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Aesop's Fables; a new translation

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Title: Aesop's Fables; a new translation

Author: Aesop

Commentator: G. K. Chesterton

Illustrator: Arthur Rackham

Translator: V. S. Vernon Jones

 
Release date: February 1, 2004 [eBook #11339]
 Most recently updated: October 28, 2024

Language: English

Original publication: New York: Avenel Books,, 1912

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/11339

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AESOP'S FABLES; A NEW TRANSLATION ***

ÆSOP'S FABLES

A NEW TRANSLATION

BY V. S. VERNON JONES

WITH AN INTRODUCTION

BY G. K. CHESTERTON

AND ILLUSTRATIONS

BY ARTHUR RACKHAM

1912 EDITION

INTRODUCTION

_Æsop embodies an epigram not uncommon in human history; his fame
is all the more deserved because he never deserved it. The firm
foundations of common sense, the shrewd shots at uncommon sense, that
characterise all the Fables, belong not him but to humanity. In
the earliest human history whatever is authentic is universal: and
whatever is universal is anonymous. In such cases there is always
some central man who had first the trouble of collecting them, and
afterwards the fame of creating them. He had the fame; and, on the
whole, he earned the fame. There must have been something great and
human, something of the human future and the human past, in such a
man: even if he only used it to rob the past or deceive the future.
The story of Arthur may have been really connected with the most
fighting Christianity of falling Rome or with the most heathen
traditions hidden in the hills of Wales. But the word "Mappe" or
"Malory" will always mean King Arthur; even though we find older and
better origins than the Mabinogian; or write later and worse versions
than the "Idylls of the King." The nursery fairy tales may have come
out of Asia with the Indo-European race, now fortunately extinct; they
may have been invented by some fine French lady or gentleman like
Perrault: they may possibly even be what they profess to be. But we
shall always call the best selection of such tales "Grimm's Tales":
simply because it is the best collection.

The historical Æsop, in so far as he was historical, would seem to
have been a Phrygian slave, or at least one not to be specially and
symbolically adorned with the Phrygian cap of liberty. He lived, if he
did live, about the sixth century before Christ, in the time of that
Croesus whose story we love and suspect like everything else in
Herodotus. There are also stories of deformity of feature and a ready
ribaldry of tongue: stories which (as the celebrated Cardinal said)
explain, though they do not excuse, his having been hurled over a high
precipice at Delphi. It is for those who read the Fables to judge
whether he was really thrown over the cliff for being ugly and
offensive, or rather for being highly moral and correct. But there is
no kind of doubt that the general legend of him may justly rank him
with a race too easily forgotten in our modern comparisons: the race
of the great philosophic slaves. Æsop may have been a fiction like
Uncle Remus: he was also, like Uncle Remus, a fact. It is a fact that
slaves in the old world could be worshipped like Æsop, or loved like
Uncle Remus. It is odd to note that both the great slaves told their
best stories about beasts and birds.

But whatever be fairly due to Æsop, the human tradition called Fables
is not due to him. This had gone on long before any sarcastic freedman
from Phrygia had or had not been flung off a precipice; this has
remained long after. It is to our advantage, indeed, to realise the
distinction; because it makes Æsop more obviously effective than any
other fabulist. Grimm's Tales, glorious as they are, were collected by
two German students. And if we find it hard to be certain of a German
student, at least we know more about him than We know about a Phrygian
slave. The truth is, of course, that Æsop's Fables are not Æsop's
fables, any more than Grimm's Fairy Tales were ever Grimm's fairy
tales. But the fable and the fairy tale are things utterly distinct.
There are many elements of difference; but the plainest is plain
enough. There can be no good fable with human beings in it. There can
be no good fairy tale without them.

Æsop, or Babrius (or whatever his name was), understood that, for
a fable, all the persons must be impersonal. They must be like
abstractions in algebra, or like pieces in chess. The lion must always
be stronger than the wolf, just as four is always double of two. The
fox in a fable must move crooked, as the knight in chess must move
crooked. The sheep in a fable must march on, as the pawn in chess must
march on. The fable must not allow for the crooked captures of the
pawn; it must not allow for what Balzac called "the revolt of a sheep"
The fairy tale, on the other hand, absolutely revolves on the pivot
of human personality. If no hero were there to fight the dragons, we
should not even know that they were dragons. If no adventurer were
cast on the undiscovered island--it would remain undiscovered. If the
miller's third son does not find the enchanted garden where the seven
princesses stand white and frozen--why, then, they will remain white
and frozen and enchanted. If there is no personal prince to find the
Sleeping Beauty she will simply sleep. Fables repose upon quite the
opposite idea; that everything is itself, and will in any case speak
for itself. The wolf will be always wolfish; the fox will be always
foxy. Something of the same sort may have been meant by the animal
worship, in which Egyptian and Indian and many other great peoples
have combined. Men do not, I think, love beetles or cats or crocodiles
with a wholly personal love; they salute them as expressions of that
abstract and anonymous energy in nature which to any one is awful, and
to an atheist must be frightful. So in all the fables that are or are
not Æsop's all the animal forces drive like inanimate forces, like
great rivers or growing trees. It is the limit and the loss of all
such things that they cannot be anything but themselves: it is their
tragedy that they could not lose their souls.

This is the immortal justification of the Fable: that we could not
teach the plainest truths so simply without turning men into chessmen.
We cannot talk of such simple things without using animals that do
not talk at all. Suppose, for a moment, that you turn the wolf into a
wolfish baron

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