"Among all the different ways of giving counsel I think the finest and that which pleases the most universally is fable, in whatever shape it appears." JOSEPH ADDISON
 
How shall I bring to your mind the time and distance that separate us from the Age of Fable? Think of what seemed to you the longest week of your life. Think of fifty-two of these in a year; then think of two thousand five hundred years and try to realize that Aesop—sometimes called the Eighth Wise Man—lived twenty-five centuries ago and made these wonderful tales that delight us to-day.
 
Shakespeare is even yet something of a mystery, although he was born in our own era, less than five hundred years ago; but men are still trying to discover any new facts of his life that might better explain his genius. A greater mystery is grand old Homer, who has puzzled the world for centuries. Scholars are not certain whether the "Iliad" or "Odyssey" are the work of one or more than one mind. Who can say? for the thrilling tales were told—probably after the fashion of all the minstrels of his day—more than eight hundred years before Christ.
 
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."
 
Voltaire asserts: "I believe that of all authors La Fontaine is the most universally read. He is for all minds and all ages."
 
Later, by a hundred years, than La Fontaine, comes Krilof, the Russian fable-maker, who was born in 1768. After failing in many kinds of literary work the young poet became intimate with a certain Prince Sergius Galitsin; lived in his house at Moscow, and accompanied him to his country place in Lithuania, where he taught the children of his host and devised entertainments for the elders. He used often to spend hours in the bazaars and streets and among the common people, and it was in this way probably that he became so familiar with the peasant life of the country. When he came back from his wanderings on the banks of the Volga he used to mount to the village belfry, where he could write undisturbed by the gnats and flies, and the children found him there one day fast asleep among the bells. A failure at forty, with the publication of his first fables in verse he became famous, and for many years he was the most popular writer in Russia. He died in 1844 at the age of seventy-six, his funeral attended by such crowds that the great church of St. Isaac could not hold those who wished to attend the service. Soon after, a public subscription was raised among all the children of Russia, who erected a monument in the Summer Garden at Moscow.
 
There the old man sits in bronze, as he used to sit at his window, clad in his beloved dressing gown, an open book in his hand.
 
Around the monument (says his biographer) a number of children are always at play, and the poet seems to smile benignly on them from his bronze easy chair. Perhaps the Grecian children of long ago played about Aesop's statue in Athens, for Lysippus the celebrated sculptor designed and erected a monument in his memory.
 
Read Krilof's "Education of a Lion" and "The Lion and the Mosquitoes" while his life is fresh in your mind. Then turn to "What Employment our Lord Gave to Insects" and "How Sense was Distributed," in the quaint African fables. Glance at "The Long-tailed Spectacled Monkey" and "The Tune that Made the Tiger Drowsy," so full of the very atmosphere of India. Then re-read some old favourite of Aesop and imagine you are hearing his voice, or that of some Greek story-teller of his day, ringing down through more than two thousand years of time.
 
There is a deal of preaching in all these fables,—that cannot be denied,—but it is concealed as well as possible. It is so disagreeable for people to listen while their faults and follies, their foibles and failings, are enumerated, that the fable-maker told his truths in story form and thereby increased his audience. Preaching from the mouths of animals is not nearly so trying as when it comes from the pulpit, or from the lips of your own family and friends!
 
Whether or not our Grecian and Indian, African and Russian fable-makers have not saddled the animals with a few more faults than they possess—just to bolster up our pride in human nature—I sometimes wonder; but the result has been beneficial. The human rascals and rogues see themselves clearly reflected in the doings of the jackals, foxes, and wolves and may get some little distaste for lying, deceit and trickery.
 
We make few fables now-a-days. We might say that it is a lost art, but perhaps the world is too old to be taught in that precise way, and though the story writers are as busy as ever, the story-tellers (alas!) are growing fewer and fewer.
 
If your ear has been opened by faery tales you will have learned already to listen to and interpret a hundred voices unheard by others. A comprehension of faery language leads one to understand animal conversation with perfect ease, so open the little green doors that lead into the forest, the true Land of Fable. Open them softly and you will hear the Beasts talk Wisdom.
KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN