Long ago, when I was six months old, I used to gambol in front of all the rest, as a youngster does. Out of sheer spirits I would run far ahead, then wait for the herd. Now we deer have two gaits, called the Jump-Up and the Straightaway. Of these I knew the Straightaway, but not the Jump-Up.

While amusing myself one day, I lost touch with the herd. At this I was dreadfully worried, gazed about the horizon to learn where they might be, and discovered them ahead. Now they had avoided a snare by means of the Jump-Up; they stood in a body ahead of me, and waited, all looking at me. But I, ignorant of the Jump-Up, was caught in the hunter’s snare.

While I was trying to drag it toward the herd, the hunter bound all my limbs and I fell to the ground, head foremost. And the herd of deer vanished, seeing no hope of saving me.

When the hunter came up, he did not put me to death, for pity softened his heart at the thought: “He is a fawn, fit only for a pet,” Instead, he carefully took me home and gave me as a plaything to a prince, who showed his delight at seeing me, by giving the hunter a generous reward.

The prince treated me kindly, providing ointments, massage, baths, food, perfumes, and salves, while my meals were appropriate and palatable. But as I was passed from hand to hand by the curious women and princes at court, I was seriously inconvenienced by petting and scratching, which did not spare neck, eye, front hoof, hind hoof, or ear. Finally, one day in the rainy season, as the prince reclined on a couch, I observed the lightning, listened to the thunder, and, my heart wistful for my fondly remembered herd, I recited:

When shall I follow on the herd

Of coursing deer again?

When brace myself against the wind

That whistles by? Ah, when?

“Who said that?” cried the prince, and looked about him, terrified. When he saw me, he thought: “No man said it, but a deer. It is a prodigy. I am undone,” and like one possessed by a devil, he tottered from the house, his garments in disarray.

Thinking himself ridden by a demon, he tempted the sorcerers and magicians with a great reward, saying: “If any free me from this tormeni, I will pay him no small honor.”

Meanwhile, overhasty individuals were striking me with sticks, bricks, and cudgels, but—further life being predestined — I was rescued by a certain holy man who said: “Why kill the poor beast?” Furthermore, he penetrated the cause of my malady, and respectfully said to the prince: “Dear sir,’ in the rainy season he wistfully remembered his native herd, and therefore recited:

When shall I follow on the herd

Of coursing deer again?

When brace myself against the wind

That whistles by? Ah, when?”

On hearing this, the prince was cured of his feverish malady, returned to his normal state, and said to his men: “Douse the poor deer’s head in plenty of water, and set him free in the forest he came from.” And they did so.

“Thus, though having suffered a previous captivity, I am caught again through constraining destiny.”

At this moment Slow joined them. For his heart was so full of love for his friend that he had followed, leaving grass, shrubs, and spear-grass crushed behind him. At sight of him, they were more distressed than ever, and Gold became their spokesman. “My dear fellow,” said he, “you have done wrong in leaving your fortress to come here, since you are not able to save yourself from the hunter, while on us he cannot lay hands. For when the bonds are cut and the hunter stands near, Spot will bound away and disappear, Swift will fly into a tree, while I, being a little fellow, will find some chink to slide into. But what will you do, when within his reach?”

To this Slow listened, but he said: “Oh, do not blame me, you of all people. For

The loss of love and loss of wealth

Who could endure

But for restoratives of health

In friendship sure?

And again:

The days when meetings do not fail

With wise and good

Are lovely clearings on the trail

Through life’s wild wood.

The heart finds rest in telling things

(When troubles toss)

To honest wife, or friend who clings,

Or kindly boss.

Ah, my dear fellow,

The wistful glances wander,

The wits, bewildered, ponder

In good men separated,

Whose love is unabated.

And more than that:

Better lose your life than friends;

Life returns when this life ends,

Not the sympathy that blends.”

At this moment the hunter arrived, bow and arrow in hand. Under his very eyes Gold cut the bonds and slipped into the before-mentioned chink. Swift flew into the air and was gone. Spot darted away.

Now when the hunter saw that the deer’s bonds had been cut, he was filled with amazement and said: “Under no circumstances do deer cut their own bonds. It was through fate that a deer has done it.” Then he spied a turtle on most improbable terrain, and with mixed feelings he said: “Even if the deer, with fate’s help, cut his bonds and escaped, still I’ve got this turtle. As the saying goes:

Nothing comes, of all that walks,

All that flies to heaven,

All that courses o’er the earth,

If it be not given.”

After this meditation, the hunter cut spear-grass with his knife, wove a stout rope, tied the turtle’s feet tightly together, fastened the rope to his bow-tip, and started home. But when Gold saw his friend borne away, he sorrowfully said: “Ah, me! Ah, me!

No sooner sorrow’s ocean-shore

I reach in safety, than once more

A bitter sorrow is my lot:

Misfortunes crowd the weakest spot.

Fresh blows are dreadful on a wound;

Food fails,