Children's Literature Part 82

Seeing him thus carried by the hamsas, some villagers called out, "Two wild ducks are carrying a tortoise along on a stick!" Whereupon the tortoise wanted to say, "If my friends choose to carry me, what is that to you, you wretched slaves!" So just as the swift flight of the wild ducks had brought him over the king's palace in the city of Benares, he let go of the stick he was biting, and falling in the open courtyard, split in two! And there arose a universal cry, "A tortoise has fallen in the open courtyard, and has split in two!"

The king, taking the future Buddha, went to the place, surrounded by his courtiers; and looking at the tortoise, he asked the Bodisat, "Teacher!

how comes he to be fallen here?"

The future Buddha thought to himself, "Long expecting, wishing to admonish the king, have I sought for some means of doing so. This tortoise must have made friends with the wild ducks; and they must have made him bite hold of the stick, and have flown up into the air to take him to the hills. But he, being unable to hold his tongue when he hears any one else talk, must have wanted to say something, and let go the stick; and so must have fallen down from the sky, and thus lost his life." And saying, "Truly, O king! those who are called chatter-boxes--people whose words have no end--come to grief like this,"

he uttered these verses:

"Verily the tortoise killed himself While uttering his voice; Though he was holding tight the stick, By a word himself he slew.

"Behold him then, O excellent by strength!

And speak wise words, not out of season.

You see how, by his talking overmuch, The tortoise fell into this wretched plight!"

The king saw that he was himself referred to, and said, "O Teacher! are you speaking of us?"

And the Bodisat spake openly, and said, "O great king! be it thou, or be it any other, whoever talks beyond measure meets with some mishap like this."

And the king henceforth refrained himself, and became a man of few words.

239

The following is, also, an oriental story. It is taken from the _Hitopadesa_ (Book of Good Counsel), a collection of Sanskrit fables. This collection was compiled from older sources, probably in the main from the _Panchatantra_ (Five Books), which belonged to about the fifth century. Observe the emphasis placed upon the teaching of the fable by putting the statement of it at the beginning and recurring to it at the close.

A LION TRICKED BY A RABBIT

_He who hath sense hath strength. Where hath he strength who wanteth judgment? See how a lion, when intoxicated with anger, was overcome by a rabbit._

Upon the mountain Mandara there lived a lion, whose name was Durganta (hard to go near), who was very exact in complying with the ordinance for animal sacrifices. So at length all the different species a.s.sembled, and in a body represented that, as by his present mode of proceeding the forest would be cleared all at once, if it pleased his Highness, they would each of them in his turn provide him an animal for his daily food.

And the lion gave his consent accordingly. Thus every beast delivered his stipulated provision, till at length, it coming to the rabbit's turn, he began to meditate in this manner: "Policy should be practiced by him who would save his life; and I myself shall lose mine if I do not take care. Suppose I lead him after another lion? Who knows how that may turn out for me? I will approach him slowly, as if fatigued."

The lion by this time began to be very hungry; so, seeing the rabbit coming toward him, he called out in a great pa.s.sion, "What is the reason thou comest so late?"

"Please your Highness," said the rabbit, "as I was coming along I was forcibly detained by another of your species; but having given him my word that I would return immediately, I came here to represent it to your Highness."

"Go quickly," said the lion in a rage, "and show me where this vile wretch may be found!"

Accordingly, the rabbit conducted the lion to the brink of a deep well, where being arrived, "There," said the rabbit, "look down and behold him." At the same time he pointed to the reflected image of the lion in the water, who, swelling with pride and resentment, leaped into the well, as he thought, upon his adversary; and thus put an end to his life.

I repeat, therefore:

_He who hath sense hath strength. Where hath he strength who wanteth judgment?_

240

Marie de France lived probably in the latter part of the twelfth century and was one of the most striking figures in Middle English literature. She seems to have been born in France, lived much in England, translated from the Anglo-Norman dialect into French, and is spoken of as the first French poet. One of her three works, and the most extensive, is a collection of 103 fables, which she says she translated from the English of King Alfred. Her original, whatever it may have been, is lost.

One of her fables, in a translation by Professor W. W. Skeat, is given below. It contains the germ of Chaucer's "Nun's Priest's Tale," in _The Canterbury Tales_.

THE c.o.c.k AND THE FOX

MARIE DE FRANCE

A c.o.c.k our story tells of, who High on a trash hill stood and crew.

A Fox, attracted, straight drew nigh, And spake soft words of flattery.

"Dear Sir!" said he, "your look's divine; I never saw a bird so fine!

I never heard a voice so clear Except your father's--ah! poor dear!

His voice rang clearly, loudly--but Most clearly when his eyes were shut!"

"The same with me!" the c.o.c.k replies, And flaps his wings, and shuts his eyes.

Each note rings clearer than the last-- The Fox starts up and holds him fast; Toward the wood he hies apace.

But as he crossed an open s.p.a.ce, The shepherds spy him; off they fly; The dogs give chase with hue and cry.

The Fox still holds the c.o.c.k, though fear Suggests his case is growing queer.

"Tush!" cries the c.o.c.k, "cry out, to grieve 'em, 'The c.o.c.k is mine! I'll never leave him!'"

The Fox attempts, in scorn, to shout, And opes his mouth; the c.o.c.k slips out, And in a trice has gained a tree.

Too late the Fox begins to see How well the c.o.c.k his game has played; For once his tricks have been repaid.

In angry language, uncontrolled, He 'gins to curse the mouth that's bold To speak, when it should silent be.

"Well," says the c.o.c.k, "the same with me; I curse the eyes that go to sleep Just when they ought sharp watch to keep Lest evil to their lord befall."

Thus fools contrariously do all; They chatter when they should be dumb, And, when they _ought_ to speak, are mum.

241

The following is Wright's translation of the first fable in La Fontaine's collection.

Rousseau, objecting to fables in general, singled out this particular one as an example of their bad effects on children, and echoes of his voice are still in evidence. It would, he said, give children a lesson in inhumanity.

"You believe you are making an example of the gra.s.shopper, but they will choose the ant . . .

they will take the more pleasant part, which is a very natural thing." Another observer said: "As for me, I love neither gra.s.shopper nor ant, neither avarice nor prodigality, neither the miserly people who lend nor the spendthrifts who borrow." These statements represent complex, a.n.a.lytic points of view which are probably outside the range of most children.

They will see the gra.s.shopper simply as a type of thorough shiftlessness and the ant as a type of forethought, although La Fontaine does suggest that the ant might on general principles be a little less "tight-fisted." The lesson that idleness is the mother of want, the necessity of looking ahead, of providing for the future, of laying up for a rainy day--these are certainly common-sense conclusions and the only ones the story itself will suggest to the child.

THE GRa.s.sHOPPER AND THE ANT

LA FONTAINE

A gra.s.shopper gay Sang the summer away, And found herself poor By the winter's first roar.

Of meat or of bread, Not a morsel she had!

So a begging she went, To her neighbor the ant, For the loan of some wheat, Which would serve her to eat, Till the season came round.

"I will pay you," she saith, "On an animal's faith, Double weight in the pound Ere the harvest be bound."

The ant is a friend (And here she might mend) Little given to lend.

"How spent you the summer?"

Quoth she, looking shame At the borrowing dame.

"Night and day to each comer I sang, if you please."

"You sang! I'm at ease; For 'tis plain at a glance, Now, ma'am, you must dance."