The Fables of La Fontaine
That secret must for ever lie
Hid by God's awful majesty.
Descartes knew just as much as I:
In other things he may supplant
All men; he's here as ignorant.
But, Iris, this, at least, I know,--
That no such lofty souls endow
The beasts of whom I've made example:--
Of soul, man only is the temple.
Yet must we to the beasts accord
Some sense the plant-world can't afford;
And even plants have humble lives.
But let me add one story still;
And let me know how much your skill
Of moral from its facts derives.
Two Rats, seeking something to eat, found an Egg:
For such folks, to have something to eat is sufficient;
And seldom or never you'll find that they beg
Of the gods turtle soup, or a French cook proficient.
Full of appetite, nimbly they sat down to eat,
And soon from the shell would have drawn out the meat,
When a Fox in the distance appeared, to molest them,
And a question arose, which most greatly distress'd them,--
No other, as you may suppose, but the way
The Egg from Sir Reynard's keen snout to convey.
To drag it behind them, or roll it on floor,
To pack it behind them, or shove it before,
Were the plans tried in turn, but were all tried in vain.
When at length the old mother of arts[1] made it plain
That, if one on his back held the Egg in his paw,
The other from danger could readily draw.
The plan was successful, in spite of some jolting;
And we leave the two sages their pleasant meal bolting.
Who shall, after this, declare
That beasts devoid of reason are?
For my part, I'll to beasts allow
The sense that dwells in childhood's brow.
Reason, from childhood's earliest years,
In all its acts and ways appears;
And so it seems to me quite plain
That without soul there may be brain.
I give to beasts a sort of mind,
Compared to ours, a league behind.
Some matter I would subtilise,
Some matter hard to analyse,
Some atoms essence, light's extract;
Fire, subtlest of all things; in fact,
The flames that out of wood arise
Enable us to form some thought
Of what the soul is. Silver lies
Involved in lead. Beasts' brains are wrought
So that they think and judge;--no more.
They judge imperfectly. 'Tis sure
No ape could ever argue. Then
Above all beasts I'll place us men;
For to us men a double treasure
Belongs--that sense which, in some measure,
To all things living here below,
The wise and foolish, high and low,
Is common; and that holier spirit
Which men, with seraphim, inherit.
And, oh! this loftier soul can fly
Through all the wondrous realms of sky:
On smallest point can lie at ease;
And though commenced shall never cease.
Things strange, but true. In infancy
This soul must dim and feeble be;
But ripening years its frame develop,
And then it bursts the gross envelope
Which still in fetters always binds,
In men and beasts, the lower minds.
[1] Necessity, the mother of invention.
FABLE CLXXXVI.
THE CORMORANT AND THE FISHES.
Through all the country far and wide,
In pools and rivers incessantly diving,
A Cormorant greedy his table supplied,
On their finny inhabitants so daintily thriving.
But at length there came a day
When his strength gave way,
And the Cormorant, having to fish for himself,
Unskilled to use nets which we mortals employ,
The fish for our own selfish use to decoy,
Began soon to starve; with no crumb on the shelf,
What could he do now?--Necessity, mother,
Who teaches us more than we learn when at school,
Advised the poor bird to go down to a pool,
And addressing a Cray-fish, to say to him--"Brother,
Go tell your friends a tale of coming sorrow:
Your master drains this pool a week to-morrow!"
The Cray-fish hurried off without delay,
And soon the pool was quivering with dismay:
Much trouble, much debate. At length was sent
A deputation to the Cormorant.
"Most lordly web-foot! are you sure th' event
Will be as you have stated? If so, grant
Your kind advice in this our present need!"
The sly bird answered--"Change your home with speed."
"But how do that?" "Oh! that shall be my care;
For one by one I'll take you to my home,
A most impenetrable, secret lair,
Where never foe of finny tribe has come;
A deep, wide pool, of nature's best,
In which your race may safely rest."
The fish believed this friendly speech,
And soon were borne, each after each,
Down to a little shallow, cribbed, confined,
In which the greedy bird could choose them to his mind.
And there they learnt, although too late,
To trust no bills insatiate.
But, after all, it don't much matter--
A Cormorant's throat or human platter--
Whether a wolf or man digest me,
Doesn't seem really to molest me;
And whether one's eaten to-day or to-morrow
Should scarcely be any occasion for sorrow.
FABLE CLXXXVII.
THE HUSBAND, THE WIFE, AND THE ROBBER.
A Husband, loving very tenderly--
Most tenderly--his wife, was treated ill
By her;--her coldness caused him misery.
No look, no glance, no, not a friendly word,--
Not e'en a smile, such as she gave her bird,--
But cold looks, frowns, and peevish answers, still.
He did not Venus nor yet Hymen curse,
Nor blame his destiny and cruel lot,
Yet daily grew the evil worse and worse:
Although he loved her every hour the more.
It is so now, and has been so of yore.
In fact, he was a Husband, was he not?
One night, as he lay moaning in his sleep,
A Robber entered; and, struck dumb with fear,
The fretful Wife, too frightened e'en to weep,
Sprang to her Husband's arms, and, sheltered there,
Defied all sorrow, trouble, danger near,
As her heart softened, and burst forth the tear.
"Friend Robber," said the Husband, "but for thee
I had not known this boundless happiness.
Take all I have,--I give thee liberty;
Take house and all, to prove my gratitude."
Thieves with much modesty are not endued;
The Robber took sufficient, I confess.
From this I argue that fear is so strong,
It conquers hatred, and love, too, sometimes.
Yet love has triumphed over passion's throng:
Witness the lover, who his house burnt down,
So he might win Hope's brightest laurel crown,
By rescuing her, the lady he'd loved long,
And so secure her heart. I like the story:
It strikes my fancy very pleasantly;
It is so Spanish in its tone. I glory
In love, so chivalrous and mettlesome,
And hold it grand (so will all times to come).
'Twas not by any means insanity.
FABLE CLXXXVIII.
THE SHEPHERD AND THE KING.
Our lives are spoiled by demons twain;
Turn in, turn out; by each, in season;
By each with reckless force is slain
That which we mortals call our <i>reason</i>.
And if you ask their name and state,
I'll name god Love, the potentate,
For one; and for the other,
I'll name Ambition, Love's half-brother,
Who, not seldom, Love defeats,
And reigns within his choicest seats,
All this I soon could prove; but now
That which I wish to tell is how
A Shepherd by a King was sent for,
And what this royal deed was meant for.
The tale belongs to distant ages,
And not to those which fill these pages.
A numerous flock that filled the plain,
And brought the owner heaps of gain,
Through Shepherd's care and industry,
Once met a sapient's Monarch's eye.
Pleased with such skill and thrift, he said,
"Good Shepherd, to rule men thou'rt bred;
Leave now thy sheep. Come, follow me;
Accept my widest satrapy.
And so our Shepherd, who before
Had scarce had friend but hermit poor,
And very seldom had in view
Aught but his sheep and wolf or two,
Was with a viceroy's sceptre graced;
Nor was he by this change misplaced,
For Nature had endowed his mind
With funds of great good sense;
And how to govern human kind
He amply learned from thence.
[ILLUSTRATION: THE SHEPHERD AND THE KING.]
Ere many days had passed away,
His former friend, the hermit,
Came running quickly, crying---"Say,
'Tis dream-work, or as truth affirm it,
That you are now beloved of kings,
And deal yourself in regal things.
Oh, kings mistrust; their favour goes
Life snow on water; thousand woes
Fall ever on the luckless wight
Who basks a time in kingly might.
You know not to what precipice
You haste. Come back; take my advice."
The other smiled; on which the man
Of sacred life, continuing, said--
"Alas! already I can scan
How far astray your wits have fled;
Your foolish conduct calls to mind
The story of the traveller blind,
Who sees a snake benumbed with cold;
The creature frosts so numb and nip,
He lies like some old leathern whip;
His own just lost, the man takes hold,
And waves the reptile in his joy,
When one who passes by that way
Cries--'Heavens! throw that snake away,
Or quickly 'twill your life destroy.'
'No snake; but a good whip,' replied the other.
'No whip; but snake,' replied the stranger;
'And, pray, should I thus make a pother
Unless I saw your woful danger?
And will you really keep that thing,
With fangs so sharp, and deadly sting?'
'Of course, I shall; my whip was lost,
And this will save another's cost.
You speak from envy--sir, good-bye.'
The snake, now brandished wide and high,
Grew warm and warmer gradually,
And, stinging, caused the fool to die.
But, as for you, my satrap friend,
You hasten to a bitterer end."
"What! worse than death?" the satrap cried.
"Ah! worse than death," the sage replied.
And, in due time, the hermit's word
Was proved with truth in due accord;
For all the pests that haunt a Court,
By hint and wink, and false report,
Soon made the satrap's virtuous skill
Seem to his royal master ill.
Cabals arose on every side;
Defeated suitors loudly cried,
"With what belonged to us he built that palace wide."
The Monarch fain would see this wealth,
And thither stole one day by stealth,
But nought within it met his eyes
Save modest mediocrities,
And praises of the joys that lie
In loneliness and poverty.
"His wealth, then," cried the pests, "consists
In diamonds, pearls, and amethysts;
In yonder chest with locks his hoard,
The ransom of a king, is stored!"
The Monarch, with his own white hands,
Undoes the locks and clumsy bands,
Throws back the wooden lid--and mute
Each base calumnious courtier stands;
For in that oaken chest is nought
But cap and jacket, roughly wrought,
A simple cloak, a shepherd's flute.
"Ah! much-loved treasures;" then exclaims
The Shepherd; "you are dear, indeed,
For never did you rouse the greed
Or malice of my fellow-men,
And you your master now reclaims;
Let's leave this palace, ne'er again
To enter, save in airy vision.
Monarch! pardon this decision;
When I mounted Fortune's height,
A fate untimely met my sight;