In a prosperous town by the river there once lived a land owner named Lord Elgin.

He had inherited his father’s wealth, title and lands. He dressed in the finest silks, rode the tallest horse, and carried himself as though the sun rose only to light his path. In his own mind he was the cleverest, most important man in the whole district. “Without my superior intellect and foresight,” he often declared, “this town would still be a muddy village.”

Lord Elgin was impertinent even to his own family. To his wife, who kept his household in perfect order, on complaining about him entering their home with muddy boots,  he snapped back in anger, “Stop your complaining woman. Your small tasks are nothing beside my grand plans.” To his three grown sons and two daughters he spoke with contempt: “You are slow and dull witted and have little experience about life. Without my name to carry you, you would be but beggars in the street fighting for scraps”. He made it a habit to eat first at the dinner table, always  taking taking the best portions for himself and leaving the remainder for his family. He constantly chose to ignore their contributions and efforts to appease him and demonstrate their own achievements,  all the while reminding them how fortunate they were to share his roof.

Worse still, when he invited important members of the town to his house to discuss business, he spoke of his family with open derision. “My wife is a tiresome scold,” he would complain, “forever fussing over trivialities and bothering me with unimportant matters.  My children are lazy and talentless, adding little towards my reputation in the community instead seeking to indulge in unnecessary time-wasting pursuits, mere burdens who drag at my heels and my pockets. I alone carry the honour of our house; they merely ride upon my own successes and vast wealth.”

His wife overseeing the preparation and serving of the meal for the important guests, listened in silence to every scornful word, her eyes growing cold. His sons exchanged glances and began to spend more of their time elsewhere. His daughters quietly mended their own clothes and spoke softly among themselves in distant rooms far away from their father’s constant disapproving gaze. The servants, overhearing their master’s loud mockery of their work, grew uncaring in their endless duties receiving neither praise or gratitude.

One stormy autumn night, masked thieves who had heard about his boast of owning a vast wealth of his own making, climbed over the garden wall. They forced their way through a window, found Lord Elgin heavily sleeping in his bed chamber and dragged him to the floor. They threatened him with knives and beat him with cudgels to give them the keys to his strongbox.

“Help!” he cried out. “Wife! Sons! Daughters! Come save me! Sound the alarm!”

But not a single door opened, each was firmly bolted and locked from the inside to avoid previous drunken shouting from the abusive master of the house. His wife remained in her chamber, remembering every sharp rebuke and every time he had belittled her labours before guests and strangers, lay motionless in her bed. His sons, who had heard him call them worthless, stayed behind their own locked doors. His daughters, previously stung by his public contempt of them, pulled the bedsheets over their heads and did not stir. Even the servants in their neighbouring outhouses and quarters, merely shuttered their windows tighter and barricaded their doors.


The robbers stripped the house of silver and gold, dragging him from the house to the stable to take his horse. They left Lord Elgin bound, bloodied and beaten on the cold stone floor. Only when the town watch finally passed by at dawn was he spotted and set free. He limped through his emptied rooms, the fine tapestries and paintings gone, the strongbox previously filled to the brim  yawning open. Nothing of value remained.

From that day, Lord Elgin became a broken man. His income could no longer match his debts as his reputation alone has secured his borrowings. Unable to pay, he was forced to sell land and properties.  Lord Elgin’s fine clothes seemed less splendid over time and his voice less commanding. His wife, grown weary of his pride turned to self-pity and his selfishness turned to victimhood, spent more of her time with her own family and away from the house. His sons kept their distance finding work with merchants and creating their own businesses. His daughters married into quieter more secure homes and moved away. The neighbours, once amused by his boasts, now avoided him.

He lived out his days in an empty house—still alive, yet utterly alone, his former importance reduced to a bitter memory.

The Moral: The fool who tears down his own house stands roofless when the storm arrives.
He who is impertinent to his own family and friends and speaks of them with derision to others will discover, when danger threatens, that he has no one left to call upon. True worth is not proclaimed by loud boasts or cruel words; it is measured by the loyalty one earns and the sacred bonds one does not break.