Chapter V (1)

Return to the fields.—The worthlessness of men and other animals.—A Cock, accustomed to the ring, provokes our hero.—Duel with pistols.

“I soon reached a wood, and felt my chest expand with the pure air. It was so long since I beheld the full extent of the sky, that I seemed to look upon it for the first time. The moonlight was bright, and the night-breeze laden with a banquet of fresh odours that it had caught up about the fields and hedgerows. Endowed by nature with an acute sense of smell, nothing could be more delicious to a weary Hare than the fresh fragrance of grass and thyme. Each breath I inhaled filled me with the fond memories of my childhood, which passed into my dreams as I slept in the open air. Early next morning I was roused by the clang of steel. Two gentlemen were fighting with swords, and appeared to me determined to kill each other; however, when they were tired of fencing, they walked off quietly arm-in-arm. Other combatants followed, but not one fell, and no blood was spilt in these affairs of honour, after nights of gambling and debauchery.

“Journeying onward until within sight of a village, I fell in with a Cock. As I had been cooped up in a town, and seen nothing but men and women for so long, this bird interested me greatly. He was a fine fellow, high on his legs, and carried his head as if he could not bend his neck. He had quite a martial bearing, reminding one of a French soldier.

“ ‘By my comb!’ he exclaimed, ‘I hope you will know me again. I never came across a Hare with such a stock of assurance.’

“ ‘What!’ I replied, ‘may I not admire your fine proportions. I have been so long in Paris, I have quite forgotten the grandeur of nature.’

“Would you believe it? Although my answer was so soft and simple, yet the fellow was offended, crowed like to split my ears, and cried, ‘I am the Cock of the village, and it shall never be said that a miserable Hare can insult me with impunity.’

“ ‘You astonish me,’ I continued, ‘I never intended to insult you.’

“ ‘I have nothing to do with your intentions. Every insult ought to be wiped out with blood. I am rather badly off for a fight, and I shall {31} have much pleasure in giving you a lesson in good manners. Choose your arms.’

“ ‘I would rather die than fight. Let me pass—I am going to Rambouillet to rejoin some old friends.’

“ ‘Fight you must, else I will put a ball through you. Here are an Ox and a Dog, who will serve as seconds. Follow me, and do not attempt to escape.’

“What could I do? flight was impossible—I obeyed. Then addressing the seconds, I said, ‘Sirs, this Cock is a professed duellist. Will you stand by and see me assassinated? I have never fought, and my blood will be on your heads.’

“ ‘Bah!’ said the Dog, ‘that is a trifle. Everything must have a beginning. Your simple candour interests me. I will stand by you. Now that I am certain of you, it concerns my honour that you should fight.’

“ ‘You are extremely polite, and I am touched with your goodness; but I would rather deny myself the pleasure of having you witness my death.’

“ ‘Hear him, my dear Ox,’ cried my adversary. ‘In what times do we live? Has it positively come to this, that cowardice, impudence, and low-bred nature are to triumph over all that is chivalrous and noble in the world?’

“The pitiless Ox bellowed with rage. The Dog, taking me aside, said in a soothing tone, ‘It makes little odds in the end how one dies; and between us two, I don’t half like this Cock. Believe me, I heartily wish you success. Were I a sporting Dog, you might doubt my sincerity, but I have settled down to a country life, that would be quiet were it not for the early crowing of your foe, who permits no one in the village to sleep after daybreak.’

“ ‘I shall never be able to get through it,’ I replied, half dead.

“ ‘You have the choice of weapons. Choose pistols, and I will load them.’

“ ‘In the name of all that is canine and good,’ I said, ‘try and arrange this affair.’

“ ‘Come, make haste,’ cried the Cock. ‘Enter this copse! One of us will never leave it!’ he added.

“At these words I felt a cold chill run through me. As a last resource, I reminded the Ox and Dog of the law against duelling.

“ ‘Those laws are made by cowards,’ they replied. {32}

“I endeavoured to work upon the tenderest feelings of my adversary’s nature by inquiring what would become of his poor hens should he fall. All was in vain. Twenty-five paces were marked off; the pistols were loaded, and we took our places.

“ ‘Are you used to this arm?’ said the Dog.

“ ‘Alas! yes; but I have neither aimed at nor wounded any one.’ As good luck would have it, I had to fire first. {33}

“ ‘Take good aim,’ said the Dog, ‘I detest this fellow.’

“ ‘Why on earth, then, don’t you take my place? Are you still at enmity with me,’ I said to my foe. ‘Let us kiss and forget all.’

“ ‘Fire!’ he replied, cursing fearfully.

“This roused me. The Ox retired and gave the signal; I pressed the trigger, and we both fell—I, from emotion, and the Cock from the ball that pierced his heart.”

“ ‘Hurrah!’ cried the Dog.

“ ‘Silence, gentlemen,’ I said, ‘this is no time for rejoicing.’ But he was a jolly dog, and light-hearted.

“ ‘Bravo!’ said the Ox, ‘you have rendered a public service. I shall be glad if you will dine with me this evening. The grass is particularly tender in this neighbourhood.’

“I declined the invitation and said, ‘May the blood of this miserable bully be upon your heads. Gentlemen, good morning.’

“My journey to Rambouillet was, as you may be certain, a sad one. It was long before the dread image of my dead enemy vanished from my eyes. The freshness and beauty of nature at last acted as a balm to my spirits; and ere I reached the forest, with all its souvenirs of my youth, my troubles were forgotten. Some months after my return, I had the pleasure of becoming a father, and soon after a grandfather. You know the rest, my dear children, so now you are at liberty.” At these words his audience awoke.

“Since my return, my dear Magpie, I have had leisure for reflection, and have come to the conclusion that true happiness is not to be found in this world. If it does exist at all, it is most difficult to attain, and the most fleeting possession of our animal nature. Philosophic men without number have wasted their lives in vainly attempting to discover some clue to the mystery, and all to no purpose. Some of them would fain have us believe that they had nearly created a heaven for themselves where self-love had only set up its own image as its god. Other men demand happiness of heaven as if it were a debt owed them by its Divine Ruler, and probably the wisest section settle down to enjoy the pleasures which life undoubtedly affords, and to make the best of ‘the ills that flesh is heir to.’

“I believe, on the whole, that our lives, although they have their disadvantages, are pleasanter than the lives of men, for this reason. The present is to us everything. We live for to-day. Men live for to-morrow. The to-morrow that is to be brimful of joy. Alas! thus {34} human hope is carried on through all the days of life; but the joy is never realised, and the hope goes with men beyond the grave.”

{35}

THE FLIGHT OF A PARISIAN BIRD

_IN SEARCH OF BETTER GOVERNMENT._

Parisian Sparrows have long been recognised as the boldest of the feathered tribe. Thoroughly French, they have their follies, and their virtues to atone for them; but above all, they have been for many generations objects of envy to the birds of foreign climes. This latter reflection is sufficient to account for all the calumnies heaped upon them by their enemies. They who dwell amid the splendour of the capital, are a happy tribe. As for myself I am one of the number of distinguished metropolitan birds. Of a naturally gay disposition, an unusually liberal education has lent gravity to my appearance. I have been fed on crumbs of philosophy; having built my nest in the spout of an illustrious writer’s dwelling. Thence I fly to the windows of the Tuileries, and compare the anxieties of the palace and the fading grandeur of kings, with the immortal roses, budding in the simple abode of my master, which will one day wreathe his brow with an undying glory.

By picking up the crumbs that have fallen from this great man’s table, I myself have become illustrious among the birds of my feather, who, after mature deliberation, have appointed me to select the form of government calculated to promote the welfare of sparrows. The task implied is a difficult one, as my constituents never remain long on one perch, chattering incessantly when their liberty is threatened, and fighting among themselves almost without cause. {36}

The birds of Paris, ever on the wing, have many of them settled down to thinking, and are now giving their attention to such subjects as religion, morality, and philosophy.

Before residing in the spout—in the Rue de Rivoli—I made my escape from a cage in which I had been imprisoned for two years. Every time I felt thirsty, I had to draw water to amuse my master, one of those bearded animals who would have us believe they are the lords of creation. As soon as I regained my liberty, I related my sad story to some friends in the Faubourg St. Antoine, who treated me with great kindness. It was then, for the first time, I observed the habits of the bird-world, and discovered that the joy of life does not consist in simply eating and drinking. I was led to believe that even the life of the sparrow has higher ends, and to form convictions which have added greatly to my fame.

Many a time have I sat on the head of one of the statues of the Palais Royal, where I might be seen with my plumes ruffled, my head between my shoulders, and, with one eye closed on the world, reflecting on our rights, our duties, and our future. Grave questions forced themselves upon me. Where do sparrows come from? Where do they go to? Why can’t they weep? Why don’t they form themselves into societies like crows? Why don’t French sparrows settle everything by arbitration, since they enjoy such a sublime language?

Great changes were taking place around; houses were supplanting gardens, and depriving birds of the insects and grubs found in the shrubs and soil. The result, as might have been expected, was to draw the line still more markedly between the rich and poor, and to set up “caste” as it exists among certain types of the human race. The sparrows in the densely-populated quarters were reduced to living on offal, while the aristocracy fed daintily, and perched as near heaven as the trees of the Champs d’Elysées would allow them.

This defective constitution could not last long; one half of the feathered tribe chirping joyously in the fulness of their stomachs, surrounded by superb families, and the other half brawling and clamouring for filthy refuse. The latter, driven to desperation, determined indeed to use, if need be, their horny beaks to improve their social condition.

With this laudable object in view, a deputation waited on a bird who had lived in the Faubourg St. Antoine, and assisted at the taking of the Bastille. This bird was appointed to the command of the {37} sufferers, who organised themselves into a body, each one feeling the necessity of implicit obedience.

Judge of the surprise of the Parisians who beheld thousands of small birds ranged on the roofs of the houses in the Rue de Rivoli; the right wing towards the Hôtel de Ville, the left on the Madeleine, and the centre on the Tuileries. The aristocratic birds, seized with panic-fear at sight of this demonstration, and dreading the loss of their power and position, despatched a fledgling of their number to address the rioters in these words:—“Is it not well that we should reason together and not fight?”

The rioters turned their eyes upon me. Ah! that was one of the proudest moments of my life: I was elected by my fellow-citizens to draw up a charter to conciliate all, and settle differences among the most renowned sparrows in the world, sparrows who for a moment were divided on the question “how to live,” the eternal backbone of political discussions.

Those birds in possession of the enchanting abodes of the capital, had they any absolute right to their property? Why and how had caste become established? Could it last? Were perfect equality established among Parisian sparrows, what form would the new government assume? Such were the questions asked by both parties. “But,” said the hedge-Sparrows, “the earth and all its riches should be equally divided.” “That is an error,” said the privileged ones; “we live in a city, and are subject to the restraints, as well as to the refinement, of society; whereas you in your condition enjoy greater freedom, and ought to content yourselves with the hedgerows and fields, and all that satisfies untutored nature.”

Thereupon a general twittering threatened to lead to hostilities, but the popular tumult with sparrows, as with man, is the labour-pangs of national deliverance, and brings forth good. A proposition was carried, to send an intelligent bird to examine the different forms of government. I had the honour of being selected for the post, and at once started on my mission. What would one not sacrifice for his country? To tell the truth, the position was one which conferred both dignity and emolument. Let me now lay the report of my travels as an humble offering on the altar of my country.

{38}

THE ANTS’ FORM OF GOVERNMENT.

After traversing the sea, not without difficulty and danger, and experiencing many of those adventures which take the place of genuine information in modern books of travel, I arrived at an island called Old Frivolity. Why it should be termed old I could never make out, as it is said that the world was created all at once. A Carrion-Crow, whom I met, pointed out the government of the ants as a suitable model, so you may understand how eager I was to study their system, and discover their secrets. On my way I fell in with scores of ants travelling for pleasure. They were all of them black and glossy, as if newly varnished, but utterly devoid of individuality, being all alike. After, indeed, one has seen a single ant, one knows all the others. They travel coated with a liquid which keeps them clean. Should one meet an ant in his mountains, on the water, or in his city-dwelling, his get-up is irreproachable. Care is even bestowed on the cleanliness of his feet and mandibles. This affectation of outward purity lowered them in my estimation. I inquired of the first ant I met, “What would happen to you were you for an instant to forget your careful habits?” He made no answer; I discovered, indeed, that they never exchange a word with any one to whom they have not been formally introduced. I fell in with an intelligent Coralline of the Polynesian Ocean, who informed me that she had been arrested by the fishes when engaged in raising the coral-foundation on which a new continent was to repose. She mentioned a curious fact relating to the government of the ants, namely, that they confer the right upon their subjects to annex all new lands as soon as they appear above sea-level. I now found out that Old Frivolity was so named to distinguish it from New Coral-reef Island. I may mention in passing, that these are private confidences, and caution my noble constituents not to abuse them.

As soon as I set foot on the island, I was assailed by a troop of strange animals—government servants—charged with introducing you to the pleasures of freedom, by preventing you carrying certain contraband objects you had set your heart upon. They surrounded me, compelled me to open my beak in order that they might look down my throat in case I should be carrying prohibited wares inland. As I proved to be empty, I was permitted to make my way to the seat of the government, whose liberty had been so lauded by my friend the Crow. {39}

Nothing surprised me more than the extraordinary activity of the people. Everywhere were ants coming and going; loading and unloading provisions. Palaces and warehouses were being built; the earth, indeed, was yielding up all its finest materials to aid them in the construction of their edifices. Workmen were boring underground, making tunnels to relieve the traffic on the surface of the island. So much taken up, indeed, was every one with his own business, that my {40} presence was not noticed. On all sides, ships were leaving laden with ants for the colonies, or with merchandise destined for foreign shores; vessels were crowding into the ports, bearing produce from distant parts of the world; messages were flashing from agents abroad, telling merchants of the abundance of products that might almost be had for the lifting. So clever are these ants in everything connected with commerce, that whenever they receive a message, they send off their vessels, laden with cheap wares which they sell to weak races at the highest market prices. Some semi-savage nations assert that the strong drink the ants export is too potent, and that the narcotic they extract from a certain plant, which is watered by the sweat of a servile race, affords a powerful stimulant to national decay,—is, in fact, a physical and moral poison. To this, diplomatists reply that the trade is lucrative, that there is a demand for the narcotic, and that so long as the demand lasts the ants must supply it at their own price. There are those among them who abhor this traffic, and condemn it as a moral slave-trade, in so far as the effect of the narcotic on its consumers is to render them its bondsmen for life. These ants, curiously enough, profess the Christian religion, and send propagandists to all parts of the world. For all that, I soon found out that many of them are idolaters, worshipping gods made of gold by themselves, and set up in shrines called banks; other idols, called “consolidated funds,” railway stocks, and generally sound investments, yield their owners a temporal good, and enable them to “live in clover.” Other idols, again, when sunk in foreign loans and spurious companies, rebel and bring down all sorts of calamities on the widows and orphans of the most industrious ants of the island. There are those among them, whose avocation it is to make these images out of clay with such attractive ingenuity that, when set up to public gaze, worshippers flock to the shrines and take their glitter for pure gold; these gods are for “raising the wind,” but they sometimes bring down a storm and are overthrown, crushing in their fall thousands of poor devotees.

In the midst of the general activity I noticed some winged ants; and, singling out one, inquired of the guard, “Who is that ant standing unemployed while all the others are labouring?”

“Oh,” he replied, “that is a noble lord. We have many such as he, patricians of our empire.”

“What is a patrician?” I asked.

“They are the glory of the land,—fellows with four wings who fly {41} about in the sun, and are at their wits’ end to know how to pass the time most pleasantly.”

“Can you yourself ever hope to become a patrician if you work hard?”

“Well, no; not exactly. The wings of patricians are natural; they run in the families, so to speak. But artificial wings may be ingrafted by the sword of the sovereign for distinguished service; these, however, are never strong enough to enable the wearer to soar clear of his {42} plebeian fellows into the high heaven of aristocracy. I must tell you that some of the four-winged order are almost indispensable to the state; they nurse the national honour, and plan our campaigns.”

The noble ant who had caused my inquiries was coming towards us. The common ants made way for him; these working ants of the lower order are extremely poor, possessing absolutely nothing. The patricians, on the other hand, are rich, having palaces in the ant-hills, and parks, where flies are reared for their food and sport.

The ants display the tenderest regard for their offspring; and to the care bestowed upon the training of the young they attribute their national greatness. It is astonishing to see the neuters watching over the young. In place of sending—as some of our Parisian sparrows do—their callow-brood to be nursed by birds of prey, they themselves tend the orphans. They, indeed, live for them, sheltering them from the cold winds that sweep their island, watching for the fitful gleams of sunshine to lead them out. These ant-neuters watch with pride the growth of the young lives, and the development of the instinct for war and conquest in the young brood; not alone the conquest of lands and races, but the mastery over the elements of nature that informs them how to brave the worst storms, and build their wonderful ant-hills. These nurses, although tender-hearted, are proud, and will unflinchingly buckle the swords on to their favourites, and send them away to fight for fame, or die for their country. From the point of view of a philosophical French sparrow, all this seemed to me strangely conflicting, and on the whole a sign of defective national character. At this moment the patrician ascended one of the city fortifications and said a few words to his subordinates, who at once dispersed through the ant-hill; and in less time than I take to write I noticed detachments issuing from the stronghold, and embarking on straw, leaves, and bits of wood. I soon learned that news of a defeat had arrived from abroad, and they were sending out reinforcements. During the preparations, I overheard the following conversation between two officers:—

“Have you heard the news, my lord, of the massacre of the innocents by the savages of Pulo Anto?”

“Yes; we shall have to annex the territory of these painted devils, and teach them the usages of civilisation.”

“I suppose it must be so; our fellows will have some rough {43} work in the jungle, and the expedition to punish a handful of barbarians will cost no end of money, and some good lives.”

“As pioneers of progress, we must be prepared to sacrifice something for the common good, and our men are in want of active service. Besides, Pulo Anto is a rich island, and will yield a good revenue.”

This last remark was very much to the point, so conclusive, indeed, as to satisfactorily terminate the dialogue. Will it pay? is the final question which settles all the transactions of this military and mercantile race. I imagined that the noble lord spoke of the “common good” in the sarcastic tone peculiar to his nation. This phrase meant the immediate benefit of the Ant kingdom, and the ultimate disappearance from the face of the earth of a weak neighbour. The ants carry the process of civilising a savage nation to such a degree of refinement, that the subliming and re-subliming influences of contact gradually cause the destruction of the dross of savagedom and the annihilation of race. It seemed to me that what the ants happen to like they look upon as their own, and make it their own if it suits their convenience. They extend their empire, and carry warfare and commerce into the ant-hills of their weaker neighbours. They wax stronger and richer year by year, while the nations with which they trade, many of them, grow weaker and poorer.

I remarked to an officer that the aggressive policy of his government was much to be reprobated.

“Well,” he replied, “there may be truth in what you say, but we must obey the popular voice, open new fields for our commerce, and keep our army and navy employed.”

“You, sir, call this fulfilling a divine mission; a foreign war is a sort of god-send to keep the fighting ants employed. You go on the principle of the surgeon who cuts up his patients to keep his hand in, and his purse full. Such work ought to be left to the butcher.”

“Oh no; you labour under a great mistake. I own we do something in the way of vivisection, just as would the skilful surgeon to increase his knowledge, and enable him to heal the festering sores of humanity. When we find pig-headed ants or deaths-head moths”——

“What are pig-headed ants?”

“A species of insect devoid alike of reason and all the nobler qualities which we ourselves possess. I say, when we find them, it becomes our duty to use strong measures to raise their condition, or remove them out of our way.” {44}

“Just as a physician who fails to effect a cure would feel justified in killing his patient?”

“Again, sir, you misapprehend my meaning. It is the custom of Parisian sparrows, when they clamour for liberty, equality, and fraternity, to kill each other, in order to purify the government. Having no real grievances at home, we find it convenient to redress our wrongs and seek for sweets abroad. Thus we preserve our independence, and confer a benefit on the world at large. My time is precious—good morning!”

My noble constituents will readily understand how I stood petrified at the audacity of this fighting ant, who stoutly maintained that might alone was right, and that his corrupt form of government ought, forsooth, to be set up as a model.

I had it in my mind to tell him that the chief successes of his foreign policy were effected by the subtile diplomacy of maintaining intestine divisions in foreign states. In this way the time of their enemies is fully occupied, and their strength weakened.

But he retreated before superior force, well knowing that his arguments must be crushed by the criticism of a Philosophical French Sparrow.

I afterwards learned that the officer had retired to his property in the country, “there,” as the ants would say, “to practise those virtues God has imposed upon our race.”

The only good points about the government of Old Frivolity lie in the protection extended to the meanest subjects, and the way they manage the working neuters, in making them pull together to effect great ends. This latter would prove a great element of danger were it introduced among ingenious Parisian sparrows.

I started much impressed with a sense of the perfection of this oligarchy, and the boldness of its selfish measures, and left regretting that in governments, as in individuals, close scrutiny reveals many defects.

MONARCHY OF THE BEES.

Profiting by what I had seen in the Ants’ empire, I resolved in future to observe more closely the habits of the tribes, before trusting myself to princes or nobles. On reaching this new dominion I stumbled against a bee bearing a bowl of honey. {45}

“Alas!” he exclaimed, “I am lost.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Do you not see I have spilt the queen’s soup, happily the cup-bearer, the Duchess of Violets, will attend to her immediate wants. I should die of grief if I thought my faults would not be repaired.”

“How came you to worship your queen so devoutly? I come from a country where kings and queens and all such human institutions are held in light esteem.”

“Human!” cried the Bee; “know, bold Sparrow, that our queen and our government are divine institutions. Our queen rules by divine prerogative. Without her wise rule we could not exist as a hive. She unceasingly occupies herself with our affairs. We are careful to feed her, as we are born into the world to adore, serve, and defend her. She has her sons and daughters for whom we rear private palaces. The latter are, too frequently, wedded to hungry, petty princes, who thus claim our service and support.”

“Who is this remarkable queen?”

“She is,” said the Bee, “Tithymalia XVII., a woman endowed with rare wisdom; she can scent a storm afar off, and is careful to lay in stores for severe winters. It is said also that she has treasures in foreign lands.”

Here a young foreign prince came forward, and cautiously inquired if we thought any of the young ladies of royal blood likely to want a husband.

“Prince,” said the working Bee, “have you not heard of the ceremonies and preparations for departure? If you wish to court any daughter of Tithymalia you had better make haste. You are well enough in your appearance, although you could do with a new coat.”

I beheld a splendid spectacle. One of the princesses was about to be married. The pageant on which I gazed must have a powerful effect on the vulgar imagination, and wed the people to the memories and superstitions which are about the only links uniting the higher with the lower orders of society.

Eight drummers in yellow and black jackets left the old city called Sadrach—from the name of the first Bee who preached social order; these were followed by fifty musicians, all of them so brilliant that one might have said they were living gems. Next came the bodyguards armed with terrible stings. They were two hundred strong. Each battalion was headed by a captain, wearing on his breast the {47} order of Sadrach—a small star of beeswax. Behind them came the queen’s dusters, headed by the grand duster, then the grand tooth-pick-bearer, cup-bearer, eight little cup-bearers, and the mistress of the Royal House, with twelve train-bearers, and lastly, the young queen, beautiful in her maidenly grace, her true modesty. The wings which shone with great splendour had never yet served for flight. The queen-mother accompanied her, robed in velvet, aglow with diamond-dust. Musicians followed humming a hymn of praise composed for the occasion. After the band came twelve other old drones, who seemed to me to be a sort of national clergy. They were all alike one to the other, and buzzed uniformly and monotonously. About ten or twelve thousand bees marched from the hive, upon the edge of which stood Tithymalia, and addressed these memorable words to the multitude:—

“It is always with a new pleasure that I witness your flight, as it secures the tranquillity of my people, and that”——She was here interrupted by an old drone who was afraid of the queen using unparliamentary language—at least so I thought. Her Majesty continued—“I am certain that, trained by our habits of thrift and industry, you will serve God and spread the glory of His name on the earth which He has so enriched with honey-yielding flowers. May you never forget the honour due to your queen, and to the sacred principles of our government. Think that without loyalty there is anarchy, that obedience is the virtue of good bees, that the strength of the state depends upon your fidelity. Know that to die for your queen and the church is to give life to your land. I give you my daughter Thalabath as queen. Love her well!”

This eloquent speech was followed by loud buzzing.

As soon as the young people had left with the queen, the poor prince I had noticed buzzed around them, saying, “Oh most noble Tithymalia, unkind fate has bereft me of the power of making honey, but I am versed in economics, so if you have another daughter with a modest dowry, I”——

“Do you know, prince,” said the grand mistress of the Royal House “that with us the queen’s husband is always unfortunate. He is looked upon as a sort of necessary evil, and treated accordingly. We do not suffer him to meddle with the government, or live beyond a certain age.”

But the queen heard his voice and said, “I will befriend you, you {48} can serve me; you have a true heart, you shall wed my daughter, and lend your pious aid to the work of our kingdom.”

This cunning prince, one of no mean power, had fallen in love with one of the fair princesses.

There is one remark I have to make which has nothing to do with government, and that is, that love is the same everywhere. Here was a fellow who had winged his flight from a foreign land to bask in the sunshine of his true love, follow her from flower to flower, sip the nectar from the same cups; to worship even her shadow as it flitted across the pale lily, or kiss her footprints on the dew-spangled rose. Ah me! these thoughts send a tide of fond memories throbbing through my old heart. There is one thing certain, on my return, I must have a commission appointed to inquire into the nature of this passion among men and bees.

My constituents will be pleased to learn that my fame gained me a reception in the palace. I had despatched a bee to inform Her Majesty that a stranger of distinction from Paris desired to be presented to her.

Before being led into the audience-chamber, several magnificent bees examined me to make certain that I carried no dangerous odour or foreign matter about my person to soil the palace. Soon the old queen came and placed herself on a peach blossom. “Great Queen,” I said, “you see before you a member of the Order of Philosophical Sparrows, an ambassador sent to study the governments and organisation of the animal kingdoms.”

“Great ambassador, wisest of birds, my life would be a dull one were it not for the cares of government and the events that compel me to seek retirement twice every year. Do not call me Queen or Majesty, address me simply as Princess, if you wish to please me.”

“Princess,” I replied, “it seems to me that the machine you call the people excludes all liberty. Your workers do always the same thing, and you live, I see, according to the Egyptian customs.”

“That is true; but order is the highest public virtue. Order is our motto, and we practise it, while, if men strive to follow our example, they content themselves with stamping the motto on the buttons of their national guards. Our monarchy is order, and order is absolute.”

“Order is to your profit, Princess. The bees on your civil list are all workers, and only think of you.” {49}

“What else would you have? I am the State; without me the State would perish. In other realms order is freely canvassed, and each one follows it according to his own idea, and as there are as many orders as opinions, constant disorder prevails. Here one lives happily, because the order is always the same. It is much better that these intelligent bees should have a queen instead of hundreds of nobles as in the Ants’ kingdom. The Bee world has so many times felt the danger of innovation, that it no longer seeks for radical change.”

“It is unfortunate,” I said, “that well-being can only be obtained by a cruel division of castes. My bird’s instinct revolts at the notion of such inequality.”

“Adieu,” said the queen; “may God enlighten you! From God proceeds instinct; let us obey Him. If it were possible that equality should be proclaimed, should it not be first among us whose duties serve a great end. Our affections are ruled by laws the most mathematical. But for all that, the hive and our various occupations can only be maintained by our wise system of government.”

“For whom do you make your honey? for man!” said I. “Oh, liberty!”

“It is true that I am not free,” said the queen; “I am even more bound than my subjects. Leave my State, Parisian Philosopher, else you may yet turn some weak heads.”

“Some strong heads,” I replied. But she flew away. When the queen was gone, I scratched my head, and made a peculiar sort of Flea fall out of it. Being a perfectly cosmopolitan bird, I was about to enter into conversation with this bloodthirsty intruder, but he had leaped for dear life. Gaining confidence, he returned and said:—

“O Philosopher of Paris, I am only a poor Flea, who has made a long journey on the back of a Wolf. I have listened with profound interest to your remarks, and felt honoured while I sat upon your learned pate. If you desire to find a government modelled on your own principles, go through Germany, cross Poland, and make your way to Ukraine, where you will find, in the administration of the Wolves, the noble independence you require, and which you pointed out to that old twaddler of a queen. The Wolf, Sir Bird, is the most harshly-judged-of animals. Naturalists quite ignore his purely republican principles, for he devours those of them who may cross his {50} path; but he cannot kill a bird, so you may safely trust yourself to his hospitality, and perch on the back of the proudest of them.”

THE WOLVES’ REPUBLIC.

Parisian Sparrows, birds of every clime, animals of the whole world, and ye petrified relics of antediluvian reptiles and monsters, admiration would seize on you as it did on me, could you behold the noble Wolves’ Republic—the only one in which hunger is conquered—This is what elevates the animal spirits.

When I reached the magnificent steppes which stretch from the Ukraine to Tartary, the weather was already cold, and I felt convinced that the privileges of the subjects must be great to compensate for living in such a land.

I was met by a Wolf on guard. “Wolf,” I said, “the cold is chilling my blood. I shall die; and let me tell you, my death will be a loss to the world at large. I am a traveller of renown!”

“Get upon my back,” said the Wolf.

“Pardon me, citizen, I prefer to cultivate your acquaintance afar off. Perchance you wish to whet your appetite with such a dainty morsel as a Parisian Sparrow.”

“What manner of good would you do me, stranger? Should I eat you, I should be neither more nor less hungry. You are evidently a studious Sparrow. You have burned the midnight oil, and offered up every drop of your blood on the shrine of science or literature. Skin, bone, and feathers. Ugh! you would only trouble me in my empty stomach, and there study out at leisure the various odds and ends of my organisation. No, no! get up; give my mouth a wide berth; sit on my tail, if you like the fur.”

Concealing my dread of his hungry fangs, I perched lightly on the tail, where I was not unfrequently disturbed by the tremor of his emotions.

Fellow Sparrows, the tail of a beast of prey is the safest perch, and it affords a true index of the play of passion in the brute.

“What are you doing here?” I said, to renew the conversation.

“Well,” said he, “we are awaiting some visitors at yonder castle, and intend to devour them, horses, coachmen, and all.” Here the tail whisked so briskly that I had difficulty in keeping my feet.

“That would be an extraordinary proceeding. Men, to be sure, are {51} our foes, and you, no doubt, perform a useful function in keeping down their numbers. As they are Russians, you won’t eat their heads,” said I.

“Why?”

“It is said they have none.”

“What a pity! That will be a loss to us, but that won’t be the only one.”

“How so?”

“Alas!” said the Wolf, “many of ours will fall in the attack, but it will be in our country’s cause. There are only six men, a few horses, and some provisions. Too few! too few! They won’t serve for a meal to the right wing of our army. Bird, believe me, we are nearly famished!”

He turned and showed his fangs so hungrily that I almost fainted with fright. “We have had nothing to eat.”

“Nothing,” I said, “not even a Russian?”

“No; not even a Tartar. Those rogues of Tartars scent us two miles off.”

“Well, then, how do you manage?”

“The young and strong among us are bound to fight on an empty stomach. She-wolves, cubs, and veterans must feed first.”

“That is a fine point in the character of your Republic.”

“Fine!” he said; “why, it is only fair. We know no distinction other than that of age and sex; all are equal.”

“Why,” said I, “how can that be?”

“Because we are all of us the same in the sight of God.”

“And yet you are only a sentinel.”

“Yes, it is my turn to be on guard.”

“But, General,” said I—here the fellow pricked up his ears, and seemed immensely pleased with even the shadow of distinction carried in a name—“to-morrow it may be your turn to command.”

“Exactly, that’s how we square. Your intelligence, Sir Sparrow, does your nation credit. It is something like this. When in danger we meet together, and elect a leader, who, after the peril is passed, falls again into the ranks.”

“Under what peculiar circumstances do you meet?”

“When there is, say, a famine, to forage for the common good. In time of great distress we share and share alike. But do you know we are driven to the direst straits, when, as frequently happens, the snow {52} lies ten feet deep on the ground; when the houses are covered, and no food is to be had for months. Strange! our stomachs grow smaller and we crowd together for warmth. We pull together {53} wonderfully. Since the Republic was formed, the wolves have abstained from devouring or destroying each other. This ought to make men blush. The wolves are each and every one sovereign. They govern themselves.”

“Do you know, General, that men say sovereigns are wolves, and prey upon their people? You will have no need of punishment in your land.”

“Yes, we have; when a wolf commits a crime he is punished. Should he not scent his game in time, or fail to secure it, he is beaten. But he never loses caste on that account.”

“I have heard tell that some of your wolves in office are secretly ravenous, devouring the substance of the country, and given to dividing the good things of government among their friends.”

“Hush! Gently, please. These are matters of which we do not speak. The natural tendency of wolves is to feed on carrion, and when the body politic becomes corrupt, they perform the healthful function of licking the sores. It is only wolf-nature to seek such office and profit by it. One good feature in the Republic is, that a wolf is free to hunt down his own game, and when required, he may rely on the community.”

“This is indeed excellent,” I replied, “to live and govern one’s self. You have indeed solved a great problem.” Yet I thought to myself that the Parisian Sparrows will not be simple enough to adopt such a system.

“Hurrah!” cried my friend, whisking me from his tail into the air. All at once from a thousand to twelve hundred wolves with superb fur, and agility wonderful to behold, arrived on the scene. I saw two carriages drawn by horses, and defended by masters and servants. In spite of the sword-blows that fell on all sides, and the wheels that crushed the assailants, the wolves fixing their fangs into the horses soon overpowered the caravans. The prey was portioned out. One skin fell to the sentinel, who devoured it greedily. Other valiant wolves were allotted the coats and buttons, and soon only six human skulls remained that proved far too thick and hard for the profane fangs of the destroyers. The corpses of the slain wolves were respected and became the objects of a strange usage. Hungry wolves lay concealed beneath them until such time as a flock of birds of prey had settled on them. These they deftly caught and devoured. This was a touching example of thrift, recalling the various modes by which men take a profit out of their {54} dead. I am told they set up tombstones over them, as baits for the world’s applause. A man will inscribe on the stone which covers the remains of some poor wife sentiments of deep regret and undying affection, while his carnal eyes are bent on some pretty bird fluttering over him and sympathising with his grief.

One thing struck me about the Republic, and that was the seemingly perfect equality of the people which arose, not so much from the nature of their government, as from the fact that by nature they are endowed with equal strength and instinct. The failure of human Republics arises out of the unequal intellectual and physical capacities of men. A more perfect system of education and a higher moral code, strictly observed by all, may one day bring man and man to the same level. Hereditary defects of character will then disappear, and all men will regain something of the perfect image of the God that created them. In the Wolves’ Republic the weak ones go to the wall, die off, as the struggle for existence is severe, so severe indeed that only the strong survive. The young wolf is educated in warfare and suffering. Indolence and want of pluck are punished by starvation, as all must work, and it becomes a habit to toil, and to toil ungrudgingly. Ah me! I almost despair of the task of reforming a country spoilt by luxury. Parisian birds, some of you are daintily fed on grubs and grain in golden cages, others, alas, have to pick up a precarious living on the streets. How shall we raise the poor to the level of the rich? Raise them from their lowly perch and place them in palaces? The wolves obey each other quite as heartily as the bees obey their queen, or the ants their laws. Liberty makes duty a slave. The ants are fettered by habit, and so are the bees. The Wolves’ Republic possesses many advantages, for if one must be a slave to anything, it is better to obey public reason than to become the votary of pleasure, or the football of fate.

I must own, whether to my shame or glory, as I approached Paris my admiration for wolfish freedom gradually diminished in the presence of refinement; and while I thought of the priceless boon of a cultivated mind, the proud Republic of the Wolves no longer satisfied me. Is it not, after all, a sad condition, to live on rapine alone? If the equality of wolves is one of the sublimest triumphs of animal instinct, the war they wage against man, birds of prey, and horses, is a violation of animal right.

The rude virtues of a Republic thus constituted depend alone on {55} war. Is it possible that the best form of government can be sustained by ceaseless warfare, by continuing to push one’s conquests into the territory of weaker, simpler, and perchance more virtuous foes? This, my philosophic companions, is the policy of the great country of the wolves. Better rather to die of hunger, while we, by our self-denial, add a single green leaf to the laurel-crown that decks the brows of our country. We are placed here on God’s earth, not to destroy, but to build up His glorious works. Take this to heart, ye visionaries who seek to establish the edifice of peace on a foundation of vice and blood. However humble our lot, let us rather—like the coral insects who, by their toil, build up the loveliest islands of the world—seek to do our duty in our allotted spheres, that we may leave behind us an unsullied fame.

{56}

LIFE AND PHILOSOPHICAL OPINIONS OF A PENGUIN.

“Must one seek for happiness?” I inquired of the Hare. “Search,” replied he, but with fear and trembling.—_The Anonymous Bird._

I.

Had I not been born in the extreme South, beneath the rays of a burning sun, which helped to liberate me from my shell, and was quite as much to me as the brave Penguin which abandoned me to fate, I might have proved a happier bird; but being, as I said, hatched under a tropic sun rather than a lucky star, I became an unhappy bird. I had a hard struggle to get into the world, as my shell was an uncommonly thick one. When at last I had found my way into the light, I stood for some time gazing at my prison with feelings not unmingled with surprise at the event which had introduced me to freedom. One, of course, has only a confused remembrance of those early days, and can hardly be expected to give a full account of the sudden change implied in birth. I have heard it said that men when they are born—some of them—smile blandly on the prospects that life presents to them; while others, and they the majority, begin life with a wail of regret, the prophetic note of a sorrowful existence.

Be that as it may, I remember, as soon as I was able to reflect, {57} thinking how uncomfortable I must have felt, doubled up in a shell too contracted to admit of motion. The change was truly appalling. There lay the shell, to me a world which I had first filled and then broken, to find myself a mean tenant of immeasurable space. The prospect puzzled and hardly pleased me; I had exchanged my little egg for one boundless in its infinity. Far from being modest, on finding myself in the world my first notion was that all I saw belonged to me, and that the sole purpose of the earth was to contribute to my support.

Forgive the infantile pride of a poor Penguin, who, as the years rolled on, has been taught humility. As soon as I discovered the use of my eyes, I found myself alone in what proved to be the hollow of a great rock overlooking the sea. The rocks, the stones, the water; a boundless horizon around, immensity, indeed, and myself, in the midst of it all, nothing more than an atom! I vainly inquired, “Why is the universe so large?” and the echo from my empty shell answered “Why?” The question had been asked before, and, as I afterwards learned, had never been more conclusively answered. A little world, quite a small one, filled by those alone who are devoted to each other’s welfare, would have been more to my liking than this great gulf in which all seems lost, and hopeless confusion reigns,—in which there is space enough and to spare, not only for those creatures who detest each other, but for nations whose conflicting interests cause endless strife, and allow full scope to the play of crime and passion. Penguins in general, and you my personal friends, would not a world framed for ourselves have been better? a world with one low mountain bathed in sunlight,—a tiny, leafy plain bordering the sea, carpeted with flowers, and shaded by fruit-bearing trees, in which a score of social birds might build their nests—birds decked with gay plumage and bursting with song, unlike the poor Penguin whose lines you are now reading?

These are vain imaginings, there is no such paradise for Penguins or any other creatures. There are fields and flowers, foliages and fruit-bearing trees, birds with bright plumage, and others with song; but, alas! the wide world shares their charms—flowers here and fruit there, all so scattered and dispersed as to minister alone to the sport and pleasure of mankind. Yes, man alone has the power of making nature his slave, of bringing all these elements together, of rendering his mansions musical with the nightingale, his lawns gay with flowers, and his orchards glorious with varied fruits. {58}

Again I crave pardon, dear reader. The habit of dwelling alone has rendered me gloomy, and I forget myself, forget that I have no right to forget my humble lot and obscure destiny.

II.

I ought to say that my early isolation and ignorance tempted me to brood over the unattainable. Nevertheless, I claim credit for self-denial in pruning my introduction, as I might have dived deep into the miseries of solitude—the solitude of my early days. The theme was a prolific one, which I should not have allowed thus to escape. It is so soothing to complain; so comforting, indeed, as to pass for real happiness.