A long period elapsed after this before the Damsel again tapped at the Sage"s door. He looked out morning and evening, and attributed his lack of enthusiasm for his devotions to an attack of rheumatism from the damp of his cave. At last, one morning he spied her sauntering slowly up the hill, and he retired into the back of his cell, and the Damsel had to knock twice before he opened the window shutter. She was in a gay mood, and demanded a story, so the Sage began:
"There was once upon a time a Fish with glittering scales who swam about in a deep river. It had been tempted by the flies of many Fishermen, but had laughed at them all and swam away, just under the surface of the water, so that the sun might shine on its glittering scales to please the eyes of the Fishermen and to excite their desire to secure it. It was a Fish who laughed a good deal at life. But one fine day a new Angler came along; he was young and beautiful, and seemed lazy and happy, and not particularly anxious to throw the line. The Fish peeped at him from the sheltering shadow of a rock. "This is the most perfect specimen of a Fisherman I have ever seen," it said to itself. "I could almost believe it would be agreeable to swallow the fly and let him land me and put me in his basket." The young Fisherman threw the line, and the sun caught the glittering scales of the Fish at that moment. The laziness vanished from the Fisherman, and he began to have a strong desire to secure the Fish.
"He fished for some time, and the Fish swam backward and forward, making up its mind. It saw the hook under the fly, but the attraction of the Angler growing stronger and stronger, at last it deliberately decided to come up and bite. "I know all the emotions of swimming on the surface and letting my scales shine in the sun," it mused, "but I know nothing about the bank and the basket, and perhaps the tales that are drilled into the heads of us Fish from infancy about suffocation and exhaustion are not true." And it mused again: "He is a perfectly beautiful Fisherman and looks kind, and I want to be closer to him and let him touch my glittering scales. After all, one ought to know everything before one dies."
"So, its heart beating and its eyes melting, the Fish deliberately rose to the surface and swallowed the fly. The hook caught in a gristly place and did not hurt much, and the novel experience of being pulled onto the green meadow delighted the Fish. It saw the Fisherman close, and felt his hands as he tenderly disengaged the hook. He was full of joy and pride at securing the difficult Fish and admired its scales. He talked aloud and told it how bright he found it, and he was altogether charming and delightful, and the Fish adored him and was glad it had been caught.
"Then after some time of this admiration and dalliance, the Fisherman put it in the basket among the cool rushes. The Fish lay quiet, still content. It had not yet begun to pant. For an hour almost the Fisherman gloried in his catch. He opened the lid frequently and smiled at the Fish.
"Then he lay down on the bank beside the basket and let his rod float idly in the stream. The sun was warm and pleasant.
""I wish," he said to himself, "after all, I had not secured the Fish yet; the throwing of the fly and the excitement of trying to catch the creature are better fun than having it safely landed and lying in the basket," and he yawned, and his eyes gradually closed and he slept.
"Now the Fish heard very plainly what he had said. Tell me, Damsel--you who ask questions and answer them finally yourself--tell me, What did the Fish do?"
The Damsel mused a moment. She stirred with her white fingers the water in the basin of the fountain that sprang from the rock close by. Then she looked at the Sage from under the shadow of her brows and answered, thoughtfully:
"The Fish was stunned at first by this truth being uttered so near it.
It suddenly realized what it had done and what it had lost. "I, who swam about freely and showed my glittering scales in the sun, am now caught and in a basket, with no prospect but suffocation and death in front of me," it said to itself. "I could have even supported that, and the knowledge that my scales will become dull and unattractive in the near future, if the Fisherman had only continued to lift the lid and admire me a little longer." And it sighed and began to feel the sense of suffocation. But it was a Fish of great determination and resources. "I have learned my lesson," it gasped; "the Fisherman has taught it to me himself. Now I will make a great jump and try to get out of the basket."
"So it jumped and opened the lid. The Fisherman stirred in his sleep and put out his hand vaguely to close it again, but he was too sleepy to fasten the catch, and with less noise the Fish bounced up again and succeeded in floundering upon the gra.s.s. It lay panting and in great distress, but it looked at the beautiful Angler with regret. He was so beautiful and so desirable. "I could almost stay now," the Fish sighed.
Then it braced itself up and gave one more bound, and this time reached the rock at the edge of the stream.
"Again the Fisherman awoke, and now casually, with his eyes still closed, fastened up the basket before he slept again; but the Fish with its third bound reached the river, and darted out into the middle of the stream.
""Good-bye, Beautiful Angler!" it said, sadly. "You were sweet, but you have taught me a lesson, and freedom is sweeter."
"The splash of its reaching the water fully awakened the Fisherman, but he saw the basket with the lid shut, and had no anxieties until his eye caught the pink of the water where the Fish sheltered under the rock.
Its gill was still bleeding from the hook wound, and colored a circle round it. Then he opened the lid and found the basket empty.
""Good-bye," said the Fish. "Your wish has been granted, and your pleasure can begin all over again!"
"But the Fisherman suddenly realized that his rod, while he slept, had fallen into the river, and was floating away down the stream.
""Good-bye again," said the Fish; "I have suffered, but I have now experience, and I am grateful to you, and my gill will heal up, and I will smile at you sometimes from just under the surface of the water, and so all is well!" And it flashed its glittering scales in the sun before it darted away out of sight in the strong current."
And the Damsel folded her hands and looked into distance.
"Thank you, Damsel," said the Sage, gently for him; "but the Fisherman could procure another rod--rods are not rarities. What then?"
"That would be for another day," said the Damsel; "and--for another Fish!" And she tripped away down the hill, and was deaf to the Sage, who gruffly called after her.
_When you have caught your Fish, it may be wiser to cook it and eat it._
The sun was setting when the Damsel next came to the Cave. She had a pet falcon with her, and kept caressing it as she propounded her question.
"There lived a woman in a Castle who had three Knights devoted to her.
She loved one, and her vanity was pleased with the other two. While she continued to play with them all, they all loved her to distraction; but presently her preference for the one Knight became evident, and the two others, after doing their utmost to supplant the third without success, at last left the Castle and rode away. They were no sooner gone, and things had become quiet, and no combats occurred to interrupt the lovers" intercourse, when the chosen Knight began to weary, and he, too, at last rode away, although before he had been the most ardent of all.
Why was this, Sage? And what should the woman do?"
"It was because the Knight had won the prize and the woman gave him no trouble to keep it," replied the Sage. "He was bound to weary. When a man"s profession is fighting and he has fought hard and succeeded, after sufficient rest he wishes to fight again. So if the woman wants her lover back, she had better first summon the other two."
For once the Damsel had nothing to say, and had no excuse to remain longer in the cave.
The Sage, however, was not in the mind to let her go so soon, so he began a question:
"Why do you caress that bird so much? It appears completely indifferent to you. Surely that is waste of time?"
"It is agreeable to waste time," replied the Damsel.
"Upon an insensible object?"
"Yes."
"More so than if it returned your caresses?"
"Probably--there is the speculation. It might one day respond, while certainly if it repaid warmly my love now, one day it would not. Nothing lasts in this world. You have told me so yourself."
The Sage was nettled.
"Yes, there is one thing that lasts, that is friendship," he said.
"Friendship!" exclaimed the Damsel; "but that is not made up of caresses. It does not make the heart beat."
"We were not talking of beating hearts," said the Sage, sententiously.
"Very well. Good-bye, then, Sage," laughed the Damsel. "You must think of more stories for me before I come again."
And, continuing to caress the falcon, she walked away, stately and fair, into the setting sun.
When she had gone the Sage wondered why there was no twilight that evening, and why it had suddenly become night.
_Most men prefer to possess something that the other men want._
It would be a peaceful world if we could only realize that the fever of love is like other fevers. It comes to a crisis, and the patient either dies or is cured. It cannot last at the same point forever.