Life and Death

Once upon a time an old man and a fairy sat by the wayside talking.

“When the world was first created,” said the elfin, “it was appointed

how many years each creature should exist. So the horse came and

inquired how long he was to live.

“‘Thirty years,’ he was told, and then was asked, ‘Is that sufficient?’

“‘Alas!’ replied the beast, ‘that is a long time. Think how many

wearisome burdens I shall have to carry from morning to night beneath a

hot sun, that man, my master, may eat bread and live at ease, and I

receive nothing but blows and hard words, and must yet keep always

active and obliging. The time is too long. Take away some of my years,

I pray.’

“So the horse was pitied, and a life of only eighteen years was

appointed to him. Whereupon he went gladly away; and the dog then made

his appearance and asked,—

“‘What is the duration of my life?’

“‘How long do you wish to live?’ was inquired of him. ‘Thirty years was

allotted to the horse, but that was too much for him; perhaps you will

be satisfied with that term?’

“‘Do you think so?’ answered the dog. ‘Remember how much I shall have

to run and bark and bite. My feet will not last the time, and when I

have lost my voice and my teeth, and can neither bark nor bite, what

will then be for me but to crawl and howl from one corner to another?’

“Therefore the dog’s plea was granted, and twelve years appointed for

his age. After which he departed and made room for the monkey.

“‘You will live thirty years willingly, no doubt,’ was said to the ape.

‘You need not work like the horse or the dog, and therefore will always

be well off.’

“‘Indeed, it should be so’ replied Jacko, ‘but I have found it

different. Mine is anything but a life of indolence. I must always be

aping my betters, and making comical faces for people to laugh at. Many

a hard nut I have to crack. And as sadness is often hidden beneath a

grin, so have I to show my teeth, even if they are aching with pain.

Please shorten the years of my life.’ So ten years were allotted to

him.

“Last of all man appeared, healthy and vigorous, and requested a term

to be appointed to him.

“‘You shall live thirty years,’ was the reply. ‘Is that enough?’

“‘What a short time!’ exclaimed the man. ‘Just when I shall have

cleared my land, built myself a house, and lighted a fire upon my own

hearth, and I am thinking of enjoying life, I must die. I pray let my

life be lengthened.’

“‘Very well. The eighteen years of the horse shall be added.’

“‘That is not sufficient,’ said man.

“‘You shall have also twelve years of the dog’s life thereto.’

“‘Still too little,’ replied the man.

“‘Then you may have the ten years allowed to the monkey, but you must

desire no more.’

“Man was then obliged to leave, but he was not satisfied.

“Thus man lives seventy years. The first thirty are the days of his

manhood, which pass quickly away; he is then strong and lusty, works

with pleasure, and rejoices in his being. Then follow the eighteen

years of the life of the horse which brings in its train burdens which

he must bear from the rising to the setting of the sun, and wherein

blame and abuse often reward him for his labours. Next come the twelve

years of the dog, during which man has to sit in corners, because he

has lost the power to bark and bite. And when this time is up the ten

years of the monkey bring the close of the scene, for in these man

becomes foolish, gabbers and jabbers without end, and is fit for

nothing but——”

The elfin paused, and gazed earnestly at the mortal.

“But what?” cried the old man.

“But—Death. The portal which leads into the vast unknown, and from

which we elves are debarred,” responded the fairy.

“And what is Death?”

“A certainty, O mortal, for all thy race. No more or less than that.

Ere I go hence from thee for ever hear this fable:—

“In olden times a giant wrestled with this terrible enemy Death, and

vanquished him. As the grim foe lay helpless by the wayside he began to

grumble. ‘What will be the consequence of my downfall to the world? If

I lie here, then it will be so full and crowded with humanity that they

will not be able to move for each other.’

“Just then a young man came up the road, strong and healthy, singing a

song, and looking well about him. As soon as he perceived the conquered

one he went up to him, and compassionately raising him, bound up his

wounds, and nursed him until strength returned.

“‘Do you know who I am?’ asked Death, when he was fairly on his legs

again.

“‘No,’ replied the youth. ‘I know you not.’

“‘I am Death,’ he replied. ‘I spare no one, and can take no excuse from

you even. But to show you that I am not ungrateful, I promise not to

take you unawares, but I will send my messengers before I come and

fetch you.’

“‘Very well,’ said the young man, ‘that is a bargain. Until your

harbingers come I shall be safe from you.’

“With this understanding the mortal pursued his way merrily, and lived

in prosperity for some time; but youth and health will not remain for

ever. Pain and sickness and grief came, and the man complained that

there was no rest for him night or day. ‘I shall not die,’ he said,

‘for Death must first send his messengers; but I wish these fearful

days of illness were over.’

“Health returned again, and he began to live as usual. One day,

somebody knocked at the window, and looking round he saw Death standing

behind him. ‘Follow me,’ he said.

“‘How so?’ exclaimed the mortal. ‘Will you break the promise that you

made to me, that your servants should first give me notice ere you

appeared? I have not seen them.’

“‘Be silent,’ replied Death. ‘Have I not sent you one messenger after

another? Did not fever come and seize you and lay you prostrate? Did

not racking pain oppress your limbs, noises sound in your ears, a

dimness cover your eyes? Above all, did not my twin brother, Sleep,

remind you every night that I should come?’

“And the man knew not what to reply, and was therefore taken away.”

When the elfin had thus spoken he vanished from the mortal’s view.