An uncommonly small rat was watching an uncommonly big elephant and sneering at the slowness of his steps.
The enormous animal was heavily laden. On his back rose a three-storied howdah, wherein were accommodated a celebrated sultana, her dog, her cat, her monkey, her parrot, her old servant, and all her household. They were going upon a pilgrimage.
The rat wondered why all the people should express astonishment at seeing this enormous bulk—"As if the fact of occupying more or less space implied that one was the more or less important accordingly! What is it you admire in him, you men? If it is only the weight of his body which fills the children with terror, then we rats, small as we are, consider ourselves not one grain less than the elephant." He would have said more; but the cat, bounding out of her cage, let him see in an instant that a rat is not an elephant.
Our destiny is frequently met in the very paths we take to avoid it.
A father had an only son whom he loved excessively. His devoted
affection caused him to be so anxious as to the boy's welfare that he
sought to learn from astrologers and fortune-tellers what fate was in
store for the son and heir. One of these soothsayers told him that an
especial danger lay with lions, from which the youth must be guarded
until the age of twenty was reached, but not after. The father, to make
sure of this precaution, upon the issue of which depended the life of
his loved one, commanded that by no chance should the boy ever be
permitted to go beyond the threshold of the house. Ample provision was
made for the satisfaction of all the wishes proper to youth in the way
of play with his companions, jumping, running, walking, and so forth. As
the age approached when the spirits of youth yearn for the chase, he was
taught to hold that sport in abhorrence.
But temperament cannot be changed by persuasion and counsel, nor by enlightenment. The young man, eager, ardent, and full of courage, no sooner felt the promptings of his years than he sighed for the forbidden pleasures. The greater the hindrance the stronger the desire. Knowing the reason of his galling restrictions, and viewing day by day in his palatial home the hunting scenes pictured in paint and tapestry on every wall, his excitement became unrestrained.
Once his eye fell upon a pictured lion. "Ah! Monster!" he exclaimed in a transport of indignation. "It is to you that the shade and fetters in which I live are due!" With that he struck the lion's form a heavy blow with his fist. Hidden under the tapestry a great nail offered its cruel point, and upon this his hand was impaled. The wound grew beyond the reach of medical skill, and in the end this life, so guarded and cherished, was lost by means of the very care taken to preserve it.
The same jealous precaution proved fatal to the poet Æschylus. It is
said that some fortune-teller menaced him with the fall of a house as
his doom, upon which he at once left the town and made his bed in the
open fields, far from roofs and beneath the sky. But an eagle flew by
overhead carrying in its talons a tortoise, and seeing the bald head of
the poet beneath, which it mistook for a stone, the bird let fall its
prey in order to break the shell of the tortoise. Thus were the days of
poor Æschylus ended.
From these two examples it would seem that this art of fortune-telling,
if there be any truth in it, causes one to fall into the very evil one
would be in dread of when one consulted it. But I will demonstrate and
maintain that the art is false. I do not believe that Nature would have
tied her own hands, and ours also, to the extent of marking our fate in
the heavens. For our fate depends upon certain combinations of time,
place, and people; not upon the combinations of charlatans. A shepherd
and a king are born under the same planet: one carries the sceptre; the
other the crook. The planet Jupiter willed it so! But what is this
planet Jupiter? A body without senses. Whence comes it then that its
influence works so differently on these two men? Further, how could its
influence, if it had any, penetrate through endless voids to our world?
Do not attach too much importance to the two instances I have related. This beloved son and the good man Æschylus are beside the mark.
Nevertheless, however blind and lying is the fortuneteller's art, it may yet hit home once in a thousand times. That is just a matter of chance.
Jupiter throwing thunderbolts.
One day, as Jupiter seated on high looked down upon the world, he was incensed at the faults committed by mankind. "Let us," he said, "have some other occupants in the regions of the universe in place of these present inhabitants who importune and weary me. Go you to Hades, Mercury, and bring hither the cruellest of the furies. This time, O race that I have too tenderly nurtured, you shall perish."
After this outburst the temper of the god began to cool.
O ye sovereigns of this world, to whom it has been given to be the
arbiters of our destinies, let a night intervene between your wrath and
the storm which follow!
Mercury, light of wing and sweet of tongue, descended to the abode of
the dread sisters Tisiphone, Megæra, and Alecto, and his choice fell
upon the latter, the pitiless one. She, feeling proud of the preference,
grew so arrogant as to swear by Pluto that the whole of the human brood
should soon people his domains. But Jupiter did not approve of the vow
this member of the Eumenides had sworn, and he sent her back to Hades.
At the same time he launched a thunderbolt upon one particularly
perfidious race of men. This, however, being hurled by a father's arm,
mercifully fell in a desert, causing less ruin than alarm. What followed
from this was simply that the wicked brood took heart at such indulgence
and did not trouble to mend their ways. Then all the gods in Olympus
complained, until he who controls the clouds swore by the Styx that
further storms should be sent and that they should not fail as the other
had.
The Olympians only smiled at this. They told Jupiter that as he was the father it would be better if he left in other hands the making of thunderbolts. Vulcan undertook the task. Soon his furnaces glowed with bolts of two kinds; one that hits its mark with a deadly unerring—and that is the sort which any of the Olympian gods will hurl; whilst the other sort was that which becomes scattered on its course and does damage only to the mountain tops, or perchance is even lost on the way. It is this kind of thunderbolt that Jupiter sends. His fatherly heart permits him to use no other.
Once upon a time there were two dogs, one named Lurcher and the other Cæsar. They were brothers; handsome, well-built, and plucky, and descended from dogs who were famous in their day. These two brothers, falling into the hands of different masters, found their destinies likewise in different spheres; for whilst one haunted the forests, the other lurched about a kitchen.
The names to which they now answered were not, however, the names that were first given them. The influence of each one's career upon his nature brought about a new name and a new reputation; for Cæsar's nature was improved and strengthened by the life he led, whilst Lurcher's was made more and more despicable by a degraded existence. A scullion named him Lurcher; but the other dog received his noble name on account of his life of high adventure. He had held many a stag at bay, killed many a hare, and otherwise risen to the position of a Cæsar among dogs. Care was taken that he should not mate indiscriminately, so that his descendants' blood should not degenerate. On the other hand, poor Lurcher bestowed his affections wherever he would and his brood became populous. He was the progenitor of all turn-spits in France; a variety which became common enough to form at last a race in themselves. They show more readiness to flee than to attack, and are the very antipodes of the Cæsars.
We do not always follow our ancestors, nor even resemble our fathers.
Want of care, the flight of time, a thousand things, cause us to
degenerate.
Ah! how many, Cæsars, failing to cultivate their best nature and their gifts, become Lurchers!
How I have always hated the opinions of the mob! To me, a mob seems profane, unjust, and rash, putting false construction on all things, and judging every matter by a mob-made standard.
Democritus had experience of this. His countrymen thought him mad. Little minds! But then, no one is a prophet in his own country! The people themselves were mad, of course, and Democritus was the wise man. Nevertheless the error went so far that the city of Abdera[6] sent a messenger to the great physician Hippocrates, requesting him both by letter and by spoken word to come and restore the sage's reason.
"Our citizen," said the spokesman with tears in his eyes, "has lost his wits, alas! Study has corrupted Democritus. If he were less wise we should esteem him much more. He will have it that there is no limit to the number of worlds like ours and that possibly they are inhabited with numberless Democrituses. Not satisfied with these wild dreams, he talks also of atoms—phantoms born only in his own empty brain. Then, measuring the very heavens, though he remains here below to do it, he claims to know the universe; yet admits that he does not know himself. Time was when he could control debates, now he mutters only to himself. So come, thou divine mortal, for the patient's case is a bad one."
Hippocrates, though he had little faith in these people, went nevertheless. Now mark, I beg of you, what strange meetings fate may bring about in this life! Hippocrates arrived just at the time when this man, who was supposed to have neither sense nor reason, happened to be searching into a question as to whether this very reason was seated in the heart or in the head of men and beasts.
Sitting in leafy shade, beside a brook, and with many a volume at his feet, he was occupied wholly with a study of the convolutions of the brain; and thus absorbed, as his manner was, he scarcely noticed the advance of his friend the learned physician. Their greeting was soon over as you may imagine, for the sage is at all times chary of time and speech. So having put aside mere trifles of conversation, they reasoned upon man and his mind, and next fell to talking upon ethics.
It is not necessary that I should here enlarge upon what each had to say to the other on these matters.
The little tale suffices to show that we may rightly take exception to the judgments of the mob. That being so, in what sense is it true, as I have read in a certain passage, that the voice of the people is the voice of God?
[6] A city on the shores of Thracia.
Acorn falling from tree.
What God does is done well. Without going round the world to seek a proof of that, I can find one in the pumpkin.
A villager was once struck with the largeness of a pumpkin and the thinness of the stem upon which it grew. "What could the Almighty have been thinking about?" he cried. "He has certainly chosen a bad place for a pumpkin to grow. Eh zounds! Now I would have hung it on one of these oaks. That would have been just as it should be. Like fruit, like tree! What a pity, Hodge," said he, addressing himself, "that you were not on the spot to give advice at the Creation which the parson preaches about. Everything would have been properly done then. For instance; wouldn't this acorn, no bigger than my little finger, be better hanging on this frail stem? The Almighty has blundered there surely! The more I think about these fruits and their situations, the more it seems to me that it is all a mistake."
Becoming worried by so much reflection our Hodge cast himself under an oak saying, "A man can't sleep when he has so much brain." Then he at once dropped off into a nap.
Presently an acorn fell plump upon his nose. Starting from sleep, he put his hand up to see what had happened and found the acorn caught in his beard, whilst his nose began to pain and bleed. "Oh, oh!" he cried, "I am bleeding. How would it have been if a heavier mass than this had fallen from the tree: if this acorn had been a pumpkin? The Almighty did not intend that, I see. Doubtless he was right. I understand the reason why perfectly now."
So praising God for all things Hodge took his way home.
A youngster, who was doubly foolish and doubly a rogue—in which perhaps he savoured of the school he went to—was given, they say, to robbing a neighbour's garden of its fruit and flowers. This may have been because he was too young to know better, and perhaps because teachers do not always mould the minds of young people in the right way.
The owner of the garden boasted in each season the very best of what was due. In spring he could show the most delightful blossoms and in autumn the very pick of all the apples.
One day he espied this schoolboy carelessly climbing a fruit tree and knocking off the buds, those sweet and fragile forerunners of promised fruit in abundance. The urchin even broke off a bough, and did so much other damage that the owner sent a message of complaint to the boy's schoolmaster. This worthy soon appeared, and behind him a tribe of the scholars, who swarmed into the orchard and began behaving worse than the first one. The schoolmaster's plan in thus aggravating the injury was really to make an opportunity for delivering them all a good lesson, which they should remember all their lives. He quoted Virgil and Cicero; he made many scientific allusions and ran his discourse to such a length that the little wretches were able to get all over the garden and despoil it in a hundred places.
I hate pompous and pedantic speeches that are out of place and
never-ending; and I do not know a worse fool in the world than a naughty
schoolboy—unless indeed it be the schoolmaster of such a boy. The
better of them would never suit me as a neighbour.
Once a sculptor who saw for sale a block of marble was so struck with its beauty that he could not resist the temptation to buy it. When it was in his studio he thought to himself, "Now what shall my chisel make of it? Shall it be a god, a table, or a basin? It shall be a god. And I, myself, shall ordain that the god shall poise a thunderbolt in his hand. So tremble, mortals, and worship! Behold the lord of the earth!"
The artist set to work and expressed so powerfully the attributes of the god that those who saw it averred that it only lacked speech to be Jupiter himself. It is said that the sculptor had scarcely completed the statue when he became so overawed as to fear and tremble before the work of his own hands.
The poet of old, likewise, greatly dreaded the hate and the wrath of the gods he himself created: a weakness which left little to choose between him and the sculptor.
These traits are those of childhood. The minds of children are always
anxious lest any one should maltreat their dolls. The emotions
invariably give the lead to the intellect, and this fact accounts for
the great error of paganism. For that error has been prompted by the
emotions of men in all the peoples of the earth. Men uphold with fanatic
zeal the interests of the unreal creatures of their imagination.
Pygmalion became enamoured of the Venus[7] he had created, and in the
same way every one tries to turn his dreams into reality. Man remains as
ice before truth, but catches fire before illusion.
[7] La Fontaine forgets. It was Galatea whose image Pygmalion
created and whom Venus brought to life.
One day two pilgrims espied upon the sands of the shore an oyster that had been thrown up by the tide. They devoured it with their eyes whilst pointing at it with their fingers; but whose teeth should deal with it was a matter of dispute.
When one stopped to pick up the prey the other pushed him away saying: "It would be just as well first to decide which of us is to have the pleasure of it. He who first saw it should swallow it, and let the other watch him eat."
"If you settle the affair that way," replied his companion, "I have good eyes, thank God."
"But my sight is not bad either," said the other, "and I saw it before you did, and that I'll stake my life upon."
"Well, suppose you did see it, I smelt it."
During this lively interlude Justice Nincompoop arrived on the scene, and to him they appealed to judge their claims. The justice very gravely took the oyster, opened it, and put it into his mouth, whilst the two claimants looked on. Having deliberately swallowed the oyster, the justice, in the portentous tones of a Lord Chief Justice, said, "The court here awards each of you a shell, without costs. Let each go home peaceably."
Reckon what it costs to go to law in these days. Then count what remains
to most families. You will see that Justice Nincompoop draws all the
money and leaves only the empty purse and the shells to the litigants.
Deliberately swallowed the oyster.
Deliberately swallowed the oyster.
The cat and the fox, in the manner of good little saints, started out upon a pilgrimage. They were both humbugs, arch-hypocrites, two downright highwaymen, who for the expenses of their journey indemnified themselves by seeing who could devour the most fowls and gobble the most cheese.
The way was long and therefore wearisome, so they shortened it by arguing. Argumentation is a great help. Without it one would go to sleep. Our pilgrims shouted themselves hoarse. Then having argued themselves out, they talked of other things.
At length the fox said to the cat, "You pretend that you're very clever. Do you know as much as I? I have a hundred ruses up my sleeve."
"No," answered the cat, "I have but one; but that is always ready to hand, and I maintain that it is worth a thousand other dodges."
Then they fell again to disputing one against the other on each side of the question, the whys and the wherefores, raising their voices higher and higher. Presently the sudden appearance of a pack of hounds stopped their noise.
The cat said to the fox, "Now, my friend, ransack that cunning brain of yours for one of your thousand ruses. Fetch down from your sleeve one of those certain stratagems. As for me, this is my dodge." So saying, he bounded to a tall tree and climbed to its top with alacrity.
The fox tried a hundred futile doublings; ran into a hundred holes; put the hounds at fault a hundred times; tried everywhere to find a safe place of retreat, but everywhere failed between being smoked out of one and driven out of another by the hounds. Finally, as he came out of a hole two nimble dogs set upon him and strangled him at the first grip.
Too many expedients may spoil the business. One loses time in choosing
between them and in trying too many. Have only one; but let it be a good
one.
Bertrand was a monkey and Ratter was a cat. They shared the same dwelling and had the same master, and a pretty mischievous pair they were. It was impossible to intimidate them. If anything was missed or spoilt, no one thought of blaming the other people in the house. Bertrand stole all he could lay his hands upon, and as for Ratter, he gave more attention to cheese than he did to the mice.
One day, in the chimney corner, these two rascals sat watching some chestnuts that were roasting before the fire. How jolly it would be to steal them they thought: doubly desirable, for it would not only be joy to themselves, but an annoyance to others.
"Brother," said Bertrand to Ratter, "this day you shall achieve your master-stroke: you shall snatch some chestnuts out of the fire for me. Providence has not fitted me for that sort of game. If it had, I assure you chestnuts would have a fine time."
No sooner said than done. Ratter delicately stirred the cinders with his paw, stretched out his claws two or three times to prepare for the stroke, and then adroitly whipped out first one, then two, then three of the chestnuts, whilst Bertrand crunched them up between his teeth. In came a servant, and there was an end of the business. Farewell, ye rogues!
I am told that Ratter was by no means satisfied with the affair.
And princes are equally dissatisfied when, flattered to be employed in
any uncomfortable concern, they burn their fingers in a distant province
for the profit of some king.
Do not take it ill if, in these fables, I mingle a little of the bold, daring, and fine-spun philosophy that is called new.
They say that the lower animals are mere machines: that everything they do is prompted, not by choice, but by mechanism, coming about as it were by springs. There is, they say, neither feeling nor soul—nothing but a mechanical body. It goes just as a watch or clock goes, plodding on with even motion, blindly and aimlessly.
Open such a machine and examine it; what do we find? Wheels take the place of intelligence. The first wheel moves the second, and that in turn moves a third, with the result that, in due time, it strikes the hour.
According to these new philosophers, that is exactly the case with an animal. It receives a blow in a certain spot, this spot conveys the sensation to another spot, and so the message goes on from place to place until the brain receives it and the impression is made. That is all very well, but how is the impression made?
It is necessarily made, without passion, without will, say these philosophers. They tell us that the common idea is that an animal is actuated by emotions which we know as sorrow, joy, love, pleasure, pain, cruelty, or some other of these states; but that it is not so. Do not deceive yourself, they say.
"What is it then?" I ask. A watch, indeed! And pray what of ourselves?
Ah, well! that is perhaps another thing altogether. This is the way Descartes expounds the theory—Descartes, that mortal who, if he had lived in pagan times, would have been made a god, and who holds a place between man and the higher spirits, just as some I could name—beasts of burden with long ears—hold a place between man and the oysters. Thus, I say, reasons this author: "I have a gift beyond any possessed by others of God's creatures, and that is the gift of thought. I know of what I think."
But from positive science we know that although animals may think, they cannot reflect upon what they think. Descartes goes further and boldly states that they do not think at all. That is a statement which need not worry us.
Nevertheless, when in the woods the blast of a horn and the baying of hounds agitates the fleeing quarry; when he vainly endeavours, with all his skill, to confuse and muddle the scent which betrays him to his pursuers; when, an aged beast with full-grown antlers, he puts in his place a younger stag and forces it to carry on the chase with its fresher bait of the scent of its younger body, and thus carry off the hounds and preserve his days—then surely this beast has reasoned. All the twisting and turning, all the malice, deception, and the hundred stratagems to save his life are worthy of the greatest chiefs of war; and worthy of a better fate than death by being torn to pieces; for that is the supreme honour of the stag.
Again; when the partridge sees its young in danger, before their wings
have strength enough to bear them away from death, she makes a pretence
of being wounded and flutters along with a trailing wing, enticing the
huntsman and his dogs to follow her, and thus by turning away the danger
saves her little ones. And when the huntsman believes that his dog has
seized her, lo! she rises, laughs at the sportsman, wishes him farewell,
and leaves him confused and watching her flight with his eyes.
Not far from the northern regions there is a country where life goes on as in the early ages, the inhabitants being profoundly ignorant. I speak now of the human creatures. The animals are indeed surprisingly enlightened; for they can construct works which stop the ravages of swollen torrents and make communication possible from bank to bank. The structures are safe and lasting, being founded upon wood over which is laid a bed of mortar. The beavers are the engineers. Each one works. The task is common to all, and the old ones see that the young ones do not shirk their labour. There are many taskmasters directing and urging.
To such a colony of cunning amphibians the republic of Plato itself would be but an apprentice affair. The beavers erect their houses for the winter time, and make bridges of marvellous construction for passing over the ponds; whilst the human folk who live there, though this wonderful work is always before their eyes, can but cross the water by swimming.
That these beavers are nothing but bodies without minds nothing will
make me believe. But here is something better still. Listen to this
recital which I had from a king great in fame and glory. This king,
defender of the northern world, whom I now cite, is my guarantee: a
prince beloved of the goddess of Victory. His name alone is a bulwark
against the empire of the Turks. I speak of the Polish king.[9] A king,
it is understood, can never lie.
He says, then, that upon the frontiers of his kingdom there are animals that have always been at war among themselves, their passion for fighting having been handed down from father to son. These animals, he explains, are allied to the fox. Never has the science of war been more skilfully pursued among men than it is pursued by these beasts, not even in our present century. They have their advanced out-posts, their sentinels and spies; their ambuscades, their expedients, and a thousand other inventions of the pernicious and accursed science Warfare, a hag born, herself, of Styx,[10] but giving birth to heroes.
Properly to sing of the battles of these four-footed warriors Homer should return from beyond the shores of Acheron.[11] Ah! could he but do so, and bring with him too the rival of old Epicurus,[12] what would the latter say as to the examples I have narrated? He would say only what I have already said, namely, that in the lower animals natural instinct is sufficient to explain all the wonders I have told: that memory leads the animal to repeat over and over again the actions it has made before and found successful.
We, as human beings, do differently. Our wills decide for us; not the bestial aim, nor the instinct. I walk, I speak, I feel in me a certain force, an intelligent principle which all my bodily mechanism obeys. This force is distinct from anything connected with my body. It is indeed more easily conceived than is the body itself, and of all our movements it is the supreme controller. But how does the body conceive and understand this intelligent force? That is the point! I see the tool obeying the hand; but what guides the hand? Who guides the planets in their rapid courses? It may be some angel guide controls the whirling planets; and in like manner some spirit dwells in us and controls all our machinery. The impulse is given—the impression made—but how, I do not know! We shall only learn it in the bosom of God; and to speak frankly, Descartes himself was no wiser. On that point we all are equals. All that I know is that this intelligent controlling spirit does not exist in the lower animals. Man alone is its temple.
Nevertheless, we must allow to the beasts a higher plane than that of plants, notwithstanding the fact that plants breathe.
Is there any explanation to what I shall now relate? Two rats who were
seeking their living had the good fortune to find an egg. Such a dinner
was amply sufficient for folks of their species, they had no need to
look for an ox. With keen delight and an appetite to match they were
just about to eat up the egg between them, when an unbidden guest
appeared in the shape of Master Reynard the fox. This was a most awkward
and vexatious visitation. How was the egg to be saved from the jaws of
him? To wrap it up carefully and carry it away by the fore paws, or to
roll it, or to drag it, were methods as impossible as they were
hazardous. But Necessity, that ingenious mother, furnished the
never-failing invention. The sponger being as yet far enough away to
give the rats time to reach their home, one of them lay upon his back
and took the egg safely between his arms whilst the other, in spite of
sundry shocks and a few slips, dragged him home by the tail.
After this recital, let any one who dare maintain that animals have no
powers of reason.
For my part if I had the portioning of these faculties I would allow as
much reasoning power in animals as in infants, who evidently think from
their earliest years, from which fact we may conclude that one can think
without knowing oneself. I would, similarly, grant the animals a
reason, not such as we possess, but far above a blind instinct. I would
refine a speck of matter, a tiny atom—extract of light—something more
vivid and lively than fire; for since wood can turn to flame, cannot
flame, being further purified, teach us something of the rarity of the
soul? And is not gold extracted from lead? My creatures should be
capable of feeling and judgment; but nothing more. There should be no
argument from apes.
As to mankind, I would have their lot infinitely better. We men should possess a double treasure; firstly, the soul common to us all, just as we happen to be, sages or fools, children, idiots, or our dumb companions the animals; secondly, another soul in common, in a certain degree, with the angels, and this soul, independent of us though belonging to us, should be able to reach to heavenly heights, whilst it could also dwell within a point's space. Having a beginning it should be without end. Things incredible but true. During infancy this soul, itself a child of heaven, should appear to us only as a gentle and feeble light; but as the faculties grew, the stronger reason would pierce the darkness of matter enveloping our other imperfect and grosser soul.
[8] At the time when this was written there was much discussion
among the learned in France as to the powers of reasoning in animals.
[9] The allusion is to Sobieski, whose victory over the Turks made him famous throughout Europe in 1673. La Fontaine had frequently met him in the salons of the cultured ladies of France.
[10] A nymph of one of the rivers of Hades named after her. She became the mother of Zelus (zeal), Nike (victory), Kratos (power), and Bia (strength).
[11] Also a river of Hades, the realm of the dead.
[12] Descartes is meant as the rival of the old philosopher Epicurus.
"What have I done to be treated in this way? Mutilated by my own master! A nice state to be in! Dare I present myself before other dogs? O ye kings over the animals, or rather tyrants of them, would any creature do the same to you?"
Such were the lamentations of poor Fido, a young house-dog, whilst those who were busy cropping his ears remained quite untouched by his piercing and dolorous howls.
Fido believed himself to be ruined for life; but he very shortly found that he was a gainer by the maiming. For being by nature disposed to pilfer from his companions, it would come within his experience to have many misadventures wherein his ears would be torn in a hundred places.
Aggressive dogs always have ragged ears. The less they have for other dogs' teeth to fasten upon the better.
When one has but a single weak place to defend, one protects it against an onset. Witness Master Fido armed with a spiked collar, and having no more ears to catch hold of than are on my hand. Even a wolf would not have known where to take him.
Mamma lioness had lost one of her cubs. Some hunter had made away with it, and the poor unfortunate mother roared out her wailings to such an extent that all the inhabitants of the forest were seriously disturbed. The spells of the night, its darkness and its silence, were powerless to hush the tumult of the queen of the forest. Sleep was driven from every animal within hearing.
At last the she-bear rose up and coming to the wailing lioness said, "Good Gossip, just one word with you. All those little ones that have passed between your teeth, had they neither fathers nor mothers?"
"To be sure they had."
"Then if that be so, and as none have come to mourn their dead in cries which would split our heads: if so many mothers have borne their loss silently, why cannot you be silent also?"
"I? I be silent? Unhappy I? Ah! I have lost my son! There is nought for me but to drag out a miserable old age."
"But pray tell me what obliges you to do so."
"Alas! Destiny. It is Destiny that hates me."
Why cannot you be silent also?
Why cannot you be silent also?
Those are the words that are for ever in the mouths of us all.
Unhappy human kind, let this address itself to you. I hear nothing but the echoing murmur of trifling complaints. Whoever, in like case, believes himself the hated of the gods, let him consider Hecuba,[13] and he will render thanks for their clemency.
[13] Hecuba was the wife of Priam, King of Troy. When that city
fell Hecuba was chosen by Ulysses as part of his share in the spoils.
She was changed into a dog for avenging the death of her son whose eyes
had been put out by the King of Thracia, and she finally ended her life
by casting herself into the sea.
When I have noticed how man acts at times, and how, in a thousand ways, he comports himself just as the lower animals do, I have often said to myself that the lord of these lower orders has no fewer faults than his subjects.
Nature has allowed every living thing a drop or two from the fount at which the spirits of all creatures imbibe.
I will prove what I say.
If at the hour when night has scarcely passed and day hardly begun I climb into a tree, on the edge of some wood, and, like a new Jupiter from the heights of Olympus, I send a shot at some unsuspecting rabbit, then the whole colony of rabbits, who were enjoying their thyme-scented meal with open eyes and listening ears upon the heath, immediately scamper away. The report sends them all to seek refuge in their subterranean city.
But their great fright is soon over; the danger quickly forgotten. Again I see the rabbits more light-hearted than ever coming close under my death-dealing hand.
Does not this give us a picture of mankind? Dispersed by some storm, men
no sooner reach a haven than they are ready again to risk the same winds
and the same distress. True rabbits, they run again into the
death-dealing hands of fortune.
Let us add to this example another of a more ordinary kind.
When strange dogs pass through any spot beyond their customary route there is a grand to-do. I leave you to picture it. All the dogs of the district with one idea in their heads join forces, barking and biting, to chase the intruder beyond the bounds of their territory.
So, it may be, a similar joint-interest in property or in glory and grandeur leads such people as the governors of states, certain favoured courtiers, and people of a trade to behave exactly like these jealous dogs. All of us, as a rule, rob the chance-comer and tear him to pieces. Vain ladies and men of letters are usually so disposed. Woe betide the newly-arrived beauty or a new writer!
As few as possible fighting round the cake! That's the best way!
I could bring a hundred examples to bear upon this subject; but the shorter a discourse is the better. I take the masters of literature for my model in this and hold that in the best of themes something should be left unsaid for the reader to consider about. Therefore this discourse shall end.
Jupiter had a son, who, sensible of his lofty origin, showed always a god-like spirit. Childhood is not much concerned with loving; yet to the childhood of this young god, loving and wishing to be loved was the chief concern. In him, love and reason which grow with years, outraced Time, that light-winged bearer of the seasons which come, alas! only too quickly.
Flora,[14] with laughing looks and winning airs, was the first to touch the heart of the youthful Olympian. Everything that passion could inspire—delicate sentiments full of tenderness, tears, and sighs—all were there: he forgot nothing. As a son of Jupiter he would by right of birth be dowered with greater gifts than the sons of other gods; and it seemed as though all his behaviour were prompted by the reminiscence that he had indeed already been a lover in some former state, so well did he play the part.
Nevertheless, it was Jupiter's wish that the boy should be taught, and assembling the gods in council he said, "So far, I have never been at fault in the conduct of the universe which I have ruled unaided; but there are various charges which I now have decided to distribute amongst the younger gods. This beloved child of mine I have already counted upon. He is of my own blood and many an altar already flames in his honour. Yet to merit his rank among the immortals it is necessary that he should possess all knowledge."
As the god of the thunders ceased the whole assembly applauded. As for the boy himself, he did not appear to be above the wish to learn everything.
"I undertake," said Mars, the god of war, "to teach him the art by which so many heroes have won the glories of Olympus and extended the empire."
"I will be his master in the art of the lyre," promised the fair and learned Apollo.
"And I," said Hercules with the lion's-skin, "will teach him how to overcome Vice and quell evil passions, those poisonous monsters which like Hydras[15] are ever reborn in the heart. A foe to effeminate pleasures, he shall learn from me those too seldom trodden paths that lead to honour along the tracks of virtue."
When it came to Cupid, the god of love, to speak he simply said, "I can show him everything."
And Cupid was right; for what cannot be achieved with wit and the desire
to please?
[14] The Goddess of Spring and of Flowers, was also regarded by
the Greeks as the Goddess of Youth and its pleasures.
[15] The Hydra was a monster with one hundred heads. If one was cut off two grew in its place unless the wound was stopped by fire.
King Lion, thinking that he would govern better if he took a few lessons in moral philosophy, had a monkey brought to him one fine day who was a master of arts in the monkey tribe. The first lesson he gave was as follows:—
"Great King, in order to govern wisely a prince should always consider the good of the country before yielding to that feeling which is commonly known as self-love, for that fault is the father of all the vices one sees in animals. To rid oneself of this sentiment is not an easy thing to do, and is not to be done in a day. Indeed, merely to moderate it is to achieve a good deal, and if you succeed so far you will never tolerate in yourself anything ridiculous or unjust."
"Give me," commanded the king, "an example of each of those faults."
"Every species of creature," continued the philosopher, "esteems itself in its heart above all the others. These others it regards as ignoramuses, calling them by many hard names which, after all, hurt nobody. At the same time this self-love, which sneers at other tribes and other kinds of beasts, induces the individual to heap praise upon other individuals of his own species, because that is a very good way of praising oneself too. From this it is easy to see that many talents here below are in reality but empty pretence, assumption, and pose, and a certain gift of making the most of oneself, better understood by ignorant people than by learned.
"The other day I followed two asses who were offering the incense of flattery to each other by turns, and heard one say, 'My Lord, do you not think that man, that perfect animal, is both unjust and stupid? He profanes our august name by calling every one of his own kind an ass who is ignorant, or dull, or idiotic; and he calls our laughter and our discourse by the term "braying." It is very amusing that these human people pretend to excel us!'
"'My friend,' said his companion, 'it is for you to speak, and for them to hold their tongues. They are the true brayers. But let us speak no more of them. We two understand each other; that is sufficient. And as for the marvels of delight your divine voice lets fall upon our ears, the nightingale herself is but a novice in comparison. You surpass the court musician.'
"To this the other donkey replied, 'My lord, I admire in you exactly the same excellencies.'
"Not content with flattering each other in this way, these two asses went about the cities singing aloud each other's praises. Either one thought he was doing a good turn to himself in thus lauding his companion.
"Well, your majesty, I know of many people to-day, not among asses, but among exalted creatures, whom heaven has been pleased to raise to a high degree, who would, if they dared, change their title of 'Excellency to that of 'Majesty.' I am saying more than I should, perhaps, and I hope your majesty will keep the secret. You wished to hear of some incident which would show you, among other things, how self-love makes people ridiculous, and there I have given you a good instance. Injustice I will speak of another time, it would take too long now."
Thus spoke the ape. No one has ever been able to tell me whether he ever did speak of injustice to his king. It would have been a delicate matter, and our master of arts, who was no fool, regarded the lion as too terrible a king to submit to being lectured too far.
Why does Æsop give to the fox the reputation of excelling in all tricks of cunning? I have sought for a reason, but cannot find one. Does not the wolf, when he has need to defend his life or take that of another, display as much knowingness as the fox? I believe he knows more, and I dare, perhaps with some reason, to contradict my master in this particular.
Nevertheless, here is a case where undoubtedly all the honour fell to the dweller in burrows.
One evening a fox, who was as hungry as a dog, happened to see the round reflection of the moon in a well, and he believed it to be a fine cheese. There were two pails which alternately drew up the water. Into the uppermost of these the fox leapt, and his weight caused him to descend the well, where he at once discovered his mistake about the cheese. He became extremely worried and fancied his end approaching, for he could see no way to get up again but by some other hungry one, enticed by the same reflection, coming down in the same way that he had.
Two days passed without any one coming to the well. Time, which is always marching onward, had, during two nights, hollowed the outline of the silvery planet, and Reynard was in despair.
Descended by his greater weight.
Descended by his greater weight.
At last a wolf, parched with thirst, drew near, to whom the fox called
from below, "Comrade, here is a treat for you! Do you see this? It is an
exquisite cheese, made by Faunus[16] from milk of the heifer Io.[17] If
Jupiter were ill and lost his appetite he would find it again by one
taste of this. I have only eaten this piece out of it; the rest will be
plenty for you. Come down in the pail up there. I put it there on
purpose for you."
A rigmarole so cleverly told was easily believed by the fool of a wolf, who descended by his greater weight, which not only took him down, but brought the fox up.
We ought not to laugh at the wolf, for we often enough let ourselves be
deluded with just as little cause. Everybody is ready to believe the
thing he fears and the thing he desires.
[16] The benign spirit of the fields and woods.
[17] A priestess who was changed by Hera, wife of Zeus, into a white heifer.
It is not always wise to say to your company, "Just listen to this joke" or "What do you think of this for a marvel?" for one can never be sure that the listeners will regard the matter in the same way that the teller does. Yet here is a case that makes an exception to this good rule, and I maintain that it is in truth wonderful, and, although it has the appearance of being a fable, it is in reality absolute fact.
There was once an extremely old pine-tree which an owl, that grim bird which Atropus[18] takes for her interpreter, had made to serve as his palace. But there were other tenants lodging in its cavernous and time-rotted trunk. These were mice, well fed, positive balls of fat, but not one of them had a foot. They had all been mutilated. The owl had nipped their feet off with his beak, whilst feeding and fostering them with wheat from neighbouring stacks.
It must be confessed that this bird had reasoned.
Doubtless, in his time, when hunting mice, he had found that after bringing them home they escaped again from the trunk, and to prevent the recurrence of such a loss the artful rascal had thenceforth nipped off the feet of all he caught, keeping them prisoners and eating them one to-day and one to-morrow. To eat them all at once would have been impossible. He had his health to think of. His forethought, which went quite as far as ours, extended to bringing them grain for their subsistence.
If this is not reasoning, then I do not understand what reasoning is. See what arguments he used:—
"When these mice are caught they run away, therefore I must eat them as I catch them. What all? Impossible! But would it not be well to keep some for a needy future? If so, I must keep them and feed them too, without their escaping. But how's that to be done? Happy thought! Nip off their feet!"
Now find me among human beings anything better carried out. Did Aristotle and his followers do any better thinking, by my faith?
Note.—This is not a fable. The thing actually occurred,
although marvellous enough and almost incredible. I have perhaps carried
the forethought of this owl too far, for I do not pretend to establish
in animals a line of reasoning; but in this style of literature a little
exaggeration is pardonable.
[18] One of the three Fates, the first and second being Clotho
and Lachesis. They spun, measured, and cut off, respectively, the thread
of life for men at their birth.
A bear, a wolf, and a lion.
That great hero-wanderer Ulysses had been with his companions driven hither and thither at the will of the winds for ten years, never knowing what their ultimate fate was to be. At length they disembarked upon a shore where Circe, the daughter of Apollo, held her court. Receiving them she brewed a delicious but baneful liquor, which she made them drink. The result of this was that first they lost their reason, and a few moments after, their bodies took the forms and features of various animals; some unwieldy, some small. Ulysses alone, having the wisdom to withstand the temptation of the treacherous cup, escaped the metamorphosis. He, besides possessing wisdom, bore the look of a hero and had the gift of honeyed speech, so that it came about that the goddess herself imbibed a poison little different from her own; that is to say, she became enamoured of the hero and declared her love to him. Now was the time for Ulysses to profit by this turn of events, and he was too cunning to miss the opportunity, so he begged and obtained the boon that his friends should be restored to their natural shapes.
"But will they be willing to accept their own forms again?" asked the nymph. "Go to them and make them the offer."
Ulysses, glad and eager, ran to his Greeks and cried, "The poisoned cup has its remedy, and I come to offer it to you. Dear friends of mine, will you not be glad to have your manly forms again? Speak, for your speech is already restored."
The lion was the first to reply. Making an effort to roar he said, "I, for one, am not such a fool. What! renounce all the great advantages that have just been given me? I have teeth. I have claws. I can pull to pieces anything that attacks me. I am, in fact, a king. Do you think it would suit me to become a citizen of Ithaca once more? Who knows but that you might make of me a common soldier again. Thank you; but I will remain as I am."
Ulysses, in sad surprise, turned to the bear. "Ah, brother! what form is this you have taken, you who used to be so handsome?"
"Well, really! I like that!" said the bear in his way. "What form is this? you ask. Why it is the form that a bear should have. Pray who instructed you that one form is more handsome than another? Is it your business to judge between us? I prefer to appeal to the sight of the gentler sex in our ursine race. Do I displease you? Then pass on. Go your ways and leave me to mine. I am free and content as I am, and I tell you frankly and flatly that I will not change my state."
The princely Greek then turned to a wolf with the same proposals, and risking a similar rebuff said: "Comrade, it overwhelms me that a sweet young shepherdess should be driven to complain to the echoing crags of the gluttonous appetite that impelled you to devour her sheep. Time was when you would have protected her sheepfold. In those days you led an honest life. Leave your lairs and become, instead of a wolf, an honest man again."
"What is that?" answered the wolf. "I don't see your point. You come here treating me as though I were a carnivorous beast. But what are you, who are talking in this strain? Would not you and yours have eaten these sheep, which all the village is deploring, if I had not? Now say, on your oath, do you really think I should have loved slaughter any less if I had remained a man? For a mere word, you men are at times ready to strangle each other. Are you not, therefore, as wolves one to another? All things considered, I maintain as a matter of fact that, rascal for rascal, it is better to be a wolf than a man. I decline to make any change in my condition."
In this way did Ulysses go from one to another making the same representations and receiving from all, large and small alike, the same refusals. Liberty, unbridled lust of appetite, the ambushes of the woods, all these things were their supreme delight. They all renounced the glory attaching to great deeds.
They thought that in following their passions they were enjoying
freedom, not seeing that they were but slaves to themselves.
Discord has always reigned in the universe; of this our world furnishes a thousand different instances, for with us the sinister goddess has many subjects.
Let us begin with the four elements. Here you may be astonished to observe that they are, throughout, in antagonism to each other. Besides these four potentates how many other forces of all descriptions are everlastingly at war!
In bygone times there was a house which was full of cats and dogs who lived together like amicable cousins, for this reason: Their master had made a hundred irrevocable laws and rules, settling their respective tasks, their meals, and every other incident of their lives, and at the same time he threatened with the whip the first one who should promote a quarrel. The kindly, almostly brotherly nature of this union was very edifying to the neighbours.
But at last the concord ceased. Some little favouritism in the bestowal of a bone, or a dish of food, caused the outraged remainder to raise furious protests. I have heard some chroniclers attribute the discord to an affair of love and jealousy. At any rate, whatever the origin, the altercation speedily fired both hall and kitchen, and divided the company into partisans for this cat or for that dog.
A new rule was made, which exasperated the cats, and their complaints deafened the whole neighbourhood. Their advocate advised returning absolutely to the old rules and decrees. The law books were searched for, but could nowhere be found. And that was no wonder, for the books which had been hidden in a corner by one set of partisans at first had been at last devoured by mice. This gave rise to another law-suit, which the mice lost and had to pay for.
Many old cats, cunning, subtle, and sharp, and bearing a grudge against the whole race of mice beside, lay in wait for them, caught them, and cleared them out of the house, much to the advantage of the master of the establishment.
So, returning to my moral, one cannot find under heaven any animal, any
being, any creature who has not his opponent. This appears to be a law
of nature. It would be time wasted to seek for a reason. God does well
whatever he does. Beyond that I know nothing; but I do know that people
come to high words over nothing three times out of four. Ah, ye human
folk! even at the age of sixty you ought to be sent back to the
schoolmaster.