The Fables of La Fontaine
me to <i>my loving pet?</i>" To which Æsop replied, that Xantus's loving
pet was not his wife, who for the least word threatened to sue for
a divorce, but his little dog, who patiently endured the harshest
language, and which, even after having been beaten, returned to be
caressed. The philosopher was silenced by this reply, but his wife
was thrown into such a passion by it that she left the house. Xantus
employed in vain every relation and friend to endeavour to induce her
to return, both prayers and arguments being equally lost upon her. In
this dilemma Æsop advised his master to have recourse to a stratagem.
He went to the market, and having bought a quantity of game and such
things, as though for a sumptuous wedding, managed to be met by one of
the lady's servants. The latter, of course, asked why he had bought
all those good things, upon which Æsop replied that his master, being
unable to persuade his wife to return to him, was about to wed another.
As soon as the lady heard this news she was naturally constrained, by
the spirit of jealousy and contradiction, to return to her husband's
side. She did not do this, however, without being resolved to be
avenged some time or other on Æsop, who day after day played some
prank, and yet always succeeded by some witty scheme in avoiding
punishment. The philosopher found his new slave more than his match.
On a certain market-day Xantus, having resolved to regale some friends,
ordered Æsop to purchase the best of everything, and nothing else.
"Ah!" said the Phrygian to himself, "I will teach you to specify what
you want, and not to trust to the discretion of a slave." He went
accordingly and purchased a certain number of tongues, which he had
served up with various sauces as entrées, entremets, and so forth.
When the tongues first appeared at table, the guests praised the
choice of this dish, but when it appeared in constant succession, they
became disgusted with it; and Xantus exclaimed, "Did I not bid you buy
whatever was best in the market?" "Well," replied Æsop, "and what is
better than the tongue? It is the very bond of civilised life, the key
of all the sciences, the organ of reason and truth; by its aid we build
cities and organise municipal institutions; we instruct, persuade, and,
what is more than all, we perform the first of all duties, which is
that of offering up prayers to the gods." "Ah! well," said Xantus, who
thought that he would catch him in a trap at last, "purchase then for
me to-morrow the worst of everything; the same gentlemen who are now
present will dine with me, and I should like to give them some variety."
On the following day Æsop had only the same dish served at table,
saying that "the tongue is the worst thing which there is in the world;
for it is the author of wars, the source of law-suits, and the mother
of every species of dissension. If it be argued that it is the organ
of truth, it may with equal veracity be maintained that it is the
organ of error, and, what is worse, of calumny. By its means cities
are destroyed, and men exhorted to the performance of evil deeds. If,
on the one hand, it sometimes praises the gods, on the other it more
frequently blasphemes them." Upon this one of the company said to
Xantus, that certainly this varlet was very necessary to him, for he
was more calculated than any one else to exercise the patience of a
philosopher.
"About what are you in trouble?" said Æsop. "Ah! find me," replied
Xantus, "a man who troubles himself about nothing." Æsop went on the
following day to the market-place, and perceiving there a peasant who
regarded all things with the utmost stolidity, he took him to his
master's house. "Behold," said he to Xantus, "the man without cares
whom you have demanded." Xantus then bade his wife heat some water, put
it in a basin, and wash with her own hands the stranger's feet. The
peasant allowed this to be done, although he knew very well that he
did not deserve any such honour, and merely said to himself, "Perhaps
it is the custom in this part of the world." He was then conducted to
the place of honour, and took his seat without ceremony. During the
repast Xantus did nothing but blame his cook. Nothing pleased him.
If anything was sweet, he declared that it was too salt, and blamed
everything that was salt for being repulsively sweet. The man without
cares let him talk on, and meanwhile ate away with all his might. At
dessert a cake was placed on the table, which had been made by the
philosopher's wife, and which Xantus scoffed at, although it was in
reality very good. "Behold!" cried the philosopher, "the most wretched
pastry I have ever eaten. The maker of it must be burnt alive, for she
will never do any good in the world. Let faggots be brought!" "Wait,"
said the peasant, "and I will go and fetch my wife, so that they may
be both burned at the same stake." This final speech disconcerted the
philosopher, and deprived him of the hope of being able to catch Æsop
in a trap.
But it was not only with his master that Æsop played jokes and found
opportunities for witticisms. Xantus having sent him to a certain
place, he met on his way a magistrate, who asked him where he was
going; and Æsop, either out of thoughtlessness or for some other
reason, replied that he did not know. The magistrate, regarding this
answer as a mark of disrespect to himself, had him conveyed to prison.
But as the officers were hauling him off, Æsop cried out, "Did I not
give a proper reply? Could I know that I was going to prison?" Upon
this the magistrate had him released, and considered Xantus fortunate
in having so witty a slave.
Xantus now began to perceive how important it was for his own interests
to have a slave in his possession who did him so much honour. Well,
it occurred on a certain occasion that Xantus, having a revel with
his disciples, it became soon evident to Æsop, who was in attendance,
that the master was becoming as drunk as the scholars. "The effects of
drinking wine," said he to them, "may be divided into three different
stages. In the first stage the result is pleasurable emotions; in the
second, mere intoxication; and in the third, madness." These remarks
were received with a roar of laughter, and the wine-bibbing went on
more furiously than before. Xantus, in fact, got so drunk that he lost
all command over his brains, and swore that he could drink up the sea.
This declaration, of course, raised a great guffaw amongst his boon
companions, and the natural result was, that Xantus, irritated beyond
all bounds, offered to wager his house that he would drink up the whole
sea, and, to bind the wager, deposited a valuable ring which he wore on
his finger.
On the following day, when the vapours of the wine had evaporated,
Xantus was extremely surprised to find that his ring had disappeared
from his finger, and with horror learned from Æsop that not only his
ring, but his house also, were the forfeitures of the ridiculous wager
which he had made over-night. Vexed beyond measure, the philosopher
condescended to entreat Æsop to help him out of his difficulty. And
this is what came of the Phrygian's advice. When the day arrived for
the decision of the wager, the whole population of Samos rushed to the
sea-shore to be witnesses of the philosopher's defeat; but, just as
one of his disciples who had made the bet with him began to glory in
his victory, the philosopher said to the assembled multitude, "It is
quite true that I have bet that I would drink up the whole of the sea;
but I certainly never engaged to drink up all the rivers which flow
into it. I must request, therefore, that the gentleman with whom I
have made the bet will first prevent the rivers from flowing into the
sea. When he has done that, I shall be very happy to fulfil my portion
of the wager." It need scarcely be said that every one applauded
the adroitness with which Xantus had got out of his difficulty. The
disciple confessed that he was vanquished, begged his master's pardon,
and Xantus was conducted to his home with great applause.
As a recompense for this happy hint, Æsop begged for his liberty, which
Xantus refused, saying that the moment for Æsop's freedom had not
yet come; but that if the gods should intimate that it had, he would
willingly grant it. If, for instance, he said, two crows should meet
his sight on his first leaving the house, he would grant the request;
but that if he should see one only, Æsop should continue to be a slave.
Æsop at once went out, whilst his master retired to a neighbouring
grove. Our Phrygian had scarcely sallied forth when he perceived two
crows caw-caw-ing together upon a lofty branch, and ran to tell his
master. Of course, Xantus hastened to see the fact for himself, and
before he could reach the spot one of the crows had flown away. "Ah,
ah!" said the philosopher to Æsop, "you are determined to be always
cheating me, are you? Here, you fellows, give this rascal a good
horse-whipping." This order was at once carried into effect, and whilst
the punishment was going on Xantus was invited to a repast, and he sent
word to say that he would attend at the time and place appointed.
"Alas!" exclaimed Æsop, "what lies, then, are the forewarnings of
heaven! Here am I, who have seen two crows, suffering the torments
of the lash, whilst my master, who has seen but one, is invited to a
nuptial feast." This sarcasm so pleased Xantus that he gave orders that
Æsop should be taken down from the triangles; but, nevertheless, he
could not as yet prevail upon himself to give the Phrygian his often
promised liberty.
One day as the master and man were wandering amongst old monuments,
reading with much pleasure the inscriptions, Xantus came to one which
he could not understand, although he remained a considerable time
trying to explain it. It was composed of the first letters of certain
words, and the philosopher avowed that he could not solve the problem
which it presented. "If I help you to find a treasure by means of
those letters," said Æsop, "what will you give me?" Xantus promised
him his liberty and half the treasure. "They mean, then," said Æsop,
"that four paces from this column a treasure lies concealed." After
having dug for some time they found that such was indeed the case.
The philosopher was now called upon to keep his word; but he still
declined to do so. "May the gods forbid I should set you free," said he
to Æsop, "before you have explained the mystery of those letters. To
know that will be a greater treasure to me than what we have found."
"Well," said Æsop, "they have been engraved here as the first letters
of these words, Απόβας Βήματα, &c.; that is to say, <i>If you step back
four paces</i> and then dig, you will find a treasure." "As you are so
clever," said Xantus, "I should be wrong to part with you; so give up
the idea that you will ever be free." "And I, for my part," said Æsop,
"will denounce you to King Denys, for it is to him that the treasure
belongs, and these letters are the initials of other words which state
the fact." The philosopher, alarmed, told his slave to take his part
of the treasure and to say nothing about it; on which Æsop declared
that he was under no obligation to him, for that these letters had
been selected in such a manner that they contained a triple sense, and
signified still further, "As you go away, you will divide the treasure
which you have discovered." When they had returned home, Xantus ordered
that Æsop should be put in irons and imprisoned, for fear that he
should make the adventure known. "Alas!" cried Æsop, "is it thus that
these philosophers fulfil their promises? But do as you will, Master
Xantus, you shall set me free at last in spite of yourself."
This prediction turned out to be true. A prodigy appeared, by which the