Fables of La Fontaine — The Life of Aesop, the Phrygian, part 1

GERUZEZ.

THE LIFE OF ÆSOP, THE PHRYGIAN.

We have no certain records concerning the births of either Homer or Æsop; and scarcely any important circumstance is known respecting their lives: which is somewhat strange, since history readily fathers facts far less interesting and useful.

Many destroyers of nations, many ignoble princes, too, have found chroniclers of the most trifling particulars of their lives, and yet we are ignorant of the most important of those of Homer and Æsop--that is to say, of the two persons who have most deserved well of posterity: for Homer is not only the father of the gods, but also of all good poets; whilst Æsop seems to me to be one of those who ought to be reckoned amongst the wise men for whom Greece is so celebrated, since he taught true wisdom, and taught it with more skill than is employed by those who lay down mere definitions and rules.

Biographies of these two great men have certainly been written, but the best critics regard both these narratives as fabulous, and particularly that written by Planudes.

For my own part I cannot coincide in this criticism; for as Planudes lived in an age when the remembrance of circumstances respecting Æsop might well be still kept alive,[1] I think it is probable that he had learnt by tradition the particulars he has left us concerning him.

Entertaining this belief, I have followed him, suppressing nothing which he has said of Æsop,[2] save such particulars as have appeared to me either too puerile or else wanting in good taste.

Æsop was a Phrygian, a native of a town called Amorium, and was born about the fifty-seventh Olympiad, some two centuries after the foundation of Rome.

It is hard to say whether he had to thank or to complain of Nature; for whilst she gave him a keen intelligence, she also afflicted him with a deformed body and ugly face--so deformed and so ugly, indeed, that he scarcely resembled a man; and, moreover, she had almost entirely deprived him of the use of speech.

Encumbered by such defects as these, if he had not been born a slave, he could scarcely have failed to become one; but at the same time his soul ever remained free and independent of the freaks of fortune.

The first master whom he had sent him to labour in the fields, either because he thought him unfitted for anything else, or because he wished to avoid the sight of so disagreeable an object.

It happened, on a certain occasion, that this master, on paying a visit to his country house, was presented by a peasant with some figs, which he found so good that he had them carefully locked up, giving directions to his butler, who was named Agathopus, to bring them to him when he should leave the bath.

It chanced that Æsop had occasion to visit the mansion at this time, and as soon as he had entered it, Agathopus took advantage of the opportunity to share the figs with some of his friends, and then throw the blame of the theft on Æsop, never supposing that he would be able to defend himself from the charge, as he not only stammered, but appeared to be an idiot.

The punishments inflicted on their slaves by the ancients were very cruel, and this was an aggravated theft.

Poor Æsop threw himself at his master's feet, and making himself understood as well as he could, he begged that his punishment might be deferred for a few moments.

This favour having been accorded him, he fetched some warm water, and having drunk it in his master's presence, thrust his finger down his throat.

He vomited, and nothing came up but the water as it went down.

Having thus proved his own innocence, he made signs that the others should be compelled to do as he had done.

Every one was astonished, scarcely believing that Æsop could have devised such a scheme.

Agathopus and his companions in the theft drank the water and thrust their fingers down their throats, as the Phrygian had done, and straightway the figs, still undigested, re-appeared with the water.

By this means Æsop proved his innocence, and his accusers were punished for their theft and malice.

On the following day, when the master had set off for town, and Æsop was at his usual work, some travellers who had lost their way entreated him, in the name of hospitable Jove, to show them their right road to the town.

Upon this, Æsop first prevailed upon them to repose for a time in the shade, and then, after having refreshed them with a slight collation, became himself their guide, not leaving them until he had put them well on their right road.

The good people raised their hands to heaven, and besought Jupiter that he would not leave this charitable act unrewarded.

Æsop had scarcely left them, when, overcome with heat and with weariness, he fell asleep.

During his slumber he dreamt the goddess Fortune appeared before him, and, having untied his tongue, bestowed upon him that art of which he may be termed the author.

Startled with delight at such a dream, he at once awoke, and, leaping up, exclaimed, "What is this?

my voice is free, and I can pronounce the words 'plough,' 'rake,' and, in fact, everything I choose!"

This miracle was the cause of his changing masters, for a certain Zenas, who acted as steward on the estate, and who superintended the slaves, having beaten one outrageously for a fault which did not merit such severe punishment, Æsop could not refrain from reproving him, and threatened to make known his bad conduct.

Zenas, with the purpose of anticipating Æsop and avenging himself upon him, went to the master and told him a prodigy had happened in his house--that the Phrygian had recovered the use of speech, but that the wretch only made use of his gift to blaspheme and say evil things of his master.

The latter believed him, and went beyond this, for he gave Æsop to Zenas, with liberty to do what he liked with him.

On returning to the fields, Zenas was met by a merchant, who asked him whether he would sell him some beast of burden.

"I cannot do that," said Zenas; "but I will sell you, if you like, one of our slaves;" and then sent for Æsop.

On seeing Æsop the merchant said, "Is it to make fun of me that you propose to sell me such a thing as that?

One would take him for an ape."

Having thus spoken, the merchant went off, half grumbling and half laughing at the beautiful object which had just been shown him.

But Æsop called him back, and said, "Take courage and buy me, and you will find that I shall not be useless.

If you have children who cry and are naughty, the very sight of me will make them quiet; I shall serve, in fact, as a real old bogy."

This suggestion so amused the merchant, that he purchased Æsop for three oboli, and said to him, laughing, "The gods be praised!

I have not got hold of any great prize; but then on the other hand I have not spent much money."

Amongst other goods this merchant bought and sold slaves: and as he was on his way to Ephesus to offer for sale those that he had, such things as were required for use on the journey were laid on the backs of each slave in proportion to his strength.

Æsop prayed that, out of regard to the smallness of his stature, and the fact that he was a new comer, he might be treated gently; his comrades replied that he might refrain from carrying anything at all, if he chose.

But as Æsop made it a point of honour to carry something like the rest, they allowed him to select his own burden, and he selected the bread-basket, which was the heaviest burden of all.

Every one believed that he had done this out of sheer folly; but at dinner-time the basket was lightened of some of its load; the same thing happened at supper, then on the following day, and so on; so that on the second day he walked free of any burden, and was much admired for the keenness of his wit.

As for the merchant, he got rid of his slaves, with the exception of a grammarian, a singer, and Æsop, whom he intended to expose for sale at Samos.

Before taking them to the market-place he had the two first dressed as well as he could, whilst Æsop, on the other hand, was only clad in an old sack, and placed between his two companions to set them off.

Some intending purchasers soon presented themselves, and amongst others a philosopher named Xantus.

He asked of the grammarian and the singer what they could do.

"Everything," they replied; on which Æsop laughed in a manner which may be well imagined, and, indeed, Planudes asserts that his grin was so terrible that the bystanders were almost on the point of taking flight.

The merchant valued the singer at a thousand oboli, the grammarian at three thousand, and said that whoever first purchased one of the two should have the other thrown in.

The high price of the singer and the grammarian disgusted Xantus, but, that he might not return home without having made some purchase, his disciples persuaded him to buy that little make-believe of a man who had laughed with such exquisite grace.

He would be useful as a scarecrow, said some; as a buffoon, said others.

Xantus allowed himself to be persuaded, and consented to give sixty oboli for Æsop, but before he completed the bargain demanded of him, as he had of his comrades, for what work he was fitted; to which Æsop replied, "For nothing, as his two companions had monopolised all possible work."

The clerk of the market, taking the droll nature of the purchase into consideration, graciously excused Xantus from paying the usual fee.

Xantus had a wife of very delicate tastes, who was extremely particular as to the style of persons she allowed to be about her.

Xantus knew, therefore, that to present his new slave to her in the ordinary way would be to excite not only her ridicule but her anger.

He resolved, accordingly, to make the presentation a subject of pleasantry, and spread a report through the mansion that he had purchased a young slave as handsome as ever was seen.

Having heard this, the young girls who waited on the mistress were ready to tear each other to pieces for the sake of having the new slave as her own particular servant; and their astonishment at the appearance of the new-comer may well be imagined.

One hid her face in her hands, another fled, and a third screamed.

The mistress of the house, for her part, said that she could very well see that this monster had been brought to drive her away from the house, and that she had long perceived that the philosopher was tired of her.

Word followed word, and the quarrel at length became so hot that the lady demanded her goods, and declared that she would return to her parents.

Xantus, however, by means of his patience, and Æsop by means of his wit, contrived to arrange matters.

The lady resigned her project of insisting upon a divorce from bed and board, and admitted that she might possibly in time become accustomed to even so ugly a slave.

I have omitted many little circumstances in which Æsop displayed the liveliness of his wit; for although they all serve as proofs of the keenness of his mind, they are not sufficiently important to be recorded.

We will merely give here a single specimen of his good sense and of his master's ignorance.

The latter on a certain occasion went to a gardener's to choose a salad for himself; and when the herbs had been selected, the gardener begged the philosopher to satisfy him with respect to something which concerned him, the philosopher, as much as it concerned gardening in general, and it was this: that the herbs which he planted and cultivated with great care did not prove so valuable as those which the earth produced of itself without any thought.

Xantus attributed the whole thing to the will of Providence, as persons are apt to do when they are puzzled.

Æsop having overheard the conversation, began to laugh, and having drawn his master aside, advised him to say that he had made so general a reply because it was not suited to his dignity to answer such trivial questions, but that he would leave its solution to his slave-boy, who would doubtless satisfy the inquirer.

Then, Xantus having gone to walk at the other end of the garden, Æsop compared the garden to a woman who, having children by a first husband, should espouse a second husband who should have children by a first wife.

His new wife would not fail to form feelings of aversion for her step-children, and would deprive them of their due nourishment for the sake of benefiting her own.

And it was thus with the earth, which adopted only with reluctance the productions of labour and culture, and reserved all her tenderness and benefits for her own productions alone--being a step-mother to the former, and a passionately fond mother of the latter.

The gardener was so delighted with this answer, that he offered Æsop the choice of anything in his garden.

Some time after this a great difference took place between Xantus and his wife.

The philosopher, being at a feast, put aside certain delicacies, and said to Æsop, "Carry these to my loving pet;" upon which Æsop gave them to a little dog of which his master was very fond.

Xantus, on returning home, did not fail to inquire how his wife liked his present, and as the latter evidently did not understand what he meant, Æsop was sent for to give an explanation.

Xantus, who was only too willing to find a pretext for giving his slave a thrashing, asked him whether he had not expressly said, "Carry those sweet things from me to <i>my loving pet?

</i>" To which Æsop replied, that Xantus's loving pet was not his wife, who for the least word threatened to sue for a divorce, but his little dog, who patiently endured the harshest language, and which, even after having been beaten, returned to be caressed.

The philosopher was silenced by this reply, but his wife was thrown into such a passion by it that she left the house.

Xantus employed in vain every relation and friend to endeavour to induce her to return, both prayers and arguments being equally lost upon her.

In this dilemma Æsop advised his master to have recourse to a stratagem.

He went to the market, and having bought a quantity of game and such things, as though for a sumptuous wedding, managed to be met by one of the lady's servants.

The latter, of course, asked why he had bought all those good things, upon which Æsop replied that his master, being unable to persuade his wife to return to him, was about to wed another.

As soon as the lady heard this news she was naturally constrained, by the spirit of jealousy and contradiction, to return to her husband's side.

She did not do this, however, without being resolved to be avenged some time or other on Æsop, who day after day played some prank, and yet always succeeded by some witty scheme in avoiding punishment.

The philosopher found his new slave more than his match.

On a certain market-day Xantus, having resolved to regale some friends, ordered Æsop to purchase the best of everything, and nothing else.

"Ah!"

said the Phrygian to himself, "I will teach you to specify what you want, and not to trust to the discretion of a slave."

He went accordingly and purchased a certain number of tongues, which he had served up with various sauces as entrées, entremets, and so forth.

When the tongues first appeared at table, the guests praised the choice of this dish, but when it appeared in constant succession, they became disgusted with it; and Xantus exclaimed, "Did I not bid you buy whatever was best in the market?"

"Well," replied Æsop, "and what is better than the tongue?

It is the very bond of civilised life, the key of all the sciences, the organ of reason and truth; by its aid we build cities and organise municipal institutions; we instruct, persuade, and, what is more than all, we perform the first of all duties, which is that of offering up prayers to the gods."

"Ah!

well," said Xantus, who thought that he would catch him in a trap at last, "purchase then for me to-morrow the worst of everything; the same gentlemen who are now present will dine with me, and I should like to give them some variety."

On the following day Æsop had only the same dish served at table, saying that "the tongue is the worst thing which there is in the world;

for it is the author of wars, the source of law-suits, and the mother of every species of dissension.

If it be argued that it is the organ of truth, it may with equal veracity be maintained that it is the organ of error, and, what is worse, of calumny.

By its means cities are destroyed, and men exhorted to the performance of evil deeds.

If, on the one hand, it sometimes praises the gods, on the other it more frequently blasphemes them."

Upon this one of the company said to Xantus, that certainly this varlet was very necessary to him, for he was more calculated than any one else to exercise the patience of a philosopher.

"About what are you in trouble?"

said Æsop.

"Ah!

find me," replied Xantus, "a man who troubles himself about nothing."

Æsop went on the following day to the market-place, and perceiving there a peasant who regarded all things with the utmost stolidity, he took him to his master's house.

"Behold," said he to Xantus, "the man without cares whom you have demanded."

Xantus then bade his wife heat some water, put it in a basin, and wash with her own hands the stranger's feet.

The peasant allowed this to be done, although he knew very well that he did not deserve any such honour, and merely said to himself, "Perhaps it is the custom in this part of the world."

He was then conducted to the place of honour, and took his seat without ceremony.

During the repast Xantus did nothing but blame his cook.

Nothing pleased him.

If anything was sweet, he declared that it was too salt, and blamed everything that was salt for being repulsively sweet.

The man without cares let him talk on, and meanwhile ate away with all his might.

At dessert a cake was placed on the table, which had been made by the philosopher's wife, and which Xantus scoffed at, although it was in reality very good.

"Behold!"

cried the philosopher, "the most wretched pastry I have ever eaten.

The maker of it must be burnt alive, for she will never do any good in the world.

Let faggots be brought!"

"Wait," said the peasant, "and I will go and fetch my wife, so that they may be both burned at the same stake."

This final speech disconcerted the philosopher, and deprived him of the hope of being able to catch Æsop in a trap.

But it was not only with his master that Æsop played jokes and found opportunities for witticisms.

Xantus having sent him to a certain place, he met on his way a magistrate, who asked him where he was going; and Æsop, either out of thoughtlessness or for some other reason, replied that he did not know.

The magistrate, regarding this answer as a mark of disrespect to himself, had him conveyed to prison.

But as the officers were hauling him off, Æsop cried out, "Did I not give a proper reply?

Could I know that I was going to prison?"

Upon this the magistrate had him released, and considered Xantus fortunate in having so witty a slave.

Xantus now began to perceive how important it was for his own interests to have a slave in his possession who did him so much honour.

Well, it occurred on a certain occasion that Xantus, having a revel with his disciples, it became soon evident to Æsop, who was in attendance, that the master was becoming as drunk as the scholars.

"The effects of drinking wine," said he to them, "may be divided into three different stages.

In the first stage the result is pleasurable emotions; in the second, mere intoxication; and in the third, madness."

These remarks were received with a roar of laughter, and the wine-bibbing went on more furiously than before.

Xantus, in fact, got so drunk that he lost all command over his brains, and swore that he could drink up the sea.

This declaration, of course, raised a great guffaw amongst his boon companions, and the natural result was, that Xantus, irritated beyond all bounds, offered to wager his house that he would drink up the whole sea, and, to bind the wager, deposited a valuable ring which he wore on his finger.