The Ass and the Grasshopper

One bright morning the meadow was hung with drops of dew. An ass grazed there, swinging his ears as he cropped the grass. His own voice was harsh, and whenever he brayed it sounded to him like an old gate creaking. For that reason he took little pleasure in making any sound at all.

Then from the grass came a thin, sweet music. Several grasshoppers sat upon the blades and sang with voices as clear as tiny bells. The ass stopped chewing and listened. “If only I could sing like that,” he thought, “no one would laugh at my voice.”

He went to the grasshoppers and asked very earnestly, “What food do you eat that your voices may be so fine?” The grasshoppers answered, “We live on dew.” They spoke of their own way of life, but the ass heard the words as if they were a secret remedy.

From that day he refused grass and hay. At dawn he licked a few drops of dew from the leaves and waited for his voice to change. On the first day he was proud of his resolve. On the second day his stomach complained. On the third day his legs grew weak, and the sweet song of the grasshoppers seemed farther away than ever.

At last the ass sank down in the meadow and understood his folly. Dew might serve the grasshopper, but it could not nourish an ass. It is no shame to admire another creature’s gift; the shame lies in copying without thought and forgetting one’s own nature.