OF THE HUSBAND AND THE PARROT.
There lived once a good man who had a beautiful wife, of whom he was so passionately fond, that he could scarcely bear to have her out of his sight. One day when some particular business obliged him to leave her, he went to a place where they sold all sorts of birds; he purchased a parrot, which was not only highly accomplished in the art of talking, but also possessed the rare gift of telling every thing that was done in its presence. The husband took it home in a cage to his wife, and begged of her to keep it in her chamber, and take great care of it during his absence; after this he set out on his journey.
On his return he did not fail to interrogate the parrot on what had passed while he was away; and the bird very expertly related a few circumstances, which occasioned the husband to reprimand his wife. She supposed that some of her slaves had exposed her, but they all assured her they were faithful, and agreed in charging the parrot with the crime. Desirous of being convinced of the truth of this matter, the wife devised a method of quieting the suspicions of her husband, and at the same time of revenging herself on the parrot, if he were the culprit. The next time the husband was absent, she ordered one of her slaves, during the night, to turn a handmill under the bird’s cage, and another to throw water over it like rain, and a third to wave a looking-glass before the parrot by the light of a candle. The slaves were employed the greatest part of the night in doing what their mistress had ordered them, and succeeded to her satisfaction.
The following day, when the husband returned, he again applied to the parrot to be informed of what had taken place. The bird replied, “My dear master, the lightning, the thunder, and the rain, have so disturbed me the whole night, that I cannot tell you how much I have suffered.” The husband, who knew there had been no storm that night, became convinced that the parrot did not always relate facts; and that having told an untruth in this particular, he had also deceived him with respect to his wife: being therefore extremely enraged with it, he took the bird out of the cage, and dashing it on the floor, killed it: he, however, afterwards learnt from his neighbours, that the poor parrot had told no story of the conduct of his wife, which made him repent of having destroyed it.
“When the Greek king,” said the fisherman to the Genius, “had finished the story of the parrot, he added, “You, vizier, through envy of Douban, who has done you no evil, wish me to order his death, but I will take good care, lest, like the husband who killed his parrot, I should afterwards repent.”
The vizier was too desirous of the death of Douban to let it rest here. “Sire,” replied he, “the loss of the parrot was of little importance, nor do I think his master could long have regretted it. But on what account should the dread of oppressing the innocent prevent you from destroying this physician. Is it not a sufficient reason that he is accused of attempting your life to authorise you to take away his? When the life of a king is in question, a bare suspicion ought to be equal to a certainty; and it is better to sacrifice the innocent than save the guilty. But this, Sire, by no means rests on an uncertainty. The physician Douban positively wishes to assassinate you. It is not envy that makes me hostile to him, it is the interest alone that I take in your majesty’s preservation; it is my zeal, which induces me to give my advice on so important an occasion. If my information is false, I deserve the same punishment that a certain vizier underwent formerly.”—“What had that vizier done, worthy of chastisement?” said the Greek king.—“I will tell your majesty,” answered the vizier, “if you will have the goodness to listen.”