The miller of Sandhills had a donkey which had served him well in its time, but was now too old to work. The miller was a careful man, who did not believe in feeding useless mouths, so he decided that he would sell the donkey for the price of its skin. “I do not suppose I shall get very much for the wretched beast,” he said, regarding poor Greyskin as he stood with hanging head in his stall, “but I shall save the cost of his corn anyhow, and that is always something.”
Left alone, Greyskin reflected sadly upon the fate in store for him. “Such is the way of the world,” he thought. “When I was young and hearty nothing was too good for me; now I’m old and useless I am to be cast out. But am I so useless after all? True, I can no longer pull a cart to market, but I have a magnificent voice still. There must be a place somewhere for one who can sing as beautifully as I. I’ll go to the Cathedral of St. Gudule, in Brussels, and offer myself as a chorister.”
Greyskin lost no time in acting upon his resolve, but left his stable immediately and set out on the road to Brussels. Passing the Burgomaster’s house he saw an old hound sitting disconsolately on the doorstep.
“Hallo, friend!” said he. “What is the matter with you? You seem very sad this morning.”
“The matter is that I am tired of life,” answered the dog. “I’m getting old and stiff and I can no longer hunt hares for my master as I used to do. The result is that I am reckoned good for nothing and they grudge me every morsel of food I put into my mouth.”
“Come, come, cheer up, my friend,” said Greyskin. “Never say die! I am in a similar case to yourself and have just left my master for precisely the same reason. My plan is to go to the Cathedral of St. Gudule and offer my services to the master of the choir. If I may say so without conceit, I have a lovely voice—one must make the most of one’s gifts, you know—and I ought to be able to command good pay.”
“Well, if it comes to that,” said the dog, “I can sing too. I sang a lovely song to the moon last night, and if you’ll believe me, all the people in our street opened their windows to listen. I sang for quite an hour, and I’d have gone on longer if some malicious person, who was no doubt jealous, had not thrown an old boot at my head.”
“Excellent,” said Greyskin. “Come along with me. You shall sing tenor and I’ll sing bass. We’ll make a famous pair.”
So the dog joined company with Greyskin, and they went on together towards Brussels. A little farther down the road they saw a cat sitting on the rubbish-heap outside a miserable hovel. The creature was half blind with age, and had a face as long as a fiddle.
“Why, what is the matter with you?” asked Greyskin, who had a tender heart.
“Matter enough,” said the cat. “I’ve just been turned out of house and home, and all because I took a little piece of bacon from the larder. Upon my honour, it was no bigger than a baby’s fist, but they made as much fuss as though it had been a whole gammon. I was beaten, and kicked out to starve. If I could catch mice as I used to do, it would not matter so much, but the mice are too quick for me nowadays. They laugh at me. Nothing remains for me but to die, and I hope it may be soon.”
“Nonsense,” said Greyskin. “You shall live to laugh at all your troubles. Come along with us and sing in the choir at St. Gudule. Your voice is a little too thin for my own taste, but you’ll make a very good soprano in a trio. What do you say?”
“You give me new hopes,” answered the cat. “Of course I’ll join you,” and so the three went on together.
Towards nightfall they arrived at a farmyard, on the gate of which a cock was crowing lustily.
“Hallo!” said Greyskin. “What’s all this about?”
“I am singing my last song on earth,” said the cock. “An hour ago I sang a song, although it is not my usual custom to crow in the afternoon, and as I ended I heard the farmer’s wife say: ‘Hearken to Chanticleer. He’s crowing for fine weather to-morrow. I wonder if he’d crow so loudly if he knew that we had guests coming, and that he was going into the pot to make their soup!’ She has a horrid laugh, that woman. I have always hated her!”
“And do you mean to tell me,” said Greyskin, “that you are going to stay here quite contentedly till they come to wring your neck?”
“What else can I do?” asked Chanticleer.
“Join us, and turn your talents to account. We are all beautiful singers and we are going to Brussels to offer ourselves as choristers at St. Gudule. We were a trio before. With you we shall be a quartet, and that’s one better!”
Chanticleer was only too glad to find a means of escape, so he willingly joined the party, and they once more took the road. A little while afterwards they came to a thick wood, which was the haunt of a notorious band of robbers. There they decided to rest for the night, so Greyskin and the dog lay down beneath the shelter of a large beech-tree, while the cat climbed on to one of the branches, and Chanticleer perched himself at the very top. From this lofty post he could see over the whole wood, and it was not long before he espied a light twinkling among the trees not far away.
“There must be a house of some sort over there,” he said to his companions. “Shall we go and see? We may find something to eat.”
“Or some straw to lie upon, at any rate,” said Greyskin. “This damp ground gives me rheumatics in my old bones.”
“I was just thinking the same thing,” said the dog. “Let us go.”
So the four choristers, led by the cock, walked in the direction from which the light came, and before long they found themselves in front of a little house, the windows of which were brilliantly lighted. In order to reach to the windows the animals made a tower of their bodies, with Greyskin at the bottom and Chanticleer at the top.
Now this house was the abode of a band of robbers, who, at that very moment, were seated before a table laden with all kinds of food. There they sat and feasted, and poor Chanticleer’s mouth watered as he watched them.
“Is there anybody inside?” asked the dog, who was impatient.
“Hush!” said Chanticleer. “Men! They’re eating their dinner!”
“I wish I was,” said the dog. “What are they eating?”
“All sorts of things—sausage, and fish....”
“Sausage!” said the dog.
“Fish!” said the cat.
“And ever so many other delicacies,” Chanticleer went on. “Look here, friends. Wouldn’t it be a fine thing if we could get a share of their meal? I confess that my stomach aches with hunger.”
“And mine too,” said the dog. “I’ve never been so hungry in my life. But how are we to get the food?”
“Let us serenade them, and perhaps they’ll throw us something as a reward,” said Greyskin. “Music, you know, has charms to soothe the savage breast.”
This seemed such a good idea that the choristers lost no time in putting it into execution. All four began to sing. The donkey hee-hawed, the dog howled, the cat miaued, and the cock crowed. From the noise they made one would have thought that the heavens were falling.
The effect of this marvellous quartet upon the robbers was instantaneous. Leaping from their seats, they ran from place to place in mortal terror, tumbling over one another, oversetting chairs and adding to the racket by their shrieks and cries. At that moment the cock fell against the window, breaking the glass to smithereens; the donkey gave the frame a push, and all the four precipitated themselves into the room. This was the last straw; the robbers could stand no more; half mad with fear they rushed to the door and fled into the forest.
Then our four choristers drew up to the table and set to work upon the food with which it was laden. Their long walk had given them a good appetite, so that there was little left by the time they had finished. Feeling drowsy after their meal, they then settled themselves to sleep. The donkey made himself a bed on a heap of straw in the yard; the dog stretched himself out upon the mat by the house door; the cat lay among the warm cinders on the hearth; and the cock perched upon the roof-top. A few minutes more and they were all fast asleep.
Meanwhile the robbers, who had retreated some distance into the forest, waited anxiously for something dreadful to happen. An hour passed by and there was neither sight nor sound to alarm them, so they began to feel a little ashamed of their cowardice. Creeping stealthily nearer to the cottage, they saw that everything was still, and that no light was showing from the windows.
At last the robber chief sent his lieutenant to spy out the land, and this man, returning to the cottage without mishap, found his way into the kitchen and proceeded to light a candle. He had no matches, but he saw two sparks of fire among the cinders on the hearth, so he went forward to get a light from them.
Now this light came from the cat’s eyes, and as soon as puss felt the robber touch her, she sprang up, snarling and spitting, and scratched his face. With a scream of terror, he dropped his candle and rushed for the door, and as he passed the dog bit him in the leg. By this time the noise had awakened Greyskin, who got upon his feet just as the man ran by, and helped him forward with a mighty kick, which sent him flying out into the roadway. Seeing this, the cock on the housetop spread his wings and crowed in triumph, “Cock-a-doodle-doo!”
I wish you could have seen the way that robber ran! He covered the ground so quickly that he seemed like a flying shadow, and I am perfectly certain that not even a hare could have overtaken him. At last, panting for breath, he rejoined his comrades in the forest, who were eagerly awaiting his return.
“Well,” cried the chief, “is the way clear? Can we go back?”
“Not on any account,” cried the robber. “There’s a horrible witch in the kitchen. Directly I entered she sprang at me and tore my face with her long claws, calling out at the same time to her creatures to come and devour me. As I ran through the door one of them buried his fangs in my leg, and a little farther on, in the yard, a great black monster struck at me with an enormous club, giving me a blow that nearly broke my back-bone. On the roof a little demon with wings and eyes that shone like coals of fire cried, ‘Stop him! Eat him! Stop him! Eat him!’ You may guess that I did not wait for more. It is a miracle that I have escaped with my life!”
When they heard this terrible story the robbers lost no time in decamping, and such was their terror that they deserted the forest altogether and went away to another part of the country. The result was that our four friends were left to dwell in the cottage, where they lived happily for the rest of their lives, and as they had now everything they wanted, they quite gave up their idea of going to St. Gudule.
There was rejoicing among the animals, for it was said that Reynard the Fox—sly, spiteful Reynard—had at last repented him of his misdeeds and resolved to lead a new life. Such a thing was, indeed, very hard to believe, but nevertheless everybody said that it was true. Certainly he was seen no more in his usual haunts, or about the Court of King Lion. The news went round that he had put on the robe of piety and had become a hermit, endeavouring to atone, by fasting and prayer, for all the sins of which he had been guilty.
At the Court of King Nobel, Reynard’s change of heart was the one topic of conversation. A few of the animals frankly expressed their doubts of the sincerity of such a tardy repentance, but the majority were quite willing to accept it, for, as a rule, one believes what one wishes to believe.
While the subject was still being eagerly discussed by the animals around the Lion’s throne, the sound of wailing was heard, and a strange procession was seen making its way towards the King’s throne. At the head of the procession marched Chanticleer the Cock, dressed in the deepest mourning and sobbing miserably, with bowed head. Behind him, borne by two hens, was a bier on which was stretched the headless body of a beautiful fowl, one of his daughters, and all the other hens of his family followed the bier, raising their voices to heaven in grievous lamentation. At this sad sight the whole Court stood in amaze, and many of the animals wept in sympathy with the bereaved father, who advanced towards the King’s throne, crying for justice.
“Whom do you accuse?” asked the Lion.
“Whom should I accuse but that accursed Reynard, the source of untold misery to me and mine? You know, O King, none better, how we have suffered from his cruelty in the past. The tale I now have to tell is a tale of wrong that would bring tears to the eyes of a stone image—a tale of treachery such as would abash the Evil One himself, a tale so base that I can hardly bring myself to utter it!”
“Say on,” said the King, “and rest content, for if what you say be true, the Fox shall receive his due reward—I swear it by my crown!”
“Lord,” continued Chanticleer, “I had six sons and fourteen daughters. We all dwelt together in the farmyard, a peaceable and happy family. The rigours of the winter were spent; spring had come again with its flowers and perfumes. The sun shone brightly, and insects abounded in the farmyard. We dwelt in the midst of abundance; we were happy, and as we thought, safe, for the farmer’s six faithful dogs guarded us from danger. Alas, for our beautiful hopes! A few days ago Reynard appeared—cruel, black-hearted Reynard—and at one fell blow changed our happiness into misery.
“This is how it all happened, Sire. Reynard came to the farmyard one fine morning and brought me a letter bearing your Majesty’s own seal. I opened it, and read that your Majesty had commanded that all the animals should hence-forward live together in peace. A noble ordinance, Sire, such as would make the world a beautiful place—were it not for villains. I gave the document back to Reynard, expressing my joy at the news it contained, whereupon he said: ‘My heart is full, Cock, when I think of the cruelty with which I have treated you and your family in the past, but you need have no further fear, I have seen the error of my ways. Henceforth my life shall be given up to repentance and prayer. I have renounced all worldly pleasures. Even now I am on my way to a remote hermitage where, in fasting and solitude, I shall endeavour to atone for my sins.’
“Then the hypocritical wretch stretched his paw over my head and gave me his blessing and departed, reading his Book of Hours.
“Thinking no evil, and full of joy at the news, I called my children around me and cried: ‘Rejoice, my dear ones. No more will you live in daily terror of your lives. Our noble King has given us his protection and has commanded the Fox to leave us alone. Reynard himself has just brought me the news, so I know it is true, and he himself has gone away to become a holy hermit!’
“My children danced with glee when they heard my words, and I danced with them, O King! We danced in the farmyard and in the garden, and in the kitchen garden, for it was as though a black cloud had vanished from over us.
“This was the very moment Reynard had been waiting for. He had not gone far away—no farther in fact than the shelter of the wall by the kitchen garden, and as soon as we reached there, he rushed out, fell upon the finest of my daughters and slew her before my eyes. It all happened in a flash! We ran hither and thither, trying to escape, but all in vain. Before we had gone a dozen steps the Fox was among us again, and killed fifteen of my children. Last night he returned, and slew her whose body now lies upon the bier. I have brought her here to show you, O King, that the sight of her corpse may strike pity into your heart, for I claim justice upon her murderer!”
So saying, the Cock bowed his head again and wept bitterly into his handkerchief, and pitiful sobs echoed from among the beasts around. Even the King could hardly restrain his emotion.
“A terrible tale, indeed,” said he. “Our hearts are heavy for you, Cock, and it will go hard with this Reynard when he falls into our hands!” Then, addressing his courtiers, he asked for volunteers to go to the Fox’s retreat and bring the murderer to justice. For a time there was no response, for few of the animals relished the task, but at last the Bear, who had an old grudge against Reynard, offered to go. “Leave this to me,” said he. “If the Fox won’t come quietly, I’ll drag him here by his tail. He shall not escape!”
So the Bear set off to find Reynard, who had retreated to one of his châteaux—a veritable fortress—situated many miles away in the mountains at the very end of the kingdom. To reach it the Bear had to travel over lonely paths, and through dark woods, where he lost his way a hundred times, but at length he arrived at Reynard’s house, only to find the massive door locked, and the walls so high that he could not climb them.
“Open, in the name of the King!” cried Bruin, hammering at the door. “Come out, Reynard! I have been sent to bring you up for trial. You have come to the end of your rope at last! Open the door, I say, or I’ll batter it down!”
From his safe retreat in the very heart of the fortress Reynard heard Bruin’s clamour. He stretched himself lazily and yawned. “Now who is this pestilent fellow making such a din?” said he to his wife. “Well, I suppose I’d better go and see.” So he made his way through the labyrinth of passages which led from his burrow to the open air, and peeped through the crack of the door. There was Bruin, hammering away at the massive oak, and roaring: “Come out, Reynard. Come out and be hanged!”
“What! is that you, Uncle Bruin?” said Reynard, opening the wicket. “You are in a noisy mood this morning. What is the matter?”
“The matter is that the King has sent me to bring you to Court,” growled the Bear. “And you had best come quietly, for I represent the law.”
“By all means,” answered Reynard, opening the door. “My word, but I’m glad to see you, uncle! And an ambassador, too—such an honour! How are you, and what sort of a journey have you had? Very trying, I’m afraid. Really it was a shame to impose upon your good nature and send you all this way!”
So saying the Fox led the way into his castle, keeping up a continual patter of talk, so that Bruin could not get a word in edgeways.
“I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting at the gate,” Reynard went on. “The fact is, I was dozing and did not hear you at first. I rarely sleep in the afternoon, but to-day I had such a heavy dinner that I felt extremely drowsy!”
“What did you have?” asked the Bear with interest.
“Oh, a simple meal enough. I am not rich, you know, and I have to eat what I can find. To-day it was a big comb of honey—not very much to my taste, but I was hungry and I ate it!”
Bruin pricked up his ears. “Eh?” said he. “Did you say honey?”
“Strange food for a fox, isn’t it?” said Reynard. “I wish I hadn’t touched the stuff now, for, to tell you the truth, it’s lying on my chest like a load of lead. I swear never to eat it again, although I know a place, not far from here, where there are immense quantities of it!”
By this time Bruin was all agog with excitement.
“Nephew,” said he, laying his paw on Reynard’s shoulder, “show me the place where that honey is. My mouth is watering at the very thought of it. I love honey better than anything else in the world, and I’d give all I possess for a taste of it!”
“You are joking, no doubt,” said Reynard laughingly. “How can any one like such stuff?”
“Joking, am I?” growled Bruin. “Just lead me to the honey and I’ll show you whether I’m joking. I tell you I’d give my eyes and ears for a taste!”
“Well, if that’s the case,” said Reynard, “you shall be satisfied. There’s a carpenter not far from here who keeps bees, and from time immemorial his family have been noted for the excellence of their honey. I’ll take you there, and I’m very glad to be able to render you this little service. In return, all I ask of you is that you will speak up for me when I come before the King.”
“Of course I will,” answered Bruin. “Let us go at once. I can hardly contain myself for impatience.”
Reynard called upon Bruin to follow him and led the way to the carpenter’s yard. The afternoon was very hot, and the carpenter was taking a nap after dinner. His yard was empty and in the middle of it was the trunk of a great oak-tree which he had laid out ready to be cut up into planks. The trunk was split down the middle, and kept open by two wedges of wood.
“Here you are!” said Reynard, going up to the tree-trunk. “This is the place where the carpenter keeps his honey. Put your muzzle in and root it out from the bottom. Don’t eat too much!”
“Never fear,” answered Bruin. “I’ll be moderate.” And he plunged his head and his two front paws into the crack. The next moment Reynard knocked out the wedges which kept the two halves of the trunk apart. They sprang together with the force of a steel spring, catching Bruin firmly by the nose and paws.
The poor beast roared with pain, making a din that echoed back like thunder from the mountains. The carpenter woke up from his slumber, and seizing an axe, ran out into the yard. His wife came tumbling out of the scullery with a broom in her hand, and people from the neighbouring village came running to see what all the noise was about. When they saw that the Bear was a prisoner they fell upon him and began to belabour him with mighty blows, while the unhappy creature gave himself up for lost. Maddened with pain, he redoubled his efforts to tear himself free, and at last succeeded in getting away, although he left most of the skin of his nose and paws behind. With the blood flowing from his muzzle, and his eyes shining red with rage, he made such a terrible picture that the people fled hither and thither, leaving him a free passage, and he limped off into the shelter of the woods, moaning and breathing out threats against his betrayer.
From a safe distance Reynard watched him go, with a malicious grin. “Farewell, Uncle Bear,” said he. “I hope you found the honey good!”
King Lion was furious when he saw the miserable state in which his ambassador returned. He immediately called a council of his ministers, to whom Bruin related all that had happened.
“This recreant must be punished,” said the King when the tale was ended. “It is a disgrace to our kingdom that he remains at large. Somebody else must go to bring him here. Who shall it be?”
After a good deal of discussion it was decided that Tybert the Cat should undertake the task, for he was reputed to be as cunning and artful as Reynard himself. “Do not be deceived by his wiles,” said the King. “No doubt he will try to flatter you, or to play upon your weaknesses, but pay no attention to his words. You must take this mission very seriously and not allow yourself to be led aside by anything. On your head be it!”
The Cat promised to be very circumspect, and set off at once. He travelled quickly, and soon arrived at the door of Reynard’s castle, where he found the Fox playing with his cubs on the grass, tumbling them over and over, and having fine fun. It was a touching spectacle of domestic bliss. Reynard jumped to his feet when he saw Tybert.
“Why, cousin,” said he, “this is a pleasant surprise! What makes you desert the gaieties of the Court for my poor home?”
“I come in the King’s name,” answered the Cat sternly. “He has sent me to bring you to Court, where you are to answer for your revolting crimes. The Bear returned yesterday, and the tale he told has stiffened the King’s anger against you. I am to say that if you refuse to accompany me, your house shall be destroyed and your family wiped off the face of the earth!”
“Refuse,” said Reynard, “whoever thought of refusing? I am sure the King has no more obedient subject than I. As for that Bruin, he is a bad subject, and I expect he has been telling a pack of lies about me. Do I look as if I could do anybody any harm? As a matter of fact I spend all my time here in meditation and prayer. But come in, come in! You must have a meal, for you have had a long journey. To-morrow we will set out together.”
“It seems to me,” said the Cat, “that it would be better if we started at once.”
“Nonsense, my dear fellow,” said Reynard. “It is bad to make a journey on an empty stomach. What difference will an hour or two make? We shall travel all the faster if we start in good condition.”
“Well, there’s something in that,” said Tybert, who, to tell the truth, was not sorry of an excuse to break a fast of many hours. “What have you got for dinner?”
“What would you like?” asked Reynard. “Shall we say a comb of honey?”
“Bah!” cried the Cat. “Honey indeed! I loathe the stuff. Now if you had a nice fat mouse...!”
“Happy thought,” said Reynard. “As it happens, I know a house close by where there are hundreds of mice, the fattest and sleekest creatures you ever saw in your life, and so tame that one can literally scoop them up by the score. I often catch a few myself when I am hungry and other game is scarce.”
“Take me to this house,” said Tybert. “Tame or not, I’ll catch the mice if they are there. I love the creatures.” And he licked his lips and stretched out his paws.
Now Reynard had spoken the truth when he said that he knew a house where mice abounded, and it was true also that he often went there—not in search of mice, but of chickens. The last time he had paid a visit he had found that the farmer had put a string noose over the hole by which he was used to enter, but fortunately for himself Reynard had discovered it in time.
Towards this house he now led the unsuspecting Tybert, and having shown him the hole, bade him enter and take his fill of the mice. Tybert obeyed, but no sooner had he got his head through the hole than the trap was sprung, and there he was, caught. He gave a scream of pain and fear, and from behind Reynard answered mockingly: “Sing away, cousin. I love to hear your voice. But mind you don’t frighten the mice!” Then he took to his heels and ran back to his castle.
A minute or two later the farmer, having heard the Cat’s miaulings, arrived armed with a heavy stick. “Ah, you thief,” he cried, “I’ve got you at last, have I?” And he began to lay the stick on the Cat’s back with all his might. Tybert kicked and struggled, and managed at last to get free, but he was more dead than alive when he went limping back to the King’s Court.
“This is monstrous,” said King Nobel when he had heard Tybert’s piteous tale. “It is no use paltering any longer. We must burn this caitiff’s castle about his ears.”
“One moment, Sire,” said Blaireau the Badger, who was a great friend of Reynard’s. “Our ancient laws demand that any person accused of crime shall be called three times before extreme measures are taken against him. Now Reynard has only been called twice. I propose, therefore, that he be given one more chance to render himself peacefully before your Majesty, and to defend himself. There are two sides to every story, and so far we have only heard one.”
“That is all very well,” said the King, “but who will be the messenger? It seems to me that the experiences of the other two will be little encouragement for a third.”
“If no one else will go,” answered Blaireau, “I will go myself. Reynard has been a very good friend of mine in the past, and I may be able to appeal to his better self.”
“I doubt it,” said the King; “but go by all means, and bring him back if you can. Should you fail, I will batter down his castle stone by stone.”
So Blaireau went off on his mission, and arriving at the château, found Reynard in the midst of his family.
“Look here, uncle,” said he, “there must be an end to all nonsense. The King is at the end of his patience, and unless you obey his commands he is determined to stick at nothing with you. Tybert and Bruin are both badly knocked about, and the sympathy of all the animals is with them. But for my pleadings the King would have sent an army to burn your castle about your ears. Be sensible now, and come back quietly with me. You have wits enough to defend yourself against all accusations and need not fear the issue. I tell you frankly, delay will be dangerous.”
“Ah,” said Reynard, “if those others had only spoken to me as you have spoken, my dear nephew, things would have been very different. They were insolent and they paid the price, but nobody shall say that Reynard the Fox was impervious to good counsel. Of course I will go with you—the sooner the better. I have no fear of being able to silence my calumniators. The King can’t live without me—he knows it very well, and that fact alone will provide him with a good motive for giving me a free pardon.”
Then Reynard took a tender farewell of Hermeline, his wife, and Reynkin, his eldest son, and all the other children, and set off with Blaireau towards the King’s Court.
On the way Reynard said: “My dear Blaireau, this is a very solemn moment of my life! I cannot help feeling that I have not, perhaps, always lived as righteously as I might have done. It will relieve my mind somewhat if I might make confession of some of the most heinous of my crimes. Will you hear me?”
“Certainly,” answered Blaireau. “I am glad to hear you have a contrite heart, uncle. Speak on by all means. Confession is the first step towards repentance.”
“I have been a sad sinner,” Reynard went on. “My heart fails me when I think of all the misery I have caused! I weep for the poor Bear, whose nose and paws are skinless because of me, and for the Cat, who suffered a terrible beating at the hands of the farmer. Then there was the Wolf—did I ever tell you about the Wolf?”
“No,” said Blaireau, “you did not.”
“Well,” continued Reynard, “the Wolf and I were one day walking along the road when we came to a monastery. It was the time of evensong, and the sound of the bells made such a sweet music in the air that I felt my soul grow full of enthusiasm. ‘Ah,’ said I, ‘if I were only one of the monks in that monastery, with what joy would I sound the bells!’ Isengrim thought the idea a splendid one, and wished to carry it into practice, so, as he was not a monk, I took it upon myself to introduce him into the monastery at dead of night. There I tied him to the bell-rope and bade him pull, for the good of his soul. He pulled—ah, nephew, how enthusiastically he pulled! The bells rang as they had never rung before, and all the monks in the monastery came running to see what was the matter. Isengrim would have run away if he could, but alas, I had tied him so firmly to the rope that he could not escape, and he got a sound beating for his pains.
“Another time, still under the influence of his monastic ideas, Isengrim proposed to me that I should shave his head. I agreed, and when I had him in the chair, to my eternal shame be it said, I planted a burning firebrand on his pate, and caused him to jump at least twenty feet into the air. Ah, I am a miserable sinner.” And Reynard broke into sobs and lamentations.
“Never mind,” said Blaireau consolingly, “since you are truly repentant, all will be forgiven you. See, there are the towers of the King’s palace. We shall soon be there. Get ready to make your speech of defence, for you will need all your eloquence this day.”
When Reynard arrived at the court he found all the animals assembled to witness his trial. King Nobel sat on his throne, with the Queen by his side, and very cold and stern was the glance which the monarch cast upon Master Fox as he stepped up and made his obeisance. “Reynard,” said the King, “you have been accused of crimes so many and so grievous that if only the half of all the accusations are true, you have merited death a hundred times. What have you to say?”
Reynard put a paw up to his face and brushed away a tear; then, with his voice broken with emotion, he answered: “My lord the King, I have been a miserable sinner, and there is nothing left for me to do but to cast myself upon your royal mercy. Where King Nobel sits, there justice and mercy sit also. I am sure of the one; therefore I make bold to plead earnestly for the other. Perhaps, O King, I am not so bad as I have been painted. The tongues of enemies have uttered slanders before to-day, and brought upright men to ruin. All I ask, O King, is that you will let me state my case, and, when I shall have finished my tale, judge me according to my deserts. I will keep nothing back, for in this serious hour I wish to speak nothing but the naked truth. Listen to me, O King, and let these others listen also. Perchance the sad story of my wrongdoings, and of my gradual fall from righteousness, may be a lesson to many here, and by serving as an example help to keep them upon the strait and narrow path.”
“You have a glib tongue, Reynard,” said the King. “It has saved you before to-day, but this time the count is too serious to be hidden by a mist of words. Yet speak on. The accused has a right to make his own defence, and that right I should be the last to deny, even to one forsworn and treacherous, as you have proved yourself to be.”
Reynard sobbed aloud. “Hard words, O King,” said he, “and harder still because of the truth that is in them. I do not complain. Meekly I bow the head and make confession of my sins.”
At this all the animals settled themselves comfortably to listen. The idea of Reynard the Fox confessing anything was so new that not one of them would willingly have missed a word. Those of the animals who knew Reynard well regarded him a little uneasily, but nobody broke silence. Reynard remained for a time sobbing quietly with head bowed upon his paws, then, in a broken voice, he began to speak:
“From my very earliest years, O King,” said he, “I was mischievous and unruly. Had there been anybody to give me counsel and guidance I might perhaps have outgrown the errors of my youth and become a worthy subject. Unfortunately I fell into bad company, and, under the influence of evil companions went rapidly from bad to worse. Isengrim the Wolf was my friend in those early days. He it was who taught me to steal and to prey upon the defenceless creatures of the woods and fields. My first victim, I well remember, was a young lamb which had strayed from the fold. Isengrim led me to her and persuaded me to kill her, and afterwards, in the same way, a goat and two young deer fell victims to my raging thirst for blood. Soon not a hen-house, not a fold was safe from my depredations. I killed for the sake of killing, and that part of the meat which I could not devour I gave to the Wolf, who was only too willing to take it, or hid it in certain holes and crannies in the wood.”
All the time that Reynard had been speaking Isengrim had been making frantic efforts to speak, but a glance from the King had kept him silent. Now he could contain himself no longer. Trembling with fury, he rose to his feet and cried: “Lies! All lies, O King! Will your Majesty believe anything it pleases this slanderous dog to say?”
“Silence!” cried the King. “Your turn will come later. For the present let the accused speak without interruption!”
“Thanks, O King,” said Reynard. “I can well understand the Wolf’s wrath when his connexion with so vile a creature as I is thus brought to light. Yet I have sworn to tell the truth, and the truth I will tell without regard to persons. Sorry as I am to say it, the Wolf was not the only one to lead me into bad ways. Among my companions of those early days were also the Bear and the Cat. They made me hunt for them when I was young, and such was their voracity that there was little left for myself, and I should have died of hunger were it not for the fact that I was fortunate enough to discover a hidden treasure!”
“Eh, what’s that?” said the King. “Did you say a treasure?”
“Aye,” answered Reynard, “a treasure of gold, my lord; so great a treasure that it would take your servants many days even to count it all. And not gold alone, but precious gems—diamonds of the purest water, rubies red as blood, and emeralds green as the sea when the sun shines upon it!”
The Queen leaned forward upon her throne and fixed Reynard with burning eyes. “And pearls too?” she whispered.
“Pearls too, O Queen. Ropes of pearls that well would adorn your Majesty’s fair neck. And jewelled crowns worthy of a royal brow! Hidden deep in the earth they lie, all those riches, and now they will lie there for ever, for nobody knows of them but myself. Perhaps it is as well. The lust of gold is the motive of many crimes, and this treasure has already been the cause of a serious attempt against the throne and the life of the King! But all this has nothing to do with my confession. With your Majesty’s leave I will go on with what I was about to say.”
“One moment,” said the Queen. “Those crowns you spoke of—describe them more fully. What stones had they, and how set?”
“Time enough for that,” cried the King. “You shall try the crowns upon your head before all is done. Let the Fox tell us where this treasure is hidden; that is the important thing!”
“I had thought to carry the secret with me to the grave,” said Reynard, “but in this solemn hour I can hide nothing. If it is your Majesty’s will, I will tell all.”