Xantus, "a man who troubles himself about nothing." Æsop went on the
following day to the market-place, and perceiving there a peasant who
regarded all things with the utmost stolidity, he took him to his
master's house. "Behold," said he to Xantus, "the man without cares
whom you have demanded." Xantus then bade his wife heat some water, put
it in a basin, and wash with her own hands the stranger's feet. The
peasant allowed this to be done, although he knew very well that he
did not deserve any such honour, and merely said to himself, "Perhaps
it is the custom in this part of the world." He was then conducted to
the place of honour, and took his seat without ceremony. During the
repast Xantus did nothing but blame his cook. Nothing pleased him.
If anything was sweet, he declared that it was too salt, and blamed
everything that was salt for being repulsively sweet. The man without
cares let him talk on, and meanwhile ate away with all his might. At
dessert a cake was placed on the table, which had been made by the
philosopher's wife, and which Xantus scoffed at, although it was in
reality very good. "Behold!" cried the philosopher, "the most wretched
pastry I have ever eaten. The maker of it must be burnt alive, for she
will never do any good in the world. Let faggots be brought!" "Wait,"
said the peasant, "and I will go and fetch my wife, so that they may
be both burned at the same stake." This final speech disconcerted the
philosopher, and deprived him of the hope of being able to catch Æsop
in a trap.
But it was not only with his master that Æsop played jokes and found
opportunities for witticisms. Xantus having sent him to a certain
place, he met on his way a magistrate, who asked him where he was
going; and Æsop, either out of thoughtlessness or for some other
reason, replied that he did not know. The magistrate, regarding this
answer as a mark of disrespect to himself, had him conveyed to prison.
But as the officers were hauling him off, Æsop cried out, "Did I not
give a proper reply? Could I know that I was going to prison?" Upon
this the magistrate had him released, and considered Xantus fortunate
in having so witty a slave.
Xantus now began to perceive how important it was for his own interests
to have a slave in his possession who did him so much honour. Well,
it occurred on a certain occasion that Xantus, having a revel with
his disciples, it became soon evident to Æsop, who was in attendance,
that the master was becoming as drunk as the scholars. "The effects of
drinking wine," said he to them, "may be divided into three different
stages. In the first stage the result is pleasurable emotions; in the
second, mere intoxication; and in the third, madness." These remarks
were received with a roar of laughter, and the wine-bibbing went on
more furiously than before. Xantus, in fact, got so drunk that he lost
all command over his brains, and swore that he could drink up the sea.
This declaration, of course, raised a great guffaw amongst his boon
companions, and the natural result was, that Xantus, irritated beyond
all bounds, offered to wager his house that he would drink up the whole
sea, and, to bind the wager, deposited a valuable ring which he wore on
his finger.
On the following day, when the vapours of the wine had evaporated,
Xantus was extremely surprised to find that his ring had disappeared
from his finger, and with horror learned from Æsop that not only his
ring, but his house also, were the forfeitures of the ridiculous wager
which he had made over-night. Vexed beyond measure, the philosopher
condescended to entreat Æsop to help him out of his difficulty. And
this is what came of the Phrygian's advice. When the day arrived for
the decision of the wager, the whole population of Samos rushed to the
sea-shore to be witnesses of the philosopher's defeat; but, just as
one of his disciples who had made the bet with him began to glory in
his victory, the philosopher said to the assembled multitude, "It is
quite true that I have bet that I would drink up the whole of the sea;
but I certainly never engaged to drink up all the rivers which flow
into it. I must request, therefore, that the gentleman with whom I
have made the bet will first prevent the rivers from flowing into the
sea. When he has done that, I shall be very happy to fulfil my portion
of the wager." It need scarcely be said that every one applauded
the adroitness with which Xantus had got out of his difficulty. The
disciple confessed that he was vanquished, begged his master's pardon,
and Xantus was conducted to his home with great applause.
As a recompense for this happy hint, Æsop begged for his liberty, which
Xantus refused, saying that the moment for Æsop's freedom had not
yet come; but that if the gods should intimate that it had, he would
willingly grant it. If, for instance, he said, two crows should meet
his sight on his first leaving the house, he would grant the request;
but that if he should see one only, Æsop should continue to be a slave.
Æsop at once went out, whilst his master retired to a neighbouring
grove. Our Phrygian had scarcely sallied forth when he perceived two
crows caw-caw-ing together upon a lofty branch, and ran to tell his
master. Of course, Xantus hastened to see the fact for himself, and
before he could reach the spot one of the crows had flown away. "Ah,
ah!" said the philosopher to Æsop, "you are determined to be always
cheating me, are you? Here, you fellows, give this rascal a good
horse-whipping." This order was at once carried into effect, and whilst
the punishment was going on Xantus was invited to a repast, and he sent
word to say that he would attend at the time and place appointed.
"Alas!" exclaimed Æsop, "what lies, then, are the forewarnings of
heaven! Here am I, who have seen two crows, suffering the torments
of the lash, whilst my master, who has seen but one, is invited to a
nuptial feast." This sarcasm so pleased Xantus that he gave orders that
Æsop should be taken down from the triangles; but, nevertheless, he
could not as yet prevail upon himself to give the Phrygian his often
promised liberty.
One day as the master and man were wandering amongst old monuments,
reading with much pleasure the inscriptions, Xantus came to one which
he could not understand, although he remained a considerable time
trying to explain it. It was composed of the first letters of certain
words, and the philosopher avowed that he could not solve the problem
which it presented. "If I help you to find a treasure by means of
those letters," said Æsop, "what will you give me?" Xantus promised
him his liberty and half the treasure. "They mean, then," said Æsop,
"that four paces from this column a treasure lies concealed." After
having dug for some time they found that such was indeed the case.
The philosopher was now called upon to keep his word; but he still
declined to do so. "May the gods forbid I should set you free," said he
to Æsop, "before you have explained the mystery of those letters. To
know that will be a greater treasure to me than what we have found."
"Well," said Æsop, "they have been engraved here as the first letters
of these words, Απόβας Βήματα, &c.; that is to say, <i>If you step back
four paces</i> and then dig, you will find a treasure." "As you are so
clever," said Xantus, "I should be wrong to part with you; so give up
the idea that you will ever be free." "And I, for my part," said Æsop,
"will denounce you to King Denys, for it is to him that the treasure
belongs, and these letters are the initials of other words which state
the fact." The philosopher, alarmed, told his slave to take his part
of the treasure and to say nothing about it; on which Æsop declared
that he was under no obligation to him, for that these letters had
been selected in such a manner that they contained a triple sense, and
signified still further, "As you go away, you will divide the treasure
which you have discovered." When they had returned home, Xantus ordered
that Æsop should be put in irons and imprisoned, for fear that he
should make the adventure known. "Alas!" cried Æsop, "is it thus that
these philosophers fulfil their promises? But do as you will, Master
Xantus, you shall set me free at last in spite of yourself."
This prediction turned out to be true. A prodigy appeared, by which the
Samians were greatly frightened. An eagle carried off the public ring
(some seal apparently which was affixed to the proceedings of the Town
Council), and let it drop into the bosom of a slave. The philosopher
was consulted on the matter, both in his capacity as a philosopher
and as being one of the Republic. He asked for time, and had recourse
to his usual oracle, Æsop. The latter advised him to produce him in
public, since, if he succeeded well, the philosopher would have the
honour, and if he failed, he, Æsop, would alone bear the blame. Xantus
approved of this course, and presented him before the chief assembly of
the citizens. As soon as the Phrygian appeared, every one burst into a
fit of laughter; no one supposed that anything sensible could come from
the mouth of one so grotesquely formed. Æsop told them, however, that
they should not consider the fashion of the vase, but the liquor which
it contained; whereupon the Samians cried out to him to say without
fear what he thought of the prodigy. But Æsop excused himself on the
ground that he dare not. "Fortune," he said, "had raised a strife for
glory between the master and the slave. If the slave spoke badly, he
would be beaten; and if he spoke better than his master, he would still
be beaten." Upon this every one pressed Xantus to set the Phrygian
free. The philosopher obstinately resisted for some time; but at length
the provost of the town threatened to do so himself, in virtue of his
magisterial power. This had the desired effect, and Æsop was set free,
upon which he declared the Samians were threatened by this prodigy
with being reduced to a state of servitude, and that the carrying off
of their ring by the eagle was symbolic of a powerful monarch who was
desirous of subjugating them.
Shortly afterwards Crœsus, King of the Lydians, announced to the
Samians that if they did not become his tributaries, he would compel
them to do so by force of arms. The greater number were for obeying his
commands. Æsop told them that Fortune offered to men the choice of two
roads: the one, that of liberty, rough and thorny at the commencement,
but afterwards very pleasant; and the other that of slavery, which at
first was easy, but was afterwards very laborious. This was, in effect,
plain advice to the Phrygians to defend their liberties; so they
dismissed the monarch's envoy, unsatisfied as to his demands.
Crœsus at once made preparations to attack them, but was informed by
his ambassador that, as long as they had Æsop amongst them, he would
find it difficult to reduce them, such well-grounded confidence had
they in that person's wisdom. Crœsus accordingly sent to the Samians
to demand the Phrygian of them; declaring that, if they would give
him up to him, he would respect their liberty. The rulers of the
state regarded these conditions as advantageous, and thought that
the sacrifice of Æsop would be a cheap means of obtaining peace. The
Phrygian, however, made them change this opinion by telling them how
the wolves and the sheep, having made a treaty of peace, the latter
gave up their dogs as hostages. When they no longer had protectors,
the wolves were able to devour them with less trouble than formerly.
This fable had its effect, and the Samians then came to a resolution
precisely contrary to the one they had just adopted. Æsop, however, was
desirous of his own accord of going to Crœsus, and said that he could
serve them better if he were with the king than if he remained at Samos.
When Crœsus saw him, he was astonished that so mean-looking a person
had been such an obstruction to his plans. "What!" he cried, "see
what sort of a creature it is that has dared to oppose my will!" Æsop
prostrated himself, and said, "A man in pursuit of locusts happened to
catch hold of a grasshopper, and was about to kill it, when the insect
exclaimed to the man, 'What have I done that you should kill me? I
have not devoured your corn; I have done you no sort of harm. My only
peculiarity is a loud voice, of which I make a very innocent use.' Ah!
mighty monarch! I resemble that grasshopper. I only possess powers of
speech, and I have not used them to injure you." Crœsus, moved with
admiration and pity, not only pardoned Æsop, but left the Samians alone
on his account.
It was at this time that the Phrygian composed his fables, which he
left with the King of Lydia, when he was sent by the latter to the
Samians, who accorded him great honours. He then took it into his head
to travel about the world, and to hold high converse with those who
were generally regarded as philosophers; and at length it happened
that he obtained an exalted place in the esteem of Lycerus, King of
Babylon.[3] At this period kings were in the habit of sending to each
other problems to solve, on condition that certain tributes should be
paid, according as the questions were answered well or ill, on the one
side or the other; and in this sort of game Lycerus, by the assistance
of Æsop, rendered himself especially illustrious, whether as proposer
or answerer.
In the course of time Æsop married, and as no children came to him
he adopted a young man of noble extraction, named Ennus. The latter
rewarded this kindness by ingratitude, and was, indeed, so base as to
sully his master's bed. This having come to the knowledge of Æsop,
he drove the rascal from his house, and the latter, in order to be
revenged upon him, forged letters by which it was made to appear
that Æsop was in the pay of kings who were at enmity with Lycerus.
Lycerus, deceived by the apparent genuineness of the seals and
signatures appended to those letters, ordered one of his officers,
named Hermippus, without seeking any further proofs of the Phrygian's
treachery, to put Æsop to death. This Hermippus, however, being a
friend of Æsop's, saved his life, and secretly fed him for some time in
a sepulchre, until Necténabo, King of Egypt, believing in the report
of Æsop's death, thought that he should now be able to compel Lycerus
to become his tributary. He commenced provoking him by defying him to
send him a man who could build a tower in the air, and who could answer
all sorts of questions. Lycerus, having read these letters, and having
submitted them to the most able men of his kingdom, found that none of
them were prepared to give satisfactory answers, and deeply regretted
Æsop. Upon this Hermippus confessed his disobedience of orders, and
produced Æsop, who was very well received, and, having proved his
innocence of the charge against him, was most graciously pardoned.
As for the letter from the King of Egypt, he only laughed at it, and
directed Lycerus to reply that he would send the required architects
in the spring, and also one who could answer all sorts of questions.
Lycerus replaced Æsop in possession of all his property, and at the
same time delivered up Ennus to him, to deal with him as he pleased.
Æsop received the latter as though he had been his own son, and only
punished him by recommending him to honour the gods and his king; to
make himself feared by his enemies; to render himself useful to others;
to treat his wife well, but at the same time never to trust her with
his secrets; to speak little, and to avoid the company of babblers;
never to give way to misfortune; to have a care for the morrow,
since it is better to enrich one's enemies by one's death than to be
troublesome to one's friends whilst living; and, above all, never to be
envious of the happiness or the good qualities of others, since that is
but to inflict an injury on ourselves. Ennus, touched by this advice,
and by Æsop's goodness towards him, died soon afterwards, as though he
had been stabbed to the heart.
To return to Necténabo's challenge. Æsop procured some eagles, and
taught them (a difficult thing to do, but he did it) to carry each of
them a basket in which was a child, and when the spring-time had come,
he set off with them, to the great wonder of all the people whom he met
who had heard of his design. Necténabo, who had only sent his puzzle
because he had heard of Æsop's death, was greatly surprised as well as
greatly disgusted at seeing him. He asked Æsop, however, whether he
had brought the architects and the man who could answer all sorts of
questions. To which Æsop replied, that the latter was himself, and that
the architects should be produced at the proper place. They proceeded
to the open country, where the eagles soared up aloft with the
children, who cried out to those below to hand them up stones, mortar,
&c. "You see," said Æsop to Necténabo, "that I have brought you the
workmen; it is for you to supply them with the materials." Necténabo
acknowledged that in this Lycerus was the conqueror. He proposed,
however, this question to Æsop: "I have mares in Egypt which reply to
the neighings of the horses about Babylon. What may that mean?" The
Phrygian deferred his answer, and returning to his lodging, bade some
children take a cat and whip it along the streets. The Egyptians,
who worship this animal, regarded this as an extremely scandalous
proceeding, and snatching the creature from the children's hands,
went to complain to the king. The Phrygian was at once ordered to the
presence, and the king said to him, "Do you not know that this animal
is one of our gods? Why, then, have you had it treated in this way?"
"For an offence which he has committed against Lycerus," replied Æsop;
"for the other night it strangled an extremely courageous cock which
crowed at every hour." "You are a liar," replied the monarch; "how
could the cat have made so long a journey in so short a time?" "Just as
possible," rejoined Æsop, "as that your mares should hear our stallions
neigh at so great a distance."
After this the king had certain ingenious persons brought from
Heliopolis, and gave them a great banquet, to which the Phrygian was
invited. During the repast they proposed to Æsop various enigmas, and
this amongst others: "There is a vast temple supported on a column,
which is surrounded by twelve cities, each of which has thirty
buttresses, and around these buttresses walk, one after the other, two
women, the one white, the other black." "Such a question as that," said
Æsop, "is only fit for little children. The temple is the world; the
column is the year; the cities are the months; the buttresses are the
days; around which move, after each other, the day and night."
On the following day Necténabo assembled all his friends, and said to
them, "Is it to be borne that such a pigmy of a man, such an abortion,
should enable Lycerus to gain the prize and vanquish me?" One of them
then advised him to request Æsop to ask them questions about things
of which they had never heard. On this Æsop wrote out a memorandum,
according to which Necténabo acknowledged that he owed Lycerus two
thousand talents. The memorandum was placed sealed in Necténabo's
hands; and before it was opened Necténabo's friends declared that the
thing which he held in his hands was well known to them. When it was
opened, Necténabo exclaimed, "Behold the greatest falsehood that was
ever concocted! I take you all to witness!" "Certainly," they replied;
"we have never heard of such a thing." "Therefore," said Æsop, "I have
satisfied your demand." Upon this Necténabo dismissed Æsop, burdened
with presents both for himself and his master.
This residence of Æsop in Egypt may, perhaps, have been the origin of
the story that he was a slave there with Rhodope, who, by the aid of
the presents made her by her lovers, erected one of the three Pyramids
which still exist, and are regarded with such admiration. The legend
refers to the smallest of the three, but the one built with the most
skill.
Æsop, on his return to Babylon, was received by Lycerus with great
demonstrations of joy and good-will, and had a statue erected to him.
His desire, however, to see the world and acquire knowledge, induced
him to renounce all honours. He accordingly quitted the court of
Lycerus, where he enjoyed everything that could be wished, and took
leave of this prince, for the purpose of visiting Greece. Lycerus did
not allow him to leave without bestowing upon him the greatest marks
of affection, nor without making him swear that he would return to end
his days with him.
Amongst the cities which he visited, Delphi was one of the principal.
The Delphians were very willing to listen to him, but they paid him no
honours, and Æsop, piqued by this lack of respect, compared them to
sticks which float on the water, which at some distance off seem to
be something important, but when close at hand are discovered to be
worthless. This comparison, however, cost him dear, for the Delphians
conceived such a dislike to him, and such a vehement desire of being
avenged on him (as well as being impressed by a fear that he would
defame them), that they resolved to compass his death. To attain this
end, they concealed amongst his goods one of their sacred vessels,
intending to accuse him of theft and sacrilege, and then to condemn him
to death.
As Æsop was setting out from Delphi, and journeying towards Phocis,
the Delphians ran after him with every appearance of great wrath, and
accused him of having stolen their sacred vessel. Æsop denied the
theft with solemn oaths, but when his baggage was searched it was
found amongst it; therefore, all that Æsop could say did not prevent
them from treating him as an infamous criminal. He was conveyed back
to Delphi, loaded with irons, cast into a dungeon, and condemned to be
thrown headlong from a rock. It was in vain that, attempting to defend
himself with his ordinary weapons, he recited fables. The Delphians
only laughed at them.
"The frog," he said, "had invited the rat to come to see her. In order
to enable him to pass across the pond, she tied him to her foot. As
soon as he was fairly on the water she tried to drag him to the bottom,
in order to drown him, and then make a meal of him. The unfortunate
rat resisted for some little time; and whilst he was struggling on
the surface, a bird of prey perceived him, pounced on him, and having
carried him off, together with the frog, who could not extricate
herself, made a meal of both. And thus, O Delphians, one more powerful
than either of us will avenge me. I shall perish; but you will perish
also."
As Æsop was being led to his place of punishment, he found means to
escape, and entered a little chapel dedicated to Apollo, from which,
however, the Delphians tore him. "You violate this asylum," he said
to them, "because it is only a little chapel; but a day will come
when your wickedness will find no hiding-place--no, not even in your
great temple. The same thing will happen to you that happened to the
eagle, which, in spite of the prayers of the beetle, carried off the
leveret, which had taken refuge with the insect. The eagle's offspring
was punished for this, even when it had sought shelter in Jupiter's
bosom." The Delphians, however, little moved by these remarks, cast
Æsop headlong from the rock.
Soon after Æsop's death a pestilence spread havoc throughout the
Delphian land. The inhabitants asked of the oracle by what means they
might appease the wrath of the gods; the oracle replied, that the only
means by which they could do this was by expiating their crime and
laying Æsop's ghost. On this a pyramid was immediately erected to his
memory. But it was not Heaven alone that testified its displeasure at
Æsop's murder; man also avenged the sage's death. Greece instantly sent
a commission to inquire into the circumstances, and inflicted a severe
punishment on the criminals.[4]
[1] The chronology of our worthy La Fontaine is here at fault,
for between the times of Æsop and Planudes there was an interval of
nearly twenty centuries; Æsop having flourished in the sixth century
before Christ, and Planudes having lived in the fourteenth century of
the Christian era.