Whatever curious and interesting subject strikes my fancy, be it silly or serious, gets posted for your reading pleasure.
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts

Wednesday, 2 September 2015

Blowing Hot and Cold ~ A Classic Fable Misunderstood?

(Post originally published April 9, 2015)

 
description

"The Satyr and the Peasant" by Walter Crane (1887).

Illustration in Baby's Own Aesop, (London 1887).

Throughout the centuries the clever fables attributed to a freed slave named Aesop (c. 620?-560 BC?) who reputedly came from the island of Samos have entertained and instructed countless readers. Today we continue to remember stories such as the goose that laid the golden egg and its unfortunate end due to greed, also, the tale of the persevering crow that couldn’t reach the water at the end of a narrow pitcher until it raised up the water level by dropping pebbles in one by one showing that doing things little by little accomplishes the seemingly impossible. Then, we have the memorable example of the town mouse and the country mouse in which a quiet life is better and safer than a luxurious one filled with constant danger and dread. However, there is one fable and its associated lesson that puzzled me when I was child, and that is the story of ‘The Peasant and the Satyr’ from which the following moral seems to have originated: ‘Beware of those who blow hot and cold with the same breath’. In other words, be careful of those who are not steadfast and waver back and forth, the shallow flip-floppers if you will!


Of course, the fables were altered with the telling over the centuries and one often finds various versions of the same story. Sometimes the man is called a Peasant, in other accounts a Traveller. The following is one simple account I can recall that was entitled the ‘Man and the Satyr’ from my childhood reading: a Man and Satyr were very good friends until one cold windy day the Satyr noticed the Man was blowing on his hands. He asked him why he was doing that and the Man answered his breath kept his hands warm. That night the Satyr invited his friend over for dinner and couldn’t help but notice him puffing on the hot soup he had given him. He asked why he did that and the Man replied the soup was too hot, so he was cooling it down. The Satyr then parted ways with his friend saying he would have nothing to do with someone who could blow hot and cold with the same breath. To give another example of the same story, a more elaborate version was translated by a certain Mr. Joesph Jacobs for the ‘Harvard Classics’, Vol. 17, (Ed. Charles W. Elliot, P.F. Collier and Son, Corp., New York, 1963), p. 33:


“A Man had lost his way in a wood one bitter winter’s night. As he was roaming about, a Satyr came up to him, and finding that he had lost his way, promised to give him a lodging for the night, and guide him out of the forest in the morning. As he went along to the Satyr’s cell, the Man raised both his hands to his mouth and kept on blowing at them. ‘What do you do that for?’ said the Satyr. ‘My hands are numb with the cold,’ said the Man, ‘and my breath warms them.’ After this they arrived at the Satyr’s home, and soon the Satyr put a smoking dish of porridge before him. But when the Man raised his spoon to his mouth he began blowing upon it. ‘And what do you do that for?’ said the Satyr. ‘The porridge is too hot, and my breath will cool it.’ ‘Out you go,’ said the Satyr, ‘I will have nought to do with a man who can blow hot and cold with the same breath.’”

descriptionIllustration from The Fables of Aesop by Richard Heighway, (1894).



At first, the Man appears to be the villain in both versions this story, the inconstant flip-flopper of whom one must be wary, while the Satyr appears to be the wise character for parting ways with the double-dealing hypocrite. The fact that the clichéd line of ‘to blow hot and cold with the same breath’ originally coined by the Dutch Renaissance scholar Desiderius Erasmus (1466?-1536) in connection with this story has survived for so long seems to support this view. However, there was one observation that always stuck with me when reading this narrative when I was little: the Man’s breath was always the same, it was the external temperatures of the objects he blew upon that were different depending on the surrounding environment and could be cooled or heated depending on their temperature, not the Man’s actual breath. So the poor fellow was not an inconstant flip-flopper at all! Maybe the Satyr is the true symbolic scoundrel in the tale? I’ve come to conclude that this may actually be the case and that the moral associated with this fable, ‘blowing hot and cold’, was not the intended proverb of this particular story, or at least, only part of it. I’ve recently discovered that others also noticed the strange discrepancy in the story. The controversial thinker of the Age of Enlightenment, Voltaire (1694-1778), couldn’t help but notice the irrational logical of the foolish Satyr and praised the Man, while the German philosopher and dramatist Gotthold Ephraim Lessing (1729-81) conjectured that it is only an allegory: the illogical inaccuracy of the story was possibly due to an attempt to invent a narrative around an already existing proverb, but the storyteller produced a clumsy and irrational tale as a result.


As for my own observations as to the true lesson of the story, let us consider the following. What was a satyr? An ancient Greek mythological creature that was generally depicted as a man with goat’s ears, legs and a tail ~ a motley half man, half goat being that was associated with the followers of the licentious god of wine Dionysus. The Romans also believed in these creatures, which they called ‘fawns’ and were associated with Dionysus’ Roman counterpart, the god Bacchus. Therefore, these strange creatures were considered lustful and drunken individuals, especially during the celebration of the wild ribald rites associated with their deity during the spring that were called the Bacchanalia. So in Aesop’s classic we have the image of an ‘inconstant’ grotesque hybrid creature that is neither man nor goat falsely criticising a full blooded Man for not being ‘constant’. It appears that the moral of the tale is not just a case of ‘blowing hot and cold’, but rather an example of people wrongfully accusing others of the shortcomings that they themselves possess—the pot calling the kettle black! We cannot help but observe a case study of double standards hidden under the guise of an entertaining fairy tale.

In the more elaborate version of the tale presented above, we also see a few more character flaws peeking out in the Satyr. Since we could safely venture a logical guess that the Satyr’s breath is the same temperature as the Man’s, the Satyr was trying to find some pretext or ‘valid’ fault in his guest in order to excuse himself from carrying out the sacred duty of hospitality he promised, for he booted the poor Man out into the dark of night and left him wandering lost in the forest without a second thought, which is a very dishonourable thing to do to a guest. We also note that contrary to the orgiastic liberality associated with the satyrs, he provided his guest with a miserable meal, a bowl of porridge. We suspect the Satyr in this case is a miserly host grudgingly giving the bare minimum required rather than provide the best from his larder for his unexpected visitor. Maybe that’s all the Satyr had to offer it could be argued, but somehow that doesn’t seem to add up in connection with a creature not known for self control that indulged in great feasting and drinking parties. 



description

Bacchic Scene (c.1627) by Nicolas Poussin, featuring a Satyr giving a Bacchante a wild time.

 It would be interesting if some form of the longer rendition featuring the Man lost at night in the woods and receiving a stingy reception as an unexpected guest in need did exist in the days of the ancient Greeks and Romans for we might discern a telling criticism of certain cults. For instance, the Satyr could be representative of the Bacchantes, the followers of the Dionysian orgiastic rites as viewed by the more conservative ancient Greeks and Romans who were critical of the drunken cult. It is very probable that the Bacchantes were deemed by them to be hypocrites using piety to cover their ribald feasting. Considering that Aesop’s fables may have been one effective way to veil personal opinions when indulging in free speech was dangerous during the rule of the ancient Greek tyrants, this tale could have been one way to quietly ridicule the adherents of Dionysus when speaking against any of the cults was considered a rash thing to do. The Bacchantes were particularly adamant in defending their rites, declaring that devastation and madness would befall anyone who criticised the cult of their god. Perhaps the droll story of the ‘Man and the Satyr’ was used by the conservative element in the populace to display that the Bacchantes were not so pious as they pretended to be but were rowdy devotees using religious zeal to cover their own immoderate purposes, indulging in their feasting ceremonies and sparing no expense to do so when it suited them, yet resorted to any ridiculous pretext to escape complying with other virtuous and honourable rites, refusing to help their fellow men when it put them out of pocket or was considered inconvenient.


Of course, the proverb of the fable ‘blowing hot and cold’ will always endure, however, it is hoped that in the future the reputation of being a hypocritical flip-flopper with double standards will be credited to the character of the miserly Satyr and not the Man as previously assumed. This is one exception where I agree with Voltaire and praise the Man for cooling his food and warming his fingers ~ even fictitious characters have a right to their good name and are entitled to a defence!

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Tuesday, 1 September 2015

Born Genius ~ A Conversation between Father and Son

(Post originally published February 2, 2012)


It is constantly stressed that writing can be learned, developed, mastered; that if you have a talent, it can be made to shine. However, there are writers who were destined for greatness from the beginning, whose star seemed to blaze the minute they appeared on earth similar to Mozart and his musical genius. In the case of writing, I am thinking of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832), German poet, dramatist, scientist and statesman.

(Image: Goethe in the Roman Campagna, by Johann Heinrich Wilhelm Tischbein, 1787)


Naturally, we can recognise his great talent with famous works from his adult years such as Faust: Part One, The Sorrows of Young Werther and Egmont A Tragedy in Five Acts to name a few, but like Mozart, he had a unique gift that manifested at an early age. Goethe was passionate about history, languages and art, and I thought I would share a little known scribbling he wrote when about eight years old, the last colloquy from a set of three featuring a conversation with his father about the wax figurines he was shaping, imitating the great artists and their model-making:



“Father: What are you doing there, my son?

Son: Making wax figures.
Father: I thought so. Oh, when will you ever put nuts aside?”
('Nuts': Goethe was playing on a Latin pun with the word 'nuces', which means 'nuts' and 'childish play'.)
Son: Why, I'm not playing with nuts, I'm playing with wax.
Father: Ignoramus, can it be that you don't know the meaning of 'nuts' in this connection?
Son: Now I remember. But see how well I have learned in a short time to model wax.
Father: To spoil wax, you mean.
Son: I beg your pardon. Am I not creating rather clever things?
Father: Yes indeed. Show me some of your malformations.
Son: Among other animals I have made, with special success, a cat with a long moustache, and a city mouse and a field mouse to illustrate one of Horace's satires, (i.e., an ancient Roman satirist), translated by Drollinger into pure German doggerel.
Father: I like this reminiscence better than the beasts themselves. But have you made nothing else which shows your alleged art more advantageously?
Son: Yes, indeed, here is a whale, with mouth wide open as if to swallow us, and two chamois, which Emperor Maximilian was so found of hunting that he is said to have been unable to find his way out of the declivitous rocks till an angel in human form showed him the path.
Father: Why, you apply your scraps of history so aptly that one must pardon your misshapen figures. And is that all?
Son: By no means; for all my models the ones to be especially admired are: the crocodile shedding false tears, the monstrous war elephant of the ancients, the lizard, friend of man, the croaking frog announcing spring, all of which lack nothing but life.
Father: Nonsense! Who would be able to recognise them without the labels?
Son: Alas! Is not every man the best interpreter of his own works?
Father: This statement is quite true, but not apropos.
Son: Pardon my ignorance and deign to look at this sleighing party. There are just a dozen in it, all different, partly creeping and partly flying creatures, of which the swan, the stag, the walrus, and the dragon seem to be the most natural.
Father: You may think so, if you like, but it is perfectly apparent that you make no real distinction between beautiful and ugly.
Son: Dear father, will you be so kind as to teach me the difference?
Father: Certainly, but everything in season. Your power of observation must first be more mature.
Son: Oh fiddlesticks! Why will you postpone it? Tell me about it today rather than tomorrow and I will listen to you while I play.
Father: I have already said it cannot be done now—some other time. Put aside your childish nonsense now and go to your work.
Son: I will. Good bye.”

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Amazing when you think an eight year old wrote this piece on aesthetics ~ Playdoh time rendered into a miniature work of art!

(Excerpt from “The Life Of Goethe: Albert Bielschowsky)

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The Emperor and the Seed - by Al Cunningham


description  A Short Story by Al Cunningham



An Emperor in the Far East was growing old and knew it was time to choose his successor. Instead of choosing one of his assistants or his children, he decided on something different.

He called the young people of the empire together one day. He said, “It is time for me to step down and choose the next Emperor. I have decided to choose one of you!”

The children were shocked, but the Emperor continued, “I am going to give each one of you a seed today. One very special seed. I want you to plant the seed, water it and come back here after one year from today, with what you have grown from this one seed. I will then judge the plants that you bring, and the one I choose will be the next Emperor.”

One boy, named Ling, was there that day and he, like the others, received a seed. He went home and excitedly told his mother the story. She helped him get a pot and planting soil, and he planted the seed and watered it carefully.

Everyday he would water it and watch to see if it had grown. After about three weeks, some of the other youths began to talk about their seeds and the plants that were beginning to grow. Ling kept checking his seed, but nothing ever grew. Three weeks … four weeks … five weeks went by. Still nothing. By now, others were talking about their plants, but Ling didn't have a plant, and he felt like a failure. Six months went by, still nothing in Ling's pot. He just knew he had killed his seed.
Everyone else had trees and tall plants, but he had nothing. Ling didn't say anything to his friends, however, he just kept waiting for his seed to grow.

A year finally went by and all the youths of the Empire brought their plants to the Emperor for inspection. Ling told his mother that he wasn't going to take an empty pot. To be honest, Ling felt sick to his stomach, but he knew his mother was right when she told him to take it to the Emperor. Reluctantly, Ling took his pot to the palace.

When Ling arrived, he was amazed at the variety of plants grown by the other youths. They were beautiful, in all shapes and sizes. Ling put his empty pot on the floor and many of the other kids laughed at him. A few felt sorry for him and just said, “Hey, nice try!” When the Emperor arrived, he surveyed the room and greeted the young people. Ling just tried to hide at the back. “What great plants, trees and flowers you have grown,” said the Emperor, “today, one of you will be appointed the next Emperor.”

All of a sudden, the Emperor spotted Ling at the back of the room with his empty pot. He ordered his guards to bring him to the front. Ling was terrified. “The Emperor knows I'm a failure! Maybe he will have me killed!” When Ling got to the front, the Emperor asked his name. “My name is Ling,” he replied. All the kids were laughing and making fun of him. The Emperor asked everyone to quiet down. He looked at Ling, and then announced to the crowd: “Behold your new Emperor! His name is Ling!”

Ling couldn't believe it. Ling couldn't even grow his seed. How could he be the new Emperor?

Then the Emperor said: “One year ago today, I gave everyone here a seed. I told you to take the seed, plant it, water it and bring it back to me today. But I gave you all boiled seeds, which would not grow. All of you, except Ling, have brought me trees and plants and flowers. When you found that the seed would not grow, you substituted another seed for the one I gave you. Ling was the only one with the courage and the honesty to bring me a pot with my seed in it. Therefore, he is the one who will be the new Emperor. If you plant goodness, you will reap friends. If you plant perseverance, you will reap victory. If you plant hard work, you will reap success. If you plant forgiveness, you will reap reconciliation. If you plant openness, you will reap intimacy. If you plant patience, you will reap improvements. But, if you plant dishonesty, you will reap distrust. If you plant selfishness, you will reap loneliness. If you plant laziness, you will reap stagnation. If you plant greed, you will reap loss. If you plant gossip, you will reap enemies. If you plant worries, you will reap wrinkles. So, be careful what you plant now. It will determine what you will reap tomorrow. The seeds you now scatter will make life worse or better. Yes, someday, you will enjoy the fruits, or you will pay for the choices you plant today.”



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The Rich Man's Son - A Christmas Story (Author Unknown)

(Post originally published December 11, 2011)

https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/9/9f/Christmas_Postcard_Wellcome_L0049548.jpg/640px-Christmas_Postcard_Wellcome_L0049548.jpg 

(Image: "Xmas Greetings 7th Division 1917...")



Once upon a time not so long ago, there was a very wealthy man who, with his devoted young son, shared a passion for art collecting. Together they travelled around the world, adding only the finest art treasures to their collection. Priceless works by Picasso, Van Gogh, Monet and many others adorned the walls of the rambling family estate. The widowed elder man looked on with satisfaction as his only child became an experienced art collector and shared the same tastes as he. The son’s trained eye and sharp business mind caused his father to beam with pride as they dealt with art collectors around the world.

As winter approached, war engulfed the nation, and the young man left to serve his country. After only a few short weeks, his father received a telegram. His beloved son was missing in action. The art collector anxiously awaited more news, fearing he would never see his son again. Within days, his fears were confirmed. The young man had died while rushing a fellow soldier to a medic. Distraught and lonely, the old man faced the upcoming Christmas holidays with anguish and sadness. The joy of the season – a season that he and his son had so looked forward to – would visit his house no longer.

On Christmas morning, a knock on the door awakened the depressed old man. As he walked to the door, the masterpieces of art on the walls only reminded him that his son was not coming home. As he opened the door, he was greeted by a soldier with a large package in his hand. He introduced himself to the man by saying, “I was a friend of your son. I was the one he was rescuing when he died. May I come in for a few moments? I have something to show you.”

As they talked, the solider explained how the man’s son had told everyone about him, not to mention his love of fine art. “I’m an artist, well, an amateur of art,” said the soldier, “and I wanted to give you this.” As the old man unwrapped the package, the paper gave way to reveal a portrait of the man’s son. Though the world would never consider it the work of a genius, the painting featured the young man’s face in striking detail.

Overcome with emotion, the man thanked the soldier, promising to hang the picture above the fireplace.

A few hours later, after the soldier had departed, the old man set about his task. True to his word, the painting went above the fireplace, pushing aside thousands of dollars of paintings. And then the man sat in his chair and spent Christmas gazing at the gift he had been given.

During the days and weeks that followed, the man realized that even though his son was no longer with him, the boy’s life would live on because of those he had touched. He would soon learn from dozens of letters sent to him from other soldiers that his son had rescued them too before a bullet stilled his caring heart. As the stories of his son’s gallantry continued to reach him, fatherly pride and satisfaction began to ease the grief. The painting of his son soon became his most prized possession, far eclipsing any interest in the pieces for which museums around the world clamoured.

He told his neighbours it was the greatest gift he had ever received.

The following spring, the old man became ill and passed away. The art world was in anticipation. With the collector’s passing, and his only son dead, it was announced that all those paintings would be sold at an auction. According to the will of the old man, all of the art works would be auctioned on Christmas day, the day he had received his greatest gift. The day soon arrived and art collectors from around the world gathered to bid on some of the world’s most spectacular paintings. Dreams would be fulfilled this day; greatness would be achieved as many would claim “I have the greatest collection.”

The auction began with a painting that was not on any museum’s list. It was the painting of the man’s son.

The auctioneer asked for an opening bid. The room was silent. “Who will open the bidding with $100?” he asked.

Minutes passed. No one spoke. From the back of the room came, “Who cares about that painting? It’s just a picture of his son. Let’s forget it and go on to the good stuff.” More voices echoed in agreement. “No, we have to begin with this one first, the man's last request was explicit,” replied the auctioneer. “Now, who will take the son?”

Finally, a close friend of the old man spoke.

“Will you take ten dollars for the painting? That’s all I have. I knew the boy, so I’d like to have it.” “I have ten dollars. Will anyone go higher?” called the auctioneer. After another period of impatient silence, the auctioneer said, “Going once, going twice. Gone.” The gavel fell. Cheers filled the room and someone exclaimed, “Now we can get on with it and we can bid on these treasures!”

The auctioneer looked at the audience and announced the auction was over.
Stunned disbelief quickly struck the would-be art buyers. Someone spoke up and asked, “What do you mean it’s over? We didn’t come here for a picture of some old guy’s son! What about all of these paintings? There are millions of dollars of art here! It was announced the whole collection was up for auction! I demand that you explain the meaning of this!”

The auctioneer replied, “It’s very simple. According to the will of the father, whoever could appreciate his greatest treasure, although it seemed small and insignificant to the eyes of the world, would be considered worthy to receive the rest. Therefore, whoever takes the son...gets it all.”

This story puts things into perspective, doesn’t it? Just as those art collectors discovered on that Christmas day, the message is still the same – the love of a Father – a Father whose greatest joy came from His Son who went away and gave His life rescuing others. And because of that Father’s love...whoever receieves the Son receives all. You don't have to be rich, just give Him your 'all' with an open heart.

Dear friends, this story illustrated the love of our Father in Heaven, our God, for us. He sacrificed His beloved Son and whosoever would believe in Him will not perish but have everlasting life. The is the greatest gift of love to each one of us, and the beautiful part is, we don't have to wait until Christmas to receive Him.


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