Fable XXVI.
The Wolves and the Sheep
The Sheep could not live in peace on account of the Wolves, and the evil increased to
such a pitch, that at last the rulers of the beasts had to take vigorous steps towards
interfering and saving the victims. With that intent a council was summoned.
The majority of its members, it is true, were Wolves; but then all Wolves are not badly
spoken of. There have been Wolves known, and that often (such instances are never
forgotten), to have walked past a flock quite peacefully when completely gorged.
So why should not Wolves have seats in the council?
Although it was necessary to protect the Sheep, yet there was no reason for utterly
suppressing the Wolves.
Well, the meeting took place in the thick wood. They pondered, considered, harangued,
and at last framed a decree. Here you have it, word for word: "As soon as a Wolf
shall have disturbed a flock, and shall have begun to worry a Sheep, then the Sheep shall
be allowed, without respect to persons, to seize it by the scruff of the neck, to carry it
into the nearest thicket or wood, and there to bring it before the court."
This law is everything that can be desired. Only, I have remarked, up to the present day,
that although the Wolves are not to be allowed to worry with impunity, yet in all cases,
whether the Sheep be plaintiff or defendant, the Wolf is always sure, in spite of all
opposition, to carry off the Sheep into the forest.
Fable XXVII.
The Man and his Shadow
There was a certain original who must needs desire to catch his own Shadow.
He makes a step or two to wards it, but it moves away before him. He quickens his pace;
it does the same. At last he takes to running; but the quicker he goes, the quicker runs
the Shadow also, utterly refusing to give itself up, just as if it had been a treasure.
But see! our eccentric friend suddenly turns round, and walks away from it.
And presently he looks behind him; the Shadow runs after him now.
Ladies fair, I have often observed what do you suppose? no, no; I assure you I am not
going to speak about you that Fortune treats us in a similar way. One man tries with all
his might to seize the goddess, and only loses his time and his trouble. Another seems,
to all appearance, to be running out of her sight; but, no: she herself takes a pleasure in
pursuing him.
Fable XXVIII.
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."
Fable XXIX.
The dancing Fish
Having waters as well as woods in his dominions, the Lion called the beasts together to a
council, to consider who should be appointed governor of the Fish. They gave their votes
in the usual manner, and the Fox was chosen. Well, the Fox sat in the governor's seat,
and visibly waxed fat. He had a Moujik as friend, kinsman, and gossip, and the two used
to lay their heads together. The Fox conducted business and pronounced legal decisions
on the shore; and meantime his gossip angled after the Fish, and, like a trusty comrade,
shared what he caught with his friend.
But rogues do not alwavs succeed.
The Lion somehow grew suspicious, from rumours it heard, that the scales had been
falsified in its law courts; so, having found a leisure time, it determined to investigate
the state of its dominions.
Having gone to the shore, it found that the good gossip had caught some fish, and had
kindled a fire by the riverside, intending to feast on them with his comrade.
The poor fish were bounding into the air to get away from the heat, each one to the best
of its power: each one, seeing its end close at hand, flung itself about, gaping at the
Moujik. "Who are you, and what are you doing?" angrily asked the Lion.
"Great king!" answers the chief rogue the Fox always has a trick in reserve "great
king! this is my chief secretary here, who is esteemed for his probity by all the nation;
and these are carp, all inhabitants of the waters. We have all come here to congratulate
you, our good king, on your arrival."
"Well, how is justice dispensed here? Is your district content?"
"Great king! here they do not merely live; they are in Paradise. If only your royal life
may be prolonged!" (All this time the fish were leaping about in the pan.)
"But tell me," said the Lion, "why do they fling them selves about topsy-turvy in this manner?"
"O wise Lion," replied the Fox, "they are dancing for joy at seeing you."
Not being able to stand such a manifest fiction as this, the Lion, in order that there
should be some music for its subjects to dance to, made the secretary and the governor
both sing out under its claws.
[This fable, as originally written by Krilof, ended as follows:
"O wise Lion," replied the Fox, "they are dancing for joy at seeing you." Then the Lion,
tapping the Starost kindly on the breast, proceeded on his journey.
But the censor objected that this seemed like a reflection on the Emperor Alexander,
who was then it was in the year 1824 making what was destined to be his last
journey through Russia. Krilof at first refused to make any alteration; but eventually he
modified the fable, and added the lines with which it now concludes.
There is a tradition that, during one of his travels in the interior, the Emperor Alexander I.
spent a night, in some city or other, in the governor's house.
The next morning, just as he was on the point of continuing his journey, he happened to
look out of window, and saw a great crowd collected in front of the house. The governor,
being asked what was the cause of it, replied that it was a deputation of the inhabitants,
who wished to thank the Emperor for the happy lives they led. As the Emperor was in a
hurry to get away, he declined to receive the deputation, and drove off.
Afterwards it turned out that the people had come to complain of their governor,
who oppressed them terribly.]
Fable XXX.
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 were tendered as evidence; and the
culprit, as was beseeming, was brought into court in a large tub.
The judges were assembled 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 assessor, 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 passed, 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 accep the proposition.
So the Pike was flung into the river.
Fable XXXI.
The Geese
A Peasant, with a long rod in his hand, was driving some Geese to a town where they
were to be sold; and, to tell the truth, he did not treat them over-politely.
In hopes of making a good bargain, he was hastening on so as not to lose the
marketday (and when gain is concerned, geese and men alike are apt to suffer).
I do not blame the peasant; but the Geese talked about him in a different spirit, and,
whenever they met any passers-by, abused him to them in such terms as these:
"Is it possible to find any Geese more unfortunate than we are? This Moujik harasses us
so terribly, and chases us about just as if we were common Geese. The ignoramus
does not know that he ought to pay us reverence, seeing that we are the noble
descendants of those geese to whom Rome was once indebted for her salvation, and in
whose honour even feast-days were specially appointed there."
"And do you want to have honour paid you on that account?" a passer-by asked them.
"Why, our ancestors" "
"I know that I have read all about it; but I want to know this of what use have you
been yourselves?"
"Why, our ancestors saved Rome!"
"Quite so: but what have you done?"
"We? Nothing."
"Then what merit is there in you? Let your ancestors rest in peace they justly received
honourable reward; but you, my friends, are only fit to be roasted!"
It would be easy to make this fable still more intelligible; but I am afraid of irritating the Geese.
Fable XXXII.
The Lion and the Panther
Once on a time, in ancient days, the Lion maintained a very long contest with the
Panther about certain disputed forests, valleys, and caves.
To go to law about their rights this was not in accordance with their characters;
for, in matters relating to law, the strong are often blind.
For such affairs they have their own rule, "Who conquers is right." But at last, that they
might not eternally squabble, with claws ever becoming more blunt, our heroes
determined to submit their dispute to law.
Their intention was to put an end to their fighting, to settle all hostilities, and then, as is
customary, to conclude a peace which should last uninterrupted until the next quarrel.
"Let us each choose a secretary at once," proposes the Panther to the Lion, "and decide
according as the two secretaries shall advise.
I, for instance, will choose the Cat. It is not a very good-looking little animal; but,
then, its conscience is clear.
But do you, for your part, nominate the Ass, for it belongs to a distinguished order in the
state; and, to tell the truth, you will have in it a very enviable beast. Trust me as a friend
in this. All your court and council together are scarcely worth its hoof. Let us accept
whatever arrangements it and my Cat may make."
And the Lion sanctioned the first part of the Panther's scheme without opposition;
only he chose the Fox, instead of the Ass, to represent him in the discussion, saying to
himself, after so doing,
"Truly, there is but little good to be gained from him whom an enemy recommends."
Fable XXXIII.
The Comb
A loving mother bought a good strong Comb to keep her boy's hair in order. The child
never let his new present go out of his hands. Whether playing or learning his alphabet,
he was always lovingly passing his Comb through the twining curls of his waving golden
hair, soft as fine flax. And what a Comb it was!
Not only did it not pull out his hair, but it never even got caught in it; so smoothly and
easily did it glide through his locks. It was a priceless Comb in the eyes of the child.
But at last it happened, one day, that the Comb was mislaid. Our boy went playing and
romping about, until he got his hair into a regular tangle. Scarcely had the nurse touched
it, when he began to howl, "Where is my Comb?"
At last it was found; but when they tried to pass it through his locks, it could not be
moved either backwards or forwards: all it did was to pull his hair out by the roots,
so as to bring the tears into his eyes.
"How wicked you are, you bad Comb!" cries the boy.
But the Comb replies, "My dear, I am what I always was; only your hair has become tangled."
Whereupon our young friend, giving way to rage and vexation, flings his Comb into the river.
And new the Naiads comb their hair with it.
In my time I have often seen men behave in a like manner towards the truth. As long as
we have a clear conscience, truth is agreeable to us, we hold it sacred, we listen to it
and obey it; but as soon as a man has begun to do violence to his conscience, the truth
becomes alien to his ears. Then every one resembles the boy who did not like to have his
hair combed after it had got into a tangle.
Fable XXXIV.
The Author and the Robber
In the gloomy realm of Suadows, two sinners appeared before the judges for sentence
at the very same time. The one was a Robber, who used to extract tribute on the
highway, and who had at last come to the gallows; the other an Author, covered with
glory, who had infused a subtle poison into his works, had promoted atheism, and had
preached immorality, being, like the Siren, sweet-voiced, and, like the Siren, dangerous.
In Hades judical ceremonies are brief; there are no useless delays. Sentence was
proriounced im mediately.
Two huge iron cauldrons were suspended in the air by two tremendous iron chains;
in each of these one of the sinners was placed. Under the Robber a great pile of wood
was heaped up, and then one of the Furies herself set it on fire, kindling such a terrible
fiame, that the very stone in the roof of the infernal halls began to crack. The Authors
sentence did not seem to be a severe one. Under him, at first, a little fire scarcely
glowed; but, the longer it burned, the larger it became.
Centuries have now gone by, but the fire has not gone out. Beneath the Robber the
flame has long ago been extinguished; beneath the Author it grows hourly worse and worse.
Seeing that there is no mitigation of his torments, the writer at last cries out amidst
them that there is no justice among the gods; that he had filled the world with his
renown; and that, if he had written a little too freely, he had been punished too much for
it; and that he did not think he had sinned more than the Robber.
Then before him, in all her ornaments, with snakes hissing amid her hair, and with
bloody scourges in her hands, appeared one of the three Infernal Sisters.
"Wretch!" she exclaims," dost thou upbraid Providence? Dost thou compare thyself with
this robber? His crime is as nothing compared with thine.
Only as long as he lived did his cruelty and lawlessness render him hurtful. But thou
long ago have thy bones turned to dust, yet the sun never rises without bringing to light
fresh evils of which thou art the cause. The poison of thy writings not only does not
weaken, but, spreading abroad, it becomes more malignant as years roll by.
Look there!" and for a moment she enables him to look upon the world; "behold the
crimes, the misery, of which thou art the cause. Look at those children who have brought
shame upon their families, who have reduced their parents to despair. By whom were
their heads and hearts corrupted?
By thee. Who strove to rend asunder the bonds of society, ridiculing as childish follies all
ideas of the sanctity of marriage and the right of authority and law, and rendering them
responsible for all human misfortunes? Thou art the man! Didst thou not dignify unbelief
with the name of enlightenment?
Didst thou not place vice and passion in the most charming and alluring of lights?
And now look! whole country, perverted by thy teaching, is full of murder and robbery,
of strife and rebellion, and is being led onwards by thee to ruin. For every drop of that
country's tears and blood thou art to blame.
And now dost thou dare to hurl thy blasphemies against the gods? How much evil have
thy books yet to bring upon the world? Continue, then, to suffer; for here the measure of
thy punishment shall be according to thy deserts."
Thus spoke the angry Fury, and slammed down the cover on the cauldron.
[There seems to be little doubt that Krilof was thinking of Voltaire when he wrote this
somewhat violent diatribe. "We prefer to believe," says the French translator of Krilof,
in a note on this passage, "that, in spite of his errors, the apostle of universal toleration,
the ardent promoter of so many useful and humane reforms, the zealous defender of so
many innocent persons, will find less severity in his real Judge than he finds here in the
Minos of the fable."]
Fable XXXV.
The Hind and the Dervish
A young Hind, bereft of her much-loved fawns, and still having her udders full of milk,
found two young wolves deserted in a forest, and immediately began to fulfil the sacred
duty of a mother towards them, feeding them with her milk. A Dervish, who inhabited
the same forest, as tonished at this proceeding of hers, cried out
"Imprudent creature that thou art! On what kind of animal art thou conferring thy milk?
on what art thou wasting thy affections? Is it possible that thou canst expect gratitude
from such as they are? Or is it that thou dost not know their evil nature? Some day,
perhaps, it will be thy blood that they will drink."
"It may be so, indeed," replied the Hind; "but I did not think, nor do I wish to think,
of that. It is only as a mother that I care to feel just now; and my milk would have been
a burden to me if I had not given suck to these little ones."
Thus genuine charity does good without thinking of re compense. To the really
benevolent, their abundance would be burdensome if they could not share it with those
who are in want.
Fable XXXVI.
Canine Friendship
Under a kitchen window lay Barbos and Polkan, basking in the sunshine. It would have
been more fitting in them to have been guarding the house at the gate in front of the
courtyard. But they had eaten till they were satiated, and, besides, polite dogs do not
bark at any one in the day time.
So they indulged in a discussion about all sorts of things about their doggish service,
about good and evil, and finally about friendship.
"What," says Polkan, "can be pleasanter than to live heart to heart with a friend?
in everything to offer mutual service; not to sleep or eat without one's friend, and to
defend his body with all one's force; finally, for friends to look into one another's eyes,
and each to think that only a fortunate hour in which he could please or amuse his friend,
and to place all his own happiness in his friend's good fortune!
Suppose, for instance, you and I were to contract such a friendship. I venture to say,
we should not be able to tell how quickly time was flying."
"That is true. So be it," replies Barbos.
"Long has it been grievous to me, my dear Polkan, that we, who are dogs of the same
yard, cannot spend a single day without quarrelling: and why is it?
Thanks to our master, we are neither closely pent nor scantily fed. Besides, it really is
scandalous.
From the earliest times the dog has been the type of friendship; yet you scarcely ever
see any more friend ship among dogs than among men."
"Let us make manifest an instance of it to our own times," says Polkan.
''Your paw!"
"There it is."
Straightway the new friends begin to caress and fondle each other. They know not,
in their raptures, to what to liken themselves.
"My Orestes!"
"My Pylades!"
"Away with all quarrels, all envy, all malice!"
Unluckily, at this moment the cook tosses a bone out of the kitchen.
Our new friends fling themselves upon it furiously. What has become of their harmonious
alliance? Orestes and Pylades seize each other by the throat, so that their hair goes
flying to the winds, and even torrents of water will scarcely separate them.
The world is full of such friendships. One would not be far wrong if one said of friends,
as they are now-a-days, that they are almost all alike in respect to their friendship.
To listen to them, you would imagine they were perfectly unanimous.
But just throw them a bone; they will behave exactly like our dogs.*
*Kenevich says that this fable, which appeared in May, 1815, was suggested by he proceedings of the
Congress of Vienna.
Fable XXXVII.
The Cuckoo and the Cock
"How proudly and sonorously you sing, my dear Cock!"
"But you, dear Cuckoo, my light, how smoothly flows your long-drawn-out note!
There is no such singer in all the rest of our forest."
"To you, my dear gossip, I could listen for ever."
"And as for you, my beauty, I swear that, when you are silent, I scarcely know how to
wait till you begin again. Where do you get such a voice from ? so clear, so soft,
and so high!
But no doubt you were always like that; not very large in stature, but in song
a regular nightingale."
"Thanks, gossip. As for you, I declare, on my conscience, you sing better than the birds
in the garden of Eden. For a proof of this, I appeal to public opinion."
At this moment a Sparrow, which had overheard their conversation, said to them,
"You may go on praising one another till you are hoarse, my friends; but your music is
utterly worthless."
Why was it that, not being afraid to sin, the Cuckoo praised the Cock? Simply because
the Cock praised the Cuckoo.*
*This is said to allude to the perpetual interchange of compliments which used to take place between the
editors of the "Northern Bee" Grech and Bulgarine.
Fable XXXVIII.
The Peasants and the River
Some Peasants, who had been driven out of all patience by the ruin which the brooks and
rivulets had brought upon them by their overflowing, set out to seek redress from the
River into which those streams fell.
And, indeed, there was much reason for denouncing them.
They had torn away the seed from the newly-sown fields, they had over thrown and
washed away mills, and it was impossible to count the cattle they had drowned.
But the River flows so gently, though indeed proudly: on its banks great cities stand,
and no one ever hears such tricks laid to its charge. So, doubtless, it will put a check
upon these streams.
Thus did the Peasants reason among themselves. But what happened? When they had
drawn near to the banks of the River, and looked out upon its surface, they saw that
its stream was bearing along half of their missing property. The Peasants, without
beginning a fruitless complaint, only gazed on the waters for awhile.Then, after looking
in eachother's faces, and shaking their heads, they returned home; and as they went,
they said,
"Why should we waste our time? You 'll never get any redress for what the children have
stolen, so long as their parents go halves with them in the spoil."
[The best comment upon this fable is that supplied by Trutofsky's illustration of it.
A number of peasants have come to lay before the district Ispravnik, or officer of rural
police, a complaint against some of their petty oppressors. But, on arriving near the
Ispravnik's house, they see that worthy standing in his verandah, benignantly smiling on
the two men they have come to complain of, who are offering him a variety of presents,
all of which the peasants recognise as having formerly belonged to themselves.
Horrifiedcat the sight, they are evidently about to retire without laying their case before
such a judge.]
Fable XXXIX.
The Bag
An empty Bag long lay neglected on the ground, in the corner of an antechamber,
the lowest menials of the house often using it as a mat to rub their shoes upon.
But suddenly our Bag was turned to honourable account, and filled full of ducats.
In an iron-bound coffer it now lies in security.
Its master caresses it with his own hand, and takes such care of it that not a breath
of wind is able to ruffle it; no fly dares to light upon it. Besides this, the whole town
becomes well acquainted with the Bag.
If a friend comes to visit its master, he willingly begins to say pleasant things about
the Bag. Whenever it is opened, every one smiles sweetly upon it; and whoever sits
down by its side is sure to pat it or stroke it affectionately, seeing that it is universally respected.
The Bag begins to be puffed up, to make much of itself, to air its cleverness. It begins to
chatter and to give utterance to non sense, discussing and criticising everything: "This is
not so," and "That man is a fool," or "That affair will turn out badly."
Every one gives it his entire attention, listening with open mouth, although it talks
nonsense enough to make their ears tingle. But, unfortunately, men have this weakness,
that they are sure to admire whatever a Bag says, so long as it is full of ducats.
But did the Bag long enjoy honour? did its reputation for cleverness last, and was it
long the object of endearment? Only until its last ducat had been taken out of it: then it
was flung out of doors, and nothing more was ever heard of it.
[To this Bag Krilof compares many of the wealthy brandytax farmers.*
Some of them, he says, were once mere waiters in petty taverns, but have now grown
rich, and assumed airs of importance.
"A million is a great fact. Only, friends, don't be too proud. Shall I whisper the truth to
you? God grant you may not get ruined! For, if you do, the same fate will befall you that
befell the Bag."]
*Contractors who farmed the tax on spirits, and made colossal fortunes, supplying the peasants with the
worst of liquors, and getting as much as they could out of them.
The whole system has now been altered, and this class of contractors no longer exists.
Fable XL.
Fortune and the Beggar
A wretched Beggar, carrying a ragged old wallet, was creeping along from house to
house; and, as he grumbled at his lot, he kept wondering that folks who lived in rich
apartments, and were up to their throats in money and in the sweets of indulgence,
should be always unsatisfied, however full their pockets might be, and that they should
go so far as often to lose all they have, while unreasonably craving for, and laying their
hands on, new riches.
"Here, for instance," he says, "the former master of this house succeeded in trading
prosperously, and made himself enormously rich by commerce. But then, instead of
stopping, and handing over his business to another, and spending the rest of his
years in peace, he took to equipping ships for the sea in the spring.
He expected to get mountains of gold; but the ships were smashed, and his treasures
were swallowed up by the waves.
Now they all lie at the bottom of the sea, and he has found his riches melt away like
those in dreams. Another man became one of the farmers of the spirit-tax, and so gained a million.
That was a trifle: he wanted to double it. So he plunged up to his ears in speculations,
and was utterly ruined. In short, instances of this are countless. And quite right too:
a man should use discretion."
At this moment Fortune suddenly appeared to the Beggar, and said, "Listen! I have long
wished to help you. Here is a lot of ducats I have found. Hold out your wallet, and I will
fill it with them; but only on this condition: All shall be gold that falls into the wallet;
but if any of it falls out of the wallet to the ground, it shall all become dust. Consider this
well. I have warned you beforehand. I shall keep strictly to my compact. Your wallet is
old; don't overload it beyond its powers."
Our Beggar is almost too overjoyed to breathe. He scarcely feels the ground beneath his
feet. He opens his wallet, and with generous hand a golden stream of ducats is poured
into it. The wallet soon becomes rather heavy.
"Is that enough?"
"Not yet."
"Isn't it cracking?"
"Never fear."
"Consider, you're quite a Croesus."
"Just a little more; just add a handful."
"There, it's full. Take care: the wallet is going to burst."
"Just a little bit more."
But at that moment the wallet split; the treasure fell through, and turned to dust; and
Fortune disappeared. The Beggar had nothing but his empty wallet, and remained as
poor as before.
Fable XLI.
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 com plaint 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 God. 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."
Fable XLII.
The Ass
A Peasant had an Ass which seemed to behave itself so discreetly that he could not
praise it too highly. But, in order that it might not get lost in the forest, our peasant tied
a bell round its neck.
On this our Ass, who had evidently heard a great deal of talk about decorations,
became puffed up, began to grow proud and conceited, and looked upon itself as a very
important gentleman. But its new rank proved ruinous to the Ass, poor thing! a fact
which may serve as a lesson for others besides asses. I ought to tell you beforehand that
the Ass was never over-honest; but until it got its bell everything went smoothly with it.
If it made its way into a field of rye or oats, or into a garden, it ate what it wanted, and
then got out again quietly. But now it is a very different story with him.
Whenever our illustrious gentleman trespasses, the bell which now adorns his neck goes
with him, and rings an incessant peal.
Every one looks out to see what it is. Here, one man, seizing a bludgeon, drives our poor
beast out of his rye-field or his garden; and there, another, who owns a field of oats,
no sooner hears the sound of the bell, than he catches up a stake, and begins thrashing
the unfortunate animal's flanks. So that by the autumn our poor grandee is half dead:
the Ass has nothing left but skin and bone.*
In the same way among men, also, rank proves injurious to rogues. As long as a rogue's
position is humble, he is not remarked. But a lofty rank is, to a rogue, as it were a bell
round his neck. Its noise is loud, and may be heard afar off.
*There is a good deal of resemblance between this Ass and the Dog in one of Ζsop's fables.
Fable XVLIII.
The Landlord and the Mice
A certain Merchant built a magazine, in which he stored away his stock of edibles;
and, in order that the mice should not damage them, he instituted a police of cats.
And now the Merchant lives in peace.
His stores are patrolled day and night, and all goes well. Unfortunately, an unexpected
contingency occurs. One of the guardians proves himself a thief. Among cats, as with us
(who knows it not?), the police are not faultless.
But then, instead of detecting and punishing the thief, and sparirig the honest servant,
our landlord orders all his cats to be whipped. As soon as they hear this ingenious
sentence, honest and guilty alike, they all run out of the house as quickly as possible:
our landlord remains catless.
This is just what the mice have been hoping and longing for. They enter the stores as
soon as the cats have left, and in two or three weeks they contrive to eat up the whole
of their contents.
[This fable, printed in 1811, probably alludes to the consequences of the wholesale
punishment inflicted on the officials of the Commissariat and Victualling Departments
during the war with France.
They were disgraced in a body, and their uniforms were taken from them.
The result was, that numbers of them retired from the service, rather than put up with
such a slight.
Krilof was interested in the matter; for the sister of one of his best friends was
married to the General-Provision-Master.]
Fable XLIV.
The Peasant and the Sheep
A peasant summoned a Sheep into court, charging the poor thing with a criminal offence.
The judge was the Fox. The case got into full swing immediately. 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 proofs 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 feathers. 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 of 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 circum stances 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;
and fowls are exceedingly savoury, and opportunity favoured it.
Therefore I decide, according to my conscience, that it is impossible that the Sheep could
have forborne to eat the fowls; and accordingly the Sheep shall be put to death, and its
carcase shall be given to the court, and its fleece shall be taken by the plaintiff."
Fable XLV.
The Razors
As I was travelling, one day, I fell in with an acquaintance, and we spent the night in the
same bed-room. As soon as I awake next morning, what do I hear? My friend is evidently
in trouble. The night before, we had both gone to bed merry and free from care; but now
my friend is entirely changed: he groans, he sighs, he mutters words of com plaining.
"What is the matter, my friend?" I cry. "You're not ill, I hope."
"Oh, no," he replies; " but I 'm shaving."
"What! is that all?" I exclaim; and thereupon I get up and look at him. The strange fellow
is making faces at himself in the looking-glass, with tears in his eyes, and looking as
agonized all the time as if he were expecting to be flayed alive.
When I had at last discovered the cause of such sufferings, I say to him, "It's no wonder,
and it 's entirely your own fault that you are so much hurt. Just look at those things of
yours. They are more like carving-knives than razors: as to shaving with them, that is
impossible. All you can do is to scrape yourself painfully with them."
"I must allow, brother," he replies, "that the razors are excessively blunt; how can I help
knowing that ? I'm not such a fool as all that. But I never use sharp ones, for fear of
cutting myself."
"But I venture to assure you, my friend, that you will cut yourself much sooner with
a blunt razor. With a sharp one you will shave yourself twice as safely; only you must
know how to use it properly."
Are there not many, though they would be ashamed to own it, who are afraid of clever
people, and are more ready to have fools about them?
Fable XLVI.
The Monkey and the Mirror
A monkey, which saw its image one day in a mirror, gave a Bear a slight push with its
foot, and said, "Only look, my dear gossip, what a hideous creature that is!
What grimaces it makes! How it skips about! I should hang myself from vexation if
I were at all like that. But, if we must tell the truth, are there not in the number of
our friends five or six such grimacers?"
"Why take the trouble to count up your friends? Would it not be better to take a look at
yourself?" answered the Bear.
But Mishka's advice was only thrown away uselessly.
There are plenty of examples of this in the world. No one is ready to recognise himself in
a satire. I remarked that only yesterday. We all know that Clement's hands are not clean.
Every one charges Clement with taking bribes; but he shakes his head with secret horror
when he thinks of Peter's unjust proceedings.
Fable XLVII.
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 about 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 got into favour on account of 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 got it into favour?" thus the Ox broke in upon their
conversation. "Haven't they, perhaps, been mistaken for horns?"
"Is it possible," said the Ass, 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 distinguished for its long ears, it never would have got into favour."
Fable XLVIII.
The Wolf and the Mouse
A grisly Wolf carried off a sheep from the fold into a retired nook in the forest not from
hospitality, one may well suppose.
The glutton tore the skin off the poor sheep, and began devouring it so greedily that the
bones cracked under its teeth. But, in spite of its rapacity, it could not eat it all up; so it
set aside what remained over for supper, and then, lying down close by it, cuddled itself
together at its ease, after the succulent repast.
But, see, the smell of the banquet has attracted its near neighbour, a young Mouse.
Between the mossy tufts and hillocks it has crept, has seized a morsel of meat, and has
run off quickly to its home in a hollow tree. Perceiving the theft, our Wolf begins to howl
through the forest, crying,
"Police! Robbery! Stop thief! I'm ruined! I've been robbed of everything I possessed!"
Just such an occurrence did I witness in the town. A thief stole a watch from Clement,
the judge, and the judge shouted after the thief, "Police, police!"
Fable XLIX.
The Peasant in Trouble
A Thief crept into a Peasant's house one autumn night, and, betaking himself to the
store-room,* rummaged the walls, the shelves, and the ceiling, and stole, without
remorse, all he could lay his hands on. So that our Moujik, poor fellow, who had lain
down a rich man, woke up so bereft of everything, that a beggar's sack seemed the only
resource left him in the world.
Heaven grant that none of us may ever know a similar waking! The Peasant weeps,
and wails, and calls together his friends and relatives, his gossips, and all his neighbours.
"Can't you help me in my trouble? "he asks.
Then each begins to address the Peasant, and favours him with sage advice.
Says his gossip Karpich, "Ah, my light! you shouldn't have gone boasting to all the world
that you were so rich."
Says his gossip Klimich, "In future, my dear gossip, you must take care to have the
store-room close to the room you sleep in."
"Ah, brothers, you're all in the wrong," exclaims his neighbour Phocas. "The fault wasn't
in the store-room being at a distance. What you must do is to keep some fierce dogs in
your yard. Take whichever you please of my Jouchka's puppies. I would far rather
cordially make a present of them to a good neighbour than drown them."
And thus, as far as words went, his loving friends and relatives gave him a thousand
excellent pieces of advice, each according to his power; but when it came to deeds,
not one of them would help the poor fellow.
*The Kliet is a sort of general store-room, serving the purposes of a larder a clothes-press, &c.
Fable L.
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 with it lime trees, in the
forest, 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."