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Page 20
THE MONKEY AND THE CAT
(BOOK IX.--No. 17)
Bertrand was a monkey and Ratter was a cat. They shared the same
dwelling and had the same master, and a pretty mischievous pair they
were. It was impossible to intimidate them. If anything was missed or
spoilt, no one thought of blaming the other people in the house.
Bertrand stole all he could lay his hands upon, and as for Ratter, he
gave more attention to cheese than he did to the mice.
One day, in the chimney corner, these two rascals sat watching some
chestnuts that were roasting before the fire. How jolly it would be to
steal them they thought: doubly desirable, for it would not only be joy
to themselves, but an annoyance to others.
"Brother," said Bertrand to Ratter, "this day you shall achieve your
master-stroke: you shall snatch some chestnuts out of the fire for me.
Providence has not fitted me for that sort of game. If it had, I assure
you chestnuts would have a fine time."
No sooner said than done. Ratter delicately stirred the cinders with his
paw, stretched out his claws two or three times to prepare for the
stroke, and then adroitly whipped out first one, then two, then three of
the chestnuts, whilst Bertrand crunched them up between his teeth. In
came a servant, and there was an end of the business. Farewell, ye
rogues!
I am told that Ratter was by no means satisfied with the affair.
And princes are equally dissatisfied when, flattered to be employed in
any uncomfortable concern, they burn their fingers in a distant province
for the profit of some king.
XXX
THE TWO RATS, THE FOX, AND THE EGG[8]
(BOOK X.--No. 1)
Do not take it ill if, in these fables, I mingle a little of the bold,
daring, and fine-spun philosophy that is called new.
They say that the lower animals are mere machines: that everything they
do is prompted, not by choice, but by mechanism, coming about as it were
by springs. There is, they say, neither feeling nor soul--nothing but a
mechanical body. It goes just as a watch or clock goes, plodding on with
even motion, blindly and aimlessly.
Open such a machine and examine it; what do we find? Wheels take the
place of intelligence. The first wheel moves the second, and that in
turn moves a third, with the result that, in due time, it strikes the
hour.
According to these new philosophers, that is exactly the case with an
animal. It receives a blow in a certain spot, this spot conveys the
sensation to another spot, and so the message goes on from place to
place until the brain receives it and the impression is made. That is
all very well, but how is the impression made?
It is necessarily made, without passion, without will, say these
philosophers. They tell us that the common idea is that an animal is
actuated by emotions which we know as sorrow, joy, love, pleasure, pain,
cruelty, or some other of these states; but that it is not so. Do not
deceive yourself, they say.
"What is it then?" I ask. A watch, indeed! And pray what of ourselves?
Ah, well! that is perhaps another thing altogether. This is the way
Descartes expounds the theory--Descartes, that mortal who, if he had
lived in pagan times, would have been made a god, and who holds a place
between man and the higher spirits, just as some I could name--beasts of
burden with long ears--hold a place between man and the oysters. Thus, I
say, reasons this author: "I have a gift beyond any possessed by others
of God's creatures, and that is the gift of thought. I know of what I
think."
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