Fable I.
Two Peasants
"Good day, gossip Thaddeus!"
"Good day, gossip Egor!"
"Well, friend, how are you getting on?"
"Oh, gossip, I see you don't know about my misfortune.
God has afflicted me: I have burnt myself out of house and
home, and have been obliged
to go about begging ever since."
"How ever did you manage that? That was a poor joke, my
friend."
"Just so. On Christmas Day we had a feast. I went out to
give the horses their food,
candle in hand. I must confess there was a buzzing in my
head. Well, I don't know how it
was, but I must have let a spark fall. I just managed to
save myself; but my homestead
was burnt, and all I had in it. Now for your story."
"Ah, Thaddeus, a sad piece of work! With me, also, it seems,
God has been angry.
You see, I have no feet left. I think it 's a perfect
miracle that I escaped with my life.
I went to the cellar for beer. It was Christmas Day in my
case too, and I, too, must
confess that I had swallowed a little too much brandy along
with my friends. Well, that
I mightn't set the house on fire in my drunkenness, I blew
the candle right out. But the
devil gave me such a fall down stairs in the dark, that he
made me a mere wreck of a
man; and here I've been a cripple ever since."
"Blame yourselves, friends," said their kinsman Stefan. "To
tell the truth, I don't think it
a miracle that one of you has burnt his house down, and the
other is on crutches.
Things go ill with a drunken man, when he has a candle in
his hand; but he is even worse
off when he is in the dark."
Fable II.
The Education of Lion
To the lion, the king of the forests, Heaven gave a son. You
know how different from ours
is the nature of beasts.
Among us, a child a year old, if it belong to a royal
family, is small and weak and stupid.
But, by the time it has lived a twelvemonth, a lion-cub has
long ago left off its
baby-linen.
So, at the end of a year, the Lion began seriously to
consider that he must not allow his
son to remain ignorant, not wishing that the royal dignity
should be degraded in him,
or that, when the son's turn should come to govern the
kingdom, the nation should
reproach the father on his account.
But whom should lie entreat, or compel, or induce by rewards
to instruct the Czarevich
how to become a Czar? Should he hand him over to the Fox?
The Fox is clever, but it is terribly addicted to telling
lies; and a liar is perpetually getting
into trouble.
"No," thought the Lion; "the science of falsehood is not one
which princes ought to
study." Should he trust him to the Mole?
Every one who speaks of that animal says that it is an
extreme admirer of regularity in
everything, and that it never takes a step without examining
the ground before it,
and that it cleans and shells with its own paws every grain
of corn that comes to its
table. In fact, the Mole has the reputation of being very
great in small affairs.
Unfortunately, however, though the Mole's eyes are keen for
whatever is just under its
nose, it cannot see any thing at a distance. The Mole's love
of order is an excellent
thing for animals of its own kind; but the Lion's kingdom
isconsiderably more extensive
than a mole-run.
Should he choose the Panther? The Panther is brave and
strong, and, besides that, it is
a great master of military tactics. But the Panther knows
nothing about politics, and is
absolutely ignorant of everything else that concerns civil
affairs. Pretty lessons indeed it
would give in ruling! A king must be a judge and a minister,
as well as a warrior; but the
Panther is good for nothing but fighting, so it, too, is
unfit to educate royal children.
To be brief, not a single beast, not even the Elephant
himself, who was as much
respected in the forest as Plato used to be in Greece,
seemed wise enough or sufficiently
well informed to satisfy the Lion.
By good fortune, or the opposite we shall find out which
before long, another king,
the king of birds, the Eagle, an old acquaintance and friend
of the Lion, heard of that
monarch's difficulty, and, wishing to do his friend a great
kindness, offered to educate
the young Lion himself.
The Lion felt as if a weight were taken off his shoulders;
and no wonder. What could be
better, as it seemed, than to find a king as a prince's
tutor? So the Lion-cub was got
ready, and sent off to the Eagle's court, there to learn how
to govern.
Two or three years go by; in the meantime, ask whom you
will, you hear nothing but
unanimous praise of the young Lion, and all the birds
scatter through the forests
wonderful stories about his merits.
At last the appointed time comes, and the Lion sends for his
son. The prince arrives,
and the king gathers all his people together, sum moning
great and small alike.
He embraces his son before them all, kisses him, and
addresses him in these words:
"My beloved son, you are my only heir. I am now looking
forward to the grave; but you
are only just entering upon life, so I intend to make over
my sceptre to you.
Only tell me first, in the presence of this assembly, what
you have been taught,
how much you know, and in what manner you pro pose to make
your people happy."
"Papa," answered the prince, "I know what no one else here
knows. I can tell where each
bird, from the Eagle to the Quail, can most readily find
water, on what each of them
lives, and how many eggs it lays ; and I can count up all
the wants of every bird, without
missing one. Here is the certi ficate my tutor gave me.
It was not for nothing that the birds used to say that I
could pick the stars out of the sky.
And when you have made up your mind to transfer your power
to me, I will immediately
begin to teach the beasts how to make nests."
On this the king and all his beasts howled aloud. The
members of the council hung their
heads, and the old Lion perceived, too late, that the young
Lion had not learned what
was wanted that he was acquainted with birds only, not
knowing the nature of beasts,
although he was destined by birth to rule over beasts, and
that he was utterly ignorant of
the knowledge which is most requisite in kings the know
ledge of what are the wants
of their own people, and what are the interests of their own
country.
[This fable refers to the education of the Emperor Alexander
I.
Catherine entrusted it to the Genevese La Harpe a man of
excellent intentions, but one
who knew very little about Russia, and who set up his own
little republic before the eyes
of the future despot as the type of the most perfect
commonwealth in the world.
He filled the boy's head with ideas which would certainly
appear to Krilof to be beyond
a boy's comprehension; and when his pupil came to the
throne, he wrote him a pressing
letter from Geneva, urging him to give Russia a
constitution, without waiting to make
any preparations for its reception.
One of Florian's fables bears the title of "The Lion's
Education;" and as it was translated
by Dmitrief, it is very probable that Krilof may have read
it. But there is very little
resemblance between the two fables.]
Fable III.
The Brook
A Shepherd by the side of a Brook complainingly sang, in his
grief, of his sad and
irreparable loss.
His pet lamb had lately been drowned in the neighbouring
river. Having heard the
Shepherd, the Brook thus began to murmur indignantly:
"Insatiable river! how would it be if thy depths, like mine,
were clearly visible to all eyes,
and every one could see, in thy most secret recesses, all
the victims which thou hast so
greedily swallowed up?
I think that thou wouldst dive into the earth for shame, and
hide thyself in its dark
abysses. Methinks that, if Fate gave me such copious waters,
I should become an
ornament to Nature, and would never hurt even so much as a
chicken.
How cautiously should my waves roll past every bush, every
cottage! My shores would
only bless me, and I should bring fresh life to the adjacent
valleys and meadows, without
robbing them of so much as even a single leaflet.
Then, in a word, I should perform my journey in a kindly
spirit, nowhere causing
misfortune or sorrow, and my waters should flow right down
to the sea as pure as silver."
So spake the Brook, and so it really meant. But what
happened?
A week had not gone by before a heavy raincloud burst upon a
neighbouring hill.
In its affluence of waters the Brook suddenly rivalled the
river.
But, alas! what has become of the Brook's tranquillity?
The Brook overflows its banks with turbid waters. It
seethes; it roars; it flings about
masses of soiled foam. It overthrows ancestral oaks: their
crashing may be heard afar.
And, at last, that very shepherd, on whose account it lately
upbraided the river with such
a flow of eloquence, perished in it with all his flock, and
of his cottage not even a trace
was left behind.
How many brooks are there which flow along so smoothly, so
peacefully, and murmur so
sweetly to the heart, only because they have but very little
water in them!
Fable IV.
The Miller
The water began to dribble away through a Miller's dam. At
first there would have been
no great harm done, if he had taken the matter in hand. But
why should he? Our Miller
does not think of troubling himself. The leak becomes worse
every day, and the water
pours out as if from a tap.
"Hallo, Miller! don't stand gaping there! It's time you
should set your wits to work."
But the Miller says,
"Harm's a long way off. I don't require an ocean of water,
and my mill is rich enough in it
for all my time."
He sleeps; but meantime the water goes on running in
torrents.
And see! harm is here now in full force. The millstone
stands still; the mill will not work.
Our Miller bestirs himself, groans, troubles himself, and
thinks how he can keep the
waters back. While he is here on the dam, examining the
leak, he observes his fowls
coming to drink at the river.
"You stupid, good-for-nothing birds!" he cries.
"I don't know where I 'm to get water, even when you are out
of the question; and here
you come and drink the little that remains."
So he begins pelting them with faggots. What good did he do
himself by this? Without a
fowl left, or a drop of water, he went back home.
I haye sometimes remarked that there are many proprietors of
this kind and this little
fable was composed as a present for them who do not grudge
thousands spent on
follies, but who think that they maintain domestic economy
by collecting their
candle-ends, and are ready to quarrel with their servants
about them.
With such economy, is it strange that houses rapidly fall
utterly to pieces?
[It is said that Krilof's own ideas of economy were, for the
most part, of the very kind he
satirizes here. "Returning from a party with me one
evening," says his friend Gniedich,
"Krilof wouldn't pay what I did for a good carriage, saying
it was wasting money.
So he walked half of the way home; but then he became tired,
and eventually he was
obliged to get into a wretched vehicle, and pay aimost as
much, for half the distance,
as he had been asked at first. And this was what he called
economy."]
Fable V.
The Grandee
Once, in the days of old, a certain Grandee passed from his
richly dight bed into the
realm which Pluto sways.
To speak more simply, he died. And so, as was anciently the
custom, he appeared before
the justiceseat of Hades. Straightway he was asked, "Where
were you born? What have
you been?"
"I was born in Persia, and my rank was that of a Satrap.
But, as my health was feeble
during my lifetime, I never exercised any personal control
in my province, but left
everything to be done by my secretary."
"But you what did you do?"
"I ate, drank, and slept; and I signed everything he set
before me."
"In with him, then, at once into Paradise!"
"How now! Where is the justice of this?" thereupon exclaimed
Mercury, forgetting all
politeness.
"Ah, brother," answered Eacus," you know nothing about it.
But don'tyou see this?
The dead man was a fool. What would have happened if he, who
had such power in his
hands, had unfortunately, interfered in business? Why, he
would have ruined the whole
province.
The tears which would have flowed then would have been
beyond all calculation.
Therefore it is that he has gone into Paradise, because he
did not interfere with
business."
I was in court yesterday, and I saw a judge there. There can
be no doubt that he will go
into Paradise.
[When this fable was submitted to the censors, they sent it
on to. the Minister of Public
Instruction, who kept it by him for a whole year, instead of
giving any decision about it.
Meanwhile, copies of it were circulated in MS., and it
became well known in society;
but still the minister with held permission to print it.
At last, at one of the courtmasquerades, Krilof found an
opportunity of reading it to the
Emperor Nicholas, who was so delighted with it that he took
him in his arms, kissed him,
and said, "Write away, old man, write away."
On the strength of this, Krilof applied anew to the
authorities, and obtained leave to print
the fable. With its appearance, his literary career may be
said to have come to a close.]
Fable VI.
The Wolf in the Kennel
A Wolf, one night, thinking to climb into a sheepfold, fell
into a kennel. Immediately the
whole kennel was up in arms. The dogs, scenting the grisly
disturber so near at hand,
began to bark in their quarters, and to tear out to the
fight.
"Hallo, lads, a thief!" cried the keepers; and immediately
the gates were shut.
In a moment the kennel became a hell. Men come running, one
armed with a club,
another with a gun. "Lights!" they cry; "bring lights!" The
lights being brought,
our Wolf is seen sitting squeezed up in the furthest corner,
gnashing its teeth, its hide
bristling, and its eves looking as if it would fain eat up
the whole party. Seeing,
how ever, that it is not now in the presence of the flock,
and that it is now called upon
to pay the penalty for the sheep it has killed, my trickster
resorts to negotiation,
beginning thus:
"Friends, what is all this fuss about? I am your ancient
gossip and comrade; and I have
come here to contract an alliance with you not with the
slightest intention of
quarrelling. Let us forget the past, and declare in favour
of mutual harmony. Not only will
I for the future avoid touching the flocks belonging to this
spot, but I will gladly fight in
their behalf against others; and I swear on the word of a
Wolf that I "
"Listen, neighbour,"here interrupted the huntsman. "You are
grey-coated; but I, friend,
am grey-headed, and I have long known what your wolfish
natures are like, and
therefore it is my custom never to make peace with wolves
until I have torn their skin
from off their backs."
With that he let go the pack of hounds on the Wolf.
[This fable, which was printed in October, 1812, represents
Napoleon in Russia.
The words put into the mouth of the Wolf are almost exactly
those of which he himself
made use. It is said that, after the battle of Krasnoe,
Kutuzof read this fable aloud to the
officers who stood round him, and that, when he came to the
words,
"Y are grey-coated; but I, friend, am grey-headed," in which
an allusion is made to
Napoleon's grey overcoat and his own white hair, he took off
his white forage-cap,
and shook his bent head. Buistrof says that he once read to
Krilof a statement to the
effect that, "after Borodino, Kutuzof's young soldiers
abused him for not instantly
attacking Napoleon; but Krilof, understanding his
intentions, sent him this fable,
which he read to his younger officers, and so appeased
them." On hearing this,
however, Krilof frowned, and said, "That's all nonsense. Is
it likely that I, a private
individual, neither a diplomatist nor a soldier, should have
known beforehand what
Kutuzof was going to do? It's absurd! Say, in some paper or
other, my friend, that it isnot true."]
Fable VII.
The three Moujiks
Three Moujiks* stopped at a village to pass the
night. They had done their business at
Petersburg as drivers; had sometimes worked, and sometimes
amused themselves;
and were now going back to their native place. As a Moujik
does not like to go to bed
empty, our visitors asked for supper. But villagers have no
variety of dishes. They set
on the table before the hungry travellers a basin of cabbage
soup, some bread, and the
remains of a bowl of porridge. It wasn't like Petersburg
fare, but there was no use in
talking about that; at all events, it was better than going
to bed hungry. So the Moujiks
crossed themselves, and sat down to table. Then the one who
was the sharpest of them,
seeing that there was altogether but little for three,
perceived how the business might be
mended. When force can't win the day, a little cunning must
be tried.
*Peasants
"Comrades," he cries, "you know Thomas; well, he's likely to
have his hair cropped*
during this levy."
"What levy?"
"Why, there's news of a war with China. Our father**
has urdered the Chinese to pay a
tribute of tea."
On that the two others took to weighing the matter, and
deliberating upon it
(unfortunately they could read, and had studied newspapers
and reports), as to how the
war would be carried on, and who should have the command.
Our friends began a
regular discussion, surmised, explained, wrangled. That was
just what our trickster
wanted. While they were giving their advice, and settling
affairs, and arranging the
forces, he didn't say a word, but ate up the whole of the
soup and the porridge.
*To
be taken as a soldier.
**The
Emperor
Fable VIII.
The Division
Certain honest merchants, who had their dwelling and their
counting-house in common,
made a heap of money. Having wound up their business, they
wish to divide their gains.
But how can a division take place with out squabbling? They
have begun to quarrel about
the money and the stock, when suddenly there is a cry that
the house is on fire.
"Quick, quick, save the goods and the house! "shouts one of
them." Come along; we will
settle our accounts afterwards!"
"Give me another thousand first!" screams a second, "or I
will not stir from the spot."
"You have given me two thousand too little! "exclaims a
third; "but here are my
accounts, all perfectly straight."
"No, no; we protest against such an idea. How, for what, and
why, do you claim that?"
Forgetting that the house was on fire, these strange fellows
went on squabbling where
they were, till they were suffocated by the smoke, and they
and their goods were all
burnt up together.
[This fable is said to refer to the squabbles which took
place among the Russian generals
at the time of the French invasion. Count Rostopchin, for
instance, withdrew from the
Moscow Volunteer Committee simply because it was made
dependent on the Volunteer
Committee of St. Petersburg. In many cases what was much
worse than squabbling
took place, some of the officials being charged with having,
even at that critical period,"
stolen all that could be stolen, the very clothes, the very
food of the recruits, of the
volunteers, of the prisoners."]
Fable IX.
The Crow and the Hen
When the Prince of Smolensk,* using skill as a weapon
against insolence, laid a snare for
the modern Vandals, and left them Moscow for their ruin,
then all its inhabitants, old and
young, assembled together without loss of time, and departed
from the city, like a swarm
of bees leaving their hive. On all the disquiet which then
took place a Crow looked down
tranquilly from a housetop, whetting its beak the while.
"What! are not you ready to start, gossip?" cried a Hen to
it from a passing cart.
"Why, they say the enemy is at our very gates."
*Kutusof.
He received the title of Smolensky after the battle of
Krasnoe.
"What is that to me?" replied the bird of omen. "I shall
remain here quietly. You and your
sisters can do as you please. But people don't boil crows,
or roast them either; so I shall
have no difficulty in living on good terms with the
new-comers. It may even happen,
perhaps, that I may get some cheese from them, or a stray
bone, or something or other.
Farewell, my fowl! a happy journey to you."
The Crow really did stay; but, instead of its gaining
anything by doing so, when the time
came in which the Prince of Smolensk began to starve his
guests, it was itself seized
by them, and turned into soup.
[This fable was printed in the magazine called "The Son of
the Fatherland," in November,
1812. Towards the end of September in that year, news began
to reach St. Petersburg of
the miserable state of Napoleon's army. "Eye-witnesses
assert," said the preceding
number of the magazine, "that the French go out to shoot
crows every day, and cannot
sufficiently praise their soupe aux corbeaux." In the
same number appeared a caricature,
styled "French crow-soup," representing four grenadiers,
wounded, ragged, and
emaciated, one of whom is plucking a crow, while the others
are getting ready a
carving-knife and a saucepan. When Murat's travelling
kitchen fell into the hands of the
Russians, the saucepans were full of horse and cat flesh.
Later on in the retreat, a time
came when some of the starving soldiers actually preyed on
the dead bodies of their
comrades.]
Fable X.
The Pebble and the
Diamond
A Diamond, which some one had lost, lay for some time on the
high road. At last it
happened that a merchant picked it up. By him it was offered
to the king, who bought it,
had it set in gold, and made it one of the ornaments of the
royal crown. Having heard of
this, a Pebble began to make a fuss. The brilliant fate of
the Diamond fascinated it;
and, one day, seeing a Moujik passing, it besought him thus:
"Do me a kindness, fellow-countryman, and take me with you
to the capital. Why should
I go on suffering here in rain and mud, while our Diamond
is, men say, in honour there?
I don't understand why it has been treated with such
respect. Side by side witn me here
it lay so' many years; it is just such a stone as I am my
close companion. Do take me!
How can one tell? If I am seen there, I too, perhaps, may be
found worthy of being
turned to account."
The Moujik took the stone into his lumbering cart, and
conveyed it to the city. Our stone
tumbled into the cart, thinking that it would soon be
sitting by the side of the Diamond.
But a quite different fate befell it. It really was turned
to account, but only to mend
a hole in the road.
Fable XI.
The Miser
A certain Goblin used to keep watch over a rich treasure
buried underground.
Suddenly, he was ordered by the ruler of the demons to fly
away for many years to the
other side of the world. His service was of such a nature,
that he was obliged to do as he
was bid, whether he liked it or not.
Our Goblin fell into a terrible perplexity, wondering how he
should preserve his treasure
in his absence who there was to take charge of it. To
build a treasure-house, and hire
a guardian that would cost much money.
To leave it to itself that way it might be lost. Impossible
to answer for it for a day.
Some one might dig it up, and steal it: people are quick at
scenting out money.
He worried himself; he pondered over it; and at last an idea
came into his head.
The master of the house to which he was attached was a
terrible Miser. The Goblin,
having dug up the treasure, appeared to the Miser, and said,
"Dear master, they have ordered me to go away from your
house to a distant land.
But I have always been well disposed towards you, so don't
refuse to accept this treasure
of mine, as a parting token of affection. Eat, drink, and be
merry, and spend it without
fear; only, when you die, I am to be your sole heir. That is
my single stipulation. As for
the rest, may destiny grant you health and long life."
He spoke, and was off.
Ten twenty years went by. Having completed his service,
the Goblin flies home to his
native land. What does he see? O rapturous sight! The Miser,
dead from starvation,
lies stretched on the strong box, its key in his hand; and
the ducats are all there intact.
So the Goblin gets his treasure back again, and rejoices
greatly to think that it has had
a guardian who did not cost him a single farthing.
[Krilofs remark at the end of this fable is
"When a miser has money, and yet grudges to pay for food and
drink, is he not
treasuring up his ducats for a goblin?"
M. Parfait, the author of an excellent French translation of
the fables, observes that the
same idea has been expressed by a popular French poet,
Pierre Dupont, who is not very
likely to have read Krilof:
"Tirez profit de cette
fable,
Vous tous .qui rognez sur un
liard;
Vous thιsaurisez pour le
diable."
The goblin of the fable is the domovoi, or domestic
spirit, in whom the Russian peasant
has great faith. It is, probably, a near relation of the
lubber-fiend which, in Milton's
country house,
"Basks at the fire its hairy
strength,"
and of the well-known Scotch bogle, which, when its weary
landlord was flitting in order
to get rid of it, exclaimed, from the centre of the
furniture-laden cart, "And I 'm flittin',
too."]
Fable XII.
The Pike and the Cat
A conceited Pike took it into its head to exercise the
functions of a cat. I do not know
whether the Evil One had plagued it with envy, or whether,
perhaps, it had grown tired of
fishy fare; but, at all events, it thought fit to ask the
Cat to take it out to the chase, with
the intention of catching a few mice in the warehouse.
"But, my dear friend," Vaska says to the Pike, "do you
understand that kind of work?
Take care, gossip, that you don't incur disgrace. It isn't
without reason that they say,
'The work ought to be in the master's power.' "
"Why really, gossip, what a tremendous affair it is! Mice,
indeed! Why, I have been in the
habit of catching perches!"
"Oh, very well. Come along!"
They went; they lay each in ambush. The Cat thoroughly
enjoyed itself; made a hearty
meal; then went to look after its comrade. Alas! the Pike,
almost destitute of life, lay
there gasping, its tail nibbled away by the mice. So the
Cat, seeing that its comrade had
undertaken a task quite beyond its strength, dragged it
back, half dead, to its pond.
[The Pike, in this fable, represents Admiral Tchichakof,
who, although a naval officer,
was entrusted with the command of the troops intended to
prevent Napoleon from
crossing the Berezina during the retreat from Moscow. With
this view he was stationed at
Borisof; but the French surprised him there, and drove him
out of the place, thereby
securing the passage of the river. Sir Robert Wilson says
the admiral was at dinner when
the enemy broke in upon his rear-guard, captured the wnole
of his correspondence,
and inflicted great loss on his troops.
In the Public Library at St. Petersburg is a collection ot
caricatures relating to the French
invasion of Russia, one of which represents Kutuzof holding
one end of a long net;
Napoleon, in the form of a hare, is slipping out at the
other end, which is held by
Tchichakof, who is exclaiming, "Je le sauve."
Tchichakof is said to have been "an Englishman in
character;" he had learnt navigation in
England, and had married an English woman.
"To a sailor's bluntness he added the English reserve;" and
this made his countrymen
dislike him from the first. After the affair of the
Berezina, they despised him also.]
Fable XIII.
The Ass and the
Nightingale
An Ass happened to see a Nightingale, one day, and said to
it,
"Listen, my dear. They say you have a great mastery over
song. I have long wished very
much to hear you sing, and to judge as to whether your
talent is really so great."
On this the Nightingale began to make manifest its art
whistled in countless ways,
sobbed, sustained notes, passed from one song to another; at
one time let her voice die
away, and echoed the distant murmur of the languishing reed;
at another, poured
through the wood a shower of tiny notes. Then all listened
to the favourite singer of
Aurora. The breezes died away; the feathered choir was
hushed; the cattle lay down on
the grass. Scarcely breathing, the shepherd revelled in it,
and only now and then, as he
listened to it, smiled on the shepherdess.
At length the singer ended. Then the Ass, bending ist head
towards the ground,
observed,
"It's tolerable. To speak the truth, one can listen to you
without being bored. But it's
a pity you don't know our Cock. You would sing a great deal
better if you were to take
a few lessons from him."
Having heard such a judgment, our poor Nightingale took to
its wings and flew far away.
[It is said that Krilof wrote this fable after an interview
with some great man
(Count Razumofsky or Prince A. N. Galitzin, perhaps), who
had asked him to read him
some of his fables. After hearing them, the noble patron of
letters said, "That is very
good; but why don't you translate, as Dmitrief does?"
"I cannot," modestly answered the poet, who returned home,
and straightway wrote
down the grandee an ass.
M. Fleury ranks this piece among the imitations; and it is
true that the same subject has
been admirably treated by Diderot. But the idea may easily
have occurred to Krilof
without his having read Diderot's excellent fable.]
Fable XIV.
The Hop-plant
A hop-plant had made its way to the edge of a garden, and
had begun to wind itself
around a dry stake in the fence. Now, in the open field
beyond stood an oaksapling.
"What use is there in that stunted creature, or, indeed, in
any of its kind?" Thus about
the oak the Hop used to whisper to the stake. " How can it
even be compared with you?
You, simply by your erect carriage, look like a perfect lady
in its presence. It is true that
it is clothed with foliage; but how rough it is! what a
colour it has! Why ever does the
earth nourish it?''
Meanwhile, a week had scarcely passed, before the owner
broke up that stake for
firewood, and transplanted the young oak into his garden.
His care resulted in full
success, and the oak flourished, extending vigorous shoots.
Remarking this,
our Hop-plant wound itself about it, and now its voice is
entirely devoted to the oak's
glory and honour.
Fable XV.
Trishka's Caftan
Trishka's caftan was out at elbows. Why should he ponder
long over it? He took to his
needle, cut a quarter off each sleeve; so mended the elbows.
The caftan was all right
again, only his arms were bare for a quarter of their
length. That is no great matter;
but every one is always laughing at Trishka. So Trishka
says,
"As I 'm no fool, I'll set this affair straight also. I'll
make the sleeves longer than they
were before. Oh! Trishka is no common-place fellow."
So he cut off the skirts of his caftan, and used them to
lengthen his sleeve. Then Trishka
was happy, though he had a caftan which was as short as a
waistcoat. In a similar
way have I sometimes seen other embarrassed people set their
affairs straight. Take a
look at them as they dash away. They have all got on
Trishka's caftan.
[An allusion to the ruinous shifts to which the Russian
proprietors used to have recourse
when their affairs became at all embarrassed. They are
beginning to be less improvident
now; but, at the time when Krilof wrote the fable, they used
to be notorious for their
readiness to adopt any means which would afford them a
temporary relief. It may easily
be imagined how the unfortunate peasants must have suffered
whenever their masters
were seized by one of these reckless fits.]
Fable XVI.
The Elephant as
Governor
An Elephant was once appointed ruler of a forest. Now, it is
well known that the race of
elephants is endowed with great intelligence; but every
family has its unworthy scion.
Our Governor was as stout as the rest of his race are, but
as foolish as the rert of his
race are not. As to his character, he would not
intentionally hurt a fly.
Well, the worthy Governor becomes aware of a petition laid
before him by the Sheep,
stating that their skins are entirely torn off their backs
by the Wolves.
"Oh, rogues!" cries the Elephant, "what a crime! Who gave
you leave to plunder?
But the Wolves say,
"Allow us to explain, O father. Did not you give us leave to
take from the Sheep a trifling
contribution* for our pelisses in winter? It is only
because they are stupid sheep that
they cry out. They have only a single fleece taken from each
of them, but they grumble
about giving even that!"
"Well, well," says the Elephant, "take care what you do. I
will not permit any one to
commit injustice. As it must be so, take a fleece from each
of them. But do not take from
them a single hair besides."
He who has rank and power, but wants sense, however good his
heart may be, is sure to
do harm.
*Obrok
- the tax levied on the peasant by his master
Fable XVII.
The poor Man enriched
"Is it worth while being rich, if one is never to eat or
drink delicately, and to do nothing
but heap up money? And to what end? We die, and then leave
all behind. We only
torment ourselves, and get a bad name. No; if riches had
fallen to my share, not only
roubles, but even thousands of them wouldn't have been
grudged by me, so long as
I could live sumptuously and luxuriously; and my feasts
should have been talked about
far and wide. Besides, I should have done good to others. To
rich misers, their life is a
kind of torment."
So reasoned a Poor Man with himself, lying on the bare
boards in a wretched hovel.
Suddenly, gliding to his side through a chink, there
appeared some say a wizard,
others say the Evil One (most likely the latter, as the end
of the story will show),
and began to speak thus:
"You wish to be rich; I have heard you say why. I am glad to
help a friend, so here is a
purse for you; there is a ducat in it no more. But, as
soon as you have taken one coin
out of it, you will find another in it all ready for you. So
now, my friend, your growing rich
depends entirely upon your own wishes.
Take the purse, and freely supply yourself from it until
your craving is satisfied.
Only bear this in mind, until you shall have flung the
purse into the river, you are
forbidden to spend a single ducat."
He spoke, and left the purse with the poor Man. The poor Man
was almost beside himself
for joy. But, as soon as he returned to his senses, he began
to handle the purse;
and with what result? Scarcely could he believe it was not a
dream. He had hardly taken
one ducat out, before an other was already stirring in the
purse.
Our needy friend says to himself,
"I will shake out a heap of ducats. Then, to-morrow I shall
be rich, and I will begin to live
like a Sybarite."
But the next morning he had changed his mind.
"It's true," he says, "I am rich now. But who isn't glad to
get hold of a good thing?
and why shouldn't I become twice as rich? It surely wouldn't
be laziness in me to spend
another day over the purse.
Here I have money for a mansion, an equipage, a country
house. But if I might buy
estates too, wouldn't it be stupid in me to lose such an
opportunity? Yes, I will keep the
wonderful purse. So be it: I will fast one day more.
As to that, I shall always have time enough for luxurious
living."
But what happens? A day goes by, and then a week, a month, a
year. Our poor Man has
long ago lost all count of the ducats. Meanwhile, he eats
scantily, and drinks scantily.
Scarcely has the day begun to break before he is back at the
old work. The day comes to
an end; but, according to his calculations, something or
other is still sure to be wanting.
Sometimes he makes up his
mind to throw away the purse. But then his heart grows faint
within him. He reaches the bank of the river, and then
turns back again.
"How can I possibly part with the purse, ''he says, "while
it yields a stream of gold of its
own accord?"
By this time our poor friend has grown grey, and thin, and
as yellow as his own gold.
He no more so much as thinks about luxury now. He has become
faint and feeble;
health and rest have utterly desened him. But still with
trembling hand he goes on taking
ducats out of the purse. He takes, and takes ; and how does
it all end ? On the bench on
which he used to sit gloating over his wealth on that very
bench he dies, in the act of
ounting the last coins of his ninth million.
Fable XVIII.
The Quartette
The tricksy Monkey, the Goat, the Ass, and bandylegged
Mishka the Bear, determine to
play a quartette. They provide themselves with the necessary
pieces of music with two
fiddles, and with an alto and a counter-bass. Then they sit
down on a meadow under
a lime-tree, prepared to enchant the world by their skill.
They work away at their
fiddlesticks with a will; and they make a noise, but there
is no music in it.
"Stop, brothers, stop!"cries the Monkey, "wait a little! How
can we get our music right?
It's plain, you mustn't sit as you are. You, Mishka, with
your counter-bass, face the alto.
I will sit opposite the second fiddle. Then a different sort
of music will begin: we shall set
the very hills and forests dancing."
So they change places, and recommence; but the music is just
as discordant as before.
"Stop a little," exclaims the Ass; "I have found out the
secret. We shall be sure to play in
tune if we sit in a row."
They follow its advice, and form in an orderly line. But the
quartette is as unmusical as
ever. Louder than before there arose among them squabbling
and wrangling as to how
they ought to be seated. It happened that a Nightingale came
flying that way, attracted
by their noise. At once they all intreat it to solve their
difficulty.
"Be so kind," they say, "as to bear with us a little, in
order that our quartette may come
off properly. Music we have; instruments we have: tell us
only how we ought to place
ourselves."
But the Nightingale replies,
"To be a musician, one must have a quicker intelligence and
a finer ear than you
possess. You, my friends, may place yourselves just as you
like, but you will never
become musicians."
[Some writers say this fable alludes to the foundation, in
March, 1811, of the "Society of
Lovers of Russian Literature," which had four departments,
and seemed more like a
public office than a literary institution, and the members
of which had places allotted to
them according to their rank rather than to their talents.
But Baron Korf says it refers to the disputes about places
which arose among the first
Presidents of the four departments of the Imperial Council,
at the time of its
reconstruction, in the year 1810.]
Fable XIX.
The inquisitive Man
"Good day, dear friend; where do you come from?" "From the
Museum, where I have
spent three hours. I saw everything they have there, and
examined it carefully. So much
have I seen to astonish me, that, if you will believe me, I
am neither strong enough nor
clever enough to give you a full description of it. Upon my
word it is a palace of wonders.
How rich Nature is in invention! What birds and beasts
haven't I seen there! What flies,
butterflies, cockroaches, litt'e bits of beetles! some
like emeralds, others like coral.
And what tiny cochineal insects! Why, really, some of them
are smaller than a pin's
head."
"But did you see the elephant? What did you think it looked
like? I'll be bound you felt as
if you were looking at a mountain."
"Are you quite sure it 's there?"
"Quite sure."
"Well, brother, you mustn't be too hard upon me; but, to
tell the truth, I didn't remark
the elephant."
[Bulgarine states that Krilof wrote this fable in allusion
to the remark of some one,
perhaps Prince Viazemsky, that each of the three great
fabulists, La Fontaine,
Khemnitser, and Dmitrief, bore the name of Ivan, thus
omitting all notice of Ivan Krilof.
But the story does not seem to rest on any substantial
authority, and it is entirely
out of keeping with all the other anecdotes about Krilof,
who was remarkably modest and
unpretentious.]
Fable XX.
The Cook and the Cat
A certain Cook, rather more educated than his fellows, went
from his kitchen one day to
a neighbouring tavern he was of a serious turn of mind,
and on that day he
celebrated the anniversary of a friend's death leaving a
Cat at home, to guard his
viands from the mice. On his return, what does he see? The
floor strewed with fragments
of a pie, and Vaska the Cat crouching in a corner behind a
vinegar-barrel, purring with
satisfaction, and busily engaged in disposing of a chicken.
"Ah, glutton! ah, evil-doer!" exclaims the reproachful Cook.
"Are you not ashamed of
being seen by these walls, let alone living witnesses? What!
be an honourable Cat up
to this time one who might be pointed out as a model of
discretion! And now, ah me!
how great a disgrace! Now all the neighbours will say, 'The
cat Vaska is a rogue; the cat
Vaska is a thief. Vaska must not be admitted into the
kitchen, not even into the
courtyard, any more than a ravenous wolf into the sheepfold.
He is utterly corrupt;
he is a pest, the plague of the neighbourhood' "
Thus did our orator, letting loose the current of his words,
lecture away without stopping.
But what was the result? While he was delivering his
discourse, Vaska the Cat ate up
the whole of the chicken.
I would advise some cooks to inscribe these words on their
walls: "Don't waste time in
useless speech, when it is action that is needed."
Fable XXI.
The Musicians
A certain man invited a neighbour to dinner, not without an
ulterior purpose. He was fond
of music, and lie entrapped his neighbour into his house to
listen to his choir. The honest
fellows began to sing, each on his own account, and each
with all his might. The guest's
ears began to split, and his head to turn.
"Have pity on me!" he exclaimed, in amazement.
"What can any one like in all this? Why, your choristers
bawl like madmen."
"It's quite true," replied the host, with feeling. "The do
flay one's ears just a trifle.
But, on the other hand, they are all of irreproachable
behaviour, and they never touch
a drop of intoxicating liquor."
But, I say, in my opinion you had better drink a little, if
needs be: only take care to
understand your business thoroughly.
Fable XXII.
The Peasant and
the Labourer
An old Peasant and a Labourer were going home through the
forest to the village one
evening, in the time of the hay-harvest, when they suddenly
found themselves face to
face with a bear. Scarcely had the Peasant time to utter a
cry when the bear was upon
him; it threw him down, rolled him over, made is bones crack
again, and began looking
about for a soft spot at which to commence its meal. Death
draws near to the old man.
"Stefan, my kinsman, my dear friend, do not desert me!" he
cries, from under the bear,
to the Labourer.
Then Stefan, putting forth all his strength like a new
Hercules, splits the bear's head in
two with his axe, and drives his pitchfork into its bowels.
The bear howls, and falls dying.
Our bear expires.
The danger having vanished, the Peasant gets up, and soundly
scolds the Labourer.
Our poor Stefan is astounded.
"Pardon me, what have I done?"
"What have you done, you blockhead? I'd like to know what
you are so absurdly pleased
about; why, you've gone and struck the bear in such a manner
that you've utterly
ruined his fur!"
Fable XXIII.
The Bear among the Bees
The beasts elected the Bear, one spring, Inspector of the
Beehives.
They might, it is true, have chosen a more trustworthy
animal, seeing that the Bear is
passionately fond of honey.
The matter was one to be regretted; but who can expect
wisdom from beasts?
Every other solicitor for the post of Hive Inspector they
sent away with a refusal,
and finally, as if by way of pleasantry, the Bear made his
appearance in that capacity.
But harm soon came of the appointment for our Bear carried
off all the honey into his den.
The theft was found out, an alarm was sounded, and
legal proceedings were taken in due form.
Eventually, the Bear was dismissed from his office, and the
old rogue was sentenced to
lie in his den all the winter.
The Court decided, ratified, and countersigned; but, ispite
of all this, it did not return the
honey. As for Mishka, he didn't pay the slightest attention
to the affair. Bidding the world
farewell for a season, he betook himself to his warm den.
There he sucks his honeyed
paw, and waits till fair weather invites him to a fresh
cruise.
[At the time when Krilof wrote, extortion and corruption
were scandalously rife in Russia.
The Government strove hard to put down the extortioners, and
the Press did all that it
could, in its fettered condition, to aid in so good a cause.
But, in spite of all that could be
done, the evil went on flourishing.
As soon as Alexander I. came to the throne, he issued an
edict against exactions of every
kind; and in 1809, when the great abuses in the Commissariat
Department had been
brought to light, he renewed the old ukases of Peter the
Great and Catherine II.
The first, published in 1714, orders that all persons
convicted of extorting money and
taking bribes shall undergo severe corporal punishment,
shall forfeit all their property,
and shall be "treated as rascals, and turned out of the list
of honest people."
The second, of the date of 1763, ordains that they shall be
"not only turned out of the
ranks of honest people, but eliminated from the entire human
race."
But, notwithstanding all these energetic declarations, the
forbidden practices remained
un checked; and, to the end of Alexander's reign, each year
saw a new edict issued on
the subject.
In 1816, especially, a vigorous attempt was made to produce
a reform, and a rescript
was addressed to the Minister of Justice, bidding him see
that the law courts should be
rendered the means of maintaining right, not of confirming
wrong; and that assist ance
should be given to the weak and needy in their appeals
against oppression.
But it too often occurred that, when some great man had been
detected in robbing the
poor, the only punishment he underwent was a nominal
banishment to his estates,
where he enjoyed, like the Bear, the fruits of his villainy,
and waited till the temporary ill
wind should have blown over.]
Fable XXIV.
The Horse and the Dog
A Dog and a Horse, which served the same peasant, began to
discuss each other's
merits, one day.
"How grand we are, to be sure!" says Barbos. "I shouldn't be
sorry if they were to turn
you out of the farm yard. A noble service, indeed, to plough
or to draw a cart! And I've
never heard of any other proof of your merit. How can you
possibly compare yourself
with me? I rest neither by day nor by night. In the daytime
I watch the cattle in the
meadows; by night I guard the house."
"Quite true," replied the Horse. "What you say is per fectly
correct. Only remember that,
if it weren't for my ploughing, you wouldn't have anything
at all to guard here."
Fable XXV.
Demian's Fish Soup
"Neighbour, light of my eyes! do eat a little more."
"Dear neighbour. I am full to the throat."
"No matter; just a little plateful. Believe me, the soup is
cooked gloriously."
"But I've had three platefuls already."
"Well, what does that matter? If you like it and it does you
good, why not eat it all up?
What a soup it is! How rich! It looks as if it had been
sprinkled over with amber.
Here is bream; there is a lump of sterlet. Take a little
more, dear, kind friend.
Just another spoonful! Wife, come and intreat him."
Thus does Demian feast his neighbour Phocas, not giving him
a moment's
breathingtime. Phocas feels the moisture trickling down his
forehead; still he takes one
more plateful, attacks it with all the strength he has left,
and somehow manages to
swallow the whole of it.
"That's the sort of friend I like!" cries Demian. "I can't
bear people who require pressing.
But now, dear friend, take just 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 without looking behind him. Nor
from that day to this has
he crossed Demian's threshold.
[There was a meeting one day, at the house of the poet
Derjavine, of the members of
the "Society of the Lovers of Russian Literature." Krilof
had promised to attend, and to
read one of his new and, as yet, unpublished fables; but he
did not appear till very late.
When he arrived, some one was reading an exceeedingly long
poem, which went on and
on until the audience was utterly worn out. At last,
however, it came to an end.
Then Krilof was asked to read his poem; so he put his hand
in his pocket, produced a
piece of paper, and read "Demian's Fish Soup." It is easy to
imagine how thoroughly it
was appreciated by an audience which had just been suffering
tortures at the hands of a
literary Demian one of those authors who, when they have
once secured a hearing,
never know when it is time to leave off]
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