“Let me out!” cried the dog.
“I can’t,” replied the lion. “But I am not so contemptible as you. I am here against my will, caught in a trap. You voluntarily entered Two-Legs’ service, betrayed your fellows and helped him against them.”
“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” said the dog. “I know no one called Two-Legs. I am in service with human beings. My mistress is a great baroness and she will die of fright if I don’t come home to her soon.”
“Just so,” said the lion. “Human beings, that’s what Two-Legs’ confounded descendants call themselves. They have subdued the whole earth. There is hardly a place left where an honest lion can go hunting in royal style. I know the whole story: it has been handed down in my house, from father to son. I heard it all, the night before I was captured, in the desert to which the men had driven us: how Two-Legs and his wife came naked and unarmed to the forest; how my ancestor protected them; how they gradually outwitted all the animals: you alone entered their service of your own free will. The others they caught and tamed and dulled their senses until they no longer knew how to lead the lives of free animals and resigned themselves to slavery. Finally, Two-Legs killed my ancestor with his spear: yes, yes, I know the whole shameful story.”
“I don’t,” said the dog. “And I don’t mind if I never know it. I only know that I have a cosy little basket at home with my mistress and that she pets and kisses me and gives me the loveliest food. I want to get out! I want to go home!”
The lion made no reply, but thought to himself:
“When I lie here in my cage, where I shall soon die of sorrow and coughing, it is a comfort to me to see how wretched Two-Legs’ descendants have grown. For he was lithe and slender and fair to look upon: he was an animal! But these people here! One can hardly see a morsel of their bodies, they are so wrapped up. Two-Legs could bound through the forest and climb trees: these people here can hardly stir hand or foot. He was a fighter; and it’s really amusing to watch the terror in these fellows’ eyes as I get up and move to the bars when I roar. They shake like aspen leaves, though they know that I am only a wretched prisoner.”
“I want to get out! I want to go home!” whined the dog.
The lion rose and went to the bars of his cage. He lashed his lean flanks with his tail and opened his jaws till his terrible teeth gleamed and glistened. The little dog trembled with fear before his yellow eyes.
“And you!” said the lion. “Ha, ha, ha! It’s better to be a captive lion in a cage than a miserable little lap-dog, with bells and a rug.”