“The old gentleman was not a little embarrassed. He was not blind to the danger of all these juvenile counsels, but he was an indulgent parent, and never turned a deaf ear upon his children. First then the cage was gilded, then enlarged, and ultimately replaced by another, brand new, and as light as light could be. Meanwhile the bird’s wings had been daily growing, and the animal at last managed to do that which every other bird would have done in its place. It escaped through the thin bars, and flew away.”
“I fully understand; the bird’s name was Java?”[16]
“Exactly so,” replied the “trunculant figure.”
“But what became ultimately of the bird?” I inquired.
“Ah, sir! it was after all a silly thing for the bird to fly away; it was not so badly off in its master’s house; but birds will be birds. It had not flown far yet when it was attacked by two enormous birds of prey; they pulled it right and left with their sharp talons, and thereby injured one another severely. Of course the weaker bird lost a good deal of its plumage, and was bandied from the talons of one vulture into those of the other. At last the two monsters dropped their prey on the ground in piteous condition, whilst they pursued the combat between them with their own weapons, until both were so crippled and exhausted that there could have been no question on either side of looking after the weaker bird.”
“If then I rightly understand your metaphor, France and England have both been compelled to let the island slip, and the Javanese are a free people by this time.”
“Oh, free, of course; so is the dormouse,” answered the Dutchman.
I suggested that his former remarks appeared to me to be more liberal.
“Those concerned the land, but not the people.”
“Well?”