
The Monkey and the Lion’s Breath (Aesopic Fable)
The Monkey and the Lion’s Breath is an old fable often attributed to Aesop. It was first recorded somewhere in Western Europe in the 10th century. It’s credited to Romulus, which was a generic Latin name, not a specific person.
As is tradition, this is a retelling in my own words.
The Fable
When the lion made himself king of the jungle, he decided he would be a just ruler. He stopped feasting on the other beasts, limiting himself to the fruits and insects that they would eat. He made an exception for criminals, traitors, and dissenters. He would eat those. And for a time, that was enough to maintain his vigour.
Soon, though, there were too few animals to punish, and the lion grew hungry.
He took his subjects aside one by one, asking them if his vegetarian diet was making his breath smell. Some animals insolently answered that his breath did indeed smell, so the lion ate them. Other animals said his breath smelled fine, but they were lying, so the lion ate them, too.
Soon, it was the monkey’s turn. The monkey smelled the lion’s breath, recoiled in horror, and then proclaimed that the lion’s breath smelled of most noble cinnamon.
The lion couldn’t bring himself to eat an animal who paid him such nice compliments, but he was hungry, so he devised another scheme.
He called his doctors over and showed them how his stomach was growling miserably. The doctors were terrified. The lion explained that he must be sick. The doctors agreed. The lion suggested that perhaps monkey meat was the only cure. The doctors concurred. They killed the monkey and fed it to the lion, and the lion was satisfied once again.
The Moral
The moral of the Monkey and the Lion’s Breath is that the penalty for speaking up and remaining quiet is one and the same. There is no winning against a tyrant who wishes you dead.
If you like fables about tyranny, try The Donkey and the Onager, Aesop and the Runaway Slave, and The Two Horses.
Juan Artola Miranda
I am Juan Artola Miranda, a fabulist living in the Mexican Caribbean. My friends know me by the name of my father's father, but that name grew into something bigger, my writing reaching tens of millions of readers. It was too strong for me to control. Artola Miranda is the name of my mother's mother. It's a better name for a fabulist.