1
the complaints of the wild animals increased daily.
“one no longer knows what one dare do and what not,” said the mole. “yesterday, my cousin was throwing up earth, as our family have done ever since they existed. at that moment, he was caught and killed by one of two-legs’ sons, because the mole-hill appeared in the middle of one of his flower-beds.”
“his daughter killed my wife, because she thought her ugly,” said a young spider. “not that my wife was nice to me. she wanted to eat me immediately after the wedding and i had a narrow escape. but, apart from that, she was the most inoffensive person under the sun and really never hurt a soul. except the flies, of course.”
“he took away my wife and planted her in his garden,” said the hop-vine.
“and he throws me out if i show the least tiny green shoot,” said the gout-weed.
“he shuts us up in hives,” said the bee.
“he hunts us by clapping his hands and hitting us with cloths,” said the moth.
“he locks us up and fattens us and eats us,” grunted the pig.
“he sets traps for us if we try to get a morsel of food,” said the mouse.
“he is the master of us all,” said the stag. “we have no one to complain to. we have no king. the lion is no longer the ruler of the forest. he kills us with his claws when he is hungry, but he makes no attempt to defend us.”
2
while they were talking, the lioness came slowly up and stood in their midst. they sprang up in alarm, but she lay down quietly and said:
“do not be afraid of me. i sha’n’t hurt you. i have hardly eaten a mouthful this week for grief. the same cares oppress me as yourselves. and it is worse for me, because my husband ought to have protected us against these strangers and doesn’t. the disgrace, for that matter, concerns me personally.”
“the lion must help us! the lion must set us free!” they all cried together.
“the lion does nothing,” said the lioness, sadly. “he lies at home in our lair, staring and staring before him. but, now, listen to what i have to say.”
they all gathered round and listened.
“we are all concerned,” she said, “each one of us, without exception. i have taken in all that i have heard and seen of two-legs and i know his character and his plans as though he had confided them to me. he wants to subdue the whole earth. he and his children intend to reign over us all, whether we submit or not.”
“that is true!” cried the animals.
“yes, that is true,” continued the lioness. “let none feel safe! the most powerful animal and the tallest tree: if he has not laid them low to-day, their turn will come to-morrow. the lowest vermin and the sorriest weed, they know not on what day he may need them nor when they are in his way; and then their last hour has struck.”
“yes, yes!” they cried.
the mighty oak waved his gnarled boughs in assent, the stag sorrowfully drooped his antlers, the worm whispered his “yes!” in the earth and the bees buzzed with fear.
“yes,” said the lioness. “to him we are either useful or injurious. if he thinks a flower pretty, he fences it in; if its scent offends his nostrils, he tramples her underfoot. if a tree stands where he can sleep in its shade, he lets it grow. if it is in his way or if he has a use for its wood, he chops it down. if he is able to use an animal, he catches it and makes it his slave. he dresses himself in its skin, eats its flesh, lets it do his work. he does not stop when he has had his fill, as we do. greedy as he is, he catches animals and gathers fruit for many days, so that he may never suffer want.”
“that’s so, that’s so!” cried the animals, in chorus.
“wait a bit!” continued the lioness. “there is more to come. he does not hunt fair, like ourselves. he does not go after his prey on his own legs. he rides at it on the back of the horse, whom he has compelled to carry him. he does not catch it with his claws, does not kill it with his teeth: he has a curious weapon, which flies through the air and brings death to whomsoever it strikes.”
“we all know it!” cried the stag.
“it has whistled past my ear!” said the wolf.
“it hit my wing!” said the eagle.
“he does not drink the blood as we do, does not eat the meat as we do,” continued the lioness. “he roasts it at the fire: he always has a fire in his hut. he has done violence to nature: we knew fire only when the lightning struck an old tree and set it alight; he strikes two stones against each other till the sparks come, or rubs two pieces of rotten wood till they catch flame.”
“true, true!” cried the animals. “he has subdued fire.”
“he does not wait to pluck the fruit in the forest when it is ripe,” said the lioness. “he cultivates the plants for which he has a use and roots out the others. give him a free hand and he will transform the whole earth. no herbs will he let grow but those which he can employ. no animals will he let live but those which serve his use or pleasure. if we want to remain alive, we must become his servants.”
“hear, hear!” cried the animals.
the lioness paused; all was still. they heard trust bark a long way off.
“listen to the dog,” said the lioness. “his first servant. now he helps him watch over others.”
“the dog has betrayed us! let us kill the dog!” they cried.
the lioness raised her paw and silence prevailed again. then she continued:
“do you remember the night when we met here in this same meadow, when the new animals had just arrived? there were some who warned us: they were the horse and the ox and the sheep; the goose and the duck agreed with them: now they are all his subjects; their presentiments did not deceive them. but do you not remember how the two animals looked when they lay here asleep? a couple of poor, naked wretches: we could have killed them without trouble, had we wished.”
“we could, we could!” cried the animals.
“but we didn’t!” said the lioness. “and now they are the lords of the forest. do you know whence their power comes? it comes from the animals whom they have subdued. if we could take those animals from them, then they would be just as poor and helpless as before. two-legs’ power consists in this, that he can make others work for him. if, therefore, you take my advice, you will try to get his servants away from him. i propose that we send some one who will endeavour to talk them into their senses. surely, we have only to appeal to their sense of honour and to remind them of the days when they wandered at liberty in the forest! who will undertake the mission?”
“do you go yourself!” they all cried.
“no,” said the lioness, “i had better not. it would not be wise. there is blood between their race and mine. they might remember this; and then my words would be in vain. it should be one from whom they have never had anything to fear.”
they discussed the matter for some time; and then it was resolved that the fox should be the emissary. he was at odds, it was true, from the old days, with the goose and the duck and the hen; but there was no one better at hand.
and so he sneaked off: none knew so well the shortest and most secret paths in the forest. he promised to bring back an answer as quickly as possible. the animals lay down to rest in the meadow and whispered together. in the midst of the circle lay the lioness, staring silently before her, with shame and wrath in her eyes.
3
when the fox reached two-legs’ house, he met trust, who was going his night rounds to see if there were any foes about.
“good evening, cousin,” said the fox, slyly. “out so late?”
“i might say the same to you,” replied trust. “i am keeping watch for my master. you’re hardly out on so lawful an errand.”
“i have no master, certainly,” said the fox. “and it’s not long ago since you were a free dog in the forest. you ought to[90] become so again. come down with me to the meadow. the other animals are gathered there. they will forgive you for entering two-legs’ service and look upon you as the good dog that you were, if you will open the door so that the captive animals may escape.”
“there are no captive animals here,” said the dog. “we are all well off and we wish for no change. if i am two-legs’ servant, i am also his friend. so run away back as fast as you can to those who sent you.”
with that, the dog turned his back on the fox and went in through the little hole that was left in the fence for his use. but the fox stood waiting awhile, to see if none of the others appeared. and it was not long before a fine gosling stuck her head through the hole.
“good-evening, little missie!” said the fox. “please come a little closer.”
“i dare not,” said the gosling. “i am not allowed out at night. and i should so awfully like to get away. i am so frightened of two-legs. he roasted my mother the other day and ate her.”
“shocking!” exclaimed the fox. “you mustn’t stay a moment longer in this murderer’s den. come out to me and i will take you to a place where you will have nothing to fear.”
“if i only dared trust you!” said the gosling. “but i have ten sisters. i can’t leave them in the lurch.”
“i don’t think you had better wake them to-night,” said the fox. “young ladies are so talkative and, if the dog or two-legs discovered your flight, it would be all up with us. you would be roasted forthwith and i should come in for a certain unpleasantness too: that goes without saying.”
“that is true,” said the gosling. “but will you promise me to fetch my sisters another time?”
“i give you my word that, from to-day, i will come every night and fetch one of the young ladies, until they are all rescued,” said the fox. “as far as lies in my power. there may be obstacles.”
“how kind you are!” whispered the gosling. “and i who thought that the wild animals were such terrible monsters! that’s what i’ve always been told. they said i must be particularly careful not to go into the forest, lest the worst of evils should befall me.”
“sheer calumny!” said the fox. “all the animals in the forest are angels. i never heard of any one being roasted there. but come now, before we are perceived.”
“i’m coming,” said the gosling.
she waddled through the hole and, that very instant, felt the fox’s teeth in her throat. she was just able to give a scream and then she was done for. but, the next moment, trust was there. the fox let go the gosling and struck out with his teeth as best he could. but he was the weaker and the dog gave no quarter. not until the fox lay dead on the ground did trust go back through his hole again.
4
meanwhile, the animals were lying in the meadow and waiting.
“the fox has tricked us,” said the stag.
“of course, he has been caught and is entering two-legs’ service like the rest,” said the nightingale.
but, at daybreak, the sparrow came flying up, breathlessly:
“the fox is dead!” she said. “he is lying on the hill outside two-legs’ house. i saw him myself. there’s a dead goose lying beside him.”
then the lioness rose and all the other animals with her:
“the fox went on his own business,” she said. “he fell in his own hunting. we can trust nobody now.”
then, with bent head, she went sadly home.
