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 Æsop and other sources. While he dressed the old fables in the brilliant style of his own day, he stillsucceeded 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.234,234, and241.) 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.
LA FONTAINE
How avarice loseth all,By striving all to gain,I need no witness callBut 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 findAll 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 seeMen made as poor as heBy force of getting rich too soon!
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.
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.
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.
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 notto put any confidence in such cowardly rascals as you are."
Trust not fine promises.
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.
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.
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!"
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.
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."
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."
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.
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.
A Woodman was felling a tree on the bank of a river, and by chance let sliphis 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.
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.
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 anyapparatus 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.
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.
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."
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 Müller'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.
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 cashAt single dash,Which to a hundred eggs amounted.Three nests she made,Which, by the aidOf diligence and care, were hatched."To raise the chicks,I'll easy fix,"Said she, "beside our cottage thatched.The fox must getMore cunning yet,Or leave enough to buy a pig.With little careAnd any fare,He'll grow quite fat and big;And then the priceWill be so nice,For which the pork will sell!Twill go quite hardBut in our yardI'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 guiltHome to her husband empty goes,Somewhat in danger of his blows.Who buildeth not, sometimes, in airHis 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.
The day-dreaming idea is next presented in the form found in the story of the barber's fifth brother in theArabian Nights. Would this story be any more effective if it had a paragraph at the end stating and emphasizing the moral?
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 anddiamonds; 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.
"The Camel and the Pig" is from P. V. Ramaswami Raju'sIndian 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.
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!"
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.237and238are literal translations of Jatakas by T. W. Rhys-Davids in hisBuddhist 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.
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 alion'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 brayedAnd that moment he came to ruin."
And even while he was yet speaking the ass died on the spot.
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 himselfWhile 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.
The following is, also, an oriental story. It is taken from theHitopadesa(Book of Good Counsel), a collection of Sanskrit fables. This collection was compiled from older sources, probably in the main from thePanchatantra(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.
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 yourspecies; 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?
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," inThe Canterbury Tales.
MARIE DE FRANCE
A Cock our story tells of, whoHigh 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 clearExcept your father's—ah! poor dear!His voice rang clearly, loudly—butMost 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 fearSuggests 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 seeHow 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 boldTo speak, when it should silent be."Well," says the Cock, "the same with me;I curse the eyes that go to sleepJust when they ought sharp watch to keepLest evil to their lord befall."Thus fools contrariously do all;They chatter when they should be dumb,And, when theyoughtto speak, are mum.
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.