“And he throws me out if I show the least tiny green shoot,” said the
gout-weed.
“He shuts us up in hives,” said the bee.
“He hunts us by clapping his hands and hitting us with cloths,” said the
moth.
“He locks us up and fattens us and eats us,” grunted the pig.
“He sets traps for us if we try to get a morsel of food,” said the mouse.
“He is the master of us all,” said the stag. “We have no one to complain
to. We have no king. The lion is no longer the ruler of the forest. He
kills us with his claws when he is hungry, but he makes no attempt to
defend us.”
2
While they were talking, the lioness came slowly up and stood in their
midst. They sprang up in alarm, but she lay down quietly and said:
“Do not be afraid of me. I sha’n’t hurt you. I have hardly eaten a
mouthful this week for grief. The same cares oppress me as yourselves. And
it is worse for me, because my husband ought to have protected us against
these strangers and doesn’t. The disgrace, for that matter, concerns me
personally.”
“The lion must help us! The lion must set us free!” they all cried
together.
“The lion does nothing,” said the lioness, sadly. “He lies at home in our
lair, staring and staring before him. But, now, listen to what I have to
say.”
They all gathered round and listened.
“We are all concerned,” she said, “each one of us, without exception. I
have taken in all that I have heard and seen of Two-Legs and I know his
character and his plans as though he had confided them to me. He wants to
subdue the whole earth. He and his children intend to reign over us all,
whether we submit or not.”
“That is true!” cried the animals.
“Yes, that is true,” continued the lioness. “Let none feel safe! The most
powerful animal and the tallest tree: if he has not laid them low to-day,
their turn will come to-morrow. The lowest vermin and the sorriest weed,
they know not on what day he may need them nor when they are in his way;
and then their last hour has struck.”
“Yes, yes!” they cried.
The mighty oak waved his gnarled boughs in assent, the stag sorrowfully
drooped his antlers, the worm whispered his “Yes!” in the earth and the
bees buzzed with fear.
“Yes,” said the lioness. “To him we are either useful or injurious. If
he thinks a flower pretty, he fences it in; if its scent offends his
nostrils, he tramples her underfoot. If a tree stands where he can sleep
in its shade, he lets it grow. If it is in his way or if he has a use for
its wood, he chops it down. If he is able to use an animal, he catches it
and makes it his slave. He dresses himself in its skin, eats its flesh,
lets it do his work. He does not stop when he has had his fill, as we do.
Greedy as he is, he catches animals and gathers fruit for many days, so
that he may never suffer want.”
“That’s so, that’s so!” cried the animals, in chorus.
“Wait a bit!” continued the lioness. “There is more to come. He does not
hunt fair, like ourselves. He does not go after his prey on his own legs.
He rides at it on the back of the horse, whom he has compelled to carry
him. He does not catch it with his claws, does not kill it with his teeth:
he has a curious weapon, which flies through the air and brings death to
whomsoever it strikes.”
“We all know it!” cried the stag.
“It has whistled past my ear!” said the wolf.
“It hit my wing!” said the eagle.
“He does not drink the blood as we do, does not eat the meat as we do,”
continued the lioness. “He roasts it at the fire: he always has a fire
in his hut. He has done violence to nature: we knew fire only when the
lightning struck an old tree and set it alight; he strikes two stones
against each other till the sparks come, or rubs two pieces of rotten wood
till they catch flame.”
“True, true!” cried the animals. “He has subdued fire.”
“He does not wait to pluck the fruit in the forest when it is ripe,” said
the lioness. “He cultivates the plants for which he has a use and roots
out the others. Give him a free hand and he will transform the whole
earth. No herbs will he let grow but those which he can employ. No animals
will he let live but those which serve his use or pleasure. If we want to
remain alive, we must become his servants.”
“Hear, hear!” cried the animals.
The lioness paused; all was still. They heard Trust bark a long way off.
“Listen to the dog,” said the lioness. “His first servant. Now he helps
him watch over others.”
“The dog has betrayed us! Let us kill the dog!” they cried.
The lioness raised her paw and silence prevailed again. Then she continued:
“Do you remember the night when we met here in this same meadow, when the
new animals had just arrived? There were some who warned us: they were
the horse and the ox and the sheep; the goose and the duck agreed with
them: now they are all his subjects; their presentiments did not deceive
them. But do you not remember how the two animals looked when they lay
here asleep? A couple of poor, naked wretches: we could have killed them
without trouble, had we wished.”
“We could, we could!” cried the animals.
“But we didn’t!” said the lioness. “And now they are the lords of the
forest. Do you know whence their power comes? It comes from the animals
whom they have subdued. If we could take those animals from them, then
they would be just as poor and helpless as before. Two-Legs’ power
consists in this, that he can make others work for him. If, therefore, you
take my advice, you will try to get his servants away from him. I propose
that we send some one who will endeavour to talk them into their senses.
Surely, we have only to appeal to their sense of honour and to remind
them of the days when they wandered at liberty in the forest! Who will
undertake the mission?”
“Do you go yourself!” they all cried.
“No,” said the lioness, “I had better not. It would not be wise. There is
blood between their race and mine. They might remember this; and then my
words would be in vain. It should be one from whom they have never had
anything to fear.”
They discussed the matter for some time; and then it was resolved that
the fox should be the emissary. He was at odds, it was true, from the old
days, with the goose and the duck and the hen; but there was no one better
at hand.
And so he sneaked off: none knew so well the shortest and most secret
paths in the forest. He promised to bring back an answer as quickly
as possible. The animals lay down to rest in the meadow and whispered
together. In the midst of the circle lay the lioness, staring silently
before her, with shame and wrath in her eyes.
3
When the fox reached Two-Legs’ house, he met Trust, who was going his
night rounds to see if there were any foes about.
“Good evening, cousin,” said the fox, slyly. “Out so late?”
“I might say the same to you,” replied Trust. “I am keeping watch for my
master. You’re hardly out on so lawful an errand.”
“I have no master, certainly,” said the fox. “And it’s not long ago since
you were a free dog in the forest. You ought to become so again. Come
down with me to the meadow. The other animals are gathered there. They
will forgive you for entering Two-Legs’ service and look upon you as the
good dog that you were, if you will open the door so that the captive
animals may escape.”
“There are no captive animals here,” said the dog. “We are all well off
and we wish for no change. If I am Two-Legs’ servant, I am also his
friend. So run away back as fast as you can to those who sent you.”
[Illustration]
With that, the dog turned his back on the fox and went in through the
little hole that was left in the fence for his use. But the fox stood
waiting awhile, to see if none of the others appeared. And it was not long
before a fine gosling stuck her head through the hole.
“Good-evening, little missie!” said the fox. “Please come a little closer.”
“I dare not,” said the gosling. “I am not allowed out at night. And I
should so awfully like to get away. I am so frightened of Two-Legs. He
roasted my mother the other day and ate her.”
“Shocking!” exclaimed the fox. “You mustn’t stay a moment longer in this
murderer’s den. Come out to me and I will take you to a place where you
will have nothing to fear.”
“If I only dared trust you!” said the gosling. “But I have ten sisters. I
can’t leave them in the lurch.”
“I don’t think you had better wake them to-night,” said the fox. “Young
ladies are so talkative and, if the dog or Two-Legs discovered your
flight, it would be all up with us. You would be roasted forthwith and I
should come in for a certain unpleasantness too: that goes without saying.”
“That is true,” said the gosling. “But will you promise me to fetch my
sisters another time?”
“I give you my word that, from to-day, I will come every night and fetch
one of the young ladies, until they are all rescued,” said the fox. “As
far as lies in my power. There may be obstacles.”
“How kind you are!” whispered the gosling. “And I who thought that the
wild animals were such terrible monsters! That’s what I’ve always been
told. They said I must be particularly careful not to go into the forest,
lest the worst of evils should befall me.”
“Sheer calumny!” said the fox. “All the animals in the forest are angels.
I never heard of any one being roasted there. But come now, before we are
perceived.”
“I’m coming,” said the gosling.
She waddled through the hole and, that very instant, felt the fox’s teeth
in her throat. She was just able to give a scream and then she was done
for. But, the next moment, Trust was there. The fox let go the gosling and
struck out with his teeth as best he could. But he was the weaker and the
dog gave no quarter. Not until the fox lay dead on the ground did Trust go
back through his hole again.
4
Meanwhile, the animals were lying in the meadow and waiting.
“The fox has tricked us,” said the stag.
“Of course, he has been caught and is entering Two-Legs’ service like the
rest,” said the nightingale.
But, at daybreak, the sparrow came flying up, breathlessly:
“The fox is dead!” she said. “He is lying on the hill outside Two-Legs’
house. I saw him myself. There’s a dead goose lying beside him.”
Then the lioness rose and all the other animals with her:
“The fox went on his own business,” she said. “He fell in his own hunting.
We can trust nobody now.”
Then, with bent head, she went sadly home.
[Illustration]
THE LION
[Illustration]
1
It was one night, some days after the animals had held their meeting in
the meadow.
The lion lay in his lair, as was his custom, and stared with his yellow
eyes. His spouse was sleeping or pretending to sleep. At every moment she
heaved a deep sigh. All was still in the forest.
The lion well knew what his consort’s sighing meant. He knew what the
animals had talked of that day and all the other days in the forest. Not
one of their complaints was unfamiliar to him; not one of the taunts
uttered against him had escaped his ears. Not for a moment had he doubted
the feeling in the forest towards the king of beasts.
Nor had he forgotten which of the animals had spoken of him most
slightingly. He had imprinted the names of more than one in his memory
and he would know how to be even with them when the time came and order
was restored in the forest. Every day he had to bear his consort’s gibes,
but he no longer heeded them. She would have to beg his pardon and yield
him her love and admiration once again. His children would honour him as
they had honoured him of old and even more. He would be remembered in
the history of the forest as the monarch in whose reign the kingdom had
incurred a great danger and misfortune, which he had finally overcome.
2
The lion rose and went slowly through the forest.
“The king of beasts is out hunting,” said the hedgehog, creeping under the
bushes.
“See how thin he is,” said the bat. “His skin is hanging loose on his
bones.”
“It is many nights since he went hunting,” said the owl. “His eyes are
glaring with hunger.”
But the king of the forest was not thinking of hunting. He went, as though
in a dream, in the direction of Two-Legs’ house. A deer darted across his
path and he did not see her. Slowly he went until he came to the open
space on the hill where Two-Legs’ house stood.
He went straight up to it, leapt nimbly over the hedge and crouched in
some bushes that grew at the door. He there lay concealed. No one could
see him, only his yellow eyes gleamed through the leaves. And one bound
would bring him to the door.
3
Two-Legs slept restlessly that night.
He tossed about on his bed of skins and, when at last he fell asleep,
Trust began to bark so loudly that Two-Legs had to get up and see what was
happening. He had closed up the hole through which Trust used to get out,
because the goose had lately escaped that way and fallen a prey to the fox.
“What is it, Trust?” he asked.
The dog kept on barking and leaping up against him. Two-Legs opened a
little shutter and looked out and listened. But there was nothing to see.
Then he told the dog to lie down and went back to bed. But now he heard
the horse kicking in the stable and the ox began to low and the poultry
to cackle. There was no hearing a word for the noise. He had to go out
again and found all the animals shaking, as though greatly frightened.
The horse stood in a violent sweat and the hens and the ducks and geese
fluttered anxiously round and round their roost.
“What can it be?” he said.
He opened the door and stepped out into the night, unarmed and naked, as
he had risen from his bed. At that moment, there was a rustling in the
bushes. The lion leapt forward, but Two-Legs just had time to spring back
into the house and bolt the door behind him.
He stood for a moment in great alarm and did not know what to do.
Through a little hole in the door, he saw the lion lying outside in the
bushes, with his eyes fixed on the door, ready to leap again. The yellow
eyes glittered with rage. Two-Legs understood that the fight was now to
come that had been so long delayed.
He thought first of waking his sons, slipping out through the other door
and attacking the lion in the rear. But they slept in different parts of
the house; and the day was already breaking in the east; and, while he was
gone to fetch them, one of the family might easily go out and fall a prey
to the king of the forest.
While he stood and reflected, his fear left him.
He considered he was man enough to kill his foe unaided. He silently took
the best two of his spears, carefully felt the edges, drew a deep breath
and then opened the door.
The lion was not there.
Two-Legs looked from one side to the other and could not discover him. But
he was an old, experienced hunter and did not doubt but that the lion was
lurking in ambush. So he stood quietly in the doorway, with every muscle
taut, ready for the fight that must come.
Then he heard a soft rustling in the bushes and, at that moment, he saw
the animal’s eyes there among the leaves. He knew there was no time to
lose: if the lion sprang first, it was too late.
He flung one of his spears and struck the lion in the eye. The lion
uttered a roar of rage; and then the other spear pierced his heart.
All the inmates of the house were now out of bed and came running up.
There lay the dead lion, a great and splendid sight. Trust barked at him
and wanted to bite him, but Two-Legs drove him away:
“After all,” he said, “he was king of the forest. But now let it be
declared all over the earth that the lion is dead and that the realm is
mine.”
Then they stripped the lion’s hide and hung it on a tall pole, which they
set up in the middle of the field, so that it could be seen from far and
wide.
[Illustration]
“The lion is slain!” cried the sparrow, from door to door. “Two-Legs has
murdered the king of the forest. His skin is hanging on a pole outside the
house: I saw it myself.”
Then all crowded up and saw it. From the edge of the forest, full of fear
they peeped at Two-Legs’ house and the birds stared down from the sky.
“And now all is over,” said the stag.
And so it was.
4
But, in the course of that day, the orang-outang came to Two-Legs, who was
sitting outside the house:
“Good-day, cousin,” said the orang-outang.
Two-Legs looked at him without answering.
“Ah, you may have heard,” said the orang-outang, “that I have spoken ill
of you. I will not deny that I have been a little careless in my talk.
But you yourself know, when one meets with poor relations, one is afraid
of hangers-on. One has children of one’s own and it is not easy to make
both ends meet in these hard times. Besides, you once caught me a blow
with your stick; so we can cry quits.”
“What do you want?” asked Two-Legs. “I have neither time nor inclination
to listen to your drivel.”
“Now don’t be hasty, cousin,” said the orang-outang and sat down beside
him. “I acknowledge your success. You have been lucky. It does not enter
my head to deny your ability. You have managed things splendidly. That
little business with the horse was really smartly done. And, now that you
have outwitted the lion....”
“What do you want, you bothersome brute?” said Two-Legs.
[Illustration]
“I want to join forces with you, cousin,” said the orang-outang. “We two
as partners ought to conquer the world.”
“Are you mad?” said Two-Legs. “What should I do with such a ridiculous,
stupid beast as you? You’re no more use to me than a pigeon. Away with
you! Look sharp or I’ll give you a thrashing which you won’t forget in a
hurry.”
The orang-outang retreated a few paces, but did not give up the game:
“You should think it over all the same, cousin,” he said. “However clever
you may be, I can be of use to you still. I should be a good intermediary
between you and the animals. I can do things you can’t; and what I can’t
do I can easily learn. Up in the apple-tree where I sat, I have watched
you and studied the way you went about your field; and I have already
picked up many of your tricks. You must know that....”
Two-Legs stood up and caught the orang-outang by the arm:
“Come outside!” he shouted into the house. “I want to show you something!”
They all came and stared at the ape.
“This fellow wants to go into partnership with me,” said Two-Legs. “He’s
not fair. He says he has already learnt my tricks. Let’s put him in a
cage; then we can amuse ourselves with his tricks when it’s raining.”
The orang-outang protested, but to no purpose. Two-Legs held him tight and
soon they had built a cage and put him into it.
“There’s none like one’s own people for meanness!” said the orang-outang,
as he sat on the floor of his cage, catching his fleas.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: THERE WAS NO TIME TO LOSE]
MANY YEARS AFTER
[Illustration]
1
It was many, many years after.
And it was not in the forest in the warm lands where the sun shines
stronger than here and the rain falls closer and all animals and plants
thrive better, because the winter does not stunt their growth.
It was in a large village in Jutland.
It was fair-time and the village was full of people and cattle. On every
side stood booths with wooden shoes and tin goods, cakes and toys and all
sorts of wares. There were refreshment-tents and a dancing-hall. There was
a peep-show, there were two merry-go-rounds, there was a place where the
fattest lady in the world was exhibited. In another place, for twopence,
you could see a tiny dwarf. Then there were white mice and performing
fleas, numbers of barrel-organs, all playing at one time, so that you
could hardly hear for the din, and drunken peasants and boys playing
practical jokes.
[Illustration]
But the most remarkable thing of all was hidden in a large tent in the
middle of the market-place. This, too, could be seen for twopence; and, if
you wished to know what it was, you had but to listen to the man who stood
outside and shouted in a hoarse voice:
“Walk up, ladies and gentlemen, walk up! Only twopence for grown-ups,
children half-price! Here’s something that’s never been exhibited in
this village before, but that’s appeared before all the kings and royal
families in the world. It’s a king himself that I have the honour of
introducing to you: the king of the beasts, ladies and gentlemen, the
terrible lion! He lives in darkest Africa and is so powerful that he can
kill an ox with one blow of his paw. He has two lambs for his breakfast
every morning. If he were to escape from his cage, he would do away with
you all in no time. But you need have no fears, ladies and gentlemen! The
lion is in his cage behind thick iron bars. There he stands and glares in
his bloodthirsty way, at twopence for grown-ups, children half-price. Walk
up, ladies and gentlemen! Hurry up, before it’s too late! Never again, in
all your lives, will you see so fine a sight at so cheap a price!”
He shouted like this all the time. A crowd of people stood outside the
tent staring. Many went in. When they came out, they told the bystanders
about the lion inside. Then more went in and so it continued all day long.
2
The lion’s cage stood at the back of the tent.
It was a low and dirty cage. On the floor lay some filthy straw and a few
bones. The side which was turned to the spectators consisted of thick,
rusty iron bars. In the far corner lay the lion, with his head resting on
his paws. His yellow eyes stared at the onlookers with a dull expression.
There was straw in his tangled mane; and he was terribly thin. Now and
again, he gave a nasty hollow cough.
The man stood with a long stick in his hand, talking and explaining. The
visitors to the fair stared round-eyed at the great beast that lay there
so quietly. Sick and feeble as he was, they could see, nevertheless, that
he was the lion, the king of beasts; and they felt cold in their backs at
the thought that he might break loose. But, when he did not make a single
movement, one of the spectators said, at last:
“I believe he’s dead!”
Then the showman pushed his long stick through the bars and poked the
lion with it. The lion slowly turned his head and looked at him, but gave
no further sign of life. Then the man poked him again and again; and, at
last, the lion sprang up and gave such a roar that the tent shook with it
and the people fell back in affright.
“He ate his former owner,” said the man. “I bought him of the widow. He is
terrible and intractable. He’s dreaming of his native land, you see, where
he used to hunt in the wild forest and all the animals honoured and feared
him. But now you must go please, so that others may come and see the most
extraordinary sight ever exhibited in this village. Walk up, ladies and
gentlemen! Only twopence each! The king of the forest, the terrible lion!”
And so it went on until late that evening. Not until the market-place was
empty and there were no more visitors left to listen to him did the man
shut up his tent, after counting the day’s takings:
“This has been a bad day,” he said, with an angry look at the lion. “You
haven’t really earned your supper!”
He flung a small piece of half-rotten meat into the cage. Then he shut
the door and locked it and went to the inn, where he sat and drank and
caroused till early morning.
3
The lion did not touch the putrid meat. With his head on his paws, he lay
staring at the little paraffin-lamp that hung in the tent and flickered
feebly. Suddenly, he heard a sound and raised his head and looked about
him:
“Can’t I have peace even at night?” he said.
“It’s only I,” replied a squeaky little voice. “I have been locked in by
accident. I want to get out! I want to get out! My mistress will die of
fright for me.”
It was a tiny little dog, with a collar and bells round his neck and an
embroidered rug on his back. He tripped to and fro, whined and cried
and scratched at the door, but no one heard him. All was silent in the
market-place outside.
“Well, I never!” said the lion. “You’re the dog: I can see that. Gracious
me, what a sight they’ve made of you!”
“I want to get out! I want to get out!” whined the dog.
The lion laid his head on his paws again and looked at the dog:
“What’s the use of whimpering like that?” he asked. “No one’s hurting you.
I couldn’t eat you if I wanted to.... The iron bars are strong, believe
me. I used to shake them at first. I have to travel in my cage from place
to place and let people look at me for money, submit to their scorn and
teasing and roar when I am told to, so that they may shudder and yet feel
quite safe from my teeth.”
“Let me out!” cried the dog.
“I can’t,” replied the lion. “But I am not so contemptible as you. I am
here against my will, caught in a trap. You voluntarily entered Two-Legs’
service, betrayed your fellows and helped him against them.”