THE ANIMALS SICK OF THE PLAGUE

(BOOK VII.--No. 1)


One of those dread evils which spread terror far and wide, and which
Heaven, in its anger, ordains for the punishment of wickedness upon
earth--a plague in fact; and so dire a one as to make rich in one day
that grim ferryman who takes a coin from all who cross the river Acheron
to the land of the dead--such a plague was once waging war against the
animals. All were attacked, although all did not die. So hopeless was
the case that not one of them attempted to sustain their sinking lives.
Even the sight of food did not rouse them. Wolves and foxes no longer
turned eager and calculating eyes upon their gentle and guileless prey.
The turtle-doves went no more in cooing pairs, but were content to avoid
each other. Love and the joy that comes of love were both at an end.

At length the lion called a council of all the beasts and addressed them
in these words: "My dear friends, it seems to me that it is for our sins
that Heaven has permitted this misfortune to fall upon us. Would it not
be well if the most blameworthy among us allowed himself to be offered
as a sacrifice to appease the celestial wrath? By so doing he might
secure our recovery. History tells us that this course is usually
pursued in such cases as ours. Let us look into our consciences without
self-deception or condoning. For my own part, I freely admit that in
order to satisfy my gluttony I have devoured an appalling number of
sheep; and yet what had they done to me to deserve such a fate? Nothing
that could be called an offence. Sometimes, indeed, I have gone so far
as to eat the shepherd too! On the whole, I think I had better render