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Page 31
He accomplished his design.
The moon shining brilliantly seemed to favour the turkey folk against
the fox. But he was no novice in the laying of sieges, and had recourse
to his bag of rascally tricks. He pretended to climb the tree; stood
upon his hind legs; counterfeited death; then came to life again.
Harlequin himself could not have acted so many parts. He reared his tail
and made it gleam in the moonshine, and practised a hundred other
pleasantries, during which no turkey could have dared to go to sleep.
The enemy tired them out at last by keeping their eyes fixed upon him.
The poor birds became dazed. One lost its balance and fell. Reynard put
it by. Then another fell and was caught and laid on one side. Nearly
half of them at length succumbed and were taken off to the fox's larder.
To concentrate too much attention upon a danger may cause us to tumble
into it.
XLIV
THE APE
(BOOK XII.--No. 19)
There is an ape in Paris to whom a wife was once given; and he,
imitating many another husband, beat the poor creature to such an extent
that she sighed all the breath out of her body and died.
Their son uttered the most doleful howls as a protest to this terrible
business.
The father laughs now. His wife is dead and he already has found other
lady companions, whom, no doubt, he beats in the same way; for he haunts
the taverns and is frequently tipsy.
Never expect anything good from people who imitate, whether they be apes
or authors. Of the two the worst kind is the imitating author.
XLV
THE SCYTHIAN PHILOSOPHER
(BOOK XII.--No. 20)
A certain austere philosopher of Scythia, wishing to follow a pleasant
life, travelled through the land of the Greeks, and there he found in a
quiet spot a sage, one such as Virgil has written of; a man the equal of
kings, the peer almost of the gods, and like them content and tranquil.
The happiness of this sage lay entirely in his beautiful garden. There
the Scythian found him, pruning hook in hand, cutting away the useless
wood from his fruit trees; lopping here, pruning there, trimming this
and that, and everywhere aiding Nature, who repaid his care with usury.
"Why this wrecking?" asked the philosopher. "Is it wisdom thus to
mutilate these poor dwellers in your garden? Drop that merciless tool,
your pruning hook. Leave the work to the scythe of time. He will send
them, soon enough, to the shores of the river of the departed."
"I am taking away the superfluous," answered the sage, "so that what is
left may flourish the better."
The Scythian returned to his cheerless abode and, taking a bill-hook,
cut and trimmed every hour in the day, advising his neighbours to do
likewise and prescribing to his friends the means and methods. A
universal cutting-down followed. The handsomest boughs were lopped; his
orchard mutilated beyond all reason. The seasons were disregarded, and
neither young moons nor old were noted. In the end everything languished
and died.
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