A woman of Sybaris once broke a jug. The jug got a friend to act as witness, and laid a claim for damages. Thereupon the lady said: ‘By the virgin, if you would but let the lawyers alone and buy some sticking-plaster you would show more wisdom.’
The fables of Æsop are now a nursery classic, for, like the Arabian Nights and Gulliver’s Travels, they have been turned by the kindly irony of time to a use which their authors hardly contemplated. But in their Milesian shape there was always an underlying vein of satire, even in the animal stories. The male animals, the eagle and the lion, are brave and generous; the females, the fox and the weasel, are cunning and treacherous.
Moreover, as we see in the Greek version of Babrius and the Latin of Phædrus, separated though they be from the original by a gap of centuries, there was a great deal of matter in the Æsopian stories which was plainly misogynistic.
As examples, we may take from Babrius, Fable 10:
A man fell in love with an ugly, dirty slave-girl, his own property, and readily gave her all she asked. She had her fill of gold: fine purple robes trailing at her ankles, and soon she began to rival the mistress of the house. ‘The goddess of love,’ thought she, ‘is the cause of all this’ and she honoured her with votive tapers, going every day to sacrifice and prayer with supplications and requests. But at last the goddess came in a dream while they were asleep, and appearing to the slave-girl, she said, ‘Do not thank me, or suppose that I have made you beautiful: I am angry with that fellow there, and so he thinks you fair.’
Belief in women’s beauty, we see, is mere infatuation, and so is belief in their truth, as No. 16 shows:
A country nurse once threatened a whining child: ‘Stop, or I will throw you to the wolf.’ The wolf heard the words, and supposing that the old dame was speaking the truth, waited patiently for the meal which he thought would soon be ready. It was not till evening that the child fell asleep, and the wolf, who had been waiting on slow hope, went off home very hungry, his mouth really agape. ‘How is it you have come home empty-handed?’ said his wife, who had been keeping house. ‘It’s very unusual.’ But the wolf replied: ‘What would you have? I have trusted a woman.’
No. 32 is a curious reminiscence of Simonides:
Once upon a time a cat fell in love with a comely man, and glorious Cypris, the mother of Desire, allowed her to change her shape and take a woman’s body, one so fair that all men desired her. The young man saw her, fell captive in his turn and arranged to wed. The marriage feast was just prepared when a mouse ran by, and the bride, jumping down from the high couch, rushed after it. So the banquet came to an end, and Love, who had had a merry jest, departed too—for even he could not fight against nature.