," said the old gentleman.
"Be off!" said Schwartz.
"Pray, gentlemen--"
"Off, and be hanged!" cried Hans, seizing him by the collar. But he had
no sooner touched the old gentleman's collar, than away he went after
the rolling-pin, spinning round and round, till he fell into the corner
on the top of it. Then Schwartz was very angry, and ran at the old
gentleman to turn him out; but he also had hardly touched him, when away
he went after Hans and the rolling-pin, and hit his head against the
wall as he tumbled into the corner. And so there they lay, all three.
Then the old gentleman spun himself round with velocity in the opposite
direction; continued to spin until his long cloak was all wound neatly
about him, clapped his cap on his head, very much on one side (for it
could not stand upright without going through the ceiling), gave an
additional twist to his corkscrew mustaches, and replied with perfect
coolness: "Gentlemen, I wish you a very good morning. At twelve o'clock
to-night I'll call again; after such a refusal of hospitality as I have
just experienced, you will not be surprised if that visit is the last I
ever pay you."
"If ever I catch you here again," muttered Schwartz, coming, half
frightened, out of the corner--but, before he could finish his sentence,
the old gentleman had shut the house door behind him with a great bang:
and there drove past the window, at the same instant, a wreath of ragged
cloud that whirled and rolled away down the valley in all manner of
shapes; turning over and over in the air, and melting away at last in a
gush of rain.
"A very pretty business, indeed, Mr. Gluck!" said Schwartz. "Dish the
mutton, sir. If ever I catch you at such a trick again--bless me, why
the mutton's been cut!"
"You promised me one slice, brother, you know," said Gluck.
"Oh! and you were cutting it hot, I suppose, and going to catch all the
gravy. It'll be long before I promise you such a thing again. Leave the
room, sir; and have the kindness to wait in the coal-cellar till I call
you."
Gluck left the room melancholy enough. The brothers ate as much mutton
as they could, locked the rest in the cupboard, and proceeded to get
very drunk after dinner.
Such a night as it was! Howling wind and rushing rain, without
intermission! The brothers had just sense enough left to put up all the
shutters, and double bar the door, before they went to bed. They usually
slept in the same room. As the clock struck twelve, they were both
awakened by a tremendous crash. Their door burst open with a violence
that shook the house from top to bottom.
"What's that?" cried Schwartz, starting up in his bed.
"Only I," said the little gentleman.
The two brothers sat up on their bolster and stared into the darkness.
The room was full of water, and by a misty moonbeam, which found its way
through a hole in the shutter, they could see in the midst of it an
enormous foam globe, spinning round, and bobbing up and down like a
cork, on which, as on a most luxurious cushion, reclined the little old
gentleman, cap and all. There was plenty of room for it now, for the
roof was off.
"Sorry to incommode you," said their visitor, ironically. "I'm afraid
your beds are dampish; perhaps you had better go to your brother's room;
I've left the ceiling on, there."
They required no second admonition, but rushed into Gluck's room, wet
through, and in an agony of terror.
"You'll find my card on the kitchen table," the old gentleman called
after them. "Remember, the _last_ visit."
"Pray Heaven it may!" said Schwartz, shuddering. And the foam globe
disappeared.
Dawn came at last, and the two brothers looked out of Gluck's little
window in the morning. The Treasure Valley was one mass of ruin and
desolation. The inundation had swept away trees, crops, and cattle, and
left in their stead a waste of red sand and gray mud. The two brothers
crept shivering and horror-struck into the kitchen. The water had gutted
the whole first floor; corn, money, almost every movable thing had been
swept away, and there was left only a small white card on the kitchen
table. On it, in large, breezy long-legged letters, were engraved the
words:--
SOUTH-WEST WIND, ESQUIRE.
CHAPTER II
OF THE PROCEEDINGS OF THE THREE BROTHERS AFTER THE VISIT OF SOUTH-WEST
WIND, ESQUIRE; AND HOW LITTLE GLUCK HAD AN INTERVIEW WITH THE KING OF
THE GOLDEN RIVER
South-West Wind, Esquire, was as good as his word. After the momentous
visit above related, he entered the Treasure Valley no more; and, what
was worse, he had so much influence with his relations, the West Winds
in general, and used it so effectually, that they all adopted a similar
line of conduct. So no rain fell in the valley from one year's end to
another. Though everything remained green and flourishing in the plains
below, the inheritance of the Three Brothers was a desert. What had once
been the richest soil in the kingdom, became a shifting heap of red
sand; and the brothers, unable longer to contend with the adverse skies,
abandoned their valueless patrimony in despair, to seek some means of
gaining a livelihood among the cities and people of the plains. All
their money was gone, and they had nothing left but some curious,
old-fashioned pieces of gold plates, the last remnants of their
ill-gotten wealth.
"Suppose we turn goldsmiths?" said Schwartz to Hans, as they entered the
large city. "It is a good knave's trade; we can put a great deal of
copper into the gold, without any one's finding it out."
The thought was agreed to be a very good one; they hired a furnace, and
turned goldsmiths. But two slight circumstances affected their trade;
the first, that people did not approve of the coppered gold; the second,
that the two elder brothers, whenever they had sold anything, used to
leave little Gluck to mind the furnace, and go and drink out the money
in the ale-house next door. So they melted all their gold, without
making money enough to buy more, and were at last reduced to one large
drinking mug, which an uncle of his had given to little Gluck, and which
he was very fond of, and would not have parted with for the world;
though he never drank anything out of it but milk and water. The mug was
a very odd mug to look at. The handle was formed of two wreaths of
flowing golden hair, so finely spun that it looked more like silk than
metal, and these wreaths descended into, and mixed with, a beard and
whiskers of the same exquisite workmanship, which surrounded and
decorated a very fierce little face, of the reddest gold imaginable,
right in the front of the mug, with a pair of eyes in it which seemed to
command its whole circumference. It was impossible to drink out of the
mug without being subjected to an intense gaze out of the side of these
eyes; and Schwartz positively averred that once, after emptying it, full
of Rhenish, seventeen times, he had seen them wink! When it came to the
mug's turn to be made into spoons, it half broke poor little Gluck's
heart; but the brothers only laughed at him, tossed the mug into the
melting-pot, and staggered out to the ale-house; leaving him, as usual,
to pour the gold into bars, when it was all ready.
When they were gone, Gluck took a farewell look at his old friend in the
melting-pot. The flowing hair was all gone; nothing remained but the red
nose, and the sparkling eyes, which looked more malicious than ever.
"And no wonder," thought Gluck, "after being treated in that way." He
sauntered disconsolately to the window, and sat himself down to catch
the fresh evening air, and escape the hot breath of the furnace. Now
this window commanded a direct view of the range of mountains, which, as
I told you before, overhung the Treasure Valley, and more especially of
the peak from which fell the Golden River. It was just at the close of
the day, and when Gluck sat down at the window, he saw the rocks of the
mountain tops, all crimson and purple with the sunset; and there were
bright tongues of fiery cloud burning and quivering about them; and the
river, brighter than all, fell, in a waving column of pure gold, from
precipice to precipice, with the double arch of a broad purple rainbow
stretched across it, flushing and fading alternately in the wreaths of
spray.
"Ah!" said Gluck aloud, after he had looked at it for a while, "if that
river were really all gold, what a nice thing it would be."
"No, it wouldn't, Gluck," said a clear metallic voice, close at his ear.
"Bless me! what's that?" exclaimed Gluck, jumping up. There was nobody
there. He looked round the room, and under the table, and a great many
times behind him, but there was certainly nobody there, and he sat down
again at the window. This time he didn't speak, but he couldn't help
thinking again that it would be very convenient if the river were really
all gold.
"Not at all, my boy," said the same voice, louder than before.
"Bless me!" said Gluck again; "what _is_ that?" He looked again into all
the corners, and cupboards, and then began turning round, and round, as
fast as he could in the middle of the room, thinking there was somebody
behind him, when the same voice struck again on his ear. It was singing
now very merrily, "Lala-lira-la"; no words, only a soft running
effervescent melody, something like that of a kettle on the boil. Gluck
looked out of the window. No, it was certainly in the house. Upstairs,
and downstairs. No, it was certainly in that very room, coming in
quicker time, and clearer notes, every moment. "Lala-lira-la." All at
once it struck Gluck that it sounded louder near the furnace. He ran to
the opening, and looked in; yes, he saw right, it seemed to be coming,
not only out of the furnace, but out of the pot. He uncovered it, and
ran back in a great fright, for the pot was certainly singing! He stood
in the farthest corner of the room, with his hands up, and his mouth
open, for a minute or two, when the singing stopped, and the voice
became clear, and pronunciative.
"Hollo!" said the voice.
Gluck made no answer.
"Hollo! Gluck, my boy," said the pot again.
Gluck summoned all his energies, walked straight up to the crucible,
drew it out of the furnace, and looked in. The gold was all melted, and
its surface as smooth and polished as a river; but instead of reflecting
little Gluck's head, as he looked in, he saw, meeting his glance from
beneath the gold, the red nose and sharp eyes of his old friend of the
mug, a thousand times redder and sharper than ever he had seen them in
his life.
"Come, Gluck, my boy," said the voice out of the pot again, "I'm all
right; pour me out."
But Gluck was too much astonished to do anything of the kind.
"Pour me out, I say," said the voice rather gruffly.
Still Gluck couldn't move.
"_Will_ you pour me out?" said the voice passionately. "I'm too hot."
By a violent effort, Gluck recovered the use of his limbs, took hold of
the crucible, and sloped it so as to pour out the gold. But instead of a
liquid stream, there came out, first, a pair of pretty little yellow
legs, then some coat tails, then a pair of arms stuck a-kimbo, and,
finally, the well-known head of his friend the mug; all which articles,
uniting as they rolled out, stood up energetically on the floor, in the
shape of a little golden dwarf, about a foot and a half high.
"That's right!" said the dwarf, stretching out first his legs and then
his arms, and then shaking his head up and down, and as far round as it
would go, for five minutes, without stopping; apparently with the view
of ascertaining if he were quite correctly put together, while Gluck
stood contemplating him in speechless amazement. He was dressed in a
slashed doublet of spun gold, so fine in its texture that the prismatic
colors gleamed over it, as if on a surface of mother of pearl; and, over
this brilliant doublet, his hair and beard fell full halfway to the
ground in waving curls so exquisitely delicate that Gluck could hardly
tell where they ended; they seemed to melt into air. The features of the
face, however, were by no means finished with the same delicacy; they
were rather coarse, slightly inclining to coppery in complexion, and
indicative, in expression, of a very pertinacious and intractable
disposition in their small proprietor. When the dwarf had finished his
self-examination, he turned his small sharp eyes full on Gluck and
stared at him deliberately for a minute or two. "No, it wouldn't, Gluck,
my boy," said the little man.
This was certainly rather an abrupt and unconnected mode of commencing
conversation. It might indeed be supposed to refer to the course of
Gluck's thoughts, which had first produced the dwarf's observations out
of the pot; but whatever it referred to, Gluck had no inclination to
dispute the dictum.
"Wouldn't it, sir?" said Gluck, very mildly and submissively indeed.
"No," said the dwarf, conclusively. "No, it wouldn't." And with that,
the dwarf pulled his cap hard over his brows, and took two turns, of
three feet long, up and down the room, lifting his legs up very high,
and setting them down very hard. This pause gave time for Gluck to
collect his thoughts a little, and, seeing no great reason to view his
diminutive visitor with dread, and feeling his curiosity overcome his
amazement, he ventured on a question of peculiar delicacy.
"Pray, sir," said Gluck rather hesitatingly, "were you my mug?"
On which the little man turned sharp round, walked straight up to Gluck,
and drew himself up to his full height. "I," said the little man, "am
the King of the Golden River." Whereupon he turned about again, and took
two more turns, some six feet long, in order to allow time for the
consternation which this announcement produced in his auditor to
evaporate. After which, he again walked up to Gluck and stood still, as
if expecting some comment on his communication.
Gluck determined to say something at all events. "I hope your Majesty is
very well," said Gluck.
"Listen!" said the little man, deigning no reply to this polite inquiry.
"I am the King of what you mortals call the Golden River. The shape you
saw me in, was owing to the malice of a stronger king, from whose
enchantments you have this instant freed me. What I have seen of you,
and your conduct to your wicked brothers, renders me willing to serve
you; therefore, attend to what I tell you. Whoever shall climb to the
top of that mountain from which you see the Golden River issue, and
shall cast into the stream at its source three drops of holy water, for
him, and for him only, the river shall turn to gold. But no one failing
in his first, can succeed in a second attempt; and if any one shall cast
unholy water into the river, it will overwhelm him, and he will become a
black stone." So saying, the King of the Golden River turned away and
deliberately walked into the center of the hottest flame of the furnace.
His figure became red, white, transparent, dazzling--a blaze of intense
light--rose, trembled, and disappeared. The King of the Golden River had
evaporated.
"Oh!" cried poor Gluck, running to look up the chimney after him; "Oh,
dear, dear, dear me! My mug! my mug! my mug!"
CHAPTER III
HOW MR. HANS SET OFF ON AN EXPEDITION TO THE GOLDEN RIVER, AND HOW HE
PROSPERED THEREIN
The King of the Golden River had hardly made the extraordinary exit,
related in the last chapter, before Hans and Schwartz came roaring into
the house, very savagely drunk. The discovery of the total loss of their
last piece of plate had the effect of sobering them just enough to
enable them to stand over Gluck, beating him very steadily for a quarter
of an hour; at the expiration of which period they dropped into a couple
of chairs, and requested to know what he had got to say for himself.
Gluck told them his story, of which, of course, they did not believe a
word. They beat him again, till their arms were tired, and staggered to
bed. In the morning, however, the steadiness with which he adhered to
his story obtained him some degree of credence; the immediate
consequence of which was, that the two brothers, after wrangling a long
time on the knotty question, which of them should try his fortune first,
drew their swords and began fighting. The noise of the fray alarmed the
neighbors, who, finding they could not pacify the combatants, sent for
the constable.
Hans, on hearing this, contrived to escape, and hid himself; but
Schwartz was taken before the magistrate, fined for breaking the peace,
and, having drunk out his last penny the evening before, was thrown into
prison till he should pay.
When Hans heard this, he was much delighted, and determined to set out
immediately for the Golden River. How to get the holy water was the
question. He went to the priest, but the priest could not give any holy
water to so abandoned a character. So Hans went to vespers in the
evening for the first time in his life, and, under pretense of crossing
himself, stole a cupful, and returned home in triumph.
Next morning he got up before the sun rose, put the holy water into a
strong flask, and two bottles of wine and some meat in a basket, slung
them over his back, took his alpine staff in his hand, and set off for
the mountains.
On his way out of the town he had to pass the prison, and as he looked
in at the windows, whom should he see but Schwartz himself peeping out
of the bars, and looking very disconsolate.
"Good morning, brother," said Hans; "have you any message for the King
of the Golden River?"
Schwartz gnashed his teeth with rage, and shook the bars with all his
strength; but Hans only laughed at him, and advising him to make himself
comfortable till he came back again, shouldered his basket, shook the
bottle of holy water in Schwartz's face till it frothed again, and
marched off in the highest spirits in the world.
It was, indeed, a morning that might have made any one happy, even with
no Golden River to seek for. Level lines of dewy mist lay stretched
along the valley, out of which rose the massy mountains--their lower
cliffs in pale gray shadow, hardly distinguishable from the floating
vapor, but gradually ascending till they caught the sunlight, which ran
in sharp touches of ruddy color along the angular crags, and pierced, in
long level rays, through their fringes of spear-like pine. Far above,
shot up red splintered masses of castellated rock, jagged and shivered
into myriads of fantastic forms, with here and there a streak of sunlit
snow, traced down their chasms like a line of forked lightning; and, far
beyond, and far above all these, fainter than the morning cloud, but
purer and changeless, slept, in the blue sky, the utmost peaks of the
eternal snow.
The Golden River, which sprang from one of the lower and snowless
elevations, was now nearly in shadow; all but the uppermost jets of
spray, which rose like slow smoke above the undulating line of the
cataract, and floated away in feeble wreaths upon the morning wind.
On this object, and on this alone, Hans's eyes and thoughts were fixed;
forgetting the distance he had to traverse, he set off at an imprudent
rate of walking, which greatly exhausted him before he had scaled the
first range of the green and low hills. He was, moreover, surprised, on
surmounting them, to find that a large glacier, of whose existence,
notwithstanding his previous knowledge of the mountains, he had been
absolutely ignorant, lay between him and the source of the Golden River.
He entered on it with the boldness of a practised mountaineer; yet he
thought he had never traversed so strange or so dangerous a glacier in
his life. The ice was excessively slippery, and out of all its chasms
came wild sounds of gushing water; not monotonous or low, but changeful
and loud, rising occasionally into drifting passages of wild melody;
then breaking off into short melancholy tones, or sudden shrieks,
resembling those of human voices in distress or pain. The ice was broken
into thousands of confused shapes, but none, Hans thought, like the
ordinary forms of splintered ice. There seemed a curious _expression_
about all their outlines--a perpetual resemblance to living features,
distorted and scornful. Myriads of deceitful shadows, and lurid lights,
played and floated about and through the pale blue pinnacles, dazzling
and confusing the sight of the traveler; while his ears grew dull and
his head giddy with the constant gush and roar of the concealed waters.
These painful circumstances increased upon him as he advanced; the ice
crashed and yawned into fresh chasms at his feet, tottering spires
nodded around him, and fell thundering across his path; and though he
had repeatedly faced these dangers on the most terrific glaciers, and in
the wildest weather, it was with a new and oppressive feeling of panic
terror that he leaped the last chasm, and flung himself, exhausted and
shuddering, on the firm turf of the mountain.
He had been compelled to abandon his basket of food, which became a
perilous encumbrance on the glacier, and had now no means of refreshing
himself but by breaking off and eating some of the pieces of ice. This,
however, relieved his thirst; an hour's repose recruited his hardy
frame, and with the indomitable spirit of avarice, he resumed his
laborious journey.
His way now lay straight up a ridge of bare red rocks, without a blade
of grass to ease the foot, or a projecting angle to afford an inch of
shade from the south sun. It was past noon, and the rays beat intensely
upon the steep path, while the whole atmosphere was motionless and
penetrated with heat. Intense thirst was soon added to the bodily
fatigue with which Hans was now afflicted; glance after glance he cast
on the flask of water which hung at his belt. "Three drops are enough,"
at last thought he; "I may, at least, cool my lips with it."
He opened the flask, and was raising it to his lips, when his eye fell
on an object lying on the rock beside him; he thought it moved. It was a
small dog, apparently in the last agony of death from thirst. Its tongue
was out, its jaws dry, its limbs extended lifelessly, and a swarm of
black ants were crawling about its lips and throat. Its eye moved to the
bottle which Hans held in his hand. He raised it, drank, spurned the
animal with his foot, and passed on. And he did not know how it was, but
he thought that a strange shadow had suddenly come across the blue sky.
The path became steeper and more rugged every moment; and the high hill
air, instead of refreshing him, seemed to throw his blood into a fever.
The noise of the hill cataracts sounded like mockery in his ears; they
were all distant, and his thirst increased every moment. Another hour
passed, and he again looked down to the flask at his side; it was half
empty, but there was much more than three drops in it. He stopped to
open it; and again, as he did so, something moved in the path above him.
It was a fair child, stretched nearly lifeless on the rock, its breast
heaving with thirst, its eyes closed, and its lips parched and burning.
Hans eyed it deliberately, drank, and passed on. And a dark gray cloud
came over the sun, and long, snake-like shadows crept up along the
mountain sides. Hans struggled on. The sun was sinking, but its descent
seemed to bring no coolness; the leaden weight of the dead air pressed
upon his brow and heart, but the goal was near. He saw the cataract of
the Golden River springing from the hillside, scarcely five hundred feet
above him. He paused for a moment to breathe, and sprang on to complete
his task.
At this instant a faint cry fell on his ear. He turned, and saw a
gray-haired old man extended on the rocks. His eyes were sunk, his
features deadly pale, and gathered into an expression of despair.
"Water!" he stretched his arms to Hans, and cried feebly, "Water! I am
dying."
"I have none," replied Hans; "thou hast had thy share of life." He
strode over the prostrate body, and darted on. And a flash of blue
lightning rose out of the East, shaped like a sword; it shook thrice
over the whole heaven, and left it dark with one heavy, impenetrable
shade. The sun was setting; it plunged toward the horizon like a red-hot
ball.
The roar of the Golden River rose on Hans's ear. He stood at the brink
of the chasm through which it ran. Its waves were filled with the red
glory of the sunset; they shook their crests like tongues of fire, and
flashes of bloody light gleamed along their foam. Their sound came
mightier and mightier on his senses; his brain grew giddy with the
prolonged thunder. Shuddering he drew the flask from his girdle, and
hurled it into the center of the torrent. As he did so, an icy chill
shot through his limbs; he staggered, shrieked, and fell. The waters
closed over his cry. And the moaning of the river rose wildly into the
night, as it gushed over
THE BLACK STONE.
CHAPTER IV
HOW MR. SCHWARTZ SET OFF ON AN EXPEDITION TO THE GOLDEN RIVER, AND HOW
HE PROSPERED THEREIN
Poor little Gluck waited very anxiously alone in the house for Hans's
return. Finding he did not come back, he was terribly frightened and
went and told Schwartz in the prison, all that had happened. Then
Schwartz was very much pleased, and said that Hans must certainly have
been turned into a black stone, and he should have all the gold to
himself. But Gluck was very sorry, and cried all night. When he got up
in the morning there was no bread in the house, nor any money; so Gluck
went and hired himself to another goldsmith, and he worked so hard, and
so neatly, and so long every day, that he soon got money enough together
to pay his brother's fine, and he went and gave it all to Schwartz, and
Schwartz got out of prison. Then Schwartz was quite pleased, and said he
should have some of the gold of the river. But Gluck only begged he
would go and see what had become of Hans.
Now when Schwartz had heard that Hans had stolen the holy water, he
thought to himself that such a proceeding might not be considered
altogether correct by the King of the Golden River, and determined to
manage matters better. So he took some more of Gluck's money, and went
to a bad priest, who gave him some holy water very readily for it. Then
Schwartz was sure it was all quite right. So Schwartz got up early in
the morning before the sun rose, and took some bread and wine, in a
basket, and put his holy water in a flask, and set off for the
mountains. Like his brother, he was much surprised at the sight of the
glacier, and had great difficulty in crossing it, even after leaving his
basket behind him. The day was cloudless, but not bright; there was a
heavy purple haze hanging over the sky, and the hills looked lowering
and gloomy. And as Schwartz climbed the steep rock path, the thirst came
upon him, as it had upon his brother, until he lifted his flask to his
lips to drink. Then he saw the fair child lying near him on the rocks,
and it cried to him, and moaned for water.
"Water, indeed," said Schwartz; "I haven't half enough for myself," and
passed on. And as he went he thought the sunbeams grew more dim, and he
saw a low bank of black cloud rising out of the West; and, when he had
climbed for another hour the thirst overcame him again, and he would
have drunk. Then he saw the old man lying before him on the path, and
heard him cry out for water. "Water, indeed," said Schwartz, "I haven't
enough for myself," and on he went.
Then again the light seemed to fade before his eyes, and he looked up,
and, behold, a mist, of the color of blood, had come over the sun; and
the bank of black cloud had risen very high, and its edges were tossing
and tumbling like the waves of the angry sea. And they cast long
shadows, which flickered over Schwartz's path.
Then Schwartz climbed for another hour, and again his thirst returned;
and as he lifted his flask to his lips, he thought he saw his brother
Hans lying exhausted on the path before him, and, as he gazed, the
figure stretched its arms to him, and cried for water. "Ha, ha," laughed
Schwartz, "are you there? Remember the prison bars, my boy. Water,
indeed! do you suppose I carried it all the way up here for _you_?" And
he strode over the figure; yet, as he passed, he thought he saw a
strange expression of mockery about its lips. And, when he had gone a
few yards farther, he looked back; but the figure was not there.
And a sudden horror came over Schwartz, he knew not why; but the thirst
for gold prevailed over his fear, and he rushed on. And the bank of
black cloud rose to the zenith, and out of it came bursts of spiry
lightning, and waves of darkness seemed to heave and float between their
flashes over the whole heavens. And the sky where the sun was setting
was all level, and like a lake of blood; and a strong wind came out of
that sky, tearing its crimson cloud into fragments, and scattering them
far into the darkness. And when Schwartz stood by the brink of the
Golden River, its waves were black, like thunder clouds, but their foam
was like fire; and the roar of the waters below, and the thunder above,
met, as he cast the flask into the stream. And, as he did so, the
lightning glared into his eyes, and the earth gave way beneath him, and
the waters closed over his cry. And the moaning of the river rose wildly
into the night, as it gushed over the
TWO BLACK STONES.
CHAPTER V
HOW LITTLE GLUCK SET OFF ON AN EXPEDITION TO THE GOLDEN RIVER, AND HOW
HE PROSPERED THEREIN; WITH OTHER MATTERS OF INTEREST
When Gluck found that Schwartz did not come back he was very sorry, and
did not know what to do. He had no money, and was obliged to go and hire
himself again to the goldsmith, who worked him very hard, and gave him
very little money. So, after a month or two, Gluck grew tired, and made
up his mind to go and try his fortune with the Golden River. "The little
King looked very kind," thought he. "I don't think he will turn me into
a black stone." So he went to the priest, and the priest gave him some
holy water as soon as he asked for it. Then Gluck took some bread in his
basket, and the bottle of water, and set off very early for the
mountains.
If the glacier had occasioned a great deal of fatigue to his brothers,
it was twenty times worse for him, who was neither so strong nor so
practised on the mountains. He had several bad falls, lost his basket
and bread, and was very much frightened at the strange noises under the
ice. He lay a long time to rest on the grass, after he had got over,
and began to climb the hill just in the hottest part of the day. When he
had climbed for an hour, he got dreadfully thirsty, and was going to
drink like his brothers, when he saw an old man coming down the path
above him, looking very feeble, and leaning on a staff. "My son," said
the old man, "I am faint with thirst. Give me some of that water." Then
Gluck looked at him, and when he saw that he was pale and weary, he gave
him the water; "Only pray don't drink it all," said Gluck. But the old
man drank a great deal, and gave him back the bottle two-thirds empty.
Then he bade him good speed, and Gluck went on again merrily. And the
path became easier to his feet, and two or three blades of grass
appeared upon it, and some grasshoppers began singing on the bank beside
it; and Gluck thought he had never heard such merry singing.
Then he went on for another hour, and the thirst increased on him so
that he thought he should be forced to drink. But, as he raised the
flask, he saw a little child lying panting by the road-side, and it
cried out piteously for water. Then Gluck struggled with himself, and
determined to bear the thirst a little longer; and he put the bottle to
the child's lips, and it drank it all but a few drops. Then it smiled on
him, and got up and ran down the hill; and Gluck looked after it, till
it became as small as a little star, and then turned and began climbing
again. And then there were all kinds of sweet flowers growing on the
rocks, bright green moss with pale pink starry flowers, and soft belled
gentians, more blue than the sky at its deepest, and pure white
transparent lilies. And crimson and purple butterflies darted hither and
thither, and the sky sent down such pure light that Gluck had never felt
so happy in his life.
Yet, when he had climbed for another hour, his thirst became intolerable
again; and, when he looked at his bottle, he saw that there were only
five or six drops left in it, and he could not venture to drink. And, as
he was hanging the flask to his belt again, he saw a little dog lying on
the rocks, gasping for breath--just as Hans had seen it on the day of
his ascent. And Gluck stopped and looked at it, and then at the Golden
River, not five hundred yards above him; and he thought of the dwarf's
words, "that no one could succeed, except in his first attempt"; and he
tried to pass the dog, but it whined piteously, and Gluck stopped again.
"Poor beastie," said Gluck, "it'll be dead when I come down again, if I
don't help it." Then he looked closer and closer at it, and its eye
turned on him so mournfully that he could not stand it. "Confound the
King and his gold, too," said Gluck; and he opened the flask, and poured
all the water into the dog's mouth.
The dog sprang up and stood on its hind legs. Its tail disappeared, its
ears became long, longer, silky, golden; its nose became very red, its
eyes became very twinkling; in three seconds the dog was gone, and
before Gluck stood his old acquaintance, the King of the Golden River.
"Thank you," said the monarch; "but don't be frightened, it's all
right"; for Gluck showed manifest symptoms of consternation at this
unlooked-for reply to his last observation. "Why didn't you come
before," continued the dwarf, "instead of sending me those rascally
brothers of yours, for me to have the trouble of turning into stones?
Very hard stones they make, too."
"Oh, dear me!" said Gluck, "have you really been so cruel?"
"Cruel!" said the dwarf: "they poured unholy water into my stream; do
you suppose I'm going to allow that?"
"Why," said Gluck, "I am sure, sir--your Majesty, I mean,--they got the
water out of the church font."
"Very probably," replied the dwarf; "but," and his countenance grew
stern as he spoke, "the water which has been refused to the cry of the
weary and dying is unholy, though it had been blessed by every saint in
heaven; and the water which is found in the vessel of mercy is holy,
though it had been defiled with corpses."
So saying, the dwarf stooped and plucked a lily that grew at his feet.
On its white leaves there hung three drops of clear dew. And the dwarf
shook them into the flask which Gluck held in his hand. "Cast these into
the river," he said, "and descend on the other side of the mountains
into the Treasure Valley, and so good speed."
As he spoke, the figure of the dwarf became indistinct. The playing
colors of his robe formed themselves into a prismatic mist of dewy
light: he stood for an instant veiled with them as with the belt of a
broad rainbow. The colors grew faint, the mist rose into the air; the
monarch had evaporated.
And Gluck climbed to the brink of the Golden River and its waves were as
clear as crystal, and as brilliant as the sun. And, when he cast the
three drops of dew into the stream, there opened where they fell, a
small circular whirlpool, into which the waters descended with a musical
noise.
Gluck stood watching it for some time, very much disappointed, because
not only the river was not turned into gold but its waters seemed much
diminished in quantity. Yet he obeyed his friend the dwarf, and
descended the other side of the mountains, towards the Treasure Valley;
and, as he went, he thought he heard the noise of water working its way
under the ground. And when he came in sight of the Treasure Valley,
behold, a river, like the Golden River, was springing from a new cleft
of the rocks above it, and was flowing in innumerable streams among the
dry heaps of red sand.
And, as Gluck gazed, fresh grass sprang beside the new streams, and
creeping plants grew, and climbed among the moistening soil. Young
flowers opened suddenly along the river sides, as stars leap out when
twilight is deepening, and thickets of myrtle, and tendrils of vine,
cast lengthening shadows over the valley as they grew. And thus the
Treasure Valley became a garden again, and the inheritance, which had
been lost by cruelty, was regained by love.
And Gluck went and dwelt in the valley, and the poor were never driven
from his door; so that his barns became full of corn, and his house of
treasure. And for him, the river had, according to the dwarf's promise,
become a River of Gold.
And, to this day, the inhabitants of the valley point out the place
where the three drops of holy dew were cast into the stream, and trace
the course of the Golden River under the ground, until it emerges in the
Treasure Valley. And at the top of the cataract of the Golden River are
still to be seen TWO BLACK STONES, round which the waters howl
mournfully every day at sunset; and these stones are still called by the
people of the valley
THE BLACK BROTHERS.
SECTION V
FABLES AND SYMBOLIC STORIES
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Jacobs, Joseph, _History of the Aesopic Fable_.
The only elaborate and scholarly study in
English. Vol. I of a reprint of _Caxton's
Aesop_. [Bibliotheque de Carabas Series.]
Published in 1889 in a limited edition and not
easily accessible.
Jacobs, Joseph, _The Fables of Aesop_. [Illustrated by Richard
Heighway.]
Eighty-two selected fables. The Introduction is
a summary of all the essential conclusions
reached in the study above.
Wiggin, Kate D., and Smith, Nora A., _The Talking Beasts_.
The best general collection from all fields,
including both the folk fable and the modern
literary fable.
Babbitt, Ellen C., _Jataka Tales Retold_.
Dutton, Maude Barrows, _The Tortoise and the Geese, and Other
Fables of Bidpai_.
Ramaswami Raju, P. V., _Indian Folk Stories and Fables_.
These three books are excellent for simplified
versions of the eastern group. Those desiring
to get closer to the sources may refer to
Cowell [ed.], _The Jataka, or Stories of the
Buddha's Former Births_; Rhys-Davids, _Buddhist
Birth Stories_; Keith-Falconer, _Bidpai's
Fables_.
SUGGESTIONS FOR READING
It is possible to piece out a very satisfactory account of the nature
and history of the traditional fable by looking up in any good
encyclopedia the brief articles under the following heads: Folklore,
Fable, Parable, Apologue, AEsop, Demetrius of Phalerum, Babrias,
Phaedrus, Avian, Romulus, Maximus Planudes, Jataka, Bidpai,
Panchatantra, Hitopadesa.
For a popular account of the whole philosophy of the apologue consult
Newbigging, _Fables and Fabulists: Ancient and Modern_.
For distinctions between various kinds of symbolic tales see Canby, _The
Short Story in English_ (pp. 23 ff.); Trench, _Notes on the Parables_
(Introduction); Smith, "The Fable and Kindred Forms," _Journal of
English and Germanic Philology_, Vol. XIV, p. 519.
For origins and parallels read Mueller, "On the Migration of Fables,"
_Selected Essays_, Vol. I (reprinted in large part in Warner, _Library
of the World's Best Literature_, Vol. XVIII); Clouston, _Popular Tales
and Fictions_, Vol. I, p. 266, and Vol. II, p. 432. The more general
treatises on folklore all touch on these problems.
For suggestions on the use of fables with children see MacClintock,
_Literature in the Elementary School_ (chap. xi); Adler, _Moral
Instruction of Children_ (chaps. vii and viii); McMurry, _Special Method
in Reading in the Grades_ (p. 70).
For a clear and helpful account of the French writers of fables, the
most important modern group, read Collins, _La Fontaine and Other French
Fabulists_. Representative examples are given in most excellent
translation. The best complete translation of La Fontaine is by Elizur
Wright; of Krylov, in verse by I. H. Harrison, in prose by W. R. S.
Ralston; of Yriarte, by R. Rockliffe. Gay's complete collection may be
found in any edition of his poems.
Satisfactory collections of proverbial sayings useful in finding
expressions for the wisdom found in fables are Christy, _Proverbs,
Maxims, and Phrases of All Ages_; Hazlitt, _English Proverbs and
Proverbial Phrases_; Trench, _Proverbs and Their Lessons_.
A book of great suggestive value covering the whole field of the prose
story is Fansler, _Types of Prose Narratives_. It contains elaborate
classifications, discussions and examples of each type, and an extended
bibliography. Pp. 83-127 deal with fables, parables, and allegories.
SECTION V: FABLES AND SYMBOLIC STORIES
INTRODUCTORY
_The character and value of fables._ Some one has pointed out that there
are two kinds of ideals by which we are guided in life and that these
ideals may be compared to lighthouses and lanterns. By means of the
lighthouse, remote and lofty, we are able to lay a course and to know at
any time whether we are headed in the right direction. But while we are
moving along a difficult road we need more immediate illumination to
avoid the mudholes and stumbling-places close at hand. We need the
humble lantern to show us where we may safely step.
Fables are lanterns by which our feet are guided. They embody the
practical rules for everyday uses, rules of prudence that have been
tested and approved by untold generations of travelers along the arduous
road of life. They chart only minor dangers and difficult places as a
rule, but these are the ones with which we are always in direct contact.
Being honest because it is the "best policy" is not the highest reason
for honesty, but it is what a practical world has found to be best in
practice. Fables simply give us the "rules of the road," and these rules
contribute greatly to our convenience and safety. Such rules are the
result of the common sense of man working upon his everyday problems. To
violate one of these practical rules is to be a blunderer, and
blundering is a subject for jest rather than bitter denouncement. Hence
the humorous and satirical note in fables.
The practical, self-made men of the world, who have done things and
inspired others to do them, have always placed great emphasis upon
common-sense ideals. Benjamin Franklin, by his _Poor Richard's Almanac_,
kept the incentives to industry and thrift before a people who needed to
practice these everyday rules if they were to conquer an unwilling
wilderness. So well did he do his work that after nearly two hundred
years we are still quoting his pithy sayings. It may be that his
proverbs were all borrowed, but the rules of the road are not matters
for constant experiment. Again, no account of Abraham Lincoln can omit
his use of AEsop or of AEsop-like stories to enforce his ideas. His homely
stories were so "pat" that there was nothing left for the opposition to
say. Only one who grasps the heart of a problem can use concrete
illustrations with such effect.
No one really questions the truths enforced by the more familiar fables.
But since these teachings are so commonplace and obvious, they cannot be
impressed upon us by mere repetition of the teachings as such. To secure
the emphasis needed the world gradually evolved a body of striking
stories and proverbs by which the standing rules of everyday life are
displayed in terms that cling like burrs. "The peculiar value of the
fable," says Dr. Adler, "is that they are instantaneous photographs,
which reproduce, as it were, in a single flash of light, some one aspect
of human nature, and which, excluding everything else, permit the entire
attention to be fixed on that one."
_AEsop and Bidpai._ The type of fable in mind in the above account is
that known as the AEsopic, a brief beast-story in which the characters
are, as a rule, conventionalized animals, and which points out some
practical moral. The fox may represent crafty people, the ass may
represent stupid people, the wind may represent boisterous people, the
tortoise may represent plodding people who "keep everlastingly at it."
When human beings are introduced, such as the Shepherd Boy, or
Androcles, or the Travelers, or the Milkmaid, they are as wholly
conventionalized as the animals and there is never any doubt as to their
motives. AEsop, if he ever existed at all, is said to have been a Greek
slave of the sixth century B.C., very ugly and clever, who used fables
orally for political purposes and succeeded in gaining his freedom and a
high position. Later writers, among them Demetrius of Phalerum about 300
B.C. and Phaedrus about 30 A.D., made versions of fables ascribed to
AEsop. Many writers in the Middle Ages brought together increasing
numbers of fables under AEsop's name and enlarged upon the few
traditional facts in Herodotus about AEsop himself until several hundred
fables and an elaborate biography of the supposed author were in
existence. Joseph Jacobs said he had counted as many as 700 different
fables going under AEsop's name. The number included in a present-day
book of AEsop usually varies from 200 to 350. Another name associated
with the making of fables is that of Bidpai (or Pilpay), said to have
been a philosopher attached to the court of some oriental king. Bidpai,
a name which means "head scholar," is a more shadowy figure even than
AEsop. What we can be sure of is that there were two centers, Greece and
India, from which fables were diffused. Whether they all came originally
from a single source, and, if so, what that source was, are questions
still debated by scholars.
_Modern fabulists._ Modern fables are no more possible than a new Mother
Goose or a new fairy story. For modern times the method of the fable is
"at once too simple and too roundabout. Too roundabout; for the truths
we have to tell we prefer to speak out directly and not by way of
allegory. And the truths the fable has to teach are too simple to
correspond to the facts in our complex civilization." No modern fabulist
has duplicated in his field the success of Hans Christian Andersen in
the field of the nursery story. A few fables from La Fontaine, a few
from Krylov, one or two each from Gay, Cowper, Yriarte, and Lessing may
be used to good advantage with children. The general broadening of
literary variety has, of course, given us in recent times many valuable
stories of the symbolistic kind. Suggestive parable-like or allegorical
stories, such as a few of Hawthorne's in _Twice Told Tales_ and _Mosses
from an Old Manse_, or a few of Tolstoy's short tales, are simple enough
for children.
_The use of fables in school._ Not all fables are good for educational
purposes. There is, however, plenty of room for choice, and those that
present points of view no longer accepted by the modern world should be
eliminated from the list. Objections based on the unreality of the
fables, their "unnatural natural history," are hardly valid. Rousseau's
elimination of fables from his scheme of education in _Emile_ is based
on this objection and on the further point that the child will often
sympathize with the wrong character in the story, thus going astray in
the moral lesson. Other objectors down to the present day simply echo
Rousseau. Such a view does little justice to the child's natural sense
of values. He is certain to see that the Frog is foolish in competing
with the Ox in size, and certain to recognize the common sense of the
Country Mouse. He will no more be deceived by a fable than he will by
the painted clown in a circus.
The oral method of presentation is the ideal one. Tell the story in as
vivid a form as possible. In the earlier grades the interest in the
story may be a sufficient end, but almost from the beginning children
will see the lesson intended. They will catch the phrases that have come
from fables into our everyday speech. Thus, "sour grapes," "dog in the
manger," "to blow hot and cold," "to kill the goose that lays the golden
eggs," "to cry 'Wolf!'" will take on more significant meanings. If some
familiar proverb goes hand in hand with the story, it will help the
point to take fast hold in the mind. Applications of the fable to real
events should be encouraged. That is what fables were made for and that
is where their chief value for us is still manifest. Only a short time
need be spent on any one fable, but every opportunity should be taken to
call up and apply the fables already learned. For they are not merely
for passing amusement, nor is their value confined to childhood. Listen
to John Locke, one of the "hardest-headed" of philosophers: "As soon as
a child has learned to read, it is desirable to place in his hands
pleasant books, suited to his capacity, wherein the entertainment that
he finds might draw him on, and reward his pains in reading; and yet not
such as should fill his head with perfectly useless trumpery, or lay the
principles of vice and folly. To this purpose I think _AEsop's Fables_
the best, which being stories apt to delight and entertain a child, may
yet afford useful reflections to a grown man, and if his memory retain
them all his life after, he will not repent to find them there, amongst
his manly thoughts and serious business."
The best AEsop collection for teachers and
pupils alike is _The Fables of AEsop_, edited by
Joseph Jacobs. It contains eighty-two selected
fables, including those that are most familiar
and most valuable for children. The versions
are standards of what such retellings should
be, and may well serve as models for teachers
in their presentation of other short symbolic
stories. The introduction, "A Short History of
the AEsopic Fable," and the notes at the end of
the book contain, in concise form, all the
practical information needed. The text of the
Jacobs versions was the one selected for
reproduction in Dr. Eliot's _Harvard Classics_.
Nos. 205, 206, 207, 208, 209, 213, and 233 in
the following group are by Mr. Jacobs. The
other AEsopic fables given are from various
collections of the traditional versions. Almost
any of the many reprints called AEsop are
satisfactory for fables not found in Jacobs.
Perhaps the one most common in recent times is
that made by Thomas James in 1848, which had
the good fortune to be illustrated by Tenniel.
The versions are brief and not overloaded with
editorial "filling."
205
THE SHEPHERD'S BOY
There was once a young Shepherd Boy who tended his sheep at the foot of
a mountain near a dark forest. It was rather lonely for him all day, so
he thought upon a plan by which he could get a little company and some
excitement. He rushed down towards the village calling out "Wolf! Wolf!"
and the villagers came out to meet him, and some of them stopped with
him for a considerable time. This pleased the boy so much that a few
days afterwards he tried the same trick, and again the villagers came to
his help. But shortly after this a Wolf actually did come out from the
forest, and began to worry the sheep, and the boy of course cried out
"Wolf! Wolf!" still louder than before. But this time the villagers, who
had been fooled twice before, thought the boy was again deceiving them,
and nobody stirred to come to his help. So the Wolf made a good meal off
the boy's flock, and when the boy complained, the wise man of the
village said:
"_A liar will not be believed, even when he speaks the truth._"
206
THE LION AND THE MOUSE
Once when a Lion was asleep a little Mouse began running up and down
upon him; this soon wakened the Lion, who placed his huge paw upon him
and opened his big jaws to swallow him. "Pardon, O King," cried the
little Mouse; "forgive me this time; I shall never forget it. Who knows
but what I may be able to do you a good turn some of these days?" The
Lion was so tickled at the idea of the Mouse being able to help him,
that he lifted up his paw and let him go. Some time after the Lion was
caught in a trap, and the hunters, who desired to carry him alive to the
King, tied him to a tree while they went in search of a wagon to carry
him on. Just then the little Mouse happened to pass by, and seeing the
sad plight in which the Lion was, went up to him and soon gnawed away
the ropes that bound the King of the Beasts. "Was I not right?" said the
little Mouse.
_Little friends may prove great friends._
207
THE CROW AND THE PITCHER
A Crow, half-dead with thirst, came upon a Pitcher which had once been
full of water; but when the Crow put its beak into the mouth of the
Pitcher he found that only very little water was left in it, and that he
could not reach far enough down to get at it. He tried and he tried, but
at last had to give up in despair. Then a thought came to him, and he
took a pebble and dropped it into the Pitcher. Then he took another
pebble and dropped it into the Pitcher. Then he took another pebble and
dropped that into the Pitcher. Then he took another pebble and dropped
that into the Pitcher. Then he took another pebble and dropped that into
the Pitcher. Then he took another pebble and dropped that into the
Pitcher. At last, at last, he saw the water mount up near him; and after
casting in a few more pebbles he was able to quench his thirst and save
his life.
_Little by little does the trick._
208
THE FROG AND THE OX
"Oh, Father," said a little Frog to the big one sitting by the side of a
pool, "I have seen such a terrible monster! It was as big as a mountain,
with horns on its head, and a long tail, and it had hoofs divided in
two."
"Tush, child, tush," said the old Frog, "that was only Farmer White's
Ox. It isn't so big either; he may be a little bit taller than I, but I
could easily make myself quite as broad; just you see." So he blew
himself out, and blew himself out, and blew himself out. "Was he as big
as that?" asked he.
"Oh, much bigger than that," said the young Frog.
Again the old one blew himself out, and asked the young one if the Ox
was as big as that.
"Bigger, Father, bigger," was the reply.
So the Frog took a deep breath, and blew and blew and blew, and swelled
and swelled and swelled. And then he said: "I'm sure the Ox is not as
big as--" But at this moment he burst.
_Self-conceit may lead to self-destruction._
209
THE FROGS DESIRING A KING
Frogs were living as happy as could be in a marshy swamp that just
suited them; they went splashing about, caring for nobody and nobody
troubling with them. But some of them thought that this was not right,
that they should have a king and a proper constitution, so they
determined to send up a petition to Jove to give them what they wanted.
"Mighty Jove," they cried, "send unto us a king that will rule over us
and keep us in order." Jove laughed at their croaking, and threw down
into the swamp a huge Log, which came down--kersplash--into the water.
The Frogs were frightened out of their lives by the commotion made in
their midst, and all rushed to the bank to look at the horrible monster;
but after a time, seeing that it did not move, one or two of the boldest
of them ventured out towards the Log, and even dared to touch it; still
it did not move. Then the greatest hero of the Frogs jumped upon the Log
and commenced dancing up and down upon it; thereupon all the Frogs came
and did the same; and for some time the Frogs went about their business
every day without taking the slightest notice of their new King Log
lying in their midst. But this did not suit them, so they sent another
petition to Jove, and said to him: "We want a real king; one that will
really rule over us." Now this made Jove angry, so he sent among them a
big Stork that soon set to work gobbling them all up. Then the Frogs
repented when too late.
_Better no rule than cruel rule._
210
The following fable is found in the folklore of
many countries. Its lesson of consolation for
those who are not blessed with abundance of
worldly goods may account for its widespread
popularity. Independence and freedom from fear
have advantages that make up for poorer fare.
THE FIELD MOUSE AND THE TOWN MOUSE
A Field Mouse had a friend who lived in a house in town. Now the Town
Mouse was asked by the Field Mouse to dine with him, and out he went and
sat down to a meal of corn and wheat.
"Do you know, my friend," said he, "that you live a mere ant's life out
here? Why, I have all kinds of things at home. Come, and enjoy them."
So the two set off for town, and there the Town Mouse showed his beans
and meal, his dates, too, and his cheese and fruit and honey. And as the
Field Mouse ate, drank, and was merry, he thought how rich his friend
was, and how poor he was.
But as they ate, a man all at once opened the door, and the Mice were in
such a fear that they ran into a crack.
Then, when they would eat some nice figs, in came a maid to get a pot of
honey or a bit of cheese; and when they saw her, they hid in a hole.
Then the Field Mouse would eat no more, but said to the Town Mouse, "Do
as you like, my good friend; eat all you want and have your fill of good
things, but you will be always in fear of your life. As for me, poor
Mouse, who have only corn and wheat, I will live on at home in no fear
of any one."
211
This simple poem is based upon the old fable
preceding. It does not follow out the idea of
the fable, but limits itself to awakening our
sympathy for the garden mouse.
THE CITY MOUSE AND THE GARDEN MOUSE
CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI
The city mouse lives in a house;--
The garden mouse lives in a bower;
He's friendly with the frogs and toads,
And sees the pretty plants in flower.
The city mouse eats bread and cheese;--
The garden mouse eats what he can;
We will not grudge him seeds and stocks,
Poor little timid furry man.
212
The most famous use of this fable in literature
is found in the _Satires_ of the great Roman
poet, Horace (B.C. 65-8). He is regarded as one
of the most polished of writers, and the
ancient world's most truthful painter of social
life and manners. Horace had a country seat
among the Sabine hills to which he could retire
from the worries and distractions of the world.
His delight in his Sabine farm is shown clearly
in his handling of the story. The passage is a
part of Book II, Satire 6, and is in
Conington's translation. Some well-known
appearances of this same fable in English
poetry may be found in Prior and Montagu's
_City Mouse and Country Mouse_ and in Pope's
_Imitations of Horace_.
THE COUNTRY MOUSE AND THE TOWN MOUSE
HORACE
One day a country mouse in his poor home
Received an ancient friend, a mouse from Rome.
The host, though close and careful, to a guest
Could open still; so now he did his best.
He spares not oats or vetches; in his chaps
Raisins he brings, and nibbled bacon-scraps,
Hoping by varied dainties to entice
His town-bred guest, so delicate and nice.
Who condescended graciously to touch
Thing after thing, but never would take much,
While he, the owner of the mansion, sate
On threshed-out straw, and spelt and darnels ate.
At length the town mouse cries, "I wonder how
You can live here, friend, on this hill's rough brow!
Take my advice, and leave these ups and downs,
This hill and dale, for humankind and towns.
Come, now, go home with me; remember, all
Who live on earth are mortal, great and small.
Then take, good sir, your pleasure while you may;
With life so short, 'twere wrong to lose a day."
This reasoning made the rustic's head turn round;
Forth from his hole he issues with a bound,
And they two make together for their mark,
In hopes to reach the city during dark.
The midnight sky was bending over all,
When they set foot within a stately hall,
Where couches of wrought ivory had been spread
With gorgeous coverlets of Tyrian red,
And viands piled up high in baskets lay,
The relics of a feast of yesterday.
The town mouse does the honors, lays his guest
At ease upon a couch with crimson dressed,
Then nimbly moves in character of host,
And offers in succession boiled and roast;
Nay, like a well-trained slave, each wish prevents,
And tastes before the titbits he presents.
The guest, rejoicing in his altered fare,
Assumes in turn a genial diner's air,
When, hark, a sudden banging of the door!
Each from his couch is tumbled on the floor.
Half dead, they scurry round the room, poor things,
While the whole house with barking mastiffs rings.
Then says the rustic, "It may do for you,
This life, but I don't like it; so, adieu.
Give me my hole, secure from all alarms;
I'll prove that tares and vetches still have charms."
213
The following is the Androcles story as retold
by Jacobs. Scholars think this fable is clearly
oriental in its origin, constituting as it does
a sort of appeal to tyrannical rulers for
leniency toward their subjects.
ANDROCLES
A Slave named Androcles once escaped from his master and fled to the
forest. As he was wandering about there he came upon a Lion lying down
moaning and groaning. At first he turned to flee, but finding that the
Lion did not pursue him, he turned back and went up to him. As he came
near, the Lion put out his paw, which was all swollen and bleeding, and
Androcles found that a huge thorn had got into it, and was causing all
the pain. He pulled out the thorn and bound up the paw of the Lion, who
was soon able to rise and lick the hand of Androcles like a dog. Then
the Lion took Androcles to his cave, and every day used to bring him
meat from which to live. But shortly afterwards both Androcles and the
Lion were captured, and the slave was sentenced to be thrown to the
Lion, after the latter had been kept without food for several days. The
Emperor and all his Court came to see the spectacle, and Androcles was
led out into the middle of the arena. Soon the Lion was let loose from
his den, and rushed bounding and roaring towards his victim. But as soon
as he came near to Androcles he recognized his friend, and fawned upon
him, and licked his hands like a friendly dog. The Emperor, surprised at
this, summoned Androcles to him, who told him the whole story. Whereupon
the slave was pardoned and freed, and the Lion let loose to his native
forest.
_Gratitude is the sign of noble souls._
214
The preceding fable is here given in the form
used in Thomas Day's very famous, but probably
little read, _History of Sandford and Merton_.
(See No. 380.) Day's use of the story is
probably responsible for its modern popularity.
Jacobs points out that it dropped out of AEsop,
although it was in some of the medieval fable
books. A very similar tale, "Of the Remembrance
of Benefits," is in the _Gesta Romanorum_ (Tale
104). The most striking use of the fable in
modern literature is in George Bernard Shaw's
play _Androcles_. It will be instructive to
compare the force of Day's rather heavy and
slow telling of the story with that of the
concise, unelaborated version by Jacobs.
ANDROCLES AND THE LION
THOMAS DAY
There was a certain slave named Androcles, who was so ill-treated by his
master that his life became insupportable. Finding no remedy for what he
suffered, he at length said to himself, "It is better to die than to
continue to live in such hardships and misery as I am obliged to suffer.
I am determined therefore to run away from my master. If I am taken
again, I know that I shall be punished with a cruel death; but it is
better to die at once than to live in misery. If I escape, I must betake
myself to deserts and woods, inhabited only by wild beasts; but they
cannot use me more cruelly than I have been used by my fellow-creatures.
Therefore I will rather trust myself with them than continue to be a
miserable slave."
Having formed this resolution, he took an opportunity of leaving his
master's house, and hid himself in a thick forest, which was at some
miles' distance from the city. But here the unhappy man found that he
had only escaped from one kind of misery to experience another. He
wandered about all day through a vast and trackless wood, where his
flesh was continually torn by thorns and brambles. He grew hungry, but
could find no food in this dreary solitude. At length he was ready to
die with fatigue, and lay down in despair in a large cavern which he
found by accident.
This unfortunate man had not lain long quiet in the cavern, before he
heard a dreadful noise, which seemed to be the roar of some wild beast,
and terrified him very much. He started up with a design to escape and
had already reached the mouth of the cave when he saw coming towards him
a lion of prodigious size, who prevented any possibility of retreat. The
unfortunate man then believed his destruction to be inevitable; but, to
his great astonishment, the beast advanced towards him with a gentle
pace, without any mark of enmity or rage, and uttered a kind of mournful
voice, as if he demanded the assistance of the man.
Androcles, who was naturally of a resolute disposition, acquired courage
from this circumstance, to examine his monstrous guest, who gave him
sufficient leisure for that purpose. He saw, as the lion approached him,
that he seemed to limp upon one of his legs and that the foot was
extremely swelled as if it had been wounded. Acquiring still more
fortitude from the gentle demeanor of the beast, he advanced up to him
and took hold of the wounded paw, as a surgeon would examine a patient.
He then perceived that a thorn of uncommon size had penetrated the ball
of the foot and was the occasion of the swelling and lameness he had
observed. Androcles found that the beast, far from resenting this
familiarity, received it with the greatest gentleness and seemed to
invite him by his blandishments to proceed. He therefore extracted the
thorn, and, pressing the swelling, discharged a considerable quantity of
matter, which had been the cause of so much pain and uneasiness.
As soon as the beast felt himself thus relieved, he began to testify his
joy and gratitude by every expression within his power. He jumped about
like a wanton spaniel, wagged his enormous tail, and licked the feet and
hands of his physician. Nor was he contented with these demonstrations
of kindness; from this moment Androcles became his guest; nor did the
lion ever sally forth in quest of prey without bringing home the produce
of his chase and sharing it with his friend. In this savage state of
hospitality did the man continue to live during the space of several
months. At length, wandering unguardedly through the woods, he met with
a company of soldiers sent out to apprehend him, and was by them taken
prisoner and conducted back to his master. The laws of that country
being very severe against slaves, he was tried and found guilty of
having fled from his master, and, as a punishment for his pretended
crime, he was sentenced to be torn in pieces by a furious lion, kept
many days without food to inspire him with additional rage.
When the destined moment arrived, the unhappy man was exposed, unarmed,
in the midst of a spacious area, enclosed on every side, round which
many thousand people were assembled to view the mournful spectacle.
Presently a dreadful yell was heard, which struck the spectators with
horror; and a monstrous lion rushed out of a den, which was purposely
set open, and darted forward with erected mane, and flaming eyes, and
jaws that gaped like an open sepulchre.--A mournful silence instantly
prevailed! All eyes were turned upon the destined victim, whose
destruction now appeared inevitable. But the pity of the multitude was
soon converted into astonishment, when they beheld the lion, instead of
destroying his defenceless prey, crouch submissively at his feet; fawn
upon him as a faithful dog would do upon his master, and rejoice over
him as a mother that unexpectedly recovers her offspring. The governor
of the town, who was present, then called out with a loud voice and
ordered Androcles to explain to them this unintelligible mystery, and
how a savage beast of the fiercest and most unpitying nature should thus
in a moment have forgotten his innate disposition, and be converted into
a harmless and inoffensive animal.
Androcles then related to the assembly every circumstance of his
adventures in the woods, and concluded by saying that the very lion
which now stood before them had been his friend and entertainer in the
woods. All the persons present were astonished and delighted with the
story, to find that even the fiercest beasts are capable of being
softened by gratitude and moved by humanity; and they unanimously joined
to entreat for the pardon of the unhappy man from the governor of the
place. This was immediately granted to him, and he was also presented
with the lion, who had in this manner twice saved the life of Androcles.
215
THE WIND AND THE SUN
A dispute once arose between the North Wind and the Sun as to which was
the stronger of the two. Seeing a Traveler on his way, they agreed to
try which could the sooner get his cloak off him. The North Wind began,
and sent a furious blast, which, at the onset, nearly tore the cloak
from its fastenings; but the Traveler, seizing the garment with a firm
grip, held it round his body so tightly that Boreas spent his remaining
force in vain.
The Sun, dispelling the clouds that had gathered, then darted his genial
beams on the Traveler's head. Growing faint with the heat, the Man flung
off his coat and ran for protection to the nearest shade.
_Mildness governs more than anger._
216
The following brief fable has given us one of
the best known expressions in common speech,
"killing the goose that lays the golden eggs."
People who never heard of AEsop know what that
expression means. It is easy to connect the
fable with our "get rich quick" craze. (Compare
with No. 254.)
THE GOOSE WITH THE GOLDEN EGGS
A certain Man had a Goose that laid him a golden egg every day. Being of
a covetous turn, he thought if he killed his Goose he should come at
once to the source of his treasure. So he killed her and cut her open,
but great was his dismay to find that her inside was in no way different
from that of any other goose.
_Greediness overreaches itself._
217
The most successful of modern literary
fabulists was the French poet Jean de la
Fontaine (1621-1695). A famous critic has said
that his fables delight the child with their
freshness and vividness, the student of
literature with their consummate art, and the
experienced man with their subtle reflections
on life and character. He drew most of his
stories from AEsop and other sources. While he
dressed the old fables in the brilliant style
of his own day, he still succeeded in being
essentially simple and direct. A few of his 240
fables may be used to good effect with
children, though they have their main charm for
the more sophisticated older reader. (See Nos.
234, 241, and 242.) The best complete
translation is that made in 1841 by Elizur
Wright, an American scholar. The following
version is from his translation. Notice that La
Fontaine has changed the goose to a hen.
THE HEN WITH THE GOLDEN EGGS
LA FONTAINE
How avarice loseth all,
By striving all to gain,
I need no witness call
But him whose thrifty hen,
As by the fable we are told,
Laid every day an egg of gold.
"She hath a treasure in her body,"
Bethinks the avaricious noddy.
He kills and opens--vexed to find
All things like hens of common kind.
Thus spoil'd the source of all his riches,
To misers he a lesson teaches.
In these last changes of the moon,
How often doth one see
Men made as poor as he
By force of getting rich too soon!
218
THE WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING
A Wolf wrapped himself in the skin of a Sheep and by that means got
admission into a sheep-fold, where he devoured several of the young
Lambs. The Shepherd, however, soon found him out and hung him up to a
tree, still in his disguise.
Some other Shepherds, passing that way, thought it was a Sheep hanging,
and cried to their friend, "What, brother! is that the way you serve
Sheep in this part of the country?"
"No, friends," cried he, turning the hanging body around so that they
might see what it was; "but it is the way to serve Wolves, even though
they be dressed in Sheep's clothing."
_The credit got by a lie lasts only till the truth comes out._
219
THE HARE AND THE TORTOISE
The Hare one day laughed at the Tortoise for his short feet, slowness,
and awkwardness.
"Though you may be swift as the wind," replied the Tortoise
good-naturedly, "I can beat you in a race."
The Hare looked on the challenge as a great joke, but consented to a
trial of speed, and the Fox was selected to act as umpire and hold the
stakes.
The rivals started, and the Hare, of course, soon left the Tortoise far
behind. Having reached midway to the goal, she began to play about,
nibble the young herbage, and amuse herself in many ways. The day being
warm, she even thought she would take a little nap in a shady spot, for
she thought that if the Tortoise should pass her while she slept, she
could easily overtake him again before he reached the end.
The Tortoise meanwhile plodded on, unwavering and unresting, straight
towards the goal.
The Hare, having overslept herself, started up from her nap and was
surprised to find that the Tortoise was nowhere in sight. Off she went
at full speed, but on reaching the winning-post, found that the Tortoise
was already there, waiting for her arrival.
_Slow and steady wins the race._
220
THE MILLER, HIS SON, AND THEIR ASS
A Miller and his Son were driving their Ass to a neighboring fair to
sell him. They had not gone far when they met with a troop of women
collected round a well, talking and laughing.
"Look there," cried one of them, "did you ever see such fellows, to be
trudging along the road on foot when they might ride?"
The Miller, hearing this, quickly made his Son mount the Ass, and
continued to walk along merrily by his side. Presently they came up to a
group of old men in earnest debate.
"There," said one of them, "it proves what I was saying. What respect is
shown to old age in these days? Do you see that idle lad riding while
his old father has to walk? Get down, you young scapegrace, and let the
old man rest his weary limbs."
Upon this, the Miller made his Son dismount, and got up himself. In this
manner they had not proceeded far when they met a company of women and
children.
"Why, you lazy old fellow," cried several tongues at once, "how can you
ride upon the beast while that poor little lad there can hardly keep
pace by the side of you?"
The good-natured Miller immediately took up his Son behind him. They had
now almost reached the town.
"Pray, honest friend," said a citizen, "is that Ass your own?"
"Yes," replied the old man.
"Oh, one would not have thought so," said the other, "by the way you
load him. Why, you two fellows are better able to carry the poor beast
than he you."
"Anything to please you," said the Miller; "we can but try."
So, alighting with his Son, they tied the legs of the Ass together, and
by the help of a pole endeavored to carry him on their shoulders over a
bridge near the entrance of the town. This entertaining sight brought
the people in crowds to laugh at it, till the Ass, not liking the noise
nor the strange handling that he was subject to, broke the cords that
bound him and, tumbling off the pole, fell into the river. Upon this,
the old man, vexed and ashamed, made the best of his way home again,
convinced that by trying to please everybody he had pleased nobody, and
lost his Ass into the bargain.
_He who tries to please everybody pleases nobody._
221
THE TRAVELERS AND THE BEAR
Two Men, about to journey through a forest, agreed to stand by each
other in any dangers that might befall. They had not gone far before a
savage Bear rushed out from a thicket and stood in their path. One of
the Travelers, a light, nimble fellow, got up into a tree. The other,
seeing that there was no chance to defend himself single-handed, fell
flat on his face and held his breath. The Bear came up and smelled at
him, and taking him for dead, went off again into the wood. The Man in
the tree came down and, rejoining his companion, asked him, with a sly
smile, what was the wonderful secret which he had seen the Bear whisper
into his ear.
"Why," replied the other, "he told me to take care for the future and
not to put any confidence in such cowardly rascals as you are."
_Trust not fine promises._
222
THE LARK AND HER YOUNG ONES
A Lark, who had Young Ones in a field of grain which was almost ripe,
was afraid that the reapers would come before her young brood were
fledged. So every day when she flew off to look for food, she charged
them to take note of what they heard in her absence and to tell her of
it when she came home.
One day when she was gone, they heard the owner of the field say to his
son that the grain seemed ripe enough to be cut, and tell him to go
early the next day and ask their friends and neighbors to come and help
reap it.
When the old Lark came home, the Little Ones quivered and chirped round
her and told her what had happened, begging her to take them away as
fast as she could. The mother bade them be easy; "for," said she, "if he
depends on his friends and his neighbors, I am sure the grain will not
be reaped tomorrow."
Next day she went out again and left the same orders as before. The
owner came, and waited. The sun grew hot, but nothing was done, for not
a soul came. "You see," said the owner to his son, "these friends of
ours are not to be depended upon; so run off at once to your uncles and
cousins, and say I wish them to come early to-morrow morning and help us
reap."
This the Young Ones, in a great fright, told also to their mother. "Do
not fear, children," said she. "Kindred and relations are not always
very forward in helping one another; but keep your ears open and let me
know what you hear to-morrow."
The owner came the next day, and, finding his relations as backward as
his neighbors, said to his son, "Now listen to me. Get two good sickles
ready for to-morrow morning, for it seems we must reap the grain by
ourselves."
The Young Ones told this to their mother.
"Then, my dears," said she, "it is time for us to go; for when a man
undertakes to do his work himself, it is not so likely that he will be
disappointed." She took away her Young Ones at once, and the grain was
reaped the next day by the old man and his son.
_Depend upon yourself alone._
223
THE OLD MAN AND HIS SONS
An Old Man had several Sons, who were always falling out with one
another. He had often, but to no purpose, exhorted them to live together
in harmony. One day he called them around him and, producing a bundle of
sticks, bade them try each in turn to break it across. Each put forth
all his strength, but the bundle resisted their efforts. Then, cutting
the cord which bound the sticks together, he told his Sons to break them
separately. This was done with the greatest ease.
"See, my Sons," exclaimed he, "the power of unity! Bound together by
brotherly love, you may defy almost every mortal ill; divided, you will
fall a prey to your enemies."
_A house divided against itself cannot stand._
224
THE FOX AND THE GRAPES
A Fox, just at the time of the vintage, stole into a vineyard where the
ripe sunny Grapes were trellised up on high in most tempting show. He
made many a spring and a jump after the luscious prize; but, failing in
all his attempts, he muttered as he retreated, "Well! what does it
matter! The Grapes are sour!"
225
THE WIDOW AND THE HEN
A Widow woman kept a Hen that laid an egg every morning. Thought the
woman to herself, "If I double my Hen's allowance of barley, she will
lay twice a day." So she tried her plan, and the Hen became so fat and
sleek that she left off laying at all.
_Figures are not always facts._
226
THE KID AND THE WOLF
A Kid being mounted on the roof of a lofty house and seeing a Wolf pass
below, began to revile him. The Wolf merely stopped to reply, "Coward!
It is not you who revile me, but the place on which you are standing."
227
THE MAN AND THE SATYR
A Man and a Satyr having struck up an acquaintance, sat down together to
eat. The day being wintry and cold, the Man put his fingers to his mouth
and blew upon them.
"What's that for, my friend?" asked the Satyr.
"My hands are so cold," said the Man, "I do it to warm them."
In a little while some hot food was placed before them, and the Man,
raising the dish to his mouth, again blew upon it. "And what's the
meaning of that, now?" said the Satyr.
"Oh," replied the Man, "my porridge is so hot I do it to cool it."
"Nay, then," said the Satyr, "from this moment I renounce your
friendship, for I will have nothing to do with one who blows hot and
cold with the same mouth."
228
THE DOG AND THE SHADOW
A Dog had stolen a piece of meat out of a butcher's shop, and was
crossing a river on his way home, when he saw his own shadow reflected
in the stream below. Thinking that it was another dog with another piece
of meat, he resolved to make himself master of that also; but in
snapping at the supposed treasure, he dropped the bit he was carrying,
and so lost all.
_Grasp at the shadow and lose the substance--the common fate of those
who hazard a real blessing for some visionary good._
229
THE SWALLOW AND THE RAVEN
The Swallow and the Raven contended which was the finer bird. The Raven
ended by saying, "Your beauty is but for the summer, but mine will stand
many winters."
_Durability is better than show._
230
MERCURY AND THE WOODMAN
A Woodman was felling a tree on the bank of a river, and by chance let
slip his axe into the water, when it immediately sank to the bottom.
Being thereupon in great distress, he sat down by the side of the stream
and lamented his loss bitterly. But Mercury, whose river it was, taking
compassion on him, appeared at the instant before him; and hearing from
him the cause of his sorrow, dived to the bottom of the river, and
bringing up a golden axe, asked the Woodman if that were his. Upon the
Man's denying it, Mercury dived a second time, and brought up one of
silver. Again the Man denied that it was his. So diving a third time, he
produced the identical axe which the Man had lost. "That is mine!" said
the Woodman, delighted to have recovered his own; and so pleased was
Mercury with the fellow's truth and honesty that he at once made him a
present of the other two.
The Man goes to his companions, and giving them an account of what had
happened to him, one of them determined to try whether he might not have
the like good fortune. So repairing to the same place, as if for the
purpose of cutting wood, he let slip his axe on purpose into the river
and then sat down on the bank and made a great show of weeping. Mercury
appeared as before, and hearing from him that his tears were caused by
the loss of his axe, dived once more into the stream; and bringing up a
golden axe, asked him if that was the axe he had lost.
"Aye, surely," said the Man, eagerly; and he was about to grasp the
treasure, when Mercury, to punish his impudence and lying, not only
refused to give him that, but would not so much as restore him his own
axe again.
_Honesty is the best policy._
231
THE MICE IN COUNCIL
Once upon a time the Mice being sadly distressed by the persecution of
the Cat, resolved to call a meeting to decide upon the best means of
getting rid of this continual annoyance. Many plans were discussed and
rejected.
At last a young Mouse got up and proposed that a Bell should be hung
round the Cat's neck, that they might for the future always have notice
of her coming and so be able to escape. This proposition was hailed with
the greatest applause, and was agreed to at once unanimously. Upon this,
an old Mouse, who had sat silent all the while, got up and said that he
considered the contrivance most ingenious, and that it would, no doubt,
be quite successful; but he had only one short question to put; namely,
which of them it was who would Bell the Cat?
_It is one thing to propose, another to execute._
232
THE MOUNTEBANK AND THE COUNTRYMAN
A certain wealthy patrician, intending to treat the Roman people with
some theatrical entertainment, publicly offered a reward to any one who
would produce a novel spectacle. Incited by emulation, artists arrived
from all parts to contest the prize, among whom a well-known witty
Mountebank gave out that he had a new kind of entertainment that had
never yet been produced on any stage. This report, being spread abroad,
brought the whole city together. The theater could hardly contain the
number of spectators. And when the artist appeared alone upon the stage,
without any apparatus or any assistants, curiosity and suspense kept
the spectators in profound silence. On a sudden he thrust down his head
into his bosom, and mimicked the squeaking of a young pig so naturally
that the audience insisted upon it that he had one under his cloak and
ordered him to be searched, which, being done and nothing appearing,
they loaded him with the most extravagant applause.
A Countryman among the audience observed what passed. "Oh!" says he, "I
can do better than this"; and immediately gave out that he would perform
the next day. Accordingly on the morrow a yet greater crowd was
collected. Prepossessed, however, in favor of the Mountebank, they came
rather to laugh at the Countryman than to pass a fair judgment on him.
They both came out upon the stage. The Mountebank grunts away at first,
and calls forth the greatest clapping and applause. Then the Countryman,
pretending that he concealed a little pig under his garments (and he
had, in fact, really got one) pinched its ear till he made it squeak.
The people cried out that the Mountebank had imitated the pig much more
naturally, and hooted to the Countryman to quit the stage; but he, to
convict them to their face, produced the real pig from his bosom. "And
now, gentlemen, you may see," said he, "what a pretty sort of judges you
are!"
_It is easier to convict a man against his senses than against his
will._
233
Stories dealing with the disastrous effects of
"day-dreaming" are very common in the world's
literature. The three selections that follow
are given as very familiar samples for
comparison. The first is a simple version by
Jacobs.
THE MILKMAID AND HER PAIL
Patty, the Milkmaid, was going to market, carrying her milk in a Pail on
her head. As she went along she began calculating what she could do with
the money she would get for the milk. "I'll buy some fowls from Farmer
Brown," said she, "and they will lay eggs each morning, which I will
sell to the parson's wife. With the money that I get from the sale of
these eggs I'll buy myself a new dimity frock and a chip hat; and when I
go to market, won't all the young men come up and speak to me! Polly
Shaw will be that jealous; but I don't care. I shall just look at her
and toss my head like this." As she spoke, she tossed her head back, the
Pail fell off it and all the milk was spilt. So she had to go home and
tell her mother what had occurred.
"Ah, my child," said her mother,
"_Do not count your chickens before they are hatched._"
234
The next is Wright's translation of La
Fontaine's famous fable on the day-dreaming
theme. Notice how much more complicated its
application becomes in contrast with the
obvious truth of the proverb in the preceding
version. La Fontaine is responsible for the
story's popularity in modern times. The most
fascinating study on the way fables have come
down to us is Max Mueller's "On the Migration of
Fables," in which he follows this story from
India through all its many changes until it
reaches us in La Fontaine.
THE DAIRYWOMAN AND THE POT OF MILK
LA FONTAINE
A pot of milk upon her cushioned crown,
Good Peggy hastened to the market town,
Short clad and light, with speed she went,
Not fearing any accident;
Indeed, to be the nimble tripper,
Her dress that day,
The truth to say,
Was simple petticoat and slipper.
And thus bedight,
Good Peggy, light,--
Her gains already counted,--
Laid out the cash
At single dash,
Which to a hundred eggs amounted.
Three nests she made,
Which, by the aid
Of diligence and care, were hatched.
"To raise the chicks,
I'll easy fix,"
Said she, "beside our cottage thatched.
The fox must get
More cunning yet,
Or leave enough to buy a pig.
With little care
And any fare,
He'll grow quite fat and big;
And then the price
Will be so nice,
For which the pork will sell!
Twill go quite hard
But in our yard
I'll bring a cow and calf to dwell--
A calf to frisk among the flock!"
The thought made Peggy do the same;
And down at once the milk-pot came,
And perished with the shock.
Calf, cow, and pig, and chicks, adieu!
Your mistress' face is sad to view;
She gives a tear to fortune spilt;
Then with the downcast look of guilt
Home to her husband empty goes,
Somewhat in danger of his blows.
Who buildeth not, sometimes, in air
His cots, or seats, or castles fair?
From kings to dairywomen,--all,--
The wise, the foolish, great and small,--
Each thinks his waking dream the best.
Some flattering error fills the breast:
The world with all its wealth is ours,
Its honors, dames, and loveliest bowers.
Instinct with valor, when alone,
I hurl the monarch from his throne;
The people, glad to see him dead,
Elect me monarch in his stead,
And diadems rain on my head.
Some accident then calls me back,
And I'm no more than simple Jack.
235
The day-dreaming idea is next presented in the
form found in the story of the barber's fifth
brother in the _Arabian Nights_. Would this
story be any more effective if it had a
paragraph at the end stating and emphasizing
the moral?
THE STORY OF ALNASCHAR
Alnaschar, my fifth brother, was very lazy, and of course wretchedly
poor. On the death of our father we divided his property, and each of us
received a hundred drachms of silver for his share. Alnaschar, who hated
labor, laid out his money in fine glasses, and having displayed his
stock to the best advantage in a large basket, he took his stand in the
market-place, with his back against the wall, waiting for customers. In
this posture he indulged in a reverie, talking aloud to himself as
follows:
"This glass cost me a hundred drachms of silver, which is all I have in
the world. I shall make two hundred by retailing it, and of these very
shortly four hundred. It will not be long before these produce four
thousand. Money, they say, begets money. I shall soon therefore be
possessed of eight thousand, and when these become ten thousand I will
no longer be a glass-seller. I will trade in pearls and diamonds; and
as I shall become rich apace, I will have a splendid palace, a great
estate, slaves, and horses; I will not, however, leave traffic till I
have acquired a hundred thousand drachms. Then I shall be as great as a
prince, and will assume manners accordingly.
"I will demand the daughter of the grand vizier in marriage, who, no
doubt, will be glad of an alliance with a man of my consequence. The
marriage ceremony shall be performed with the utmost splendor and
magnificence. I will have my horse clothed with the richest housings,
ornamented with diamonds and pearls, and will be attended by a number of
slaves, all richly dressed, when I go to the vizier's palace to conduct
my wife thence to my own. The vizier shall receive me with great pomp,
and shall give me the right hand and place me above himself, to do me
the more honor. On my return I will appoint two of my handsomest slaves
to throw money among the populace, that every one may speak well of my
generosity.
"When we arrive at my own palace, I will take great state upon me, and
hardly speak to my wife. She shall dress herself in all her ornaments,
and stand before me as beautiful as the full moon, but I will not look
at her. Her slaves shall draw near and entreat me to cast my eyes upon
her; which, after much supplication, I will deign to do, though with
great indifference. I will not suffer her to come out of her apartment
without my leave; and when I have a mind to visit her there, it shall be
in a manner that will make her respect me. Thus will I begin early to
teach her what she is to expect the rest of her life.
"When her mother comes to visit her she will intercede with me for her.
'Sir,' she will say (for she will not dare to call me son, for fear of
offending me by so much familiarity), 'do not, I beseech, treat my
daughter with scorn; she is as beautiful as an Houri, and entirely
devoted to you.' But my mother-in-law may as well hold her peace, for I
will take no notice of what she says. She will then pour out some wine
into a goblet, and give it to my wife, saying, 'Present it to your lord
and husband; he will not surely be so cruel as to refuse it from so fair
a hand.' My wife will then come with the glass, and stand trembling
before me; and when she finds that I do not look on her, but continue to
disdain her, she will kneel and entreat me to accept it; but I will
continue inflexible. At last, redoubling her tears, she will rise and
put the goblet to my lips, when, tired with her importunities, I will
dart a terrible look at her and give her such a push with my foot as
will spurn her from me." Alnaschar was so interested in this imaginary
grandeur that he thrust forth his foot to kick the lady, and by that
means overturned his glasses and broke them into a thousand pieces.
236
"The Camel and the Pig" is from P. V. Ramaswami
Raju's _Indian Folk Stories and Fables_, an
excellent book of adaptations for young
readers. The idea that every situation in life
has its advantages as well as its disadvantages
is one of those common but often overlooked
truths which serve so well as the themes of
fable. Emerson's "Fable," the story of the
quarrel between the mountain and the squirrel,
is a most excellent presentation of the same
idea (see No. 363). "The Little Elf," by John
Kendrick Bangs, makes the same point for
smaller folks.
THE CAMEL AND THE PIG
ADAPTED BY P. V. RAMASWAMI RAJU
A camel said, "Nothing like being tall! See how tall I am!"
A Pig who heard these words said, "Nothing like being short; see how
short I am!"
The Camel said, "Well, if I fail to prove the truth of what I said, I
will give up my hump."
The Pig said, "If I fail to prove the truth of what I have said, I will
give up my snout."
"Agreed!" said the Camel.
"Just so!" said the Pig.
They came to a garden inclosed by a low wall without any opening. The
Camel stood on this side the wall, and, reaching the plants within by
means of his long neck, made a breakfast on them. Then he turned
jeeringly to the Pig, who had been standing at the bottom of the wall,
without even having a look at the good things in the garden, and said,
"Now, would you be tall or short?"
Next they came to a garden inclosed by a high wall, with a wicket gate
at one end. The Pig entered by the gate and, after having eaten his fill
of the vegetables within, came out, laughing at the poor Camel, who had
to stay outside, because he was too tall to enter the garden by the
gate, and said, "Now, would you be tall or short?"
Then they thought the matter over, and came to the conclusion that the
Camel should keep his hump and the Pig his snout, observing,--
"Tall is good, where tall would do;
Of short, again, 'tis also true!"
237
Many scholars have believed that all fables
originated in India. The great Indian
collection of symbolic stories known as Jataka
Tales, or Buddhist Birth Stories, has been
called "the oldest, most complete, and most
important collection of folklore extant." They
are called Birth Stories because each one gives
an account of something that happened in
connection with the teaching of Buddha in some
previous "birth" or incarnation. There are
about 550 of these Jatakas, including some 2000
stories. They have now been made accessible in
a translation by a group of English scholars
and published in six volumes under the general
editorship of Professor Cowell. Many of them
have long been familiar in eastern collections
and have been adapted in recent times for use
in schools. Each Jataka is made up of three
parts. There is a "story of the present" giving
an account of an incident in Buddha's life
which calls to his mind a "story of the past"
in which he had played a part during a former
incarnation. Then, there is a conclusion
marking the results. Nos. 237 and 238 are
literal translations of Jatakas by T. W.
Rhys-Davids in his _Buddhist Birth Stories_. In
adapting for children, the stories of the
present may be omitted. In fact, everything
except the direct story should be eliminated.
The "gathas," or verses, were very important in
connection with the original purpose of
religious teaching, but are only incumbrances
in telling the story either for its own sake or
for its moral.
THE ASS IN THE LION'S SKIN
At the same time when Brahma-datta was reigning in Benares, the future
Buddha was born one of a peasant family; and when he grew up he gained
his living by tilling the ground.
At that time a hawker used to go from place to place, trafficking in
goods carried by an ass. Now at each place he came to, when he took the
pack down from the ass's back, he used to clothe him in a lion's skin
and turn him loose in the rice and barley fields. And when the watchmen
in the fields saw the ass they dared not go near him, taking him for a
lion.
So one day the hawker stopped in a village; and while he was getting his
own breakfast cooked, he dressed the ass in a lion's skin and turned him
loose in a barley field. The watchmen in the field dared not go up to
him; but going home, they published the news. Then all the villagers
came out with weapons in their hands; and blowing chanks, and beating
drums, they went near the field and shouted. Terrified with the fear of
death, the ass uttered a cry--the bray of an ass!
And when he knew him then to be an ass, the future Buddha pronounced the
first verse:
"This is not a lion's roaring,
Nor a tiger's nor a panther's;
Dressed in a lion's skin,
'Tis a wretched ass that roars!"
But when the villagers knew the creature to be an ass, they beat him
till his bones broke; and, carrying off the lion's skin, went away. Then
the hawker came; and seeing the ass fallen into so bad a plight,
pronounced the second verse:
"Long might the ass,
Clad in a lion's skin,
Have fed on the barley green;
But he brayed
And that moment he came to ruin."
And even while he was yet speaking the ass died on the spot.
238
THE TALKATIVE TORTOISE
The future Buddha was once born in a minister's family, when
Brahma-datta was reigning in Benares; and when he grew up he became the
king's adviser in things temporal and spiritual.
Now this king was very talkative; while he was speaking others had no
opportunity for a word. And the future Buddha, wanting to cure this
talkativeness of his, was constantly seeking for some means of doing so.
At that time there was living, in a pond in the Himalaya mountains, a
tortoise. Two young hamsas, or wild ducks, who came to feed there, made
friends with him, and one day, when they had become very intimate with
him, they said to the tortoise:
"Friend tortoise! the place where we live, at the Golden Cave on Mount
Beautiful in the Himalaya country, is a delightful spot. Will you come
there with us?"
"But how can I get there?"
"We can take you if you can only hold your tongue, and will say nothing
to anybody."
"Oh! that I can do. Take me with you."
"That's right," said they. And making the tortoise bite hold of a stick,
they themselves took the two ends in their teeth, and flew up into the
air.
Seeing him thus carried by the hamsas, some villagers called out, "Two
wild ducks are carrying a tortoise along on a stick!" Whereupon the
tortoise wanted to say, "If my friends choose to carry me, what is that
to you, you wretched slaves!" So just as the swift flight of the wild
ducks had brought him over the king's palace in the city of Benares, he
let go of the stick he was biting, and falling in the open courtyard,
split in two! And there arose a universal cry, "A tortoise has fallen in
the open courtyard, and has split in two!"
The king, taking the future Buddha, went to the place, surrounded by his
courtiers; and looking at the tortoise, he asked the Bodisat, "Teacher!
how comes he to be fallen here?"
The future Buddha thought to himself, "Long expecting, wishing to
admonish the king, have I sought for some means of doing so. This
tortoise must have made friends with the wild ducks; and they must have
made him bite hold of the stick, and have flown up into the air to take
him to the hills. But he, being unable to hold his tongue when he hears
any one else talk, must have wanted to say something, and let go the
stick; and so must have fallen down from the sky, and thus lost his
life." And saying, "Truly, O king! those who are called
chatter-boxes--people whose words have no end--come to grief like this,"
he uttered these verses:
"Verily the tortoise killed himself
While uttering his voice;
Though he was holding tight the stick,
By a word himself he slew.
"Behold him then, O excellent by strength!
And speak wise words, not out of season.
You see how, by his talking overmuch,
The tortoise fell into this wretched plight!"
The king saw that he was himself referred to, and said, "O Teacher! are
you speaking of us?"
And the Bodisat spake openly, and said, "O great king! be it thou, or be
it any other, whoever talks beyond measure meets with some mishap like
this."
And the king henceforth refrained himself, and became a man of few
words.
239
The following is, also, an oriental story. It
is taken from the _Hitopadesa_ (Book of Good
Counsel), a collection of Sanskrit fables. This
collection was compiled from older sources,
probably in the main from the _Panchatantra_
(Five Books), which belonged to about the fifth
century. Observe the emphasis placed upon the
teaching of the fable by putting the statement
of it at the beginning and recurring to it at
the close.
A LION TRICKED BY A RABBIT
_He who hath sense hath strength. Where hath he strength who wanteth
judgment? See how a lion, when intoxicated with anger, was overcome by a
rabbit._
Upon the mountain Mandara there lived a lion, whose name was Durganta
(hard to go near), who was very exact in complying with the ordinance
for animal sacrifices. So at length all the different species assembled,
and in a body represented that, as by his present mode of proceeding the
forest would be cleared all at once, if it pleased his Highness, they
would each of them in his turn provide him an animal for his daily food.
And the lion gave his consent accordingly. Thus every beast delivered
his stipulated provision, till at length, it coming to the rabbit's
turn, he began to meditate in this manner: "Policy should be practiced
by him who would save his life; and I myself shall lose mine if I do not
take care. Suppose I lead him after another lion? Who knows how that may
turn out for me? I will approach him slowly, as if fatigued."
The lion by this time began to be very hungry; so, seeing the rabbit
coming toward him, he called out in a great passion, "What is the reason
thou comest so late?"
"Please your Highness," said the rabbit, "as I was coming along I was
forcibly detained by another of your species; but having given him my
word that I would return immediately, I came here to represent it to
your Highness."
"Go quickly," said the lion in a rage, "and show me where this vile
wretch may be found!"
Accordingly, the rabbit conducted the lion to the brink of a deep well,
where being arrived, "There," said the rabbit, "look down and behold
him." At the same time he pointed to the reflected image of the lion in
the water, who, swelling with pride and resentment, leaped into the
well, as he thought, upon his adversary; and thus put an end to his
life.
I repeat, therefore:
_He who hath sense hath strength. Where hath he strength who wanteth
judgment?_
240
Marie de France lived probably in the latter
part of the twelfth century and was one of the
most striking figures in Middle English
literature. She seems to have been born in
France, lived much in England, translated from
the Anglo-Norman dialect into French, and is
spoken of as the first French poet. One of her
three works, and the most extensive, is a
collection of 103 fables, which she says she
translated from the English of King Alfred. Her
original, whatever it may have been, is lost.
One of her fables, in a translation by
Professor W. W. Skeat, is given below. It
contains the germ of Chaucer's "Nun's Priest's
Tale," in _The Canterbury Tales_.
THE COCK AND THE FOX
MARIE DE FRANCE
A Cock our story tells of, who
High on a trash hill stood and crew.
A Fox, attracted, straight drew nigh,
And spake soft words of flattery.
"Dear Sir!" said he, "your look's divine;
I never saw a bird so fine!
I never heard a voice so clear
Except your father's--ah! poor dear!
His voice rang clearly, loudly--but
Most clearly when his eyes were shut!"
"The same with me!" the Cock replies,
And flaps his wings, and shuts his eyes.
Each note rings clearer than the last--
The Fox starts up and holds him fast;
Toward the wood he hies apace.
But as he crossed an open space,
The shepherds spy him; off they fly;
The dogs give chase with hue and cry.
The Fox still holds the Cock, though fear
Suggests his case is growing queer.
"Tush!" cries the Cock, "cry out, to grieve 'em,
'The cock is mine! I'll never leave him!'"
The Fox attempts, in scorn, to shout,
And opes his mouth; the Cock slips out,
And in a trice has gained a tree.
Too late the Fox begins to see
How well the Cock his game has played;
For once his tricks have been repaid.
In angry language, uncontrolled,
He 'gins to curse the mouth that's bold
To speak, when it should silent be.
"Well," says the Cock, "the same with me;
I curse the eyes that go to sleep
Just when they ought sharp watch to keep
Lest evil to their lord befall."
Thus fools contrariously do all;
They chatter when they should be dumb,
And, when they _ought_ to speak, are mum.
241
The following is Wright's translation of the
first fable in La Fontaine's collection.
Rousseau, objecting to fables in general,
singled out this particular one as an example
of their bad effects on children, and echoes of
his voice are still in evidence. It would, he
said, give children a lesson in inhumanity.
"You believe you are making an example of the
grasshopper, but they will choose the ant . . .
they will take the more pleasant part, which is
a very natural thing." Another observer said:
"As for me, I love neither grasshopper nor ant,
neither avarice nor prodigality, neither the
miserly people who lend nor the spendthrifts
who borrow." These statements represent
complex, analytic points of view which are
probably outside the range of most children.
They will see the grasshopper simply as a type
of thorough shiftlessness and the ant as a type
of forethought, although La Fontaine does
suggest that the ant might on general
principles be a little less "tight-fisted." The
lesson that idleness is the mother of want, the
necessity of looking ahead, of providing for
the future, of laying up for a rainy day--these
are certainly common-sense conclusions and the
only ones the story itself will suggest to the
child.
THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE ANT
LA FONTAINE
A grasshopper gay
Sang the summer away,
And found herself poor
By the winter's first roar.
Of meat or of bread,
Not a morsel she had!
So a begging she went,
To her neighbor the ant,
For the loan of some wheat,
Which would serve her to eat,
Till the season came round.
"I will pay you," she saith,
"On an animal's faith,
Double weight in the pound
Ere the harvest be bound."
The ant is a friend
(And here she might mend)
Little given to lend.
"How spent you the summer?"
Quoth she, looking shame
At the borrowing dame.
"Night and day to each comer
I sang, if you please."
"You sang! I'm at ease;
For 'tis plain at a glance,
Now, ma'am, you must dance."
242
The translation of the following fable is that
of W. Lucas Collins, in his _La Fontaine and
Other French Fabulists_. This fable has always
been a great favorite among the French, and the
translator has caught much of the sprightly
tone of his original.
THE COCK, THE CAT, AND THE YOUNG MOUSE
LA FONTAINE
A pert young Mouse, to whom the world was new,
Had once a near escape, if all be true.
He told his mother, as I now tell you:
"I crossed the mountains that beyond us rise,
And, journeying onwards, bore me
As one who had a great career before me,
When lo! two creatures met my wondering eyes,--
The one of gracious mien, benign and mild;
The other fierce and wild,
With high-pitched voice that filled me with alarm;
A lump of sanguine flesh grew on his head,
And with a kind of arm
He raised himself in air,
As if to hover there;
His tail was like a horseman's plume outspread."
(It was a farmyard Cock, you understand,
That our young friend described in terms so grand,
As 'twere some marvel come from foreign land.)
"With arms raised high
He beat his sides, and made such hideous cry,
That even I,
Brave as I am, thank heaven! had well-nigh fainted:
Straightway I took to flight,
And cursed him left and right.
Ah! but for him, I might have got acquainted
With that sweet creature,
Who bore attractiveness in every feature:
A velvet skin he had, like yours and mine,
A tail so long and fine,
A sweet, meek countenance, a modest air--
Yet, what an eye was there!
I feel that, on the whole,
He must have strong affinities of soul
With our great race--our ears are shaped the same.
I should have made my bow, and asked his name,
But at the fearful cry
Raised by that monster, I was forced to fly."
"My child," replied his mother, "you have seen
That demure hypocrite we call a Cat:
Under that sleek and inoffensive mien
He bears a deadly hate of Mouse and Rat.
The other, whom you feared, is harmless--quite;
Nay, perhaps may serve us for a meal some night.
As for your friend, for all his innocent air,
We form the staple of his bill of fare."
_Take, while you live, this warning as your guide--_
_Don't judge by the outside._
243
John Gay (1685-1732) was an English poet and
dramatist. His work as a whole has been pretty
well forgotten, but he has been recently
brought back to the mind of the public by the
revival of his satirical _Beggar's Opera_, the
ancestor of the modern comic opera. Gay
published a collection of fables in verse in
1727, "prepared for the edification of the
young Duke of Cumberland." A second group,
making sixty-six in all, was published after
his death. Since these fables are probably the
best of their kind in English, a few of them
are frequently met with in collections. "The
Hare with Many Friends" has been the favorite,
and rightly so, as it has something of the
humor and point that belong to the real fable.
Perhaps the fact that it has a personal
application enabled Gay to write with more
vigor and sincerity than elsewhere.
THE HARE WITH MANY FRIENDS
JOHN GAY