“You are very fat.”
“You look as if you would take my life.”
“You look as if you would sustain mine.”
“Let us ‘pull sticks,’” said the now desperate animal, “to see which of us shall die.”
“Good!” assented the man: “I’ll pull this one.”
So saying, he drew a hedge-stake from the ground, and stained it with the brain of that unhappy porker.
MORAL. — An empty stomach has no ears.
XLIX.
A snake, a mile long, having drawn himself over a roc’s egg, complained that in its present form he could get no benefit from it, and modestly desired the roc to aid him in some way.
“Certainly,” assented the bird, “I think we can arrange it.”
Saying which, she snatched up one of the smaller Persian provinces, and poising herself a few leagues above the suffering reptile, let it drop upon him to smash the egg.
This fable exhibits the folly of asking for aid without specifying the kind and amount of aid you require.
L.
An ox meeting a man on the highway, asked him for a pinch of snuff, whereupon the man fled back along the road in extreme terror.
“Don’t be alarmed,” said a horse whom he met; “the ox won’t bite you.”
The man gave one stare and dashed across the meadows.
“Well,” said a sheep, “I wouldn’t be afraid of a horse; he won’t kick.”
The man shot like a comet into the forest.
“Look where you’re going there, or I’ll thrash the life out of you!” screamed a bird into whose nest he had blundered.
Frantic with fear, the man leapt into the sea.
“By Jove! how you frightened me,” said a small shark.
The man was dejected, and felt a sense of injury. He seated himself moodily on the bottom, braced up his chin with his knees, and thought for an hour. Then he beckoned to the fish who had made the last remark.
“See here, I say,” said he, “I wish you would just tell me what in thunder this all means.”
“Ever read any fables?” asked the shark.
“No — yes — well, the catechism, the marriage service, and—”
“Oh, bother!” said the fish, playfully, smiling clean back to the pectoral fins; “get out of this and bolt your Æsop!”
The man did get out and bolted.
[This fable teaches that its worthy author was drunk as a loon. — TRANSLATOR.]
LI.
A lion pursued by some villagers was asked by a fox why he did not escape on horseback.
“There is a fine strong steed just beyond this rock,” said the fox. “All you have to do is to get on his back and stay there.”
So the lion went up to the charger and asked him to give him a lift.
“Certainly,” said the horse, “with great pleasure.”
And setting one of his heels into the animal’s stomach, he lifted him. about seven feet from the ground.
“Confound you!” roared the beast as he fell back.
“So did you,” quietly remarked the steed.
LII.
A Mahout who had dismounted from his elephant, and was quietly standing on his head in the middle of the highway, was asked by the animal why he did not revert and move on.
“You are making a spectacle of yourself,” said the beast.
“If I choose to stand upside down,” replied the man, “I am very well aware that I incur the displeasure of those who adhere with slavish tenacity to the prejudices and traditions of society; but it seems to me that rebuke would come with a more consistent grace from one who does not wear a tail upon his nose.”
This fable teaches that four straight lines may enclose a circle, but there will be corners to let.
LIII.
A dog meeting a strange cat, took her by the top of the back, and shook her for a considerable period with some earnestness. Then depositing her in a ditch, he remarked with gravity:
“There, my feline friend! I think that will teach you a wholesome lesson; and as punishment is intended to be reformatory, you ought to be grateful to me for deigning to administer it.”
“I don’t think of questioning your right to worry me,” said the cat, getting her breath, “but I should like to know where you got your licence to preach at me. Also, if not inconsistent with the dignity of the court, I should wish to be informed of the nature of my offence; in order that I may the more clearly apprehend the character of the lesson imparted by its punishment.”
“Since you are so curious,” replied the dog, “I worry you because you are too feeble to worry me.”
“In other words,” rejoined the cat, getting herself together as well as she could, “you bite me for that to which you owe your existence.”
The reply of the dog was lost in the illimitable field of ether, whither he was just then projected by the kick of a passing horse. The moral of this fable cannot be given until he shall get down, and close the conversation with the regular apophthegm.
LIV.
People who wear tight hats will do well to lay this fable well to heart, and ponder upon the deep significance of its moral:
In passing over a river, upon a high bridge, a cow discovered a broad loose plank in the flooring, sustained in place by a beam beneath the centre.
“Now,” said she, “I will stand at this end of the trap, and when yonder sheep steps upon the opposite extreme there will be an upward tendency in wool.”
So when the meditative mutton advanced unwarily upon the treacherous device, the cow sprang bodily upon the other end, and there was a fall in beef.
LV.
Two snakes were debating about the proper method of attacking prey.
“The best way,” said one, “is to slide cautiously up, endwise, and seize it thus” — illustrating his method by laying hold of the other’s tail.
“Not at all,” was the reply; “a better plan is to approach by a circular side-sweep, thus” — turning upon his opponent and taking in his tail.
Although there was no disagreement as to the manner of disposing of what was once seized, each began to practise his system upon the other, and continued until both were swallowed.
The work begun by contention is frequently completed by habit.
LVI.
A man staggering wearily through the streets of Persepolis, under a heavy burden, said to himself:
“I wish I knew what this thing is I have on my back; then I could make some sort of conjecture as to what I design doing with it.”
“Suppose,” said the burden, “I were a man in a sack; what disposition would you make of me?”
“The regular thing,” replied the man, “would be to take you over to Constantinople, and pitch you into the Bosphorus; but I should probably content myself with laying you down and jumping on you, as being more agreeable to my feelings, and quite as efficacious.”
“But suppose,” continued the burden, “I were a shoulder of beef — which I quite as much resemble — belonging to some poor family?”
“In that case,” replied the man, promptly, “I should carry you to my larder, my good fellow.”
“But if I were a sack of gold, do you think you would find me very onerous?” said the burden.
“A great deal would depend,” was the answer, “upon whom you happened to belong to; but I may say, generally, that gold upon the shoulders is wonderfully light, considering the weight of it.”
“Behold,” said the burden, “the folly of mankind: they cannot perceive that the quality of the burdens of life is a matter of no importance. The question of pounds and ounces is the only consideration of any real weight.”
LVII.
A ghost meeting a genie, one wintry night, said to him:
“Extremely harassing weather, friend. Wish I had some teeth to chatter!”
“You do not need them,” said the other; “you can always chatter those of other people, by merely showing yourself. For my pa
rt, I should be content with some light employment: would erect a cheap palace, transport a light-weight princess, threaten a small cripple — or jobs of that kind. What are the prospects of the fool crop?”
“For the next few thousand years, very good. There is a sort of thing called Literature coming in shortly, and it will make our fortune. But it will be very bad for History. Curse this phantom apparel! The more I gather it about me the colder I get.”
“When Literature has made our fortune,” sneered the genie, “I presume you will purchase material clothing.”
“And you,” retorted the ghost, “will be able to advertise for permanent employment at a fixed salary.”
This fable shows the difference between the super natural and the natural “super”: the one appears in the narrative, the other does not.
LVIII.
“Permit me to help you on in the world, sir,” said a boy to a travelling tortoise, placing a glowing coal upon the animal’s back.
“Thank you,” replied the unconscious beast; “I alone am responsible for the time of my arrival, and I alone will determine the degree of celerity required. The gait I am going will enable me to keep all my present appointments.”
A genial warmth began about this time to pervade his upper crust, and a moment after he was dashing away at a pace comparatively tremendous.
“How about those engagements?” sneered the grinning urchin.
“I’ve recollected another one,” was the hasty reply.
LIX.
Having fastened his gaze upon a sparrow, a rattlesnake sprung open his spanning jaws, and invited her to enter.
“I should be most happy,” said the bird, not daring to betray her helpless condition, but anxious by any subterfuge to get the serpent to remove his fascinating regard, “but I am lost in contemplation of yonder green sunset, from which I am unable to look away for more than a minute. I shall turn to it presently.”
“Do, by all means,” said the serpent, with a touch of irony in his voice. “There is nothing so improving as a good, square, green sunset.”
“Did you happen to observe that man standing behind you with a club?” continued the sparrow. “Handsome fellow! Fifteen cubits high, with seven heads, and very singularly attired; quite a spectacle in his way.”
“I don’t seem to care much for men,” said the snake. “Every way inferior to serpents — except in malice.”
“But he is accompanied by a really interesting child,” persisted the bird, desperately.
The rattlesnake reflected deeply. He soliloquized as follows:
“There is a mere chance — say about one chance to ten thousand million — that this songster is speaking the truth. One chance in ten thousand million of seeing a really interesting child is worth the sacrifice demanded; I’ll make it.”
So saying, he removed his glittering eyes from the bird (who immediately took wing) and looked behind him. It is needless to say there was no really interesting child there — nor anywhere else.
MORAL. — Mendacity (so called from the inventors) is a very poor sort of dacity; but it will serve your purpose if you draw it sufficiently strong.
LX.
A man who was very much annoyed by the incursions of a lean ass belonging to his neighbour, resolved to compass the destruction of the invader.
“Now,” said he, “if this animal shall choose to starve himself to death in the midst of plenty, the law will not hold me guilty of his blood. I have read of a trick which I think will ‘fix’ him.”
So he took two bales of his best hay, and placed them in a distant field, about forty cubits apart. By means of a little salt he then enticed the ass in, and coaxed him between the bundles.
“There, fiend!” said he, with a diabolic grin, as he walked away delighted with the success of his stratagem, “now hesitate which bundle of hay to attack first, until you starve — monster!”
Some weeks afterwards he returned with a wagon to convey back the bundles of hay. There wasn’t any hay, but the wagon was useful for returning to his owner that unfortunate ass — who was too fat to walk.
This ought to show any one the folly of relying upon the teaching of obscure and inferior authors. [B]
LXI.
One day the king of the wrens held his court for the trial of a bear, who was at large upon his own recognizance. Being summoned to appear, the animal came with great humility into the royal presence.
“What have you to say, sir,” demanded the king, “in defence of your inexcusable conduct in pillaging the nests of our loyal subjects wherever you can find them?”
“May it please your Majesty,” replied the prisoner, with a reverential gesture, repeated at intervals, and each time at a less distance from the royal person, “I will not wound your Majesty’s sensibilities by pleading a love of eggs; I will humbly confess my course of crime, warn your Majesty of its probable continuance, and beg your Majesty’s gracious permission to inquire — What is your Majesty going to do about it?”
The king and his ministers were very much struck with this respectful speech, with the ingenuity of the final inquiry, and with the bear’s paw. It was the paw, however, which made the most lasting impression.
Always give ear to the flattery of your powerful inferiors: it will cheer you in your decline.
LXII.
A philosopher looking up from the pages of the Zend-Avesta, upon which he had been centring his soul, beheld a pig violently assailing a cauldron of cold slops.
“Heaven bless us!” said the sage; “for unalloyed delight give me a good honest article of Sensuality. So soon as my ‘Essay upon the Correlation of Mind-forces’ shall have brought me fame and fortune, I hope to abjure the higher faculties, devoting the remainder of my life to the cultivation of the propensities.”
“Allah be praised!” soliloquized the pig, “there is nothing so godlike as Intellect, and nothing so ecstatic as intellectual pursuits. I must hasten to perform this gross material function, that I may retire to my wallow and resign my soul to philosophical meditation.”
This tale has one moral if you are a philosopher, and another if you are a pig.
LXIII.
“Awful dark — isn’t it?” said an owl, one night, looking in upon the roosting hens in a poultry-house; “don’t see how I am to find my way back to my hollow tree.”
“There is no necessity,” replied the cock; “you can roost there, alongside the door, and go home in the morning.”
“Thanks!” said the owl, chuckling at the fool’s simplicity; and, having plenty of time to indulge his facetious humour, he gravely installed himself upon the perch indicated, and shutting his eyes, counterfeited a profound slumber. He was aroused soon after by a sharp constriction of the throat.
“I omitted to tell you,” said the cock, “that the seat you happen by the merest chance to occupy is a contested one, and has been fruitful of hens to this vexatious weasel. I don’t know how often I have been partially widowed by the sneaking villain.”
For obvious reasons there was no audible reply.
This narrative is intended to teach the folly — the worse than sin! — of trumping your partner’s ace.
LXIV.
A fat cow who saw herself detected by an approaching horse while perpetrating stiff and ungainly gambols in the spring sunshine, suddenly assumed a severe gravity of gait, and a sedate solemnity of expression that would have been creditable to a Brahmin.
“Fine morning!” said the horse, who, fired by her example, was curvetting lithely and tossing his head.
“That rather uninteresting fact,” replied the cow, attending strictly to her business as a ruminant, “does not impress me as justifying your execution of all manner of unseemly contortions, as a preliminary to accosting an entire stranger.”
“Well, n — no,” stammered the horse; “I — I suppose not. Fact is I — I — no offence, I hope.”
And the unhappy charger walked soberly away, dazed by the preternatural effrontery o
f that placid cow.
When overcome by the dignity of any one you chance to meet, try to have this fable about you.
LXV.
“What have you there on your back?” said a zebra, jeeringly, to a “ship of the desert” in ballast.
“Only a bale of gridirons,” was the meek reply.
“And what, pray, may you design doing with them?” was the incredulous rejoinder.
“What am I to do with gridirons?” repeated the camel, contemptuously. “Nice question for you, who have evidently just come off one!”
People who wish to throw stones should not live in glass houses; but there ought to be a few in their vicinity.
LXVI.
A cat, waking out of a sound sleep, saw a mouse sitting just out of reach, observing her. Perceiving that at the slightest movement of hers the mouse would recollect an engagement, she put on a look of extreme amiability, and said:
“Oh! it’s you, is it? Do you know, I thought at first you were a frightful great rat; and I am so afraid of rats! I feel so much relieved — you don’t know! Of course you have heard that I am a great friend to the dear little mice?”
“Yes,” was the answer, “I have heard that you love us indifferently well, and my mission here was to bless you while you slept. But as you will wish to go and get your breakfast, I won’t bore you. Fine morning — isn’t it? Au revoir!”
This fable teaches that it is usually safe to avoid one who pretends to be a friend without having any reason to be. It wasn’t safe in this instance, however; for the cat went after that departing rodent, and got away with him.
LXVII.
A man pursued by a lion, was about stepping into a place of safety, when he bethought him of the power of the human eye; and, turning about, he fixed upon his pursuer a steady look of stern reproof. The raging beast immediately moderated his rate per hour, and finally came to a dead halt, within a yard of the man’s nose. After making a leisurely survey of him, he extended his neck and bit off a small section of his victim’s thigh.
“Beard of Arimanes!” roared the man; “have you no respect for the Human Eye?”
Complete Works of Ambrose Bierce (Delphi Classics) Page 35