FABLES from KRILOF

FABLES FROM KRILOF

    "Shall not my fable censure vice,

  Because a Knave is over-nice?

    And, lest the guilty hear and dread,

  Shall not the decalogue be read?"

JOHN GAY

FABLES FROM KRILOF

The Education of the Lion

To the Lion, king of the forests, was given a son.

Among us, a child a year old, even if it belong to a royal family, is small and weak. But, by the time it has lived a twelve-month, a lion-cub has long ago left off its baby-clothes.

So, at the end of a year, the Lion began to consider that he must not allow his royal son to remain ignorant, that the dignity of the kingdom be not degraded, and that when the son's turn should come to govern the kingdom the nation should have no cause to reproach the father on his account.

But whom should he entreat, or compel, or induce by rewards, to instruct the czarevitch to become a czar?

The Fox is clever, but it is terribly addicted to lying, 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? All who speak of that animal say that it is an extreme admirer of order and regularity; that it never takes a step till it has examined 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; but, unfortunately, it cannot see anything at a distance. The Mole's love of order is an excellent thing for animals of its own kind, but the Lion's kingdom is considerably more extensive than a mole-run.

Should he choose the Panther? The Panther is brave and strong, and is, besides, a great master of military tactics; but the Panther knows nothing of politics, is ignorant of everything that belongs to civil affairs. A king must be a judge and a minister as well as a warrior. 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 esteemed in the forest as Plato used to be in Greece, seemed wise enough to satisfy the Lion.

By good fortune, or the opposite—we shall find out which—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 a great weight removed from his shoulders. What could be better than a king as the tutor for a prince? So the Lion-cub was got ready, and sent off to the Eagle's court, there to learn how to govern.

And now two or three years go by. Ask whom you will, meanwhile, you hear nothing but praise of the young Lion; and all the birds scatter throughout the forests the wonderful stories of his merits.

At last the appointed time comes, and the Lion sends for his son. The prince arrives, and all the people are gathered together, great and small alike.

The king embraces his son before them all, and thus addresses him: "My beloved son, you are my only heir. I am looking forward to the grave, but you are just entering upon life. Before I make over my sceptre to you, tell me, in the presence of this assembly, what you have been taught, and in what manner you propose to make your people happy."

"Papa," exclaimed the prince, "I know what no one 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 the wants of every bird, without missing one. Here is the certificate 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. When you have made up your mind to transfer the kingdom 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, too late, the Lion perceived that the young Lion had learned nothing of what was wanted, that he was acquainted with birds only, not knowing anything of the nature of beasts, although he was destined to rule over them, and that he was destitute of that which is most requisite in kings—the knowledge of the wants of their own people and the interests of their own country.

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 with 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.

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.

Trishka's Caftan

Trishka's caftan was out at the elbows. But 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:

"I'm not a fool. I'll set this affair straight also. I'll make the sleeves longer than they were before. They shall see Trishka is no mere commonplace fellow."

So he cut off the skirts of his caftan, and used them to lengthen his sleeves.

Then Trishka was happy, though he had a caftan which was as short as a waistcoat.

In a similar way I have sometimes seen other embarrassed people set straight their affairs. Take a look at them as they dash away. They have all got on Trishka's caftan.

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 rest 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."

The Quartette

The tricksy Monkey, the Goat, the Ass, and bandy-legged 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 entreated 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."

Demian's Fish Soup

"Neighbour, light of mine 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 with amber. Here is a bream; there a lump of sterlet. Take a little more, dear, kind friend. Just another spoonful. Wife, come and entreat him!"

Thus does Demian feast his neighbour Phocas, not giving him a moment's breathing time.

Phocas feels the moisture trickling down his forehead. Still he takes the soup, 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 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 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 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 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."

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 circumstances, 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 carcass 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 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 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 passed 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."

"Poor thing!" says the Dove, "I pity you from my heart. As for me, though I know such things often occur, I should die outright it my dovelets did not love me. But tell me, have you already brought up your little ones? When did you find time to build a nest? I never saw you doing anything of the kind: you were always flying and fluttering about."

"No, indeed!" says the Cuckoo. "Pretty nonsense it would have been if I had spent such fine days in sitting on a nest! That would, indeed, have been the highest pitch of stupidity! I always laid my eggs in the nests of other birds."

"Then how can you expect your little ones to care for you?" says the

Turtle-dove.

The Peasant and the Horse

A Peasant was sowing oats one day. Seeing the work go on, a young

Horse began to reason about it, grumbling to himself:

"A pretty piece of work, this, for which he brings such a quantity of oats here! And yet they are all the time saying that men are wiser than we are. Can anything possibly be more foolish or ridiculous than to plough up a whole field like this in order to scatter one's oats over it afterward to no purpose. Had he given them to me, or to the bay there, or had he even thought fit to fling them to the fowls, it would have been more like business. Or even if he had hoarded them up, I should have recognized avarice in that. But to fling them uselessly away—why, that is sheer stupidity!"

Meanwhile time passed; and in the autumn the oats were garnered, and the Peasant fed this very Horse upon them all the winter.

There can be no doubt, Reader, that you do not approve of the opinions of the Horse. But from the oldest times to our own days has not man been equally audacious in criticising the designs of a Providence of whose means or ends he sees and knows nothing?

The Wolf and the Cat

A Wolf ran out of the forest into a village—not to pay a visit, but to save its life; for it trembled for its skin.

The huntsmen and a pack of hounds were after it. It would fain have rushed in through the first gateway; but there was this unfortunate circumstance against the scheme that all the gateways were closed.

The Wolf sees a Cat on a partition fence, and says pleadingly, "Vaska, my friend, tell me quickly, which of the moujiks here is the kindest, so that I may hide myself from my evil foes? Listen to the cry of the dogs and the terrible sound of the horns? All that noise is actually made in chase of me!"

"Go quickly, and ask Stefan," says Vaska, the Cat; "he is a very kind man."

"Quite true; only I have torn the skin off one of his sheep."

"Well, then, you can try Demian."

"I'm afraid he's angry with me, too; I carried off one of his kids."

"Run over there, then; Trofim lives there."

"Trofim! I should be afraid of even meeting him. Ever since the spring he has been threatening me about a lamb."

"Dear me, that's bad! But perhaps Klim will protect you."

"Oh, Vaska, I have killed one of his calves."

"What do I hear, friend? You've quarrelled with all the village," cried Vaska to the Wolf. "What sort of protection can you hope for here? No, no; our moujiks are not so destitute of sense as to be willing to save you to their own hurt. And, really, you have only yourself to blame. What you have sown, that you must now reap."

The Eagle and the Mole

An Eagle and his mate flew into a deep forest and determined to make it their permanent abode. So they chose an oak, lofty and wide-spreading, and began to build themselves a nest on the top of it, hoping there to rear their young in the summer.

A Mole, who heard about all this, plucked up courage enough to inform the Eagles that the oak was not a proper dwelling-place for them; that it was almost entirely rotten at the root, and was likely soon to fall, and that therefore the Eagles ought not to make their nest upon it.

But is it becoming that an Eagle should accept advice coming from a Mole in a hole? Where then would be the glory of an Eagle having such keen eyes? And how comes it that Moles dare to meddle in the affairs of the king of Birds?

So, saying very little to the Mole, whose counsel he despised, the Eagle set to work quickly—and the King soon got ready the new dwelling for the Queen.

All goes well, and now the Eagles have little ones. But what happens? One day, when at early dawn the Eagle is hastening back from the chase, bringing a rich breakfast to his family, as he drops down from the sky he sees—his oak has fallen, and has crushed beneath it his mate and his little ones!

"Wretched creature that I am!" he cries, anguish blotting out from him the light; "for my pride has fate so terribly punished me, and because I gave no heed to wise counsel. But could one expect that wise counsel could possibly come from a miserable Mole?"

Then from its hole the Mole replies: "Had not you despised me, you would have remembered that I burrow within the earth, and that, as I live among the roots, I can tell with certainty whether a tree be sound or not."

The Spider and the Bee

A Merchant brought some linen to a fair. That's a thing everybody wants to buy, so it would have been a sin in the Merchant if he had complained of his sale. There was no keeping the buyers back: the shop was at times crammed full.

Seeing how rapidly the goods went off, an envious Spider was tempted by the Merchant's gains. She took it into her head to weave goods for sale herself, and determined to open a little shop for them in a window corner, seeking thereby to undermine the Merchant's success.

She commenced her web, spun the whole night long, and then set out her wares on view. From her shop she did not stir, but remained sitting there, puffed up with pride, and thinking, "So soon as the day shall dawn will all buyers be enticed to me."

Well, the day did dawn. But what then? There came a broom, and the ingenious creatures and her little shop were swept clean away.

Our Spider went wild with vexation.

"There!" she cried, "what's the good of expecting a just reward? And yet I ask the whole world—Whose work is the finer, mine or that Merchant's?"

"Yours, to be sure," answered the Bee. "Who would venture to deny the fact? Every one knew that long ago. But what is the good of it if there's neither warmth nor wear in it?"

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, dear friend, I could listen forever."

"And as for you, my beauty, I protest that when you are silent I scarcely know how to wait till you begin again. Where do you get such a voice?—so clear, so soft, so high! But no doubt you were always like that: not very large in stature, but in song—a nightingale."

"Thanks, friend. As for you, I declare on my conscience you sing better than the birds in the Garden of Eden. I appeal to public opinion for a proof of this."

At this moment a Sparrow, who had overheard their conversation, said to them:

"You may go on praising each other till you are hoarse, my friends; but your music is utterly worthless."

Why was it, that, not fearing to sin, the Cuckoo praised the Cock?

Simply because the Cock praised the Cuckoo.

The Peasant and the Robber

A Peasant who was beginning to stock his little farm had bought a cow and a milk-pail at the fair, and was going quietly home by a lonely path through the forest, when he suddenly fell into the hands of a Robber. The Robber stripped him as bare as a lime-tree.

"Have mercy!" cried the Peasant. "I am utterly ruined. You have reduced me to beggary. For a whole year I have worked to buy this dear little cow. I could hardly bear to wait for this day to arrive."

"Very good," replied the Robber, touched with compassion; "Don't cry out so against me. After all, I shall not want to milk your cow; so I'll give you back your milk-pail."