The Fables of La Fontaine

To goddesses would be no use; Divinities need more than this, And belles especially, I wis. Her wishes are all queens, you see; She rules us all, does Sillery; Who wishes once again to know Of Master Wolf, and Master Crow. Who can refuse her majesty? None can deny her. How can I? Well, to her mind my stories are Obscure, and too mysterious far; For, sometimes, even beaux esprits Are puzzled and astray, you see. Let us, then, write in plainer tune, That she may so decipher soon. I'll sing of simple shepherds, then, Before I rhyme of wolves again. Tircis to youthful Amaranth, one day, Said, "Ah! but if you knew the griefs that slay! Pleasing enchantments! Heaven-kindled woe! The greatest joy of earth you then would know. Oh, let me picture them! you need not fear. Could I deceive you? Stay, then, sweet, and hear. What! I betray?--I, whose poor heart is cleft By fondest hopes that cruel Love has left?" Then Amaranth exclaimed, "What is this pain? How call you it?--now, tell me once again!" "'Tis Love!" "A pretty word, its symptoms tell: How shall I know it--I, who am so well?" "A malady, to which all pleasant things-- Yes, even all the pleasures of great kings-- Seem poor and faded. Lovers thus are known: In gloomy forests they will walk alone; Muse by the river, watch the stream beside, Yet their own faces rise not from the tide; One image only in the flood shows day by day; This lovely shadow comes, but to betray: To other things they're blind. A shepherd speaks; His voice, his name, raise blushes on your cheeks: You like to think of him, yet know not why; You wonder at the wish, and yet you sigh; You fear to see him, and yet, absent, cry." Amaranth leaped for joy: "Is this, then, love? Is that the pain you rank all things above? It is not new to me: I think I know it." Tircis thought he was safe, but dared not show it. The maid said, "Yes, and that, I freely grant, Is what I feel for dear, dear Clidamant." Then Tircis almost burst with rage and spite; But yet it served the cheating fellow right. Thinking to gain the prize, he lost the game, And only cleared the road for him who came. FABLE CLII. THE JOKER AND THE FISHES. He's vastly popular, your "Funny Man;" For my part I avoid him when I can. I generally find him rather hollow;-- The joker's is no easy art to follow. I think sarcastic people were created For fools to grin at, when exhilarated. Let me present one at a dinner-table, To point a moral and adorn a fable. A wag, dining out at a banker's, one day, Had some very small fishes put near him. He saw there were finer ones farther away, So, pretending the fishes could hear him, He mutter'd some words to the poor little creatures, And feign'd to receive their replies. It was done with such grave and unchangeable features, That people all opened their eyes. Then he said that some very particular friend Was en route for the Indies, or thereabouts; And he feared he might come to a watery end, So he wanted some hints of his whereabouts. "The fishes had answered," he added, politely, "That they were too young to reply; But they fancied their fathers could answer him rightly, Should one of them chance to be by." To say that the company relished the jest, Or the jester, is more than I'm able; But it answered his end, for they gave him the best Of the fishes that lay on the table. 'Twas a monster that might have related him stories As much as a century old; Long tales of the sea, of its perils and glories, As wondrous as ever were told. FABLE CLIII. THE RAT AND THE OYSTER. A Rustic Rat, of mighty little sense, Weary of home, would needs go travel thence; And quitted the paternal hearth, one day, To study life in places far away. At each wide prospect, hitherto unscanned, He murmured, "Oh, how beautiful! how grand! Yon mount is Caucasus, begirt with pines; That range, methinks, must be the Apennines." For every molehill, to his wondering eyes, Became a mountain of terrific size. He reached a province of the land, at last, Where Tethys, deity of seas, had cast Some Oysters on the sand, which looked at least Like first-rate frigates to our simple beast. "My father is a timid soul," he said, "Who fears to travel: what an empty dread! As to myself, what marvels I have seen; What scores of wonders, earthly and marine!" Thus boasted he, in magisterial tone, And boasted loud, though speaking all alone. Most rats, I beg to say, are more discreet, And use their lips but when they wish to eat. Meanwhile, one Oyster--a luxurious one-- With shells apart, was basking in the sun. Tasting the balmy breeze, it lay agape,-- A fine fat morsel of seductive shape. The Rat, with moistenings of the under lip (Mistaking still the Oyster for a ship), Ran up, and, smelling something nice to eat, Prepared, straightway, his grinders for a treat. "The crew," quoth he, "have left a feast on board,-- A cold collation, fit for any lord; If it deceive me not, I've got a prize, Or else I do not know the use of eyes." So saying, Master Rat, resolving well, Peered round the pearly margin of the shell. It held him fast: the Oyster from his nap Had woke, and sharply shut his treacherous trap. This all arose from fatal ignorance: The fable's useful to the folks of France,-- Nor France alone: it shows with what surprise The simplest object strikes a booby's eyes. And notice, oftentimes, for want of wit, The fool, who thinks he's biting, is first bit. FABLE CLIV. THE TWO FRIENDS. Two steadfast Friends lived once in Monomtàpa; They loved as if really they'd had the same pàpa: What one earned the other earned. Ah! for that land; It's worth ten such countries as ours, understand. One night, when a deep sleep had fallen on all, And the sun had gone off in the dark, beyond call, One of these worthy men, woke by a nightmare, Ran to his friend, in a shiver, and quite bare. The other at once takes his purse and his sword, Accosts his companion, and says, "'Pon my word You seldom are up when all other men snore; You make better use of the night than to pore Over books; but come, tell me, you're ruined at play, Or you have quarrelled with some one; now, speak out, I say. Here's my sword and my purse; or, if eager to rest On a fond wife's compassionate, fondling breast, Take this slave: she is fair." "No, no," said the other, "'Twas neither of these things that startled me, brother. Thanks, thanks for your zeal; 'twas a dream that I had: I saw you appear to me, looking so sad; I feared you were ill, and ran to you to see: 'Twas that dream, so detestable, brought me to thee." Which friend loved the most?--come, reader, speak out! The question is hard, and leaves matter for doubt. A true friend is choicest of treasures indeed; In the depths of your heart he will see what you need: He'll spare you the pain to disclose woes yourself, Indifferent to either his trouble or pelf: A dream, when he loves, or a trifle--mere air-- Will strike him with terror, lest danger be there. FABLE CLV. THE PIG, THE GOAT, AND THE SHEEP. A Goat, a Sheep, and a fat Pig were sent To market, to their mutual discontent; Not for the pleasures of the noisy fair, But just to sell--the farmer's only care. Not to see jugglers' tricks drove on the carter, Bent only on his traffic and his barter. Sir Porker screeched, as if he felt the knife, Or heard ten butchers plotting 'gainst his life. It was a noise to deafen any one: His mild companions prayed him to have done. The carter shouts, "Good heavens! why this riot? You'll drive us silly; fool! can't you be quiet? These honest folks should teach you manners, man; So hold your tongue, you coward, if you can. Observe this sheep, he has not said a word, And he is wise." "Now, fool! you talk absurd. If he the dangers knew as well as I, Till he was hoarse and blind he'd bleat and cry. And this my other friend, so calm and still, Would scream his life out, as I, carter, will. They think you're only going, on the morrow, From this his milk, from that his wool to borrow: They may be right or wrong, I do not know; But I am certain of the deadly blow: I'm good but for the spit. Farewell to you, My house, and wife, and children! now, adieu." Sir Porker reasoned with sufficient skill; But all was useless: he was fit to kill. Fear nor complaint could change his destiny: He who looks forward least will wisest be. FABLE CLVI. THE RAT AND THE ELEPHANT. In France there's many a man of small degree Fond of asserting his own mightiness: A "nobody" turns "somebody." We see In this the nation's natural flightiness. In Spain men are not vain; their high-flown schools Have made them proud, yet have not made them fools. A tiny Rat saw a huge Elephant Travelling slowly with his equipage; 'Mongst beasts a sultan, knowing not a want. His suite comprised within a monstrous cage

Illustration note

[Illustration: THE RAT AND THE ELEPHANT.]

His household gods, his favourite dog and cat, His parroquet, his monkey, and all that. The Rat, astonished to see people stare At so much bulk and state, which took up all The space where he of right should have his share, Upon the citizens began to call: "Fools! know you not that smallest rats are equal To biggest elephants?" (Alas! the sequel.) "Is it his monstrous bulk you're staring at? It can but frighten little girls and boys; Why, I can do the same. You see, a Rat Is scarce less than an Elephant." A noise! The Cat sprang from her cage; and, with one pant, The Rat found he was not an Elephant. FABLE CLVII. THE FUNERAL OF THE LIONESS. The Lion lost his wife, one day; And everybody made his way To bring the prince that consolation Which makes us feel our desolation. The King announced the funeral On such a day, to one and all. They regulate the obsequy, And marshal the vast company: As you may guess, each one was there; The prince's groanings filled the air; And the den shook, above, below-- Lions have got great lungs, you know. As the King does, all the others do; So the best courtiers blubbered too. Let me define a court: a place Sad--gay; where every changeful face, Careless of joy, is ready still To change again at the King's will; And if some cannot change, they try To watch the change in the King's eye: Chameleons, apes, in every feature; Plastic and pliant in their nature. One soul by turns fills many bodies: These knaves are soulless, which more odd is. But to return. The Stag alone Uttered no single sigh or groan. It could not well be otherwise; This death avenged old injuries. The Queen had cruel, mischief done;