Ten Unpublished Fables II

by Eliphas Levi (1862)

FABLE I
THE CHAINED EAGLE & THE SWALLOW
The fable before this was for the sheep; they need to be shown that their most sensible course lies in
obedience. Find me people like Brutus or Cato, and I will tell them whether or not I like slavery.
A captured eagle, in a cage before having known the flight of his forefathers, had grown up in the aviary
of a lord, and his haughty head rose from a rich golden collar. From the collar led a chain attached to
the branch of an oak tree. Close to this, his majesty enjoyed his liberty. One day he saw a swallow and
wanted to have a chat with her. But the swallow disdainfully flew off and went on her way. The eagle
was surprised at this contempt. Another day he saw the swallow pass and said to her: My good maid,
know that your sort pay court to mine.
Who are you, then? the swallow answered him.
I am an eagle.
Oh no, said she, youre only a farmyard bird. An eagle would have shaken off servitude to humans,
even if it meant leaving its flesh and its blood on the chain. I am nothing but a fledgling, and I have no
fear that I shall ever be enslaved myself; I die if I am caged. And you whose wing droops like a noble in
tatters, you allow yourself to be corrupted by laziness or fear, when you can overcome to reign, or die
in the attempt!
You do not have to resign yourself to your chains, if you can break them.
FABLE II
THE BEAR AND THE DOG
I am a bit surly, that is part of my character said the bear, but I am a good father; I lick and defend my
young. I moderate my appetites, and would certainly not eat people if I could find enough apples; fruits
are my best and favourite food. If I live alone, it is because nobody understands me.
Oh, I understand you, said a dog; you may talk of your tender and sensitive soul, of all the virtues
which make the honourable wolves jealous; but I know where to take you to make you soften up.
Having said this, the big dog leaped on the bear and had him by the throat.
The big dog was right, some people are so set in their ways that they can only be civilized by brute force,
as flaws of character all come from faults of mind and heart.

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FABLE III
THE TURTLEDOVES & THE NEST OF FLOWERS
When the god Jupiter disguised as a bull abducted Europa and carried her off across the sea, it is said
that she dropped her basket of flowers on the waves, which rocked it for a long time, and two turtledoves
who passed by, seeing the brilliant colours of the floating nest, said to one another : How would it be,
my love, if we were to go and sleep together on the bed gently caressed by the waters, which the gods
have placed for us far from the vultures and the shore? On this floating island let us set forth on our
pleasures, abandon ourselves to the will of the gentle breezes to be carried along like the clouds; if our
vessel is shipwrecked, what is there to alarm us? Do we not still have wings like cupids?
And now our birds are quivering on the nest. Their entwined beaks and fluttering wings seem to charm
the waves and make the flowers tremble.
But now suddenly a storm breaks; they want to fly away - they are far from the shore - they fall; and
Thetis the sea-nymph bathes them with her tears.
When heaven smiles on us, when the sea is without a ripple, let us fear the sweet breeze of seductive
advice. Let us not set off without a compass and without a guide, not even on a nest of flowers.
FABLE IV
THE WOLVES & THE FLOCK OF SHEEP
A flock of sheep had strayed into a narrow mountain pass ; wolves chased far away from the meadows
roamed this remote place.
They surrounded the sheep without a shepherd, who were crammed together and pressing against each
other in a single cluster.
At once all the members of the timid crowd began to bleat so pathetically that the noise of their
whimpering drowned the sound of the howling.
The sound scared all the culprits. In the echoes of so many voices, the wolves thought they could pick
out the barking of dogs. Startled, at first they stopped, then, as the cries grew louder and louder, fearing
that help was coming, one after the other they gave up and went away.
Those sheep were Polish, if I believe the recent history of that country. An entire people on their knees
are weeping for their countrys honour at the foot of its altars which they will never forget.
Now, nobody slaughters a whole people who prays and begs for a country. Nobody, not Russians nor
Mongols, not cowards nor wicked men. If anyone did, the news of such butchery would shake the whole
world!

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FABLE V
HERCULES & EURYSTHEUS
Horribly covered in the blood of the Hydra, Hercules stood, tired, but the victor.
A little myrmidon said to him : You must really hate that tyrant of yours, that fortunate Eurystheus.
What a lot you have suffered since fate put you under his authority.
But: Be silent! Hercules said to the dwarf, who would have poisoned his life with a spirit of envy. Be
silent! Eurystheus has forged my iron courage; in commanding my labours, he has commanded my
fame; he has increased my struggle and created my victory; I owe more to him than to Jupiter.
But all the same, he hates you.
What does his hate matter to me? He is the only one who will suffer from it.
But you are wearing his chain.
Yes, I use it to strangle lions without blanching. Besides, a sacred duty is by no means slavery.
But he wants to dishonour your famous courage.
That which makes us famous cannot be dishonoured.
Censors will find my fable ridiculous, and will think that they are right to be outraged to see Hercules
chatting with an insignificant myrmidon. But the greatest are made to impart learning, the lowest to ask
questions, and condescension could never alter sublime intelligence.
Didnt Christ give us an unfair command when he ordered us to love our enemies?
No, because our enemies are our greatest benefactors, they correct us, whilst our friends are only too
ready to flatter us. The work of our enemies moves us forward, and we owe them the price of our
efforts.
FABLE VI
THE OSTRICH & THE HEN
I am a daughter of Heaven, said the ostrich one day. I have never known a mothers love. As for the
eggs which Heaven gives me, I abandon them to Heavens care. Sometimes I can eat things that would
kill other birds. I use my wings not to fly, but to run; my life is the life of an athlete.
You are nothing but a nasty beast the hen replied angrily. What! You are ignorant of the sweetest
duties, and you think I should honour you! Get lost, you cuckoo! But you, my dear little ones, come and
gather under my wings!
The worship of imposters dreams; loveless and heartless mad feats of self-denial; unnatural vices or
virtues; these are monstrosities.

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FABLE VII
THE RIPE APPLE & THE THREE MEN
Three different men, a priest, a poet and a Jewish ragman, were sitting under an old beech tree on a
very hot day. Near to them was a dwarf apple tree which had only one apple, but at hand-height; ripe,
red and altogether like the one that you might imagine in paradise, the seductive fruit which tempted
the first man in days gone by.
All three saw it at the same time; it would have been a pity to share it.
Lets play for it said the wisest.
How?
Lets go to sleep for a little while, and then tell each other without lying what each one of us dreams
while we are asleep, and the one who has the most beautiful dream will get the lovely apple.
And so it was; all three of them shut their eyes. One alone did not go to sleep.
The other fools re-opened their eyes to the light:
I dreamed that I was God said the poet to the Jew, who was laughing up his sleeve.
I dreamed that I was the Pope said the priest, and both of you were falling into the fire.
Well now, said the Jewish ragman hypocritically, I did not go to sleep. I was hungry and the lovely
fruit was within my reach. I thought to myself that I was only human, and well! I munched the apple.
A good lesson for you who, weary of truth, go to sleep to choose your lies, and who wait for the oracle of
dreams before making good use of the things of this world.
FABLE VIII
THE ARTIST & THE PICTURE
Who has not contemplated with both sad and thrilling soul the beautiful picture called the evening of
life?
An artist was sitting one evening by the waterside. A ship went by carrying love and glory and the
illusions which memory cries for.
Already indifferent even to the remembrance of them, the dreaming artist let fall his lyre, did nothing
to hold on to them and watched them without smiling. The artist... but no, what am I saying, he is not
an artist anymore; his soul is slack and his fingers are crippled. He is a money-maker who dreams of
fortune. He wants to grow old behind a sales desk. Glory and love are an unwelcome shadow; he has
disowned them, he can no longer see them.
Ah! for the heart, illusions have no age, and the age of maturity is certainly not the decline of the good
times.
Anacreon was much wiser; sustained by romances, he would swim after the ship singing, and his songs
would echo from shore to shore.

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FABLE IX
THE MAN & THE CRYSTAL VASE
A certain man had a crystal vase, dearer to him than his own soul. Then with an unlucky blow - perhaps
from the hand of a woman, who knows? - one morning the beautiful vase was smashed to smithereens.
Then this man raged and cried, hitting his head in fury, and saying the stupidest things.
A wise man passing by said to him: You poor fool, what you ought to be crying about is your crazy
mistake in fixing your happiness on such a fragile object.
When an accident releases us from an unworthy attachment, heaven does us the greatest good : it cures
us of madness.
FABLE X
THE TRAIN & THE HORSE
The panting steam engine had just stopped next to a field full of flowers. There the idle horse lived (to
his disgust) among the active livestock of a lonely farm. He lifted his head and gave a long neigh, uneven
and unpleasant like a mocking laugh, and said to his black rival:
So youre the one who dares to challenge my glory, you heartless and soulless machine! So, do you
have the strength of my flexible knees? Do you have my light feet which do not damage the grass? Your
dreadful whistling cannot compete with my splendid neighing; your long, thin neck, with no head and
no eyes, has only dirty smoke compared with the flowing waves of my spreading mane. You never hear
the voice of the triumphant knight.
Whilst as for me, I understand the barking of an excited pack of hounds; I quiver with anticipation
when I hear the war-trumpet. Intelligent and strong, unbeatable and obedient, breathing terror from
my flaring nostrils, I face armies and bite the chests of the enemy horses.
Yes, all that is very nice, especially in poetry, said the engine, and I agree that my body is much less
elegant and well-bred than yours. But I go... run after me!
Dear supporters of flowery poetry, it is no good just complaining about cold industry.
Ways of progress exist there; run, my artistic friends, and overtake it!

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