Types of Prose Narratives: A Text-Book for the Story Writer

by Harriott Ely Fansler

II. Parable

Parable contrasted with fable

The parable, like the fable, is a short didactic story; but the lesson of the parable is always spiritual, though not necessarily religious. The fable never rises above the common-place: it preaches a worldly morality. Self-interest and prudence are its tenets; it often satirizes; it laughs at mankind. The parable, on the contrary, is always serious: it is earnest and high in its purpose. It tries to win mankind to generosity and self-forgetting, or tries to shame him for his neglect by presenting good deeds in contrast with his, or tries to drive him forth to an awe-struck repentance by a representation of righteous anger.

The actors in a parable never violate the laws of nature. If animals appear, for instance, they do not talk. They follow as the friends or subjects of man, as in actual life. Man's dominion over them is spiritual; hence they may have a place in the parable along with him but not without him.

Characteristics of parables

Where the parable departs from the true story is in the fact that the men in the parable are types, and the deeds are symbolic. We have not Mr. John W. Richards, a particular farmer and an individual, plowing a field of corn in Mason County, Illinois, on July 3; but instead we have such statements as these: "The Farmer went out to plow his corn," "The Sower went out to sow the seeds," "A Householder hired laborers for his vineyard;" or "Once a King had two servants," or "The Prodigal sat among the swine in a far country." If the name of an actor is ever individual—like that of Abraham, for instance, in Franklin's prose parable, or Abou Ben Adhem in Leigh Hunt's poem—the actor himself is nevertheless representative. Abraham stands for the whole Jewish people in its exclusiveness; and Abou Ben Adhem, for all doubters who yet love their fellow-men. A character's seeing of angels or hearing of the voice of the Deity does not break the versimilitude of parables; for these matters are readily taken subjectively.

The spiritual truth of a parable is generally independent and separable from the story, which can always be read as narrative of actual events, though it is meant to be symbolic. The interpretation comes from without. It is either left to be inferred by the reader or is written before or after the narrative in the form of a summarizing figure of speech or a detailed collated exposition. You remember that Christ took his disciples aside and explained his parables to them.

Tolstoy

Count Tolstoy has written many parables. He combines his teaching with virile realism until he is as enthusiastically read as are the popular and less spiritual authors. "What Men Live By" is an exquisite example of his teaching, and, while it embodies a church legend, is a regular parable in form. It has the requisite generic atmosphere about it: the shoemaker and his wife, the rich purchaser, the kind foster-mother, and the children are all types. The intense realism comes in in the representation of Russian life. The lesson is given in an orderly exposition after the narrative of events is finished.

Suggestions on writing parables

In writing an original parable, one should avoid the diction of the Bible, that is, should avoid phraseology archaic or especially religious; but it would be well to imitate the simplicity and straightforwardness of the Biblical narrative. A modern parable writer to be successful would avoid mawkishness, and what is popularly designated as "preaching,"—but he would shadow forth nevertheless very clearly a high, spiritual truth. He would study living examples carefully so as to express inevitable actions in a few luminous words. There are many noble lessons to be taught by the actions of typical men in typical situations.

Working definition

The adjectives symbolic, serious, spiritual, typical, and natural might be embodied in a working definition thus: A parable is a narrative of imaginary events, a symbolic didactic story, wherein the actors are always types of men or types of men and animals (never exclusively of animals), and whereof the lesson is always spiritual, single, and separate, and the tone is always serious, and the events always appear natural and customary.

A list of proverbs that might be expanded into parables

1. God understands the dumb.

2. What a man acquires in his youth serves as a crutch in his old age.

3. Begin with small things that you may achieve great.

4. He who steals an egg will steal a horse also.

5. One can spoil the good name of a thousand.

6. One bad deed begets another.

7. The grandfather ate unripe grapes and the grandson's teeth were set on edge.

8. What is play to the cat is death to the mouse (modern, political parable).

9. When a man grows rich, he thinks his walls are awry.

10. Better lose one's eyes than one's calling.

11. What the wind brings it will take away.

12. No one is sure that his light will burn till morning.

13. The scornful soon grow old.

14. A merry heart doeth good like a medicine.

15. Love ever so well, there is also hate; hate ever so much, there is also love.

16. To rise early is not everything; happy are they who have the help of God.

17. By asking, one finds the way to Jerusalem.

18. When God gives, he gives with both hands.

19. Until you see trouble you will never know joy.

20. We are intelligence, that we may be will.

21. Act only on that maxim which thou couldst will to become a universal law.

The Three Questions

It once occurred to a certain king, that if he always knew the right time to begin everything; if he knew who were the right people to listen to, and whom to avoid; and, above all, if he always knew what was the most important thing to do, he would never fail in anything he might undertake.

And this thought having occurred to him, he had it proclaimed throughout his kingdom that he would give a great reward to any one who would teach him what was the right time for every action, and who were the most necessary people, and how he might know what was the most important thing to do.

And learned men came to the King, but they all answered his questions differently.

In reply to the first question, some said that to know the right time for every action, one must draw up in advance, a table of days, months and years, and must live strictly according to it. Only thus, said they, could everything be done at its proper time. Others declared that it was impossible to decide beforehand the right time for every action; but that, not letting oneself be absorbed in idle pastimes, one should always attend to all that was going on, and then do what was most needful. Others, again, said that however attentive the King might be to what was going on, it was impossible for one man to decide correctly what is the right time for every action, but that he should have a Council of wise men, who would help him to fix the proper time for everything.

But then again others said there were some things which could not wait to be laid before a Council, but about which one had at once to decide whether to undertake them or not. But in order to decide that, one must know beforehand what was going to happen. It is only magicians who know that; and, therefore, in order to know the right time for every action, one must consult magicians.

Equally various were the answers to the second question. Some said, the people the King most needed were his councillors; others, the priests; others, the doctors; while some said the warriors were the most necessary.

To the third question, as to what was the most important occupation: some replied that the most important thing in the world was science. Others said it was skill in warfare; and others, again, that it was religious worship.

All the answers being different, the King agreed with none of them, and gave the reward to none. But still wishing to find the right answers to his questions, he decided to consult a hermit, widely renowned for his wisdom.

The hermit lived in a wood which he never quitted, and he received none but common folk. So the King put on simple clothes, and before reaching the hermit's cell dismounted from his horse, and, leaving his bodyguard behind, went on alone.

When the King approached, the hermit was digging the ground in front of his hut. Seeing the King, he greeted him and went on digging. The hermit was frail and weak, and each time he stuck his spade into the ground and turned a little earth, he breathed heavily.

The King went up to him and said: "I have come to you, wise hermit, to ask you to answer three questions: How can I learn to do the right thing at the right time? Who are the people I most need, and to whom should I, therefore, pay more attention than to the rest? And what affairs are the most important, and need my first attention?"

The hermit listened to the King, but answered nothing. He just spat on his hand and recommenced digging.

"You are tired," said the King, "let me take the spade and work a while for you."

"Thanks," said the hermit, and, giving the spade to the King, he sat down on the ground.

When he had dug two beds, the King stopped and repeated his questions. The hermit again gave no answer, but rose, stretched out his hand for the spade, and said:

"Now rest awhile—and let me work a bit."

But the King did not give him the spade, and continued to dig. One hour passed, and another. The sun began to sink behind the trees, and the King at last stuck the spade into the ground, and said:

"I come to you, wise man, for an answer to my questions. If you can give me none, tell me so, and I will return home."

"Here comes some one running," said the hermit, "let us see who it is."

The King turned around, and saw a bearded man come running out of the wood. The man held his hands pressed against his stomach, and blood was flowing from under them. When he reached the King, he fell fainting on the ground moaning feebly. The King and the hermit unfastened the man's clothing. There was a large wound in his stomach. The King washed it as best as he could, and bandaged it with his handkerchief and with a towel the hermit had. But the blood would not stop flowing, and this King again and again removed the bandage soaked with warm blood, and washed and rebandaged the wound. When at last the blood ceased flowing, the man revived and asked for something to drink. The King brought fresh water and gave it to him. Meanwhile the sun had set, and it had become cool. So the King with the hermit's help, carried the wounded man into the hut and laid him on the bed. Lying on the bed the man closed his eyes and was quiet; but the King was so tired with his walk and with the work he had done, that he crouched down on the threshold, and also fell asleep—so soundly that he slept all through the short summer night. When he awoke in the morning, it was long before he could remember where he was, or who was the strange bearded man lying on the bed and gazing intently at him with shining eyes.

"Forgive me!" said the bearded man in a weak voice, when he saw that the King was awake and was looking at him.

"I do not know you, and have nothing to forgive you for," said the King.

"You do not know me, but I know you. I am that enemy of yours who swore to revenge himself on you because you executed his brother and seized his property. I knew you had gone alone to see the hermit, and I resolved to kill you on your way back. But the day passed and you did not return. So I came out from my ambush to find you, and I came upon your bodyguard, and they recognized me, and wounded me. I escaped from them, but should have bled to death had you not dressed my wound. I wished to kill you, and you have saved my life. Now if I live, and if you wish it, I will serve you as your most faithful slave, and will bid my sons do the same. Forgive me!"

The King was very glad to have made peace with his enemy so easily, and to have gained him for a friend, and he not only forgave him, but said he would send his servants and his own physician to attend him, and promised to restore his property.

Having taken leave of the wounded man, the King went out into the porch and looked around for the hermit. Before going away he wished once more to beg answer to the question he had put. The hermit was outside, on his knees, sowing seeds in the beds that had been dug the day before.

The King approached him, and said:

"For the last-time, I pray you to answer my questions, wise man."

"You have already been answered," said the hermit still crouching on his thin legs, and looking at the King, who stood before him.

"How answered? What do you mean?" asked the King.

"Do you not see," replied the hermit. "If you had not pitied my weakness yesterday, and had not dug these beds for me, but had gone your way, that man would have attacked you, and you would have repented of not having stayed with me. So the most important time was when you were digging the beds; and I was the most important man, and to do me good was your most important business. Afterwards, when that man ran to us, the most important time was when you were attending to him, for if you had not bound up his wounds he would have died without having made peace with you. So he was the most important man, and what you did for him was your most important business. Remember then: there is only one time that is important—Now! It is the most important time because it is the only time when we have any power. The most necessary man is he with whom you are, for no man knows whether he will ever have dealings with any one else: and the most important affair is, to do him good, because for that purpose alone was man sent into this life!"

—Count Leo M. Tolstoy.

"Twenty-Three Tales from Tolstoy," translated by L. and A. Maude (Oxford Press).

A Master and His Servant

Once a rich man was riding on horseback over a desert. He was going to the palace to be knighted by the king. With him was his trusty servant, who was to take care of their baggage and their food. As the master's horse was stronger than the servant's, the master went very far ahead. At last he came to a lonely tree by the road. He intended to stop in the shade, but when he got there, he found a poor trader almost dying of hunger. He had pity on him, so he threw him a piece of cake, which fell on his breast. Alas! the poor man could not move his hands to pick it up. The master, however, would not dismount and help the wretched man, but started on, leaving him about to die.

Soon the servant came to the same place. His heart was greatly moved upon seeing the traveler's pitiful appearance. As the servant was about to drink a few drops of water that still remained in a bottle, the suffering man looked at him. Therefore, he dismounted from his horse, and poured the water into the man's mouth. After a while the man could move his body a little. The servant thought that with a cup of pure warm water the poor traveler would recover his strength. But no water could be found in the desert. So he killed his horse, took the blood from its heart, and gave it to the traveler. The servant did not leave the traveler until he could get up without help. At last the servant started on his journey with the baggage on his head, leaving his dead horse and the traveler in the middle of the desert. He left to the traveler some bread, clothes, the saddle and his hat.

It was evening when he arrived at the palace. His master had been waiting for him impatiently. Without asking a question, the master began to whip his servant, because he had lost everything except their baggage. The servant would have suffered more had not the king chanced to see him. Both were brought before the king, who asked the servant what the matter was. The poor servant knelt before the king with his hands crossed over his breast, and then told the whole story. Seeing that the servant was as respectful, brave, and kind as a knight ought to be, the king made him a noble instead of his master.

—Eusebio Ramos.

The Parable of the Beggar and the Givers

"Good people, alms! Alms for the poor!" whined an uncouth beggar who stood huddled close, to the cold stones of a shop wall, and there sought shelter from the wind.

Two brothers, well clad and warm, walking homeward together, turned and looked to see whence the appeal came. The elder carelessly tossed a silver piece into the out-stretched palm, and muttered, "Odious beggars!" Then he hastened on. The younger man, however, stopped and asked how such willing pauperism had gained ascendancy over pride. The alms-seeker then told a story of search for employment, of repeated failures, and of the final surrender of self-esteem. The youth pitied the vagrant, and offered to furnish him a method of gaining independence. He readily accepted the help and a new worker began to labor in the vineyards of the brothers.

Some years later, when the time arrived for the people to send a new burgher to the capital to represent them, men came from the city to ask the fruit-gatherers which of their employers should be the choice for the office. Then the chief of the workmen spoke out, "The elder will fling you a coin and a curse. The younger will give you laws and improvements for your city. He will teach you to earn the coin for yourself."

The next year the giver of charity went to the great council in Berlin, while the giver of alms superintended the vine-growing and envied his brother's good fortune.

—Dorothea Knoblock.