On the background of that dim distant long ago, perhaps two hundred years later than Homer, looms the magnificent figure of another mysterious being—Aesop the Greek slave.
Wherever and whenever he lived, and whether, in fact, he ever lived at all, he seems very real to us, even though more than two thousand years have passed. Among all the stories that scholars and historians have told of him—sifting through the centuries the true from the false—we get a vivid picture of the man. He was born in Greece, probably in Phrygia, about 620 years before Christ. He had more than one master and it was the last, Iadmon, who gave him his liberty because of his talents and his wisdom. The historian Plutarch recounts his presence at the court of Croesus, King of Lydia, and his meeting Thales and Solon there, telling us also that he reproved the wise Solon for discourtesy toward the king. Aesop visited Athens and composed the famous fable of Jupiter and the Frogs for the instruction of the citizens. Whether he left any written fables is very uncertain, but those known by his name were popular in Athens when that city was celebrated throughout the world for its wit and its learning. Both Socrates and Plato delighted in them; Socrates, we read, having amused himself during the last days of his life with turning into verse some of Aesop's "myths" as he called them. Think of Socrates conning these fables in prison four hundred years before Christ, and then think of a more familiar picture in our own day—a gaunt, dark-faced, black-haired boy poring over a book as he lay by the fireside in a little Western farmhouse; for you remember that Abraham Lincoln's literary models were "Aesop's Fables," "The Pilgrim's Progress" and the Bible. Perhaps he read the fable of the Fig Tree, Olive, Vine, and Bramble from the ninth chapter of Judges, or that of the Thistle and Cedar from the fourteenth chapter of II Kings and noted that teaching by story-telling was still well in vogue six hundred years after Aesop.
In later times the fables that had been carried from mouth to mouth for centuries began to be written down: by Phaedrus in Latin and Babrius in Greek; also, in the fourteenth century, by a Greek monk named Planudes. But do not suppose they had their birth or flourished in Greece alone. At the very time that Aesop was telling them at the court of Croesus, or in Delphi, Corinth, or Athens,—far, far away in India the Buddhist priests were telling fables in the Sanskrit language to the common people, the blind, the ignorant and the outcast. Sanskrit, you know, is the eldest brother of all the family of languages to which our English belongs. When the Buddhist religion declined, the Brahmins took up the priceless inheritance of fable and used it for educational purposes. Their ancient Indian sages and philosophers compiled a treatise for the education of princes which was supposed to contain a system of good counsel for right training in all the chief affairs of life. In it they inserted the choicest treasures of their wisdom and the best rules for governing a people, and the Rajahs kept the book with great secrecy and care. Then a Persian king heard of its existence and sent a learned physician to India, where he spent several years in copying and translating the precious manuscript, finally bringing it hack to the court, where he declined to accept all reward but a dress of honour. In much the same way it was rendered into Arabic and gradually, century by century, crept into the literature of all Europe.
We give you some of these very fables in the "Hitopadesa," which means "Friendly Instruction" or "Amicable Advice" for the original hooks contained many maxims, like the following:
"He who is not possessed of such a book as will dispel many doubts, point out hidden treasures, and is, as it were, a mirror of all things, is even an ignorant man."
"These six—the peevish, the niggard, the dissatisfied, the passionate, the suspicious, and those who live upon others' means—are forever unhappy."
"That mother is an enemy, and that father a foe, by whom not having been instructed, their son shineth not in the assembly; but appeareth there like a booby among geese."
"There are two kinds of knowledge in use: the knowledge of arms, and the knowledge of books. The first is the scoff if the wise, whilst the last is forever honoured."
We give you other Indian fables from the collection of Bidpai. La Fontaine in one of the prefaces to his French fables in verse expresses his gratitude to "Bilpay the Indian sage." These are the very manuscripts translated from the Sanskrit into Persian by the physician who took them back to his king. Sir William Jones says that "Bidpai" signifies "beloved physician" and that Bilpay is simply a mis-spelling of the word. As other scholars contended that Bidpai was not a man at all, but probably one of the two wise camels that did most of the talking in the earlier fables, you and I will not be able to settle the truth of the question. All these points are interesting, or, if they are not so to you, you must say, "Wake up!" to your mind. It is the eager spirit of inquiry that conquers difficulties and gains knowledge. In another preface I reminded you that in all the faery stories the youngest brother was the one who always said, "I wonder!" and he it was who triumphed over all the others. You are holding between these crimson covers fables from some of the oldest and most valuable books the world has ever known. The "Hitopadesa" was a very fountain of riches, as old as the hills themselves, precious and inexhaustible. In its innumerable translations it passed down the stream of time, and the fables known as Aesop's made their way among all races of people in the same marvellous way. No one knows whether Aesop—through the Assyrians with whom the Phrygians had commercial relations—borrowed his stories from the Orientals or whether they borrowed from him. One thing is certain, nothing persists so strongly and lives so long as a fable or folk tale. They migrate like the birds and make their way into every corner of the world where there are lips to speak and ears to hear. The reasons are, perhaps, because they are generally brief; because they are simple; because they are trenchant and witty; because they are fresh and captivating and have a bite to them like the tang of salt water; because they are strong and vital, and what is thoroughly alive in the beginning always lives longest.
And, now we come to La Fontaine the French fabulist, who in 1668 published the first six books of his fables. "Bonhomme La Fontaine," as he was called, chose his subjects from Aesop and Phaedrus and Horace, and, in the later volumes, from such Oriental sources as may have been within his reach. He rendered the old tales in easy-flowing verse, full of elegance and charm, and he composed many original ones besides. La Bruyere says of him: "Unique in his way of writing, always original whether he invents or translates, he surpasses his models and is himself a model difficult to imitate. . . . He instructs while he sports, persuades men to virtue by means of beasts, and exalts trifling subjects to the sublime."