The Talking Beasts Part 27

"That's the sort of friend I like!" cries Demian. "I can't bear people who require pressing. But now, dear friend, take just this one little plateful more."

But, on hearing this, our poor Phocas, much as he liked fish soup, catching hold of his cap and sash, runs away home, not once looking behind him.

Nor from that day to this has he crossed Demian's threshold.

The Wolf and Its Cub

A Wolf, which had begun to accustom its Cub to support itself by its father's profession, sent it one day to prowl about the skirts of the wood. At the same time it ordered it to give all its attention to seeing whether it would not be possible, even at the cost of sinning a little, for them both to make their breakfast or dinner at the expense of some shepherd or other. The pupil returns home, and says:

"Come along, quick! Our dinner awaits us: nothing could possibly be safer. There are sheep feeding at the foot of yon hill, each one fatter than the other. We have only to choose which to carry off and eat; and the flock is so large that it would be difficult to count it over again----"

"Wait a minute," says the Wolf. "First of all I must know what sort of a man the shepherd of this flock is.

"It is said that he is a good one--painstaking and intelligent. But I went round the flock on all sides, and examined the dogs: they are not at all fat, and seem to be spiritless and indolent."

"This description," says the old Wolf, "does not greatly attract me to the flock. For, decidedly, if the shepherd is good, he will not keep bad dogs about him. One might very soon get into trouble there. But come with me: I will take you to a flock where we shall be in less danger of losing our skins. Over that flock it is true that a great many dogs watch; but the shepherd is himself a fool. And where the shepherd is a fool there the dogs too are of little worth."

The Pike

An appeal to justice was made against the Pike, on the ground that it had rendered the pond uninhabitable. A whole cart-load of proofs was tendered as evidence; and the culprit, as was beseeming, was brought into court in a large tub. The judges were a.s.sembled not far off, having been set to graze in a neighbouring field. Their names are still preserved in the archives. There were two Donkeys, a couple of old Horses, and two or three Goats. The Fox also was added to their number, as a.s.sessor, in order that the business might be carried on under competent supervision.

Now, popular report said that the Pike used to supply the table of the Fox with fish. However this might be, there was no partiality among the judges; and it must also be stated that it was impossible to conceal the Pike's roguery in the affair in question. So there was no help for it. Sentence was pa.s.sed, condemning the Pike to an ignominious punishment. In order to frighten others, it was to be hung from a tree.

"Respected judges," thus did the Fox begin to speak, "hanging is a trifle. I should have liked to have sentenced the culprit to such a punishment as has never been seen here among us. In order that rogues may in future live in fear, and run a terrible risk, I would drown it in the river."

"Excellent!" cry the judges, and unanimously accept the proposition.

So the Pike was flung--into the river.

The Cuckoo and the Eagle

The Eagle promoted a Cuckoo to the rank of a Nightingale. The Cuckoo, proud of its new position, seated itself proudly on an aspen, and began to exhibit its musical talents. After a time, it looks round. All the birds are flying away, some laughing at it, others abusing it. Our Cuckoo grows angry, and hastens to the Eagle with a complaint against the birds.

"Have pity on me!" it says. "According to your command, I have been appointed Nightingale to these woods, and yet the birds dare to laugh at my singing."

"My friend," answers the Eagle, "I am a king, but I am not G.o.d. It is impossible for me to remedy the cause of your complaint. I can order a Cuckoo to be styled a Nightingale; but to make a Nightingale out of a Cuckoo--that I cannot do."

The Peasant and the Sheep

A Peasant summoned a Sheep into courts charging the poor thing with a criminal offence. The judge was--the Fox.

The case was immediately in full swing. Plaintiff and defendant were equally adjured to state, point by point, and without both speaking at once, how the affair took place, and in what their proof consisted.

Says the Peasant: "On such and such a day, I missed two of my fowls early in the morning. Nothing was left of them but bones and leathers; and no one had been in the yard but the Sheep."

Then the Sheep depones that it was fast asleep all the night in question, and it calls all its neighbours to testify that they had never known it guilty either of theft or any roguery; and besides this, it states that it never touches flesh-meat.

Here is the Fox's decision, word for word:

"The explanation of the Sheep cannot, under any circ.u.mstances, be accepted, for all rogues are notoriously clever at concealing their real designs; and it appears manifest, on due inquiry, that, on the aforesaid night, the Sheep was not separated from the fowls. Fowls are exceedingly savoury, and opportunity favoured. Therefore I decide, according to my conscience, that it is impossible that the Sheep should have forborne to eat the fowls. The Sheep shall accordingly be put to death. Its carca.s.s shall be given to the court, and its fleece be taken by the Plaintiff."

The Elephant in Favour

Once upon a time the Elephant stood high in the good graces of the Lion. The forest immediately began to talk of the matter, and, as usual, many guesses were made as to the means by which the Elephant had gained such favour.

"It is no beauty," say the beasts to each other, "and it is not amusing; and what habits it has! what manners!"

Says the Fox, whisking about his brush, "If it had possessed such a bushy tail as mine, I should not have wondered."

"Or, sister," says the Bear, "if it had gotten into favour on account of its claws, no one would have found the matter at all extraordinary; but it has no claws at all, as we all know well."

"Isn't it its tusks that have gotten it into favour?" thus the Ox broke in upon their conversation. "Haven't they, perhaps, been mistaken for horns."

"Is it possible," said the a.s.s, shaking its ears, "that you don't know how it has succeeded in making itself liked, and in becoming distinguished? Why, I have guessed the reason! If it hadn't been remarkable for its long ears, it would never in the world have gotten into favour."

The Sword-blade

The keen blade of a Sword, made of Damascus steel, which had been thrown aside on a heap of old iron, was sent to market with the other pieces of metal, and sold for a trifle to a Moujik. Now, a Moujik's ideas move in a narrow circle. He immediately set to work to turn the blade to account. Our Moujik fitted a handle to the blade, and began to strip lime-trees in the forest with it, of the bark he wanted for shoes, while at home he unceremoniously splintered fir chips with it.

Sometimes, also, he would lop off twigs with it, or small branches for mending his wattled fences, or would shape stakes with it for his garden paling. And the result was that, before the year was out, our blade was notched and rusted from one end to the other, and the children used to ride astride of it. So one day a Hedgehog, which was lying under a bench in the cottage, close by the spot where the blade had been flung, said to it:

"Tell me, what do you think of this life of yours? If there is any truth in all the fine things that are said about Damascus steel, you surely must be ashamed of having to splinter fir chips, and square stakes, and of being turned, at last, into a plaything for children."

But the Sword-blade replied:

"In the hands of a warrior, I should have been a terror to the foe; but here my special faculties are of no avail. So in this house I am turned to base uses only. But am I free to choose my employment? No, not I, but he, ought to be ashamed who could not see for what I was fit to be employed."

The Cuckoo and the Turtle-dove

A Cuckoo sat on a bough, bitterly complaining.

"Why art thou so sad, dear friend?" sympathizingly cooed the Turtle-dove to her, from a neighbouring twig. "Is it because spring has pa.s.sed away from us, and love with it; that the sun has sunk lower, and that we are nearer to the winter?"

"How can I help grieving, unhappy one that I am?" replied the Cuckoo: "thou shalt thyself be the judge. This spring my love was a happy one, and, after a while, I became a mother. But my offspring utterly refused even to recognize me. Was it such a return that I expected from them? And how can I help being envious when I see how ducklings crowd around their mother--how chickens hasten to the hen when she calls to them. Just like an orphan I sit here, utterly alone, and know not what filial affection means."