A
charming
reprint of North's Doni was edited by
Joseph Jacobs (London, 1888).
Joseph Jacobs (London, 1888).
Warner - World's Best Literature - v16 to v20 - Phi to Qui
" The beauty of Maguelonne made
a deep impression on him; and all his thoughts were now of her, of
the court of Naples, and of the glories to be won there. His only
sorrow was the thought of the sorrow he would cause his devoted
parents by leaving them: but kneeling before his father and open-
ing his heart to him, he "reminded him modestly of the advantages
he had taken of the education granted him, of the reputation he
had won; 'but to what use,' added he, 'are the principles you have
inculcated, the little talent I have won, if I am to spend my life in
inactivity? It is not for his own sake, it is in order to be an exam-
ple to the world, the defender of the oppressed, the protector of the
unhappy, that a knight must live his life. '» And asking his par-
ents to weigh carefully the life awaiting him in his home against the
life of the world outside, he leaves the decision with them. They
see the justice of his wishes, and all preparations are made for his
departure; his father recalling to him the teachings of his childhood,
and his mother giving him as a parting gift three costly rings.
Pierre finally arrives in Naples, where reigns the father of the
beautiful Maguelonne; but although he has a brilliant suite, he pre-
fers to remain unknown,- that he may win the love of Maguelonne
on his own merits, and also that he may not attract the attention of
his father's brother, Count Jacques of Provence, who might fear that
with the help of the King of Naples. Pierre would attempt to regain
for his father the throne which Count Jacques had usurped. Pierre
chose as his emblem two keys, and had them embroidered on his
clothes and on the harness of his horses; and dressed in his richest
apparel, he went the following Sunday to the tournament called in
honor of Maguelonne, who was to grace it with her presence. Pierre
finds the princess far exceeding all that had been said of her: in-
spired by her beauty, he enters the lists and conquers all his com-
batants, as much by his skill and agility as by his strength; and to
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the King's messenger, who asks the name of so valiant a stranger,
he answers that he is merely a poor French knight in search of
glory, who has vowed not to disclose his name.
Maguelonne is so charmed with his prowess, that the King, at her
wish, orders several other tournaments, out of which Pierre comes
equally victorious, each time gaining in her esteem. "She had seen
many knights, but none had made the same impression on her. . . .
Maguelonne was both gentle and vivacious; she had all the virtues of
a tender heart, and all the qualities of an active and gifted mind: but
at this time her strongest feeling was the fear that her father might
lack in courtesy to the unknown knight. " Her joy was therefore
great when the King invited Pierre to dine at the palace, and gave
him the seat of honor at her side. "Pierre, without forgetting that
he was seated next to the King, saw nothing but the beauty of the
daughter. He suppressed his sighs, and his heart was the prey of
the most passionate love. Maguelonne experienced the same feeling,
but would not believe it: she took her emotion for natural admira-
tion, and her tenderness for the esteem due so many virtues. ”
In this way their mutual love grows, causing them to pass through
all the various phases of emotion, from joy to sadness, from hope to
fear, scarcely understanding what can be this new imperious feeling.
After Maguelonne has passed several sleepless nights, she goes to her
old nurse Nicé one morning at dawn, and confesses her love for the
unknown knight; and being reproved for loving an adventurer, she
says: “Nicé, you speak to me of thrones, grandeur, riches,— what is
all that compared to love? You would make me despise my rank,
were it to prevent me from loving the virtues of an honest man
because he is neither rich nor powerful. Power should be the reward
of valor and not of birth; but, cruel Nicé, who has told you that this
stranger is of low birth? It is only because you fear him that you
oppose my wishes. Go then to him, use all your tact to discover
which is his country and who are his parents: not that I doubt him,
but I would be justified in your sight. I would that you might help
me with your counsel without blushing. " Maguelonne conquers all
Nicé's scruples; and having assured her that whatever happens, she
will marry none other than the knight of the keys, she adds: “It is
late: go, my dear friend, hasten, and if necessary make your way to
the unknown; question him, ask him most urgently, and if you must
tell him all I feel for him, it will not cause me a blush; -love ceases
to be a weakness when it is wedded to virtue. Farewell; you know
my heart,-my life is in your hands. "
Pierre, who does not dare to hope that the princess will ever
accept his love, is thinking over the difficulties of his position when
Nicé comes to him. Assuring him of the friendship of the King
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PIERRE OF PROVENCE
11431
and Queen, and telling him that he has inspired the princess with
"the feelings which he deserves," she begs him to disclose his name
and rank, that envious courtiers may not make his silence a pretext
to hurt him. Pierre declares that no fear of intrigues would make
him disclose his identity; but that the sole wish to please the princess
forces him to acknowledge that he belongs to an illustrious family of
France. Thereupon he presents Nicé with one of the rings given him
by his mother, not daring to give it to the princess herself; and Nicé,
to reward him for his confidence, pledges herself to make Maguelonne
accept it.
She returns to find the princess more impatient than ever,
in her delight over his ring able to talk of nothing but her love,
spending her days and nights thinking of him and dreaming of him.
Pierre meanwhile, fearing the result of his message, seeks Nicé,
who promises to help him if she is sure of the purity of his love for
Maguelonne. "May I die before your eyes," he exclaims, "if carried
away by base passion I should ever cast a bold look on the one I
love so tenderly. I adore Maguelonne; I would give my life for her;
and if I could win her hand thereby, there is no danger that I would
not brave. " Conquered by these protestations, Nicé confesses the love
of the princess; Pierre promises to tell Maguelonne who he is, and
sends her another ring. Their first meeting is set for the next day.
Nicé meets Pierre and brings him to the princess, leaving them to-
gether overwhelmed by a happiness that finds no words to express
itself. Maguelonne finally, reminding him of her great trust in him,
begs him to have equal confidence in her; and kneeling before her,
he confesses his vow not to disclose his name and title until he had
succeeded in winning her love. Then, with Maguelonne's permission,
and being assured of her love, he tells her all, and dwells upon the
danger it would mean to his father, to herself, and him, if his uncle
the reigning Count of Provence should hear of his intention to marry
the heiress of a kingdom; by such an alliance making himself a much
more redoubtable claimant to the throne of Provence.
Maguelonne trembles at the thought of the danger her lover is
exposed to; but, assured that her father would approve of their union
if he knew who Pierre was, "she feels that she does not lack in her
duty toward her father in giving her heart and promise to so brave
a knight, who is moreover of the blood of kings. " Consequently they
exchange the most solemn vows; Pierre gives Maguelonne the third
of his mother's rings, and she takes from her neck a golden chain
which she passes around his.
But the secrecy to which they are forced naturally weighs heavy
on them; and when Maguelonne is alone with Nicé she cannot help
contrasting her fate with that of her poorest subject, who can freely
marry the man of her choice. "If Pierre were a reigning monarch,
## p. 11432 (#46) ###########################################
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might he even be the most detested but powerful tyrant, he had only
to will it and he could be my husband. And if he were the son of
a shepherd, although he had the courage of the greatest heroes and
the wisdom of the best of kings, he would be punished for daring to
aspire to the hand of a princess. Yes, Nicé, this is the fate of my
lover. As prince he is lost if he becomes known, as simple citizen
his love would be a crime if it were discovered. ' What reasons for
discontent? ' said the nurse: 'you must expect everything from time
and your own prudence. »»
Pierre meanwhile gains the heart of everybody at court by his re-
peated triumphs, beauty, and modesty; and this awakens the jealousy
of Ferrier, Duke of Normandie, who aspires to Maguelonne's hand.
Confident of his strength, Ferrier begs the King to call another tour-
nament, at which he unseats all his adversaries until in turn he is
thrown off his horse by Pierre. As victor, Pierre is to continue
the fight with the next adversary; and great is his surprise when he
recognizes his uncle, Count Jacques of Provence. Pierre, without
making himself known, tries to dissuade the count from fighting; but
his uncle insists upon his rights. Pierre contents himself with merely
evading the count's thrusts, until Count Jacques, rendered furious,
takes his sword in both hands; Pierre, without attempting to evade
him again, only turns his head a little, and the stroke merely grazes
Pierre's armor; the count by the violence of his own motion is
thrown over the head of his horse and falls at the feet of Pierre's.
He rises with a low murmur. Everybody is surprised at the skill
and strength of the knight of the keys: nobody understands why,
being so superior to the count, he should have first refused to fight
him; only Maguelonne understands all. As for the count, he dared
not begin again, and was obliged to acknowledge that the unknown
knight was the most redoubtable and at the same time the most
courteous of all those he had fought until that day. " Humiliated by
his defeat, the count leaves at once, thus losing the chance of recog-
nizing Pierre.
Before the tournament, Maguelonne had seized the opportunity of
a conversation with Count Jacques to inquire after Pierre's parents;
and when Pierre comes to her the next day, he hears from her that
his mother is suffering great anxiety at not having heard from him,
and he immediately asks Maguelonne's permission to go home and
reassure his parents. But the prospect of his absence, and the fear
of being forced to marry Ferrier, who will make the most of his
opportunity, is more than Maguelonne can bear; and she implores
Pierre not to leave, or at least not to leave without her. "What! '
exclaimed Pierre, you would have so great a confidence in me that
you would go with me? O most adorable princess, the sacrifice which
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PIERRE OF PROVENCE
11433
you propose deserves that I should forget the entire world to belong
only to you. Well then, I will not go. But my mother! my mother
to whom I am giving this great sorrow may die, and I shall be the
cause of her death! ' Maguelonne's heart softened, and she begged
Pierre to leave and take her with him. "
Thus the lovers make up their mind to flee, and to be married
as soon as they are out of reach, that Maguelonne may accompany
her husband. The next night they leave, Pierre taking three horses
carrying provisions, and Maguelonne taking with her all her jewels.
and valuables. "Maguelonne rode beside her lover; one of Pierre's
servants rode ahead, and the two others behind. With the dawn of
day they reached a thick wood bordering on the sea.
They
dismounted and sat down on the grass. Maguelonne, who had been
strengthened on the way by love and fear, felt tired out; she laid
her head on Pierre's knees; with one of his hands he held her beau-
tiful face, and with the other he held a veil to protect her from the
dew falling from the leaves. To cleave helmets, break lances, and
throw knights, demand great courage: but to be young, in love, hold
in your arms in the solitude of the woods the woman who loves you,
and still to treat her as a sister, is an effort of which not many
knights would be capable; but Pierre was, and Maguelonne fell calmly
asleep. "
At the court of Naples all is consternation and despair. Nicé
had known nothing of the lovers' flight; and after a fruitless search,
the recent sight of Moorish ships on the coast gives rise to the suspi-
cion that the unknown knight was a Moorish prince. The King sends
out troops, who do not find the Moors, but do all the harm of which
growing anxiety has accused the Moors.
Meanwhile our lovers were in the forest. "Maguelonne was asleep
in Pierre's lap; her morning dreams with their happy fancies made
her more beautiful than ever. Her face, half reclining on her lover's
arm, was flushed with color; a light wind which raised her veil and
fanned her cheek showed Pierre a throat whose whiteness made the
color of her face all the more beautiful. Pierre looked at her, his
heart full of love: from time to time he touched one of Maguelonne's
hands with his lips, and tempted by her half-opened lips, he bent
down a thousand times to pluck the kisses she seemed to offer
him; and a thousand times fear and respect for his promises to her
held him back. Ah, Pierre! Pierre! how dearly you will pay for
your fatal prudence! He noticed at Maguelonne's side a little box of
precious wood; he wanted to know what it contained. Ah, Pierre, is
that the kind of curiosity you ought to have? He opens it, and finds
therein the three rings left him by his mother which he had given
her; Maguelonne kept them like a precious token of Pierre's love.
## p. 11434 (#48) ###########################################
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PIERRE OF PROVENCE
He closes the box, puts it beside him, and is lost in thought. But
while he gives himself up to his reveries, a bird of prey seizes upon
the box and flies away with it; Pierre follows it with his eyes; he
foresees Maguelonne's disappointment at this loss: he takes off his
coat, as quietly as possible spreads it over his beloved, takes a sling,
tries to hit the bird with a stone; his efforts are useless: the bird
perches on a rock in the water; Pierre hits it without wounding it;
the bird flies away, letting the box fall into the water. "
Pierre takes a boat and goes out for the ring, is drifted out to sea
by a sudden strong current, appeals for help to a ship coming his
way, is taken on board by the sailors, who are Moorish pirates, and
is carried away to spend five years in captivity on the coast of
Africa. He renders the Sultan great services, succeeds in putting
down a State conspiracy, and finally obtains as a reward his freedom
and innumerable riches, which are packed in barrels and covered
with salt to avoid suspicion and robbery. He embarks for Provence,
but on the way the ship puts in at a small island port, and he is left
behind by mistake. On reaching shore, the sailors send his barrels
to a convent hospital, the superior of which has a great reputation
for kindness to strangers. Pierre after many trials reaches French
soil, ill and suffering; and upon the advice of some sailors he seeks
help at the convent hospital, where he is tenderly cared for. Among
the patients are two knights that he knew at the court of Naples.
From them he hears that Maguelonne is supposed to be dead; that
the King of Naples has died of grief, the Queen reigning in his place;
that the Count and Countess of Provence are still mourning the loss
of their son. At the news of Maguelonne's death he is thrown into
a violent fever; the mother superior, Emilie, is sent for, and seeing
that his illness has a mental cause, she begs him to confide in her. He
tells her his story; and when he names Maguelonne and acknowl-
edges that he is Pierre of Provence, she exclaims, "O eternal justice,
O Providence! What! you are the valiant Pierre, Maguelonhe's lover?
O Heaven! have mercy on me, support me and strengthen me. '
. She was trembling and could hardly breathe, but she con-
trolled herself: she feared that the news she had to tell the unfor-
tunate Pierre might cause him so violent an emotion that he would
not be able to bear it. "
She tells him that she is a friend of Maguelonne's, and has reason
to think that Maguelonne is still alive. The next day she comes
again and brings him the news that Maguelonne is in a convent, but
not bound by any vow, and that she still lives but for him; and
adding that she must take a journey of a few days, she hands him a
letter from Maguelonne. The letter, written to Emilie, is full of
love, hope, and impatience; "of sentences not finished, of lines half
## p. 11435 (#49) ###########################################
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11435
effaced by tears, expressions that had no sense, tender ravings, a
thousand ideas that clashed with each other; the purest religious
sentiments and the most devoted love, the severest moral rectitude
and the most passionate forgetfulness, all are united therein, and any
one but a lover would have thought Maguelonne bereft of reason.
She promised her friend to come and see her, and then to unite her
fate with Pierre's forever; but she did not set the time. "
Pierre awaits Emilie's return most impatiently; and is finally told
that she has come back, and asks him to sup with her that evening.
Tortured by a thousand fears, Pierre imagines that she chooses this
means of preparing him for the sad news that Maguelonne is bound
by a convent vow, and goes to her in the evening with many mis-
givings. But she calms his fears, and tells him that she has brought
Nicé, who is awaiting them in the adjoining room. "In a separate
apartment Emilie had prepared a room with as much taste as mag-
nificence; a table, carefully set, awaited five guests; Pierre and Emilie
arrive, the door is opened, and Pierre finds himself in the arms of
his father and mother. 'Great God,' cries Pierre, embracing them,
'cruel Emilie, you did not prepare me for this extreme happiness. O
my father! O my mother! my joy is killing me. ' They were all weep-
ing tears of delight; the knight was in the arms now of the count,
now of the countess; broken words, sighs, caresses, express the feel-
ing that possessed him; it would have been hard for him to stand
this touching scene if the presence of Nicé, who came to his aid, had
not reminded him of Maguelonne's absence. He embraced Nicé, he
assured her of his deep gratitude for the interest she had formerly
taken in his love. Ah, Nicé! will you forgive me all the sorrow
that our flight must have caused you? How many times have I not
blushed at the thought of the opinion my imprudence must have
given you of me! And Maguelonne, the virtuous Maguelonne, the
victim of my rashness, has undoubtedly suffered part of the shame
of this elopement in the minds of her parents and of the people of
Naples. Ah, my dear Nicé, paint to her, if you can, my remorse! '
'Will you then always be unjust to me? ' exclaims Emilie,
lifting her veil and embracing the knight, who finally recognizes
Maguelonne. How can you speak of "victim"? you are only the
accomplice of my crime, if our flight was a crime; forget your re-
morse, and speak to me only of your love. Ah, Pierre! >»
The next day Maguelonne relates her adventures: her distress at
finding herself alone on awakening, her first decision to return to
Naples, and her determination then to brave the world alone rather
than to return and be forced to marry another than Pierre; how she
landed on the island on which the convent is now situated, and
bought three houses there, with the aim of establishing a shelter for
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people who were ill and suffering: how she was joined in her under-
taking by several young girls, who "thought it more meritorious in the
sight of God to spend their days comforting suffering humanity than
to waste their lives in a retreat useless to the world. " The Count
and Countess of Provence, hearing of her good work, had sought the
convent to obtain if possible some comfort in their great distress;
and she, telling them her true name and relation to their son, had
upheld their courage by her never-failing hope.
Maguelonne and Pierre are then married; the barrels of treasures
are brought to light; the Queen of Naples only too gladly gives up
her throne to her daughter and son-in-law; Count Jacques of Pro-
vence chooses Pierre his heir after his own death. "Pierre and Ma-
guelonne had a long, happy, and peaceful reign; they had no sorrows
except those caused by the deaths of their parents. Pierre recovered
Provence; he had a son who was heir to Naples, Provence, and all
the riches of Robert [the son of Count Jacques]. This couple re-
mained lovers to their grave, into which they did not descend until
ripe old age. "
And this ends our fairy tale; leaving us to imagine, perhaps not
what was the actual life of those ages, but at least what was then
the ideal of human glory and happiness.
Olga flinch
## p. 11437 (#51) ###########################################
11437
PILPAY
BY CHARLES R. LANMAN
<
W
HEN we consider the wonderful history of Pilpay's Fables,'
their fame, and their charm, we naturally invest their sup-
posititious author with a personality and a name, in fact,
however, "Pilpay" is probably a changed form of an Indian word for
"court-scholar," misunderstood as a proper name, and implying there-
fore neither personality nor specific date. In India, from early times
the parable or "example" has been the recognized method of convey-
ing moral instruction. In the didactic literature, some general truth
or some rule of life is stated in the form of a maxim, and a beast
fable or other story is then added as a concrete instance or "example. "
This is well illustrated by The Lion-Makers' below. The folk-lore
of which these tales are a reflex is not the exclusive property of any
of the great religions of ancient India, but is common to Buddhism,
Jainism, and Brahmanism alike. The sculptured representations of
the stories upon the great Buddhist monuments of 250 B. C. make it
certain that the stories themselves were familiar to the common peo-
ple at that early date; and it is hardly less certain that they were so
known long before that time.
The oldest and most important collection of Indian folk-lore is the
Buddhist one called 'Jataka,'—that is, 'Birth-stories,' or stories of
Gotama Buddha in his previous births: it consists of five hundred and
fifty tales, each containing a moral; each is placed in the mouth of
the Buddha, and in each the Buddha plays the best and most import-
ant part. It is this device of a framework or setting for the folk-
tales that constitutes the principal essentially literary element of the
collection. Next in importance to the Buddhist Jataka' stands the
Brahmanical 'Panchatantra. Here the material is not essentially dif-
ferent in kind from that of the 'Jataka'; but again it is the setting
of the material which gives the work its distinctive literary char-
acter. It is a kind of 'Mirror for Magistrates. Both the 'Jataka,'
written in Pali, and the Panchatantra,' in Sanskrit, are still extant,
and contain many of the stories which in translations of translations
attained great currency and celebrity in mediæval literature.
The precise Indian original of these translations is lost; but we
know that it was translated into the literary language of Persia (the
Pehlevi), by command of the Sassanian king Khosru the Just, about
## p. 11438 (#52) ###########################################
11438
PILPAY
550 A. D.
From the Pehlevi came two notable versions: one is
the Old Syriac, called 'Kalilag and Damnag,' after the two jackals,
Karataka and Damanaka, who figured prominently in the framework
of the Sanskrit original; and the other is the Arabic version, called
'Kalilah and Dimnah,' or 'Fables of Pilpay,' made about 750 A. D.
by Abd-allah ibn al-Moqaffa, a Persian convert to Islam under the
Caliph al-Mansor.
According to the Arabic introduction, Dabshelim was the first king
of the Indian Restoration, after the fall of the governor appointed
by Alexander at the close of his campaign in the Panjab, B. C. 326.
When firmly established, Dabshelim gave himself over to every
wickedness. To reclaim the King, a Brahman philosopher takes up
his parable, as did Nathan before David, and at last wins him back
to virtue. The wise man is called in Arabic bid-bah, and in Syriac
bid-vag. These words are traced through the Pehlevi to the San-
skrit vidya-pati, "master of sciences. " Accordingly bidbah, which has
become Bidpai or Pilpay in our modern books, is not really a proper
name, but an appellative, applied to a "chief pandit" or "court-
scholar of an Indian prince.
From the Arabic are descended, in the fourth generation from the
original, a dozen or more versions, of which three may be mentioned
as noteworthy links in the chain of tradition: the Greek one, made
about 1080 by Symeon Seth, a Jewish physician; the Persian, made
some fifty years later, by Nasr Allah of Ghazni; and the Hebrew,
ascribed to Rabbi Joel, and probably made before 1250.
Of the descendants in the fifth degree from the original, the 'Di-
rectorium Humanæ Vitæ,' made about 1270 by John of Capua from
the Hebrew, is distinctly the most celebrated, because it gave rise in
turn to Danish, Dutch, Spanish, Italian, and French, and above all to
the famous German and English versions mentioned below. But
besides the 'Directorium,' we must notice the 'Specimen of the Wis-
dom of the Ancient Hindus,' a version into Latin from the Greek of
Symeon, made by the Jesuit father Petrus Possinus (1666); and the
'Anvár-i Suhailí' or 'Lights of Canopus,' a simplified recast of Nasr
Allah's. In the second edition of his fables, La Fontaine tells us that
he owes the largest part of his new material to "Pilpay, the Indian
sage. " Pierre Poussin's 'Specimen' was the one embodiment of hi
shadowy Oriental fabulist, and a French version of the 'Lights' was
the other.
Two offshoots of the 'Directorium' are of unrivaled interest to
the student of the beast fable. The one is the 'Book of Examples
of the Ancient Sages'; and the other is Doni's 'La Moral Filosophia. '
The Book of Examples' was made at the instance of Duke Eber-
hard im Bart, whose name and motto, "Eberhart Graf z(u) Wirtenberg
## p. 11439 (#53) ###########################################
PILPAY
11439
Attempto," appear as an acrostic in the initials of the first sections.
It was first printed about 1481, and has since been admirably edited
by W. L. Holland (Stuttgart, 1860). Holland used, besides three manu-
scripts, two printed editions without place and year, and enumerates
seventeen dated editions that appeared between 1483 and 1592. Four
dated editions appeared at Ulm between 1483 and 1485! The great
number of editions of the work, and their rapid succession, are the
best proof of its importance as a means of instruction and amuse-
ment at the beginning of the age of printing. The examples them-
selves had doubtless pointed the moral of many an ancient homily
long before the days of Gutenberg: but the language of the old
German version of them is so remarkable for its simplicity, dignity,
strength, and beauty, that we cannot wonder at its immense popu-
larity; and to this version, more than to any other, is Europe indebted
for the wide-spread knowledge of this cycle of literature from the
last part of the fifteenth to the middle of the seventeenth century.
The other offshoot of the 'Directorium ' — namely, 'The morall phi-
losophie of Doni: drawne out of the auncient writers. A worke first
compiled in the Indian tongue, and afterwardes reduced into divers
other languages: and now lastly Englished out of Italian by Thomas
North (London, 1570) -is most interesting to us as English-speaking
people because it is "the first literary link between India and Eng-
land, written in racy Elizabethan," a piece of "Tudor prose at its
best," a veritable English classic.
A translation of the 'Jataka' is now issuing from the Univer-
sity Press of Cambridge, England, under the editorship of Professor
Cowell, three volumes of which have thus far appeared: one by Rob-
ert Chalmers of Oriel College, Oxford; a second by W. H. D. Rouse
of Rugby School; and a third by H. T. Francis and R. A. Neil of
Cambridge.
A charming reprint of North's Doni was edited by
Joseph Jacobs (London, 1888). An account of the literary history
of the fables of Pilpay may be found in Jacobs's book, or in Keith-
Falconer's 'Kalilah and Dimnah' (Cambridge, 1885), or in the pres-
ent writer's 'Sanskrit Reader' (Boston, 1888).
C. R. Lanman.
## p. 11440 (#54) ###########################################
I 1440
PILPAY
[The translation of the 'Jataka' from which the selections are taken is
that of Professor Cowell, referred to in the essay. ]
THE TALKATIVE TORTOISE
[The story of The Talkative Tortoise' we give in two of its many extant
versions. The first is Rouse's translation from the Pali of the 'Jataka' (No.
215). The second is from Sir Thomas North's translation (London, 1570)
of The Morall Philosophie of Doni,' the first English version of the Fables
of Pilpay. ]
FIRST VERSION
From the Jataka'
"THE
HE Tortoise needs must speak," etc. - This is a story told by
the Master while staying in Jetavana, about Kokalika. The
circumstances which gave rise to it will be set forth under
the Mahatakkari Birth. Here again the Master said: "This is not
the only time, brethren, that Kokalika has been ruined by talking; it
was the same before. " And then he told the story as follows.
ONCE on a time Brahmadatta was King of Benares; and the
Future Buddha, being born to one of the King's court, grew up,
and became the King's adviser in all things human and divine.
But this King was very talkative; and when he talked there was
no chance for any other to get in a word. And the Future
Buddha, wishing to put a stop to his much talking, kept watching
for an opportunity.
Now there dwelt a tortoise in a certain pond in the region of
Himalaya. Two young wild geese, searching for food, struck up
an acquaintance with him, and by-and-by they grew close friends
together. One day these two said to him: "Friend tortoise, we
have a lovely home in Himalaya, on a plateau of Mount Chitta-
kuta, in a cave of gold! Will you come with us? "
"Why," said he, "how can I get there? "
"Oh, we will take you, if onl you can keep your mouth
shut, and say not a word to anybody. "
"Yes, I can do that," says he: "take me along! "
So they made the tortoise hold a stick between his teeth; and
themselves taking hold so of the two ends, they sprang up into
the air.
The village children saw this, and exclaimed, "There are
two geese carrying a tortoise by a stick! "
## p. 11441 (#55) ###########################################
PILPAY
11441
[By this time the geese, flying swiftly, had arrived at the space above the
palace of the King, at Benares. ]
The tortoise wanted to cry out, "Well, and if my friends do
carry me, what is that to you, you caitiffs? " and he let go the
stick from between his teeth, and falling into the open court-yard
he split in two. What an uproar there was! "A tortoise has
fallen in the court-yard, and broken in two! " they cried. The
King, with the Future Buddha and all his court, came up to
the place, and seeing the tortoise asked the Future Buddha a
question: "Wise sir, what made this creature fall? »
"Now's my time! " thought he. "For a long while I have
been wishing to admonish the King, and I have gone about seek-
ing my opportunity. No doubt the truth is this: the tortoise and
the geese became friendly; the geese must have meant to carry
him to Himalaya, and so made him hold a stick between his
teeth, and then lifted him into the air; then he must have heard
some remark, and wanted to reply; and not being able to keep
his mouth shut, he must have let himself go; and so he must
have fallen from the sky and thus come by his death. " So
thought he; and addressed the King: "O King, they that have
too much tongue, that set no limit to their speaking, ever come
to such misfortune as this;" and he uttered the following verses:
"The tortoise needs must speak aloud,
Although between his teeth
A stick he bit; yet, spite of it,
He spoke and fell beneath.
-
"And now, O mighty master, mark it well.
See thou speak wisely, see thou speak in season.
To death the tortoise fell:
He talked too much, that was the reason. "
"He is speaking of me! " the King thought to himself; and
asked the Future Buddha if it was so.
"Be it you, O great King, or be it another,” replied he, "who-
soever talks beyond measure comes by some misery of this kind;"
and so he made the thing manifest. And thenceforward the King
abstained from talking, and became a man of few words.
This discourse ended, the Master identified the Birth: "Kokalika
was the tortoise then, the two famous elders were the two wild geese,
Ananda was the King, and I was his wise adviser. "
XX-716
## p. 11442 (#56) ###########################################
11442
PILPAY
SECOND VERSION
[From the earliest English version of the Fables of Bidpai: reprint London,
Published by David Nutt, in the Strand. ]
1888.
IN THE fishings of the Sophie there was a world of fowls that
kept about it to feed of those fishes; and amongst them was a
tortoise of the water that had close friendship with two great and
fat fowls, who diving under water drove the fish all about, and
they no sooner appeared almost above water, but at a chop they
had them in their mouths. The lake was full of clefts; I can-
not tell how but by certain earthquakes. And by little and
little it began to wax dry, so that they were fain to void out the
water to take out the great number of fish that were in it, that
they should not die in that drought, but rather eat them up.
The fowls therefore of that lake, meaning to depart out of that
country, came one morning to break their fast together, and to
take their leave of the tortoise their friend. The which when she
saw them forsake her, she wept bitterly, and pitifully lamenting
she said, "Alas! what shall I do here alone? But what thing can
come worse to me than to lose the water and my friends at one
instant! O poor tortoise that I am, wretched creature I! whither
should I go to seek out water, that am so slow to go? I like
not to tarry longer in this country. O good brethren, help me, I
pray you! forsake me not in my distress! Ah, unhappy was I born
in this world, that I must carry my house with me, and can put
no victuals into it. In others' houses, alack! there is place enough
for their necessaries; but in mine I can scant hide myself. Ah
woe, woe is me, how shall I do? If ye have any pity on me,
my brethren, and if ye have taken me for your friend, help me,
for God's sake. Leave me not here to burst for thirst. I would
gladly go with you if that you would gladly put me in some
lake, and I would follow mine old trade as I have done; there-
fore, dear fowls, help me! "
These words did penetrate the hearts of these great water
fowls; and taking no less pity on her than looking to their own.
profit, they said unto her, "Dear mother tortoise, we could not
do better than satisfy thy desire, but alas, what means have we
to carry thee hence into any lake? Yet there is an easy way to
bring it to pass, if that thy heart will serve thee to take upon
thee to hold a piece of wood fast in thy teeth a good while.
And then we (the one on the one side of thee, and the other on
the other side) will with our bills take the end of the stick in our
## p. 11443 (#57) ###########################################
PILPAY
11443
mouths also, and so carry thee trimly into some lake, and there
we would lead our lives and fare delicately. But in any case
thou must beware thou open not thy mouth at any time, because
the other birds that fly up and down will gladly play with
thee and laugh to see thee fly in the air, thou that art used to
tarry on the earth and under the water. Therefore they will tell
thee marvelous wonders, and will be very busy with thee, and
peradventure they will ask thee: O pretty she beast, whence
comest thou, I pray thee, that thou art flying thus, and whither
wilt thou? But take thou no heed to them, see them not, nor
once hearken to them, I would advise thee. And if they prattle
to thee, saying,-Oh, what an enterprise of birds! good Lord!
what a piece of work they have taken in hand! - Whist! not a
word thou, for thy life. Nor look not that we should answer
them; for we having the stick in our mouths cannot speak but
thou must needs fall, if the stick (by talk) fall out of our mouths
at any time.
Well, now thou hast heard all, how sayest thou?
will thy mind serve thee? hast thou any fancy for the matter? "
"Who? I? Yes, that I have. I am ready to do anything. I
will venture rather than I will tarry behind. "
The fowls found out a stick, and made the tortoise hold it fast
with her teeth as she could for her life, and then they each of
them took an end in their mouth, and putting themselves up,
straight flew into the air: that it was one of the foolishest sights
to see a tortoise fly in the air that ever was seen. And behold
a whole flight of birds met them, seeing them fly thus strangely,
and hovered round about them, with great laughters and noises,
and speaking the vilest words to them they could: Oh, here is a
brave sight! look, here is a goodly jest! whoo! what bug have
we here? said some. See, see! she hangeth by the throat, and
therefore she speaketh not, said others; and the beast flyeth not,
like a beast.
These taunts and spiteful words went to the heart of the
tortoise, that she was as mad as she could be: so she could
no longer hold, but answer she would (at least as she thought),
and when she opened her mouth to speak, down she fell to
the ground, and smashed her all to pieces; and all because she
would have said,— I am an honest woman, and no thief; I would
ye should know it, knaves, rascals, and ravening birds that ye
are. So that, contemning the good counsel was given her, or to
say better, because she would not believe them,- she paid her
folly with death.
――
-
## p. 11444 (#58) ###########################################
11444
PILPAY
THE GOLDEN GOOSE
From the Jataka,' No. 136
[This is interesting because traceable by literary documents, from the
'Jataka' down to La Fontaine (Book v. , No. 13, La Poule aux Eufs d'Or '). ]
"C
ONTENTED be. " This story was told by the Master about a
sister named Fat Nanda. A lay brother at Savatthi had
offered the sisterhood a supply of garlic; and sending for his
bailiff, had given orders that if they should come, each sister was
to receive two or three handfuls. After that they made a practice of
coming to his house or field for their garlic. Now one holiday the
supply of garlic in the house ran out; and the sister Fat Nanda,
coming with others to the house, was told, when she said she wanted
some garlic, that there was none left in the house,-it had all been
used up out of hand,—and that she must go to the field for it. So
away to the field she went, and carried off an excessive amount of
garlic. The bailiff grew angry, and remarked what a greedy lot
these sisters were! This piqued the more moderate sisters; and the
brethren too were piqued at the taunt when the sisters repeated
it to them, and they told the Blessed One. Rebuking the greed of
Fat Nanda, the Master said, “Brethren, a greedy person is harsh and
unkind even to the mother who bore him: a greedy person cannot
convert the unconverted, or make the converted grow in grace, or
cause alms to come in, or save them when come in; whereas the
moderate person can do all these things. ” In such wise did the
Master point the moral; ending by saying, "Brethren, as Fat Nanda
is greedy now, so she was greedy in times gone by. " And thereupon
he told the following story of the past.
ONCE upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares,
the Future Buddha was born a brahman, and growing up was
married to a bride of his own rank, who bore him three daugh-
ters named Nanda, Nanda-vati, and Sundari-nanda. The Future
Buddha dying, they were taken in by neighbors and friends,
whilst he was born again into the world as a golden mallard
endowed with consciousness of its former existences. Growing
up, the bird viewed its own magnificent size and golden plumage,
and remembered that previously it had been a human being.
Discovering that his wife and daughters were living on the
charity of others, the mallard bethought him of his plumage like
hammered and beaten gold, and how by giving them a golden
feather at a time he could enable his wife and daughters to live
in comfort. So away he flew to where they dwelt, and alighted
## p. 11445 (#59) ###########################################
PILPAY
11445
on the top of the ridge-pole. Seeing the Future Buddha, the
wife and girls asked where he had come from; and he told them
that he was their father, who had died and been born a golden
mallard, and that he had come to visit them and put an end to
their miserable necessity of working for hire. "You shall have
my feathers," said he, "one by one, and they will sell for enough
to keep you all in ease and comfort. " So saying, he gave them
one of his feathers and departed. And from time to time he
returned to give them another feather, and with the proceeds of
their sale these brahman women grew prosperous and quite well-
to-do. But one day the mother said to her daughters, "The
no trusting animals, my children. Who's to say your father
might not go away one of these days and never come back
again? Let us use our time and pluck him clean next time he
comes, so as to make sure of all his feathers. " Thinking this
would pain him, the daughters refused. The mother in her
greed called the golden mallard to her one day when he came,
and then took him with both hands and plucked him. Now the
Future Buddha's feathers had this property, that if they were
plucked out against his wish, they ceased to be golden and be-
came like a crane's feathers. And now the poor bird, though he
stretched his wings, could not fly, and the woman flung him into
a barrel and gave him food there. As time went on his feathers
grew again (though they were plain white ones now), and he
flew away to his own abode and never came back again.
At the close of this story the Master said, "Thus you see, breth-
ren, how Fat Nanda was as greedy in times past as she is now.
And her greed then lost her the gold, in the same way as her greed
will now lose her the garlic. Observe, moreover, how her greed has
deprived the whole sisterhood of their supply of garlic; and learn
therefrom to be moderate in your desires, and to be content with
what is given you, however small that may be. " So saying, he
uttered this stanza:
Contented be, nor itch for further store:
They seized the swan but had its gold no more.
-
So saying, the Master soundly rebuked the erring sister, and laid
down the precept that any sister who should eat garlic would have
to do penance. Then, making the connection, he said:-"Fat Nanda
was the brahman's wife of the story, her three sisters were the brah-
man's three daughters, and I myself the golden mallard. "
## p. 11446 (#60) ###########################################
11446
PILPAY
THE GRATITUDE OF ANIMALS
From the Jataka,' No. 124
This story was told by the Master while
at Jetavana, about a good brahman belonging to a noble
Savatthi family who gave his heart to the Truth, and, join-
ing the Brotherhood, became constant in all duties. Blameless in
his attendance on teachers; scrupulous in the matter of foods and
drinks; zealous in the performance of the duties of the chapter-
house, bath-house, and so forth; perfectly punctual in the observance
of the fourteen major and of the eighty minor disciplines; he used to
sweep the monastery, the cells, the cloisters, and the path leading to
their monastery, and gave water to thirsty folk. And because of his
great goodness, folk gave regularly five hundred meals a day to the
brethren; and great gain and honor accrued to the monastery, the
many prospering for the virtues of one. And one day in the Hall
of Truth the brethren fell to talking of how that brother's goodness
had brought them gain and honor, and filled many lives with joy.
Entering the Hall, the Master asked, and was told, what their talk
was about. "This is not the first time, brethren," said he, "that this
brother has been regular in the fulfillment of duties. In days gone
by, five hundred hermits going out to gather fruits were supported
on the fruits that his goodness provided. " So saying, he told this
story of the past.
OIL on, my brother. "
"TO
-
ONCE on a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares,
the Future Buddha was born a brahman in the North, and
growing up, renounced the world and dwelt with a following of
five hundred hermits at the foot of the mountains. In those
days there came a great drought upon the Himalaya country, and
everywhere the water was dried up, and sore distress fell upon
all beasts. Seeing the poor creatures suffering from thirst, one
of the hermits cut down a tree, which he hollowed into a trough;
and this trough he filled with all the water he could find. In
this way he gave the animals to drink. And they came in
herds and drank and drank, till the hermit had no time left to
go and gather fruits for himself. Heedless of his own hunger,
he worked away to quench the animals' thirst. Thought they to
themselves, "So wrapt up is this hermit in ministering to our
wants that he leaves himself no time to go in quest of fruits.
He must be very hungry. Let us agree that every one of us
who comes here to drink must bring such fruits as he can to the
## p. 11447 (#61) ###########################################
PILPAY
11447
hermit. " This they agreed to do, every animal that came bring-
ing mangoes or rose-apples or bread-fruits or the like, till their
offerings would have filled two hundred and fifty wagons; and
there was food for the whole five hundred hermits, with abund-
ance to spare. Seeing this, the Future Buddha exclaimed, "Thus
has one man's goodness been the means of supplying with food
all these hermits. Truly, we should always be steadfast in right-
doing. " So saying, he uttered this stanza:
Toil on, my brother; still in hope stand fast,
Nor let thy courage flag and tire:
Forget not him, who by his grievous fast
Reaped fruits beyond his heart's desire.
Such was the teaching of the Great Being to the band of
hermits.
His lesson ended, the Master identified the Birth by saying:-
"This brother was the good hermit of those days, and I the hermits'
master. "
or with
THE DULLARD AND THE PLOW-SHAFT
From the Jataka,' No. 123
"FOR
OR universal application. "— This story was told by the Master
while at Jetavana, about the Elder, Laludayi, who is said to
have had a knack of always saying the wrong thing. He never
knew the proper occasion for the several teachings. For instance, if
it was a festival, he would croak out the gloomy text,
"Without the walls they lurk, and where four cross-roads meet. "
If it was a funeral, he would burst out with-
"Joy filled the hearts of gods and men,»
"Oh, may you see a hundred, nay, a thousand such glad days! »
Now one day the brethren in the Hall of Truth commented on
his singular infelicity of subject, and his knack of always saying the
wrong thing. As they sat talking, the Master entered, and in an-
swer to his question was told the subject of their talk. "Brethren,"
said he, "this is not the first time that Laludayi's folly has made
him say the wrong thing. He has always been as inept as now. " So
saying, he told this story of the past.
## p. 11448 (#62) ###########################################
11448
PILPAY
ONCE on a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares,
the Future Buddha was born into a rich brahman's family; and
when he grew up, after acquiring all the liberal arts at Takka-
sila, he became a world-renowned professor at Benares, with five
hundred young brahmans to instruct. At the time of our story
there was among the young brahmans one who always had fool-
ish notions in his head and always said the wrong thing; he was
engaged with the rest in learning the Scriptures as a pupil, but
because of his folly could not master them. He was the devoted
attendant of the Future Buddha, and ministered to him like a slave.
་
Now one day after supper the Future Buddha laid himself
on his bed, and there was washed and perfumed by the young
brahman on hands, feet, and back. And as the youth turned to
go away, the Future Buddha said to him, " Prop up the feet of
my bed before you go. " And the young brahman propped up
the feet of the bed on one side all right, but could not find any-
thing to prop it up with on the other side. Accordingly he used
his leg as a prop, and passed the night so. When the Future
Buddha got up in the morning and saw the young brahman, he
asked why he was sitting there. "Master," said the young man,
"I could not find one of the bed supports; so I've got my leg
under to prop it up instead. ”
Moved at these words, the Future Buddha thought, "What
devotion! And to think it should come from the veriest dullard
of all my pupils. Yet how can I impart learning to him? " And
the thought came to him that the best way was to question the
young brahman on his return from gathering firewood and leaves,
as to something he had seen or done that day; and then to ask
what it was like. "For," thought the Master, "this will lead him.
on to making comparisons and giving reasons, and the continuous.
practice of comparing and reasoning on his part will enable me
to impart learning to him. "
Accordingly he sent for the young man, and told him always
on his return from picking up firewood and leaves, to say what
he had seen or eaten or drunk. And the young man promised
he would. So one day, having seen a snake when out with the
other pupils picking up wood in the forest, he said, "Master, I
saw a snake.
a deep impression on him; and all his thoughts were now of her, of
the court of Naples, and of the glories to be won there. His only
sorrow was the thought of the sorrow he would cause his devoted
parents by leaving them: but kneeling before his father and open-
ing his heart to him, he "reminded him modestly of the advantages
he had taken of the education granted him, of the reputation he
had won; 'but to what use,' added he, 'are the principles you have
inculcated, the little talent I have won, if I am to spend my life in
inactivity? It is not for his own sake, it is in order to be an exam-
ple to the world, the defender of the oppressed, the protector of the
unhappy, that a knight must live his life. '» And asking his par-
ents to weigh carefully the life awaiting him in his home against the
life of the world outside, he leaves the decision with them. They
see the justice of his wishes, and all preparations are made for his
departure; his father recalling to him the teachings of his childhood,
and his mother giving him as a parting gift three costly rings.
Pierre finally arrives in Naples, where reigns the father of the
beautiful Maguelonne; but although he has a brilliant suite, he pre-
fers to remain unknown,- that he may win the love of Maguelonne
on his own merits, and also that he may not attract the attention of
his father's brother, Count Jacques of Provence, who might fear that
with the help of the King of Naples. Pierre would attempt to regain
for his father the throne which Count Jacques had usurped. Pierre
chose as his emblem two keys, and had them embroidered on his
clothes and on the harness of his horses; and dressed in his richest
apparel, he went the following Sunday to the tournament called in
honor of Maguelonne, who was to grace it with her presence. Pierre
finds the princess far exceeding all that had been said of her: in-
spired by her beauty, he enters the lists and conquers all his com-
batants, as much by his skill and agility as by his strength; and to
## p. 11430 (#44) ###########################################
11430
PIERRE OF PROVENCE
the King's messenger, who asks the name of so valiant a stranger,
he answers that he is merely a poor French knight in search of
glory, who has vowed not to disclose his name.
Maguelonne is so charmed with his prowess, that the King, at her
wish, orders several other tournaments, out of which Pierre comes
equally victorious, each time gaining in her esteem. "She had seen
many knights, but none had made the same impression on her. . . .
Maguelonne was both gentle and vivacious; she had all the virtues of
a tender heart, and all the qualities of an active and gifted mind: but
at this time her strongest feeling was the fear that her father might
lack in courtesy to the unknown knight. " Her joy was therefore
great when the King invited Pierre to dine at the palace, and gave
him the seat of honor at her side. "Pierre, without forgetting that
he was seated next to the King, saw nothing but the beauty of the
daughter. He suppressed his sighs, and his heart was the prey of
the most passionate love. Maguelonne experienced the same feeling,
but would not believe it: she took her emotion for natural admira-
tion, and her tenderness for the esteem due so many virtues. ”
In this way their mutual love grows, causing them to pass through
all the various phases of emotion, from joy to sadness, from hope to
fear, scarcely understanding what can be this new imperious feeling.
After Maguelonne has passed several sleepless nights, she goes to her
old nurse Nicé one morning at dawn, and confesses her love for the
unknown knight; and being reproved for loving an adventurer, she
says: “Nicé, you speak to me of thrones, grandeur, riches,— what is
all that compared to love? You would make me despise my rank,
were it to prevent me from loving the virtues of an honest man
because he is neither rich nor powerful. Power should be the reward
of valor and not of birth; but, cruel Nicé, who has told you that this
stranger is of low birth? It is only because you fear him that you
oppose my wishes. Go then to him, use all your tact to discover
which is his country and who are his parents: not that I doubt him,
but I would be justified in your sight. I would that you might help
me with your counsel without blushing. " Maguelonne conquers all
Nicé's scruples; and having assured her that whatever happens, she
will marry none other than the knight of the keys, she adds: “It is
late: go, my dear friend, hasten, and if necessary make your way to
the unknown; question him, ask him most urgently, and if you must
tell him all I feel for him, it will not cause me a blush; -love ceases
to be a weakness when it is wedded to virtue. Farewell; you know
my heart,-my life is in your hands. "
Pierre, who does not dare to hope that the princess will ever
accept his love, is thinking over the difficulties of his position when
Nicé comes to him. Assuring him of the friendship of the King
## p. 11431 (#45) ###########################################
PIERRE OF PROVENCE
11431
and Queen, and telling him that he has inspired the princess with
"the feelings which he deserves," she begs him to disclose his name
and rank, that envious courtiers may not make his silence a pretext
to hurt him. Pierre declares that no fear of intrigues would make
him disclose his identity; but that the sole wish to please the princess
forces him to acknowledge that he belongs to an illustrious family of
France. Thereupon he presents Nicé with one of the rings given him
by his mother, not daring to give it to the princess herself; and Nicé,
to reward him for his confidence, pledges herself to make Maguelonne
accept it.
She returns to find the princess more impatient than ever,
in her delight over his ring able to talk of nothing but her love,
spending her days and nights thinking of him and dreaming of him.
Pierre meanwhile, fearing the result of his message, seeks Nicé,
who promises to help him if she is sure of the purity of his love for
Maguelonne. "May I die before your eyes," he exclaims, "if carried
away by base passion I should ever cast a bold look on the one I
love so tenderly. I adore Maguelonne; I would give my life for her;
and if I could win her hand thereby, there is no danger that I would
not brave. " Conquered by these protestations, Nicé confesses the love
of the princess; Pierre promises to tell Maguelonne who he is, and
sends her another ring. Their first meeting is set for the next day.
Nicé meets Pierre and brings him to the princess, leaving them to-
gether overwhelmed by a happiness that finds no words to express
itself. Maguelonne finally, reminding him of her great trust in him,
begs him to have equal confidence in her; and kneeling before her,
he confesses his vow not to disclose his name and title until he had
succeeded in winning her love. Then, with Maguelonne's permission,
and being assured of her love, he tells her all, and dwells upon the
danger it would mean to his father, to herself, and him, if his uncle
the reigning Count of Provence should hear of his intention to marry
the heiress of a kingdom; by such an alliance making himself a much
more redoubtable claimant to the throne of Provence.
Maguelonne trembles at the thought of the danger her lover is
exposed to; but, assured that her father would approve of their union
if he knew who Pierre was, "she feels that she does not lack in her
duty toward her father in giving her heart and promise to so brave
a knight, who is moreover of the blood of kings. " Consequently they
exchange the most solemn vows; Pierre gives Maguelonne the third
of his mother's rings, and she takes from her neck a golden chain
which she passes around his.
But the secrecy to which they are forced naturally weighs heavy
on them; and when Maguelonne is alone with Nicé she cannot help
contrasting her fate with that of her poorest subject, who can freely
marry the man of her choice. "If Pierre were a reigning monarch,
## p. 11432 (#46) ###########################################
11432
PIERRE OF PROVENCE
might he even be the most detested but powerful tyrant, he had only
to will it and he could be my husband. And if he were the son of
a shepherd, although he had the courage of the greatest heroes and
the wisdom of the best of kings, he would be punished for daring to
aspire to the hand of a princess. Yes, Nicé, this is the fate of my
lover. As prince he is lost if he becomes known, as simple citizen
his love would be a crime if it were discovered. ' What reasons for
discontent? ' said the nurse: 'you must expect everything from time
and your own prudence. »»
Pierre meanwhile gains the heart of everybody at court by his re-
peated triumphs, beauty, and modesty; and this awakens the jealousy
of Ferrier, Duke of Normandie, who aspires to Maguelonne's hand.
Confident of his strength, Ferrier begs the King to call another tour-
nament, at which he unseats all his adversaries until in turn he is
thrown off his horse by Pierre. As victor, Pierre is to continue
the fight with the next adversary; and great is his surprise when he
recognizes his uncle, Count Jacques of Provence. Pierre, without
making himself known, tries to dissuade the count from fighting; but
his uncle insists upon his rights. Pierre contents himself with merely
evading the count's thrusts, until Count Jacques, rendered furious,
takes his sword in both hands; Pierre, without attempting to evade
him again, only turns his head a little, and the stroke merely grazes
Pierre's armor; the count by the violence of his own motion is
thrown over the head of his horse and falls at the feet of Pierre's.
He rises with a low murmur. Everybody is surprised at the skill
and strength of the knight of the keys: nobody understands why,
being so superior to the count, he should have first refused to fight
him; only Maguelonne understands all. As for the count, he dared
not begin again, and was obliged to acknowledge that the unknown
knight was the most redoubtable and at the same time the most
courteous of all those he had fought until that day. " Humiliated by
his defeat, the count leaves at once, thus losing the chance of recog-
nizing Pierre.
Before the tournament, Maguelonne had seized the opportunity of
a conversation with Count Jacques to inquire after Pierre's parents;
and when Pierre comes to her the next day, he hears from her that
his mother is suffering great anxiety at not having heard from him,
and he immediately asks Maguelonne's permission to go home and
reassure his parents. But the prospect of his absence, and the fear
of being forced to marry Ferrier, who will make the most of his
opportunity, is more than Maguelonne can bear; and she implores
Pierre not to leave, or at least not to leave without her. "What! '
exclaimed Pierre, you would have so great a confidence in me that
you would go with me? O most adorable princess, the sacrifice which
## p. 11433 (#47) ###########################################
PIERRE OF PROVENCE
11433
you propose deserves that I should forget the entire world to belong
only to you. Well then, I will not go. But my mother! my mother
to whom I am giving this great sorrow may die, and I shall be the
cause of her death! ' Maguelonne's heart softened, and she begged
Pierre to leave and take her with him. "
Thus the lovers make up their mind to flee, and to be married
as soon as they are out of reach, that Maguelonne may accompany
her husband. The next night they leave, Pierre taking three horses
carrying provisions, and Maguelonne taking with her all her jewels.
and valuables. "Maguelonne rode beside her lover; one of Pierre's
servants rode ahead, and the two others behind. With the dawn of
day they reached a thick wood bordering on the sea.
They
dismounted and sat down on the grass. Maguelonne, who had been
strengthened on the way by love and fear, felt tired out; she laid
her head on Pierre's knees; with one of his hands he held her beau-
tiful face, and with the other he held a veil to protect her from the
dew falling from the leaves. To cleave helmets, break lances, and
throw knights, demand great courage: but to be young, in love, hold
in your arms in the solitude of the woods the woman who loves you,
and still to treat her as a sister, is an effort of which not many
knights would be capable; but Pierre was, and Maguelonne fell calmly
asleep. "
At the court of Naples all is consternation and despair. Nicé
had known nothing of the lovers' flight; and after a fruitless search,
the recent sight of Moorish ships on the coast gives rise to the suspi-
cion that the unknown knight was a Moorish prince. The King sends
out troops, who do not find the Moors, but do all the harm of which
growing anxiety has accused the Moors.
Meanwhile our lovers were in the forest. "Maguelonne was asleep
in Pierre's lap; her morning dreams with their happy fancies made
her more beautiful than ever. Her face, half reclining on her lover's
arm, was flushed with color; a light wind which raised her veil and
fanned her cheek showed Pierre a throat whose whiteness made the
color of her face all the more beautiful. Pierre looked at her, his
heart full of love: from time to time he touched one of Maguelonne's
hands with his lips, and tempted by her half-opened lips, he bent
down a thousand times to pluck the kisses she seemed to offer
him; and a thousand times fear and respect for his promises to her
held him back. Ah, Pierre! Pierre! how dearly you will pay for
your fatal prudence! He noticed at Maguelonne's side a little box of
precious wood; he wanted to know what it contained. Ah, Pierre, is
that the kind of curiosity you ought to have? He opens it, and finds
therein the three rings left him by his mother which he had given
her; Maguelonne kept them like a precious token of Pierre's love.
## p. 11434 (#48) ###########################################
11434
PIERRE OF PROVENCE
He closes the box, puts it beside him, and is lost in thought. But
while he gives himself up to his reveries, a bird of prey seizes upon
the box and flies away with it; Pierre follows it with his eyes; he
foresees Maguelonne's disappointment at this loss: he takes off his
coat, as quietly as possible spreads it over his beloved, takes a sling,
tries to hit the bird with a stone; his efforts are useless: the bird
perches on a rock in the water; Pierre hits it without wounding it;
the bird flies away, letting the box fall into the water. "
Pierre takes a boat and goes out for the ring, is drifted out to sea
by a sudden strong current, appeals for help to a ship coming his
way, is taken on board by the sailors, who are Moorish pirates, and
is carried away to spend five years in captivity on the coast of
Africa. He renders the Sultan great services, succeeds in putting
down a State conspiracy, and finally obtains as a reward his freedom
and innumerable riches, which are packed in barrels and covered
with salt to avoid suspicion and robbery. He embarks for Provence,
but on the way the ship puts in at a small island port, and he is left
behind by mistake. On reaching shore, the sailors send his barrels
to a convent hospital, the superior of which has a great reputation
for kindness to strangers. Pierre after many trials reaches French
soil, ill and suffering; and upon the advice of some sailors he seeks
help at the convent hospital, where he is tenderly cared for. Among
the patients are two knights that he knew at the court of Naples.
From them he hears that Maguelonne is supposed to be dead; that
the King of Naples has died of grief, the Queen reigning in his place;
that the Count and Countess of Provence are still mourning the loss
of their son. At the news of Maguelonne's death he is thrown into
a violent fever; the mother superior, Emilie, is sent for, and seeing
that his illness has a mental cause, she begs him to confide in her. He
tells her his story; and when he names Maguelonne and acknowl-
edges that he is Pierre of Provence, she exclaims, "O eternal justice,
O Providence! What! you are the valiant Pierre, Maguelonhe's lover?
O Heaven! have mercy on me, support me and strengthen me. '
. She was trembling and could hardly breathe, but she con-
trolled herself: she feared that the news she had to tell the unfor-
tunate Pierre might cause him so violent an emotion that he would
not be able to bear it. "
She tells him that she is a friend of Maguelonne's, and has reason
to think that Maguelonne is still alive. The next day she comes
again and brings him the news that Maguelonne is in a convent, but
not bound by any vow, and that she still lives but for him; and
adding that she must take a journey of a few days, she hands him a
letter from Maguelonne. The letter, written to Emilie, is full of
love, hope, and impatience; "of sentences not finished, of lines half
## p. 11435 (#49) ###########################################
PIERRE OF PROVENCE
11435
effaced by tears, expressions that had no sense, tender ravings, a
thousand ideas that clashed with each other; the purest religious
sentiments and the most devoted love, the severest moral rectitude
and the most passionate forgetfulness, all are united therein, and any
one but a lover would have thought Maguelonne bereft of reason.
She promised her friend to come and see her, and then to unite her
fate with Pierre's forever; but she did not set the time. "
Pierre awaits Emilie's return most impatiently; and is finally told
that she has come back, and asks him to sup with her that evening.
Tortured by a thousand fears, Pierre imagines that she chooses this
means of preparing him for the sad news that Maguelonne is bound
by a convent vow, and goes to her in the evening with many mis-
givings. But she calms his fears, and tells him that she has brought
Nicé, who is awaiting them in the adjoining room. "In a separate
apartment Emilie had prepared a room with as much taste as mag-
nificence; a table, carefully set, awaited five guests; Pierre and Emilie
arrive, the door is opened, and Pierre finds himself in the arms of
his father and mother. 'Great God,' cries Pierre, embracing them,
'cruel Emilie, you did not prepare me for this extreme happiness. O
my father! O my mother! my joy is killing me. ' They were all weep-
ing tears of delight; the knight was in the arms now of the count,
now of the countess; broken words, sighs, caresses, express the feel-
ing that possessed him; it would have been hard for him to stand
this touching scene if the presence of Nicé, who came to his aid, had
not reminded him of Maguelonne's absence. He embraced Nicé, he
assured her of his deep gratitude for the interest she had formerly
taken in his love. Ah, Nicé! will you forgive me all the sorrow
that our flight must have caused you? How many times have I not
blushed at the thought of the opinion my imprudence must have
given you of me! And Maguelonne, the virtuous Maguelonne, the
victim of my rashness, has undoubtedly suffered part of the shame
of this elopement in the minds of her parents and of the people of
Naples. Ah, my dear Nicé, paint to her, if you can, my remorse! '
'Will you then always be unjust to me? ' exclaims Emilie,
lifting her veil and embracing the knight, who finally recognizes
Maguelonne. How can you speak of "victim"? you are only the
accomplice of my crime, if our flight was a crime; forget your re-
morse, and speak to me only of your love. Ah, Pierre! >»
The next day Maguelonne relates her adventures: her distress at
finding herself alone on awakening, her first decision to return to
Naples, and her determination then to brave the world alone rather
than to return and be forced to marry another than Pierre; how she
landed on the island on which the convent is now situated, and
bought three houses there, with the aim of establishing a shelter for
## p. 11436 (#50) ###########################################
11436
PIERRE OF PROVENCE
people who were ill and suffering: how she was joined in her under-
taking by several young girls, who "thought it more meritorious in the
sight of God to spend their days comforting suffering humanity than
to waste their lives in a retreat useless to the world. " The Count
and Countess of Provence, hearing of her good work, had sought the
convent to obtain if possible some comfort in their great distress;
and she, telling them her true name and relation to their son, had
upheld their courage by her never-failing hope.
Maguelonne and Pierre are then married; the barrels of treasures
are brought to light; the Queen of Naples only too gladly gives up
her throne to her daughter and son-in-law; Count Jacques of Pro-
vence chooses Pierre his heir after his own death. "Pierre and Ma-
guelonne had a long, happy, and peaceful reign; they had no sorrows
except those caused by the deaths of their parents. Pierre recovered
Provence; he had a son who was heir to Naples, Provence, and all
the riches of Robert [the son of Count Jacques]. This couple re-
mained lovers to their grave, into which they did not descend until
ripe old age. "
And this ends our fairy tale; leaving us to imagine, perhaps not
what was the actual life of those ages, but at least what was then
the ideal of human glory and happiness.
Olga flinch
## p. 11437 (#51) ###########################################
11437
PILPAY
BY CHARLES R. LANMAN
<
W
HEN we consider the wonderful history of Pilpay's Fables,'
their fame, and their charm, we naturally invest their sup-
posititious author with a personality and a name, in fact,
however, "Pilpay" is probably a changed form of an Indian word for
"court-scholar," misunderstood as a proper name, and implying there-
fore neither personality nor specific date. In India, from early times
the parable or "example" has been the recognized method of convey-
ing moral instruction. In the didactic literature, some general truth
or some rule of life is stated in the form of a maxim, and a beast
fable or other story is then added as a concrete instance or "example. "
This is well illustrated by The Lion-Makers' below. The folk-lore
of which these tales are a reflex is not the exclusive property of any
of the great religions of ancient India, but is common to Buddhism,
Jainism, and Brahmanism alike. The sculptured representations of
the stories upon the great Buddhist monuments of 250 B. C. make it
certain that the stories themselves were familiar to the common peo-
ple at that early date; and it is hardly less certain that they were so
known long before that time.
The oldest and most important collection of Indian folk-lore is the
Buddhist one called 'Jataka,'—that is, 'Birth-stories,' or stories of
Gotama Buddha in his previous births: it consists of five hundred and
fifty tales, each containing a moral; each is placed in the mouth of
the Buddha, and in each the Buddha plays the best and most import-
ant part. It is this device of a framework or setting for the folk-
tales that constitutes the principal essentially literary element of the
collection. Next in importance to the Buddhist Jataka' stands the
Brahmanical 'Panchatantra. Here the material is not essentially dif-
ferent in kind from that of the 'Jataka'; but again it is the setting
of the material which gives the work its distinctive literary char-
acter. It is a kind of 'Mirror for Magistrates. Both the 'Jataka,'
written in Pali, and the Panchatantra,' in Sanskrit, are still extant,
and contain many of the stories which in translations of translations
attained great currency and celebrity in mediæval literature.
The precise Indian original of these translations is lost; but we
know that it was translated into the literary language of Persia (the
Pehlevi), by command of the Sassanian king Khosru the Just, about
## p. 11438 (#52) ###########################################
11438
PILPAY
550 A. D.
From the Pehlevi came two notable versions: one is
the Old Syriac, called 'Kalilag and Damnag,' after the two jackals,
Karataka and Damanaka, who figured prominently in the framework
of the Sanskrit original; and the other is the Arabic version, called
'Kalilah and Dimnah,' or 'Fables of Pilpay,' made about 750 A. D.
by Abd-allah ibn al-Moqaffa, a Persian convert to Islam under the
Caliph al-Mansor.
According to the Arabic introduction, Dabshelim was the first king
of the Indian Restoration, after the fall of the governor appointed
by Alexander at the close of his campaign in the Panjab, B. C. 326.
When firmly established, Dabshelim gave himself over to every
wickedness. To reclaim the King, a Brahman philosopher takes up
his parable, as did Nathan before David, and at last wins him back
to virtue. The wise man is called in Arabic bid-bah, and in Syriac
bid-vag. These words are traced through the Pehlevi to the San-
skrit vidya-pati, "master of sciences. " Accordingly bidbah, which has
become Bidpai or Pilpay in our modern books, is not really a proper
name, but an appellative, applied to a "chief pandit" or "court-
scholar of an Indian prince.
From the Arabic are descended, in the fourth generation from the
original, a dozen or more versions, of which three may be mentioned
as noteworthy links in the chain of tradition: the Greek one, made
about 1080 by Symeon Seth, a Jewish physician; the Persian, made
some fifty years later, by Nasr Allah of Ghazni; and the Hebrew,
ascribed to Rabbi Joel, and probably made before 1250.
Of the descendants in the fifth degree from the original, the 'Di-
rectorium Humanæ Vitæ,' made about 1270 by John of Capua from
the Hebrew, is distinctly the most celebrated, because it gave rise in
turn to Danish, Dutch, Spanish, Italian, and French, and above all to
the famous German and English versions mentioned below. But
besides the 'Directorium,' we must notice the 'Specimen of the Wis-
dom of the Ancient Hindus,' a version into Latin from the Greek of
Symeon, made by the Jesuit father Petrus Possinus (1666); and the
'Anvár-i Suhailí' or 'Lights of Canopus,' a simplified recast of Nasr
Allah's. In the second edition of his fables, La Fontaine tells us that
he owes the largest part of his new material to "Pilpay, the Indian
sage. " Pierre Poussin's 'Specimen' was the one embodiment of hi
shadowy Oriental fabulist, and a French version of the 'Lights' was
the other.
Two offshoots of the 'Directorium' are of unrivaled interest to
the student of the beast fable. The one is the 'Book of Examples
of the Ancient Sages'; and the other is Doni's 'La Moral Filosophia. '
The Book of Examples' was made at the instance of Duke Eber-
hard im Bart, whose name and motto, "Eberhart Graf z(u) Wirtenberg
## p. 11439 (#53) ###########################################
PILPAY
11439
Attempto," appear as an acrostic in the initials of the first sections.
It was first printed about 1481, and has since been admirably edited
by W. L. Holland (Stuttgart, 1860). Holland used, besides three manu-
scripts, two printed editions without place and year, and enumerates
seventeen dated editions that appeared between 1483 and 1592. Four
dated editions appeared at Ulm between 1483 and 1485! The great
number of editions of the work, and their rapid succession, are the
best proof of its importance as a means of instruction and amuse-
ment at the beginning of the age of printing. The examples them-
selves had doubtless pointed the moral of many an ancient homily
long before the days of Gutenberg: but the language of the old
German version of them is so remarkable for its simplicity, dignity,
strength, and beauty, that we cannot wonder at its immense popu-
larity; and to this version, more than to any other, is Europe indebted
for the wide-spread knowledge of this cycle of literature from the
last part of the fifteenth to the middle of the seventeenth century.
The other offshoot of the 'Directorium ' — namely, 'The morall phi-
losophie of Doni: drawne out of the auncient writers. A worke first
compiled in the Indian tongue, and afterwardes reduced into divers
other languages: and now lastly Englished out of Italian by Thomas
North (London, 1570) -is most interesting to us as English-speaking
people because it is "the first literary link between India and Eng-
land, written in racy Elizabethan," a piece of "Tudor prose at its
best," a veritable English classic.
A translation of the 'Jataka' is now issuing from the Univer-
sity Press of Cambridge, England, under the editorship of Professor
Cowell, three volumes of which have thus far appeared: one by Rob-
ert Chalmers of Oriel College, Oxford; a second by W. H. D. Rouse
of Rugby School; and a third by H. T. Francis and R. A. Neil of
Cambridge.
A charming reprint of North's Doni was edited by
Joseph Jacobs (London, 1888). An account of the literary history
of the fables of Pilpay may be found in Jacobs's book, or in Keith-
Falconer's 'Kalilah and Dimnah' (Cambridge, 1885), or in the pres-
ent writer's 'Sanskrit Reader' (Boston, 1888).
C. R. Lanman.
## p. 11440 (#54) ###########################################
I 1440
PILPAY
[The translation of the 'Jataka' from which the selections are taken is
that of Professor Cowell, referred to in the essay. ]
THE TALKATIVE TORTOISE
[The story of The Talkative Tortoise' we give in two of its many extant
versions. The first is Rouse's translation from the Pali of the 'Jataka' (No.
215). The second is from Sir Thomas North's translation (London, 1570)
of The Morall Philosophie of Doni,' the first English version of the Fables
of Pilpay. ]
FIRST VERSION
From the Jataka'
"THE
HE Tortoise needs must speak," etc. - This is a story told by
the Master while staying in Jetavana, about Kokalika. The
circumstances which gave rise to it will be set forth under
the Mahatakkari Birth. Here again the Master said: "This is not
the only time, brethren, that Kokalika has been ruined by talking; it
was the same before. " And then he told the story as follows.
ONCE on a time Brahmadatta was King of Benares; and the
Future Buddha, being born to one of the King's court, grew up,
and became the King's adviser in all things human and divine.
But this King was very talkative; and when he talked there was
no chance for any other to get in a word. And the Future
Buddha, wishing to put a stop to his much talking, kept watching
for an opportunity.
Now there dwelt a tortoise in a certain pond in the region of
Himalaya. Two young wild geese, searching for food, struck up
an acquaintance with him, and by-and-by they grew close friends
together. One day these two said to him: "Friend tortoise, we
have a lovely home in Himalaya, on a plateau of Mount Chitta-
kuta, in a cave of gold! Will you come with us? "
"Why," said he, "how can I get there? "
"Oh, we will take you, if onl you can keep your mouth
shut, and say not a word to anybody. "
"Yes, I can do that," says he: "take me along! "
So they made the tortoise hold a stick between his teeth; and
themselves taking hold so of the two ends, they sprang up into
the air.
The village children saw this, and exclaimed, "There are
two geese carrying a tortoise by a stick! "
## p. 11441 (#55) ###########################################
PILPAY
11441
[By this time the geese, flying swiftly, had arrived at the space above the
palace of the King, at Benares. ]
The tortoise wanted to cry out, "Well, and if my friends do
carry me, what is that to you, you caitiffs? " and he let go the
stick from between his teeth, and falling into the open court-yard
he split in two. What an uproar there was! "A tortoise has
fallen in the court-yard, and broken in two! " they cried. The
King, with the Future Buddha and all his court, came up to
the place, and seeing the tortoise asked the Future Buddha a
question: "Wise sir, what made this creature fall? »
"Now's my time! " thought he. "For a long while I have
been wishing to admonish the King, and I have gone about seek-
ing my opportunity. No doubt the truth is this: the tortoise and
the geese became friendly; the geese must have meant to carry
him to Himalaya, and so made him hold a stick between his
teeth, and then lifted him into the air; then he must have heard
some remark, and wanted to reply; and not being able to keep
his mouth shut, he must have let himself go; and so he must
have fallen from the sky and thus come by his death. " So
thought he; and addressed the King: "O King, they that have
too much tongue, that set no limit to their speaking, ever come
to such misfortune as this;" and he uttered the following verses:
"The tortoise needs must speak aloud,
Although between his teeth
A stick he bit; yet, spite of it,
He spoke and fell beneath.
-
"And now, O mighty master, mark it well.
See thou speak wisely, see thou speak in season.
To death the tortoise fell:
He talked too much, that was the reason. "
"He is speaking of me! " the King thought to himself; and
asked the Future Buddha if it was so.
"Be it you, O great King, or be it another,” replied he, "who-
soever talks beyond measure comes by some misery of this kind;"
and so he made the thing manifest. And thenceforward the King
abstained from talking, and became a man of few words.
This discourse ended, the Master identified the Birth: "Kokalika
was the tortoise then, the two famous elders were the two wild geese,
Ananda was the King, and I was his wise adviser. "
XX-716
## p. 11442 (#56) ###########################################
11442
PILPAY
SECOND VERSION
[From the earliest English version of the Fables of Bidpai: reprint London,
Published by David Nutt, in the Strand. ]
1888.
IN THE fishings of the Sophie there was a world of fowls that
kept about it to feed of those fishes; and amongst them was a
tortoise of the water that had close friendship with two great and
fat fowls, who diving under water drove the fish all about, and
they no sooner appeared almost above water, but at a chop they
had them in their mouths. The lake was full of clefts; I can-
not tell how but by certain earthquakes. And by little and
little it began to wax dry, so that they were fain to void out the
water to take out the great number of fish that were in it, that
they should not die in that drought, but rather eat them up.
The fowls therefore of that lake, meaning to depart out of that
country, came one morning to break their fast together, and to
take their leave of the tortoise their friend. The which when she
saw them forsake her, she wept bitterly, and pitifully lamenting
she said, "Alas! what shall I do here alone? But what thing can
come worse to me than to lose the water and my friends at one
instant! O poor tortoise that I am, wretched creature I! whither
should I go to seek out water, that am so slow to go? I like
not to tarry longer in this country. O good brethren, help me, I
pray you! forsake me not in my distress! Ah, unhappy was I born
in this world, that I must carry my house with me, and can put
no victuals into it. In others' houses, alack! there is place enough
for their necessaries; but in mine I can scant hide myself. Ah
woe, woe is me, how shall I do? If ye have any pity on me,
my brethren, and if ye have taken me for your friend, help me,
for God's sake. Leave me not here to burst for thirst. I would
gladly go with you if that you would gladly put me in some
lake, and I would follow mine old trade as I have done; there-
fore, dear fowls, help me! "
These words did penetrate the hearts of these great water
fowls; and taking no less pity on her than looking to their own.
profit, they said unto her, "Dear mother tortoise, we could not
do better than satisfy thy desire, but alas, what means have we
to carry thee hence into any lake? Yet there is an easy way to
bring it to pass, if that thy heart will serve thee to take upon
thee to hold a piece of wood fast in thy teeth a good while.
And then we (the one on the one side of thee, and the other on
the other side) will with our bills take the end of the stick in our
## p. 11443 (#57) ###########################################
PILPAY
11443
mouths also, and so carry thee trimly into some lake, and there
we would lead our lives and fare delicately. But in any case
thou must beware thou open not thy mouth at any time, because
the other birds that fly up and down will gladly play with
thee and laugh to see thee fly in the air, thou that art used to
tarry on the earth and under the water. Therefore they will tell
thee marvelous wonders, and will be very busy with thee, and
peradventure they will ask thee: O pretty she beast, whence
comest thou, I pray thee, that thou art flying thus, and whither
wilt thou? But take thou no heed to them, see them not, nor
once hearken to them, I would advise thee. And if they prattle
to thee, saying,-Oh, what an enterprise of birds! good Lord!
what a piece of work they have taken in hand! - Whist! not a
word thou, for thy life. Nor look not that we should answer
them; for we having the stick in our mouths cannot speak but
thou must needs fall, if the stick (by talk) fall out of our mouths
at any time.
Well, now thou hast heard all, how sayest thou?
will thy mind serve thee? hast thou any fancy for the matter? "
"Who? I? Yes, that I have. I am ready to do anything. I
will venture rather than I will tarry behind. "
The fowls found out a stick, and made the tortoise hold it fast
with her teeth as she could for her life, and then they each of
them took an end in their mouth, and putting themselves up,
straight flew into the air: that it was one of the foolishest sights
to see a tortoise fly in the air that ever was seen. And behold
a whole flight of birds met them, seeing them fly thus strangely,
and hovered round about them, with great laughters and noises,
and speaking the vilest words to them they could: Oh, here is a
brave sight! look, here is a goodly jest! whoo! what bug have
we here? said some. See, see! she hangeth by the throat, and
therefore she speaketh not, said others; and the beast flyeth not,
like a beast.
These taunts and spiteful words went to the heart of the
tortoise, that she was as mad as she could be: so she could
no longer hold, but answer she would (at least as she thought),
and when she opened her mouth to speak, down she fell to
the ground, and smashed her all to pieces; and all because she
would have said,— I am an honest woman, and no thief; I would
ye should know it, knaves, rascals, and ravening birds that ye
are. So that, contemning the good counsel was given her, or to
say better, because she would not believe them,- she paid her
folly with death.
――
-
## p. 11444 (#58) ###########################################
11444
PILPAY
THE GOLDEN GOOSE
From the Jataka,' No. 136
[This is interesting because traceable by literary documents, from the
'Jataka' down to La Fontaine (Book v. , No. 13, La Poule aux Eufs d'Or '). ]
"C
ONTENTED be. " This story was told by the Master about a
sister named Fat Nanda. A lay brother at Savatthi had
offered the sisterhood a supply of garlic; and sending for his
bailiff, had given orders that if they should come, each sister was
to receive two or three handfuls. After that they made a practice of
coming to his house or field for their garlic. Now one holiday the
supply of garlic in the house ran out; and the sister Fat Nanda,
coming with others to the house, was told, when she said she wanted
some garlic, that there was none left in the house,-it had all been
used up out of hand,—and that she must go to the field for it. So
away to the field she went, and carried off an excessive amount of
garlic. The bailiff grew angry, and remarked what a greedy lot
these sisters were! This piqued the more moderate sisters; and the
brethren too were piqued at the taunt when the sisters repeated
it to them, and they told the Blessed One. Rebuking the greed of
Fat Nanda, the Master said, “Brethren, a greedy person is harsh and
unkind even to the mother who bore him: a greedy person cannot
convert the unconverted, or make the converted grow in grace, or
cause alms to come in, or save them when come in; whereas the
moderate person can do all these things. ” In such wise did the
Master point the moral; ending by saying, "Brethren, as Fat Nanda
is greedy now, so she was greedy in times gone by. " And thereupon
he told the following story of the past.
ONCE upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares,
the Future Buddha was born a brahman, and growing up was
married to a bride of his own rank, who bore him three daugh-
ters named Nanda, Nanda-vati, and Sundari-nanda. The Future
Buddha dying, they were taken in by neighbors and friends,
whilst he was born again into the world as a golden mallard
endowed with consciousness of its former existences. Growing
up, the bird viewed its own magnificent size and golden plumage,
and remembered that previously it had been a human being.
Discovering that his wife and daughters were living on the
charity of others, the mallard bethought him of his plumage like
hammered and beaten gold, and how by giving them a golden
feather at a time he could enable his wife and daughters to live
in comfort. So away he flew to where they dwelt, and alighted
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on the top of the ridge-pole. Seeing the Future Buddha, the
wife and girls asked where he had come from; and he told them
that he was their father, who had died and been born a golden
mallard, and that he had come to visit them and put an end to
their miserable necessity of working for hire. "You shall have
my feathers," said he, "one by one, and they will sell for enough
to keep you all in ease and comfort. " So saying, he gave them
one of his feathers and departed. And from time to time he
returned to give them another feather, and with the proceeds of
their sale these brahman women grew prosperous and quite well-
to-do. But one day the mother said to her daughters, "The
no trusting animals, my children. Who's to say your father
might not go away one of these days and never come back
again? Let us use our time and pluck him clean next time he
comes, so as to make sure of all his feathers. " Thinking this
would pain him, the daughters refused. The mother in her
greed called the golden mallard to her one day when he came,
and then took him with both hands and plucked him. Now the
Future Buddha's feathers had this property, that if they were
plucked out against his wish, they ceased to be golden and be-
came like a crane's feathers. And now the poor bird, though he
stretched his wings, could not fly, and the woman flung him into
a barrel and gave him food there. As time went on his feathers
grew again (though they were plain white ones now), and he
flew away to his own abode and never came back again.
At the close of this story the Master said, "Thus you see, breth-
ren, how Fat Nanda was as greedy in times past as she is now.
And her greed then lost her the gold, in the same way as her greed
will now lose her the garlic. Observe, moreover, how her greed has
deprived the whole sisterhood of their supply of garlic; and learn
therefrom to be moderate in your desires, and to be content with
what is given you, however small that may be. " So saying, he
uttered this stanza:
Contented be, nor itch for further store:
They seized the swan but had its gold no more.
-
So saying, the Master soundly rebuked the erring sister, and laid
down the precept that any sister who should eat garlic would have
to do penance. Then, making the connection, he said:-"Fat Nanda
was the brahman's wife of the story, her three sisters were the brah-
man's three daughters, and I myself the golden mallard. "
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11446
PILPAY
THE GRATITUDE OF ANIMALS
From the Jataka,' No. 124
This story was told by the Master while
at Jetavana, about a good brahman belonging to a noble
Savatthi family who gave his heart to the Truth, and, join-
ing the Brotherhood, became constant in all duties. Blameless in
his attendance on teachers; scrupulous in the matter of foods and
drinks; zealous in the performance of the duties of the chapter-
house, bath-house, and so forth; perfectly punctual in the observance
of the fourteen major and of the eighty minor disciplines; he used to
sweep the monastery, the cells, the cloisters, and the path leading to
their monastery, and gave water to thirsty folk. And because of his
great goodness, folk gave regularly five hundred meals a day to the
brethren; and great gain and honor accrued to the monastery, the
many prospering for the virtues of one. And one day in the Hall
of Truth the brethren fell to talking of how that brother's goodness
had brought them gain and honor, and filled many lives with joy.
Entering the Hall, the Master asked, and was told, what their talk
was about. "This is not the first time, brethren," said he, "that this
brother has been regular in the fulfillment of duties. In days gone
by, five hundred hermits going out to gather fruits were supported
on the fruits that his goodness provided. " So saying, he told this
story of the past.
OIL on, my brother. "
"TO
-
ONCE on a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares,
the Future Buddha was born a brahman in the North, and
growing up, renounced the world and dwelt with a following of
five hundred hermits at the foot of the mountains. In those
days there came a great drought upon the Himalaya country, and
everywhere the water was dried up, and sore distress fell upon
all beasts. Seeing the poor creatures suffering from thirst, one
of the hermits cut down a tree, which he hollowed into a trough;
and this trough he filled with all the water he could find. In
this way he gave the animals to drink. And they came in
herds and drank and drank, till the hermit had no time left to
go and gather fruits for himself. Heedless of his own hunger,
he worked away to quench the animals' thirst. Thought they to
themselves, "So wrapt up is this hermit in ministering to our
wants that he leaves himself no time to go in quest of fruits.
He must be very hungry. Let us agree that every one of us
who comes here to drink must bring such fruits as he can to the
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11447
hermit. " This they agreed to do, every animal that came bring-
ing mangoes or rose-apples or bread-fruits or the like, till their
offerings would have filled two hundred and fifty wagons; and
there was food for the whole five hundred hermits, with abund-
ance to spare. Seeing this, the Future Buddha exclaimed, "Thus
has one man's goodness been the means of supplying with food
all these hermits. Truly, we should always be steadfast in right-
doing. " So saying, he uttered this stanza:
Toil on, my brother; still in hope stand fast,
Nor let thy courage flag and tire:
Forget not him, who by his grievous fast
Reaped fruits beyond his heart's desire.
Such was the teaching of the Great Being to the band of
hermits.
His lesson ended, the Master identified the Birth by saying:-
"This brother was the good hermit of those days, and I the hermits'
master. "
or with
THE DULLARD AND THE PLOW-SHAFT
From the Jataka,' No. 123
"FOR
OR universal application. "— This story was told by the Master
while at Jetavana, about the Elder, Laludayi, who is said to
have had a knack of always saying the wrong thing. He never
knew the proper occasion for the several teachings. For instance, if
it was a festival, he would croak out the gloomy text,
"Without the walls they lurk, and where four cross-roads meet. "
If it was a funeral, he would burst out with-
"Joy filled the hearts of gods and men,»
"Oh, may you see a hundred, nay, a thousand such glad days! »
Now one day the brethren in the Hall of Truth commented on
his singular infelicity of subject, and his knack of always saying the
wrong thing. As they sat talking, the Master entered, and in an-
swer to his question was told the subject of their talk. "Brethren,"
said he, "this is not the first time that Laludayi's folly has made
him say the wrong thing. He has always been as inept as now. " So
saying, he told this story of the past.
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PILPAY
ONCE on a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares,
the Future Buddha was born into a rich brahman's family; and
when he grew up, after acquiring all the liberal arts at Takka-
sila, he became a world-renowned professor at Benares, with five
hundred young brahmans to instruct. At the time of our story
there was among the young brahmans one who always had fool-
ish notions in his head and always said the wrong thing; he was
engaged with the rest in learning the Scriptures as a pupil, but
because of his folly could not master them. He was the devoted
attendant of the Future Buddha, and ministered to him like a slave.
་
Now one day after supper the Future Buddha laid himself
on his bed, and there was washed and perfumed by the young
brahman on hands, feet, and back. And as the youth turned to
go away, the Future Buddha said to him, " Prop up the feet of
my bed before you go. " And the young brahman propped up
the feet of the bed on one side all right, but could not find any-
thing to prop it up with on the other side. Accordingly he used
his leg as a prop, and passed the night so. When the Future
Buddha got up in the morning and saw the young brahman, he
asked why he was sitting there. "Master," said the young man,
"I could not find one of the bed supports; so I've got my leg
under to prop it up instead. ”
Moved at these words, the Future Buddha thought, "What
devotion! And to think it should come from the veriest dullard
of all my pupils. Yet how can I impart learning to him? " And
the thought came to him that the best way was to question the
young brahman on his return from gathering firewood and leaves,
as to something he had seen or done that day; and then to ask
what it was like. "For," thought the Master, "this will lead him.
on to making comparisons and giving reasons, and the continuous.
practice of comparing and reasoning on his part will enable me
to impart learning to him. "
Accordingly he sent for the young man, and told him always
on his return from picking up firewood and leaves, to say what
he had seen or eaten or drunk. And the young man promised
he would. So one day, having seen a snake when out with the
other pupils picking up wood in the forest, he said, "Master, I
saw a snake.
