The Fables of La Fontaine
born about the fifty-seventh Olympiad, some two centuries after the
foundation of Rome. It is hard to say whether he had to thank or to
complain of Nature; for whilst she gave him a keen intelligence, she
also afflicted him with a deformed body and ugly face--so deformed
and so ugly, indeed, that he scarcely resembled a man; and, moreover,
she had almost entirely deprived him of the use of speech. Encumbered
by such defects as these, if he had not been born a slave, he could
scarcely have failed to become one; but at the same time his soul ever
remained free and independent of the freaks of fortune.
The first master whom he had sent him to labour in the fields, either
because he thought him unfitted for anything else, or because he
wished to avoid the sight of so disagreeable an object. It happened,
on a certain occasion, that this master, on paying a visit to his
country house, was presented by a peasant with some figs, which he
found so good that he had them carefully locked up, giving directions
to his butler, who was named Agathopus, to bring them to him when he
should leave the bath. It chanced that Æsop had occasion to visit the
mansion at this time, and as soon as he had entered it, Agathopus
took advantage of the opportunity to share the figs with some of
his friends, and then throw the blame of the theft on Æsop, never
supposing that he would be able to defend himself from the charge, as
he not only stammered, but appeared to be an idiot. The punishments
inflicted on their slaves by the ancients were very cruel, and this
was an aggravated theft. Poor Æsop threw himself at his master's feet,
and making himself understood as well as he could, he begged that his
punishment might be deferred for a few moments. This favour having been
accorded him, he fetched some warm water, and having drunk it in his
master's presence, thrust his finger down his throat. He vomited, and
nothing came up but the water as it went down. Having thus proved his
own innocence, he made signs that the others should be compelled to
do as he had done. Every one was astonished, scarcely believing that
Æsop could have devised such a scheme. Agathopus and his companions in
the theft drank the water and thrust their fingers down their throats,
as the Phrygian had done, and straightway the figs, still undigested,
re-appeared with the water. By this means Æsop proved his innocence,
and his accusers were punished for their theft and malice.
On the following day, when the master had set off for town, and Æsop
was at his usual work, some travellers who had lost their way entreated
him, in the name of hospitable Jove, to show them their right road to
the town. Upon this, Æsop first prevailed upon them to repose for a
time in the shade, and then, after having refreshed them with a slight
collation, became himself their guide, not leaving them until he had
put them well on their right road. The good people raised their hands
to heaven, and besought Jupiter that he would not leave this charitable
act unrewarded. Æsop had scarcely left them, when, overcome with heat
and with weariness, he fell asleep. During his slumber he dreamt the
goddess Fortune appeared before him, and, having untied his tongue,
bestowed upon him that art of which he may be termed the author.
Startled with delight at such a dream, he at once awoke, and, leaping
up, exclaimed, "What is this? my voice is free, and I can pronounce the
words 'plough,' 'rake,' and, in fact, everything I choose!"
This miracle was the cause of his changing masters, for a certain
Zenas, who acted as steward on the estate, and who superintended the
slaves, having beaten one outrageously for a fault which did not merit
such severe punishment, Æsop could not refrain from reproving him, and
threatened to make known his bad conduct. Zenas, with the purpose of
anticipating Æsop and avenging himself upon him, went to the master
and told him a prodigy had happened in his house--that the Phrygian
had recovered the use of speech, but that the wretch only made use of
his gift to blaspheme and say evil things of his master. The latter
believed him, and went beyond this, for he gave Æsop to Zenas, with
liberty to do what he liked with him. On returning to the fields, Zenas
was met by a merchant, who asked him whether he would sell him some
beast of burden. "I cannot do that," said Zenas; "but I will sell you,
if you like, one of our slaves;" and then sent for Æsop. On seeing
Æsop the merchant said, "Is it to make fun of me that you propose to
sell me such a thing as that? One would take him for an ape." Having
thus spoken, the merchant went off, half grumbling and half laughing
at the beautiful object which had just been shown him. But Æsop called
him back, and said, "Take courage and buy me, and you will find that
I shall not be useless. If you have children who cry and are naughty,
the very sight of me will make them quiet; I shall serve, in fact,
as a real old bogy." This suggestion so amused the merchant, that he
purchased Æsop for three oboli, and said to him, laughing, "The gods be
praised! I have not got hold of any great prize; but then on the other
hand I have not spent much money."
Amongst other goods this merchant bought and sold slaves: and as he
was on his way to Ephesus to offer for sale those that he had, such
things as were required for use on the journey were laid on the backs
of each slave in proportion to his strength. Æsop prayed that, out of
regard to the smallness of his stature, and the fact that he was a new
comer, he might be treated gently; his comrades replied that he might
refrain from carrying anything at all, if he chose. But as Æsop made it
a point of honour to carry something like the rest, they allowed him to
select his own burden, and he selected the bread-basket, which was the
heaviest burden of all. Every one believed that he had done this out
of sheer folly; but at dinner-time the basket was lightened of some of
its load; the same thing happened at supper, then on the following day,
and so on; so that on the second day he walked free of any burden, and
was much admired for the keenness of his wit.
As for the merchant, he got rid of his slaves, with the exception of
a grammarian, a singer, and Æsop, whom he intended to expose for sale
at Samos. Before taking them to the market-place he had the two first
dressed as well as he could, whilst Æsop, on the other hand, was only
clad in an old sack, and placed between his two companions to set them
off. Some intending purchasers soon presented themselves, and amongst
others a philosopher named Xantus. He asked of the grammarian and the
singer what they could do. "Everything," they replied; on which Æsop
laughed in a manner which may be well imagined, and, indeed, Planudes
asserts that his grin was so terrible that the bystanders were almost
on the point of taking flight. The merchant valued the singer at
a thousand oboli, the grammarian at three thousand, and said that
whoever first purchased one of the two should have the other thrown
in. The high price of the singer and the grammarian disgusted Xantus,
but, that he might not return home without having made some purchase,
his disciples persuaded him to buy that little make-believe of a man
who had laughed with such exquisite grace. He would be useful as a
scarecrow, said some; as a buffoon, said others. Xantus allowed himself
to be persuaded, and consented to give sixty oboli for Æsop, but before
he completed the bargain demanded of him, as he had of his comrades,
for what work he was fitted; to which Æsop replied, "For nothing, as
his two companions had monopolised all possible work." The clerk of the
market, taking the droll nature of the purchase into consideration,
graciously excused Xantus from paying the usual fee.
Xantus had a wife of very delicate tastes, who was extremely particular
as to the style of persons she allowed to be about her. Xantus knew,
therefore, that to present his new slave to her in the ordinary way
would be to excite not only her ridicule but her anger. He resolved,
accordingly, to make the presentation a subject of pleasantry, and
spread a report through the mansion that he had purchased a young slave
as handsome as ever was seen. Having heard this, the young girls who
waited on the mistress were ready to tear each other to pieces for the
sake of having the new slave as her own particular servant; and their
astonishment at the appearance of the new-comer may well be imagined.
One hid her face in her hands, another fled, and a third screamed. The
mistress of the house, for her part, said that she could very well see
that this monster had been brought to drive her away from the house,
and that she had long perceived that the philosopher was tired of her.
Word followed word, and the quarrel at length became so hot that the
lady demanded her goods, and declared that she would return to her
parents. Xantus, however, by means of his patience, and Æsop by means
of his wit, contrived to arrange matters. The lady resigned her project
of insisting upon a divorce from bed and board, and admitted that she
might possibly in time become accustomed to even so ugly a slave.
I have omitted many little circumstances in which Æsop displayed
the liveliness of his wit; for although they all serve as proofs of
the keenness of his mind, they are not sufficiently important to be
recorded. We will merely give here a single specimen of his good sense
and of his master's ignorance. The latter on a certain occasion went
to a gardener's to choose a salad for himself; and when the herbs had
been selected, the gardener begged the philosopher to satisfy him
with respect to something which concerned him, the philosopher, as
much as it concerned gardening in general, and it was this: that the
herbs which he planted and cultivated with great care did not prove
so valuable as those which the earth produced of itself without any
thought. Xantus attributed the whole thing to the will of Providence,
as persons are apt to do when they are puzzled. Æsop having overheard
the conversation, began to laugh, and having drawn his master aside,
advised him to say that he had made so general a reply because it was
not suited to his dignity to answer such trivial questions, but that he
would leave its solution to his slave-boy, who would doubtless satisfy
the inquirer. Then, Xantus having gone to walk at the other end of
the garden, Æsop compared the garden to a woman who, having children
by a first husband, should espouse a second husband who should have
children by a first wife. His new wife would not fail to form feelings
of aversion for her step-children, and would deprive them of their
due nourishment for the sake of benefiting her own. And it was thus
with the earth, which adopted only with reluctance the productions of
labour and culture, and reserved all her tenderness and benefits for
her own productions alone--being a step-mother to the former, and a
passionately fond mother of the latter. The gardener was so delighted
with this answer, that he offered Æsop the choice of anything in his
garden.
Some time after this a great difference took place between Xantus
and his wife. The philosopher, being at a feast, put aside certain
delicacies, and said to Æsop, "Carry these to my loving pet;" upon
which Æsop gave them to a little dog of which his master was very fond.
Xantus, on returning home, did not fail to inquire how his wife liked
his present, and as the latter evidently did not understand what he
meant, Æsop was sent for to give an explanation. Xantus, who was only
too willing to find a pretext for giving his slave a thrashing, asked
him whether he had not expressly said, "Carry those sweet things from