I. The Fable
Æsop
The fable is a very old type of narrative, so old that critics are not sure of the place of its origin. Some think that it rose at the court of Crœsus with Æsop and spread eastward and westward. Others maintain that it came from India to the court of the Lydian king, and was adopted by Æsop, the king's state orator, as a most convenient device for impressing political lessons on a restless people in a scattered empire. Others say that there never was a man Æsop at all. But legend goes into detail to the effect that this ancient politician was once a slave and that he rose from his servile condition to be the counsellor of kings by the sheer force of his brains and an appreciation of practical problems (much as our self-made men of today have risen). Once even, when sent as a royal messenger to a rebellious and distant part of the empire, he quelled a mob and saved his own life by his ready wit in telling a story and applying the moral. He wrote nothing himself, legend goes on to admit, but he scattered his practical narratives far and wide, and they were finally collected as a distinct species of literature.
Other early fabulists
Whatever the truth of the legend may be, it is certain that there were in the Greek language early collections of fables called "Æsop." More than three hundred years before Christ, Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle translated stories from "Æsop." Plutarch and Lucian, in the second century after Christ, remade them. In the thirteenth century Marie de France versified a hundred of them, using an old English source which we cannot now find. She called her collection Ysopet, or "Little Æsop." Finally in 1447, Planudes, a monk of Constantinople, put forth in prose a collection of about three hundred stories, which bears the name of "Æsop."
Hitopadesa and Panchatantra
The East never stopped to cavil about the source of fables. It has always loved the type. The Hindoos have two very ancient Sanscrit collections of fable-like discourses—the "Panchatantra" (Five Books), written in prose, and the "Hitopadesa" (Friendly Instruction), in verse. These differ from ordinary sets of fables in having the principle of connection throughout and in being, instead of mere brief tales, rather romantic and dramatic dialogues and expositions designed as text-books for the instruction of princes and those called to govern. Many selections, however, have been taken out, translated, modified, and used either as whole stories or as elements of larger ones.
Reynard the Fox and beastiaries
The very widely read and extensively translated eleventh century "Reynard the Fox" is a beast-epic, and not a fable in the technical sense of the term. As likewise the bestiaries are not fables. Those quaint medieval collections of false lore, modeled probably on some earlier Greek or Latin physiologus, were meant as doctrinal expository allegories rather than zoological treatises or than narratives which would fall within our present classification. Yet they are allied to this group in that they are symbolic and didactic and permit unnatural natural history.
Some more writers of fables
There have always been men who wrote of their own times original satires in the form of fables, exposing vice and folly. Phædrus, a freedman of Augustus, wrote five such books in the reign of Tiberius. Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio, and Poggio knew and used the type. The greatest name in modern literature in connection with the fable is that of the Frenchman Jean de la Fontaine, who lived at the court of Louis Fourteenth. He expressed in exquisite verse-narrative very high social maxims. Many of our finest well-known fables are paraphrases of his lines. His own favorite was the "Oak and the Reed." He is supposed to have drawn his inspirations from Phædrus. Our own English writers, Gay and Pope, Addison and Prior, Steele and Dodsley, Moore, Goldsmith, Cowper, and others, wrote fables both in prose and verse. Indeed, worthy old Henryson, of "Robin and Makyne" fame, wrote in the fifteenth century a book of "Morall Fables of Esope the Phrygian" in Chaucerian stanzas. One of these poems he calls the "Uplondish Mous and the Berger Mous." Kriloff, the Russian fabulist, who died in the middle of the nineteenth century, disputes the highest place with La Fontaine in the minds of many critics, especially for his originality. A twentieth century humorous set of rational apologues is George Ade's "Fables in Slang."
The popular "Uncle Remus" stories are negro animal-myths rather than fables. Though Kipling's first "Jungle Book" narratives are in effect sui generis, they belong with fable typically if anywhere, as the unnatural very natural beast philosophy evinces. "His Majesty's Servant," the last of the volume, is easily classified. Some of the later tales are animal-myths, however—to wit, "How Fear Came" and "How the Camel Got His Hump;" and some, like "The Miracle of Purun Bhagat," are legends; but the talk and actions of the animals in all are fable-wise. The French, it seems, have lately pushed the type the farthest, though in a logical direction. They have retained the animal talk and the satire, but have cast away the narrative. Under the patronage of Rostand, Sir Chanticler has come before the footlights. This play happens to be an anomalous union of the two old distinct meanings of the word "fable"—one, the undelying story of a drama; the other, a symbolic, usually satiric, didactic tale.
Working definition
In the narrative sense of the term, a fable is a very brief invented, double-meaning story in which a lesson of every day practical morality is taught. The kind of lesson is one of the points that distinguish fable from parable and allegory. The fable never aims higher than inculcating maxims of prudential conduct—industry, caution, foresight, and the like—and these it will sometimes recommend at the expense of the higher, self-forgetting virtues. A typical fable reaches just the pitch of morality which the world will approve. In spirit the fable is often humorous, often ironical. In diction it is always simple, forceful, and appropriate.
Three classes of fables have been noticed: (1) the rational—in which the actors and speakers are solely human beings or the gods of mythology, (2) the non-rational—in which the heroes are solely animals, trees, vegetables, or inanimate objects, (3) the mixed—in which the rational and non-rational are combined.
Classes of fables
Now what distinguishes all these from myth and legend is the presence of the evident and acknowledged didactic purpose. What distinguishes the first class, the rational fable, from a parable is the low plane of the motive. Above the utilitarian the fable never rises. If the fable teaches honesty, it teaches it merely as the best policy. What distinguishes the non-rational and the mixed fables from allegory is both the limitation of the moral and the kind of hero. The lesson of the fable is always piquant, single, and clear. The actors in a fable are always things concrete in nature as well as in the story.
The most popular, and hence the most typical of the three classes of fables, is the second, often called also the "beast fable." The beast fable departs somewhat from the laws of nature. In the dialogue, animals and inanimate objects act like human beings. A fox and a bear, for instance, will philosophize on politics. A lion and a mouse will exchange courtesies. But it is a remarkable feature of this type of story that we do not resent the incongruity. And that we do not resent it is because there is a truthfulness that is more interesting to us than is the natural order of the universe—namely, the truthfulness of characterization. Here the verisimilitude must be complete. Although acting the part of rational beings, the animals must be true to our accepted notion of their animal nature—a fox must be foxy; a bear, bearish; a lion, haughty; a mouse, timid; a cat, deceptive; a monkey, mischievous; a canary, dependent; an eagle, lofty; and so on, and so on. It is not necessary that they have no other characteristics, but it is necessary that they possess the commonly ascribed ones.
How to write an original fable
To write what is strictly a fable, a person will need to observe the distinctions of the type in general as cut off from parable on the one hand and allegory on the other, and to observe the distinctions of the subdivisions within the type. Then he must decide, of course, which subdivision he is going to follow, must select his moral, pick out his actors, think over their characteristics, and finally narrate a brief occurrence in a vivid, homely style. The dialogue, while correct, should be very colloquial. It is well for one to pay especial attention to author's narrative, likewise, that it may be informing though limited. After all is told, the writer may or may not affix a maxim at the end, definitely and neatly stated. In either case, however, the lesson taught should be unmistakable. Original and spirited fables could be written in the field of civic morals, about which the world has just begun to think seriously. Despite the good work that is being done in the name of charity, there is room surely for pleasant satire when a Happy Childhood Society gives elaborately dressed dolls to naked babies.
If one chooses to write a rational fable, where the actors are human beings, one must be careful not to write a parable. The lesson of a fable is always unsentimentally practical—not spiritual. Where the actors are gods, or gods and men, the student-writer must distinguish fable from myth. He should not aim at explaining a universal phenomenon, but simply at teaching a single, acute, work-a-day lesson.
Armenian proverbs that might be used for fable maxims
1. When a man sees that the water does not follow him, he follows the water.
2. Strong vinegar bursts the cask.
3. Dogs quarrel among themselves, but against the wolf they are united.
4. Only a bearded man can laugh at a beardless face.
5. Make friends with a dog, but keep a stick in your hand.
6. One should not feel hurt at the kick of an ass.
7. Running is also an art.
8. He who speaks the truth must have one foot in the stirrup.
9. Before Susan had done prinking, church was over.
10. When you are going in, first consider how you are coming out.
11. The ass knows seven ways of swimming, but when he sees the water he forgets them all.
12. A shrewd enemy is better than a stupid friend.
13. Because the cat could get no meat he said, "Today is Friday."
14. A goat prefers one goat to a whole herd of sheep.
15. A near neighbor is better than a distant kinsman.
16. When I have honey, the flies come even from Bagdad.
RATIONAL, WITH THE ACTORS GODS AND MEN
Jupiter and the Countryman
Jupiter, to reward the piety of a certain countryman, promised to give him whatever he would ask. The countryman desired that he might have the management of the weather in his own estate. He obtained his request, and immediately distributed rain, snow, and sunshine among his several fields as he thought the nature of the soil required. At the end of the year when he expected to see a more than ordinary crop, his harvest fell infinitely short of that of his neighbors. Thereupon he desired Jupiter to take the weather again into his own hands, for the countryman knew that otherwise he should utterly ruin himself.
—Spectator No. 25.
NON-RATIONAL—INANIMATE OBJECT
The Drop of Water
A drop of water fell out of a cloud into the sea, and finding itself lost amid such a countless number of its companions, broke out in complaint of its lot. "Alas! what an insignificant creature am I in this vast ocean of waters! My existence is of no concern to the universe; I am reduced to a kind of nothing, and I am less than the least works of God." It so happened that an oyster, which lay in the neighborhood of this drop, chanced to gape and swallow it up in the midst of its humble soliloquy. The drop lay a great while hardening in the shell till by degrees it was ripened into a pearl. The pearl fell into the hands of a diver, after a long series of adventures, and is at present the famous ornament fixed on the top of the Persian diadem.
—Persian fable. Adapted in the Spectator No. 293.
POLITICAL SATIRE
The Grandee at the Judgment-Seat
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 justice seat 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 to 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't you 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.
—Kriloff.
BEAST FABLES
The Lion and the Old Hare
On the Mandara mountain there lived a Lion named Fierce-of-Heart, and he was perpetually making massacre of all the wild animals. The thing grew so bad that the beasts held a public meeting, and drew up a respectful remonstrance to the Lion in these words:
"Wherefore should your Majesty thus make carnage of us all? If it may please you, we ourselves will daily furnish a beast for your Majesty's meal." Thereupon the Lion responded, "If that arrangement is more agreeable to you, be it so;" and from that time a beast was allotted to him daily, and daily devoured. One day it came to the turn of an old hare to supply the royal table, who reflected to himself as he walked along, "I can but die, and will go to my death leisurely."
Now Fierce-of-Heart, the lion, was pinched with hunger, and seeing the Hare so approaching, he roared out, "How darest thou thus delay in coming?"
"Sire," replied the Hare, "I am not to blame. I was detained on the road by another lion, who exacted an oath from me to return when I should have informed your Majesty."
"Go," exclaimed King Fierce-of-Heart in a rage; "show me instantly where this insolent villain of a lion lives."
The Hare led the way accordingly until he came to a deep well, whereat he stopped, and said, "Let my lord the King come hither and behold him." The Lion approached, and beheld his own reflection in the water of the well, upon which, in his passion, he directly flung himself, and so perished.
—Hitopadesa. Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold.
The Fox and the Crab
The Fox and the Crab lived together like brothers; together they sowed their land, reaped the harvest, thrashed the grain and garnered it.
The Fox said one day: "Let us go to the hill-top, and whoever reaches it first shall carry off the grain for his own."
While they were (starting) to mount the steep, the Crab said:
"Do me a favor; before we set off running, touch me with your tail, so that I shall know it and be able to follow you."
The Crab opened his claws, and when the Fox touched him with his tail, he leaped forward and seized it, so that when the Fox reached the goal and turned around to see where the Crab was, the Crab fell upon the heap of grain and said: "These three bushels and a half are all mine." The Fox was thunderstruck and exclaimed:
"How did you get here, you rascal?"
This fable shows that deceitful men devise many methods and actions for getting things their own way, but that they are often defeated by the feeble.
—Turkish Fable. Translated by Epiphanius Wilson.
RATIONAL, WITH THE ACTORS MEN
The Fool Who Sells Wisdom
A certain fool kept constantly passing through the streets of a town.
"Who will buy wisdom?" he cried in a loud voice. A citizen met him on his way, accosted him, and presented him with some small pieces of money.
"Sell me a little wisdom," he said.
"Here it is," replied the other, cuffing him heartily, and immediately putting into his hands a long thread.
"If you wish in the future to be wise and prudent," said the hawker to him, "always keep as far away from fools as the length of this thread."
Moral: We should avoid all connection and communication with fools and cranks.
—Ibid.
ALMOST A PARABLE
The Archer and the Trumpeter
The Archer and the Trumpeter were travelling together in a lonely place. The Archer boasted of his skill as a warrior, and asked the Trumpeter if he bore arms.
"No," replied the Trumpeter, "I cannot fight. I can only blow my horn, and make music for those who are at war."
"But I can hit a mark at a hundred paces," said the Archer. As he spoke, an eagle appeared, hovering over the tree tops. He drew out an arrow, fitted it on the string, shot at the bird, which straightway fell to the ground, transfixed to the heart.
"I am not afraid of any foe; for that bird might just as well have been a man," said the Archer proudly. "But you would be quite helpless if anyone attacked you."
They saw at the moment a band of robbers, approaching them with drawn swords. The Archer immediately discharged a sharp arrow which laid low the foremost of the wicked men. But the rest soon overpowered him and bound his hands.
"As for this trumpeter, he can do us no harm, for he has neither sword nor bow," they said, and did not bind him, but took away his purse and wallet.
Then the Trumpeter said: "You are welcome, friends, but let me play you a tune on my horn."
With their consent he blew loud and long on his trumpet, and in a short space of time the guards of the King came running up at the sound, and surrounded the robbers and carried them off to prison.
When they unbound the hands of the Archer, he said to the Trumpeter: "Friend, I have learned to-day that a trumpet is better than a bow; for you have saved our lives without doing harm to anyone."
This fable shows that one man ought not to despise the trade of another. It also shows that it is better to be able to gain the help of others than to trust to our own strength.
—Ibid.
The Courtship of Sir Butterfly
It was a beautiful May morning. The air was soft and balmy, still retaining the freshness of the evening. Sir Butterfly woke up very early to go to the garden and pay a visit to the beautiful flowers that grew there. The garden looked inviting. For there was already Miss Sampaguita, fresh as the morning with little drops of dew on her cheeks; there was the tall and graceful Miss Champaka; there was Miss Ilang-ilang, giving perfume to the balmy air that kissed her; there was Miss Sunflower with her face toward the Eastern Gate—all of them were expecting early and courteous visitors.
However, Sir Butterfly was a shrewd critic, and could find faults in each one of these beauties. But when he came before Miss Rose, he found himself at a loss what to say. In fact, he was fascinated by her beauty, and soon began to flutter about her. After a while he addressed her in this way:
"Fair Rose, thou art the queen of flowers;
This throne I give alone to thee;
And this I'll say at all hours,
The sweetest nectar thine must be.
"Thy garment of the purest green
Befits right well thy being a queen;
And this I have to say to thee,
The sweetest nectar thine must be.
"Thy cheeks are rosy, lips are red
With tints of freshness never dead;
Come, give me a kiss, sweet Rose,
Of thine own nectar sweet, a dose."
Here Miss Rose interrupted him. "Nay, nay, please do not flatter me," she said in a tone of affected coquetry.
But Sir Butterfly continued his recitation:
"Thy graceful form invites me
A dear embrace to give thee."
Saying this, he drew near her and passed his arms around her body. But what an embrace! The thorns held him fast; he was now a wounded prisoner. In a tone of anger and despair he cried: "Let me free, you ugly, ugly Miss Rose!"
Moral: The seemingly desirable is not always desirable, or circumstances alter estimates.
—Máximo M. Kalaw.
The Hat and the Shoes
Once a man owned two faithful servants, a hat and a pair of shoes. The shoes had always been jealous of the hat: in the first place, because the master carried the hat instead of the hat's carrying him; secondly, because the hat was given a great deal of care and had a regular place where it was put; while the shoes, who carried both the master and the hat, were just thrown anywhere after their service.
Of course the shoes did not feel satisfied with such partial treatment, and had long wished to have a short talk with the hat to discuss this matter of importance; but they had always been put far apart.
One day, while their master was asleep and while they were having a rest, a child got hold of the hat and the shoes as playthings. The shoes were then glad of this; for they could have a hearty chat. Soon afterwards, the child grew tired of playing and feel asleep. They then discussed their respective positions.
"Why is it, my friend," asked the shoes, who began the discussion, "that you are always carried by our master and taken good care of?"
"Don't be envious of my position, my friend shoes. Our master takes such good care of me because I protect the most important part of his body, while you, you just serve his feet," replied the hat.
"You are mistaken. Yes, you are entirely mistaken. I serve not only his feet, but his legs, body, and hands, and head too, and what is more, I, a servant, also serve you who are like myself," argued the shoes. The hat was ashamed because of what the shoes had expounded and was unable to continue the discussion.
Moral: When you occupy a position of dignity, don't think that those below you are your servants and their work is of little value; for generally those men are the ones who support you, and their services may be of more importance than yours.
—José R. Perez.
The Crocodile and the Peahen
Once there lived a young crocodile on the bank of the Pasig River. He was so fierce and so greedy that no animals dared to approach him. One day while he was resting on a rock, he thought of getting married. He said aloud, "I will give all that I have for a wife." As he pronounced these words, a coquettish peahen passed near him. The naughty crocodile expressed his wish again. The coquette listened carefully, and began to examine the crocodile's looks.
She said to herself, "I will marry this crocodile. He is very rich. Oh, my! If I could only have all those pearls and diamonds, I should be the happiest wife in the world." She made up her mind to marry the crocodile. She then alighted on the rock where the crocodile was, who made his offer again with extreme politeness, as a hypocrite always does. She thought that the big eyes of the crocodile were two beautiful diamonds and that the rough skin was made of pearls, so she accepted the proposal. The crocodile asked the peahen to sit on his mouth, that she might not spoil her beautiful feathers with mud. The foolish bird did as she was told. What do you think happened! He made a good dinner of his new wife.
Moral: Be attracted by quality rather than wealth.
—Elisa R. Esquerra.
The Old Man, His Son, and His Grandson
In olden times, when men lived to be two or three hundred years old, there dwelt a very poor family near a big forest. The household had but three members—a grandfather, a father, and a son. The grandfather was an old man of one hundred and twenty-five years. He was so old that the help of his housemates was needed to feed him. Many a time, and especially after meals, he related to his son and to his grandson his brave deeds while serving in the king's army, the responsible positions he filled after leaving a soldier's life; and he told entertaining stories of hundreds of years gone by. The father was not satisfied with the arrangement, however, and planned to get rid of the old man.
One day he said to his son, "At present, I am receiving a peso daily, but half of it is spent to feed your worthless grandfather. We do not get any real benefit from him. To-morrow let us bind him and take him to the woods, and leave him there to die."
"Yes, father," said the boy.
When the morning came, they bound the old man and took him to the forest. On their way home the boy said to his father, "Wait, I will go back, and get the rope." "What for?" asked his father, raising his voice. "To have it ready when your turn comes," replied the boy, believing that to cast every old man into the forest was the usual custom. "Ah! if that is likely to be the case with me, back we go, and get your grandfather again."
—Eutiquiano Garcia.