“Gentlemen,” said His Highness President Fox, “I note with pleasure your attention to important details, and that the country may rely upon your practical common sense. Go and dine.”
A great public dinner was prepared, in token of rejoicing, in a field in front of the amphitheatre. As on all similar occasions, there was much speech-making and little food, at least for many of the most deserving supporters of the republic. The Insects were relegated to an obscure position, politely called the place of honour, where they feasted on fine phrases. In consideration of his position, the Fox, as President, was supported by a Duck and Indian Hen, who kept a respectful distance from His Excellency. It was a most amicable gathering. The views expressed were as diverse as the individuals present. One said white, another black; one red, another green; and all agreed that the speakers were the living representatives of worth, genius, and national progress. The Fox was everything to every one. He had a smile and kind word for each guest. “You do not eat,” he said to the Cormorant. “Are you ill?” to the White Bear; “you seem pale.” To his vis à vis, “Have the Wolves no teeth now?” To the Penguin, who was yawning, “You require rest after your exploits.” To the Blackbird, “You seem silent.” And to all, “My good friends, use your pens freely.” At last came the toasts, the time for oratorical display. You should have watched how each one retired within himself, scratched his head or pensively caressed his tail as a means of inspiration, how each silently rehearsed his little speech. Unfortunately the order of the toasts had been arranged beforehand—not only the order, but the number as well. Splendid fasting might be forgiven, but the cancelling of a cherished toast—never! In spite of this wise precaution, there were so many speakers that my pen and patience alike failed to enumerate them. As may be imagined, the first toast was Liberty; this is traditional, and it is no fault of those who dine if liberty makes a poor show on such occasions. By courtesy the second was the Ladies, couched in these terms, “To the sex that adorns and ennobles life!” This toast, proposed by an amiable Hippopotamus well known for his gallantry, was greeted with applause.
Towards the close of the evening wine flowed freely, and as the contents of the cask fell, the spirits of the party rose to that pitch when all things earthly seemed steeped in the roseate light of a glorious dawn. The repast ended like all others of the kind, when the face of the universe is proposed to be changed, and the world forced backwards by eating and drinking. But the morning revealed the marvellous fact that the world still revolved in its old way, and that recourse must again be had to the common, traditional, time-honoured modes of life, at least so thought the Fox, who replaced his cap by a little crown, declaring at the same time that in future he would shun popular feasts as he would the devil.
“I am about to draw up a charter. A nation that has a charter wants for nothing. Here is my charter:—
“All animals who can read, write, and especially count, who have hay in their racks, and powerful friends, being all equal before the law, shall receive protection. The great ones of the Jardin des Plantes may therefore enjoy their ease. The lesser ones are requested to give up what little they have, and to become so small as to be imperceptible and impalpable.
“It is impossible to please every one; those who are displeased ought not to be astonished, as they have a right to complain. The right of drawing up petitions is solemnly recognised. But as it is well known that the moments of a ruler are precious, and as it would be impossible for him to receive all the petitioners, it is forbidden for any one to bring his petition to the august arm-chair. They will only be received when sent by post, postage prepaid, and will only be read when convenient to do so.”
The animals required no second telling. Every one having some source of complaint, petitions arrived in cartloads. The earth and air were thronged with messengers and couriers of every description. The charter had not been published two hours before the house, cellars, and lofts were packed full of petitions. They were even piled up against the outside door.
“Fools!” said the Fox, laughing in his sleeve to see they had taken him at his word. “How long will they imagine that governments are made to protect them? Yet I must look at these petitions, and in order to observe the strictest impartiality, will close my eyes.”