no kind of doubt that the general legend of him may justly rank him
with a race too easily forgotten in our modern comparisons: the race
of the great philosophic slaves. Æsop may have been a fiction like
Uncle Remus: he was also, like Uncle Remus, a fact. It is a fact that
slaves in the old world could be worshipped like Æsop, or loved like
Uncle Remus. It is odd to note that both the great slaves told their
best stories about beasts and birds.

But whatever be fairly due to Æsop, the human tradition called Fables
is not due to him. This had gone on long before any sarcastic freedman
from Phrygia had or had not been flung off a precipice; this has
remained long after. It is to our advantage, indeed, to realise the
distinction; because it makes Æsop more obviously effective than any
other fabulist. Grimm's Tales, glorious as they are, were collected by
two German students. And if we find it hard to be certain of a German
student, at least we know more about him than We know about a Phrygian
slave. The truth is, of course, that Æsop's Fables are not Æsop's
fables, any more than Grimm's Fairy Tales were ever Grimm's fairy
tales. But the fable and the fairy tale are things utterly distinct.
There are many elements of difference; but the plainest is plain
enough. There can be no good fable with human beings in it. There can
be no good fairy tale without them.

Æsop, or Babrius (or whatever his name was), understood that, for
a fable, all the persons must be impersonal. They must be like
abstractions in algebra, or like pieces in chess. The lion must always
be stronger than the wolf, just as four is always double of two. The
fox in a fable must move crooked, as the knight in chess must move
crooked. The sheep in a fable must march on, as the pawn in chess must
march on. The fable must not allow for the crooked captures of the