The Fables of La Fontaine
At the one feasts the skilful, strong, vigilant man,
At t'other starve feeble and ignorant masses.
FABLE CC.
THE PARTRIDGE AND THE FOWLS.
Once to a red-legged Partridge it befell
Amongst a lot of fighting Cocks to dwell.
Now, as the latter are a gallant race,
Fighting with pleasure for a dame's embrace,
The Partridge hoped that she would treated be,
By these brave birds, with hospitality.
But soon, alas! her hopes were cross'd,
For oft, by angry passions toss'd,
Her fiery hosts, with spur and beak,
Would tear her plumage, brown and sleek.
At first, this grieved the Partridge much;
But when, as soon she did, she saw her foes
Inflicting on each other equal woes,
She ceased to blame them; "For," said she, "they're such
As Jupiter has made them; and we know
That he has planted many various creatures here below:
The Partridge, mild; the Game-cock, rude and wild.
If I could be as I would be,
I'd pass my life in gentle company.
But what avails these vain regrets?
The master here takes Partridges in nets,
And forces them to live with Fowls. We owe
To man, and not to Nature, all our woe."
FABLE CCI.
THE LION.
Through spoil and plunder, wealthy grown,
A Leopard once claimed as his own,
In meadows broad, and forests deep,
Full many a steer, and stag, and sheep.
At length, upon some luckless morn,
Not far away, a Lion born,
Received, as usual is with great ones,
The compliments well known as state ones.
But this once done, King Leopard said
To Mr. Fox, his vizier keen,
"I know you suffer from the spleen,
Because this Lion-whelp is bred.
But why be fearful, since his father
Is in deaths keeping? Pity, rather,
This orphan child, disconsolate,
For he will have a lucky fate,
If he, instead of seeking strife,
Can but contrive to save his life."
The Fox replied, "For orphans such
My pity is not over much.
In fact, two things alone remain,--
His friendship by some means to gain,
Or else to kill him, ere he grows
Too strong for all the world t' oppose.
His horoscope I've duly cast,
And find that he will ever be
To us the bitterest enemy,
But to allies he will cling fast.
So, now, decide: become his friend,
Or straightway of him make an end."
But argued thus the Fox in vain:
The Leopard slept, with all his train,
Until the Lion's whelp, full grown,
Spread havoc, and made all his own.
Then Mr. Fox, with careworn brow,
Appealed to, said, "'Tis useless, now,
To think of meeting force by force:
Suppose to friends you had recourse,
They would but eat up all your store,
And Master Lion does no more.
But, sire, remember that the Lion
Has got three friends he can rely on,
Who ask for neither pay nor food,--
Strength, Vigilance, and Fortitude.
So, send him now a sheep or two;
If that won't answer, lambs a few;
And if he's not content with that,
A heifer add, both large and fat;
For by this means, perchance, you may
Save something from this beast of prey."
Thus spoke the Fox; but to his master
Th' advice seemed ill; and thence disaster
Spread over all the country round;
For still, combine as might the states,
Republics, cities, potentates,
They still the Lion master found.
If you would now the moral know,
Just to this brief advice attend:--
If you have let a Lion grow,
Take care that he becomes your friend.
FABLE CCII.
THE DOG WHOSE EARS WERE CUT.
"What have I done, I should like to know,
That my master should make me a public show?
Amongst other dogs I can never now go!
Oh, kings of animals, human race!
Tyrants, authors of my disgrace!
I wish some demon would treat you the same!"
Thus a young Dog reflected, mad with pain,
As they cropped his long ears, but his cries were in vain,
And he thought himself lost; but he found, one fine day.
That his loss was a gain, for, by nature endowed
With a combative spirit, in many a fray
He saw that to cropping his long ears he owed
Avoidance of many a subject for tears,--
Rough dogs, when they fight, bite their enemies' ears:
For hostile mastiffs his were best of all.
'Tis easy to defend one opening in a wall;
Armed with a collar, and with ears but small,
Our young Dog meets his foes, fights, and defeats them all.
FABLE CCIII.
THE TWO PARROTS, THE MONARCH, AND HIS SON.
A Parrot and his child, 'tis said,
On royal dishes daily fed,
Having the affections won
Of a monarch and his son.
An equal age made either pair
Affection for each other bear.
The fathers gravely loved each other;
And their chicks, though wild and young,
At school or play, together clung,
As fondest brother unto brother.
That a parroquet thus by the son of a king
Should be loved, need we say, was a wonderful thing.
Now the fates had endowed this young heir to the throne
With a love for all creatures that he called his own;
And a Sparrow, by arts which caused prudes to despise her,
Had contrived how to make this great Monarch's son prize her.
And so it chanced, alack! one day.
That the rivals twain, at play,
Fell into a desperate rage;
And the youthful Parrot, stung
By some taunt the Sparrow flung,
Attacked, and sent her dying to her cage.
And then the Prince, with equal fury seized,
The slayer snatched, and in a death-grip squeezed.
Soon to the Parrot-father's ears
The tidings came, and then the air
Was tortured by his wild despair;
But nought availed, or moans or tears,
For his child was lying still--
Inanimate, with voiceless bill.
Then from his woe the bird awoke,
And, with a cruel, double stroke,
Tore out the wretched Prince's eyes.
This done, unto a pine he flies,
And on its topmost branch he knows
What joy from satiate vengeance flows.
Runs, then, the King to him, and cries,
"Come down, my friend, our tears are vain;
In love let's bury woe and hate.
This wretchedness, 'tis very plain,
Comes from my son; or, rather, Fate
Had long since writ her stern decree,
Your son should die, and mine not see,
And that we parents twain should live disconsolate."
On this the father bird replied--
"Too great a wrong us twain divide;
Nor can I think he'll smother hate,
Who heathenishly speaks of Fate.
But whether it be Providence
Or Fate that rules our lives, I'm sure
That I will never move from hence
Till tempted by some wood secure.
I know that in a kingly breast
Vengeance for a time may rest;
But kings are also like the gods,
And, soon or late, you feel their rods.
I can scarcely trust you far,
Though sincere you think you are;
But you are losing time below,
For with my will I'll never go.
And trust me, hate, like love, is best
By absence lullabied to rest."
FABLE CCIV.
THE PEASANT OF THE DANUBE.
To judge by appearances only is wrong,
The maxim is true, if not very new,
And by means of a mouse I have taught it in song;
But to prove it at present I'll change my note,
And with Æsop and Socrates, also, I'll quote
A boor whom Marcus Aurelius drew,
And left us a portrait both faithful and true.
The first are old friends; but the other, unknown,
Is sufficiently well in this miniature shown.
His chin was clothed with a mighty beard,
And all his body so thickly furred,
That much he resembled a grizzly bear--
One that had never known mother's care;
'Neath eyebrows shaggy, two piercing eyes
Glared in a way more fierce than wise;
Whilst ill-shaped lips and a crooked nose,
The sum of his facial beauties close.
A girdle of goat-skin formed his dress,
With small shells studded for comeliness.
This sturdy youth, at a time when Rome
Spoiled many a race of its native home,
Was sent as a sort of deputation,
By Danubian towns, to the Roman nation.
Arriving after toilsome travels,
The rustic thus his tale unravels:
"O Romans! and you, reverend sires,
Who sit to list to my desires,
First, let me pray the gods, that they
May teach me what I ought to say,
And so direct my ignorant tongue,
That it may utter nothing wrong!
Without their intervention must
Be all things evil, all unjust.
Unless through them we plead our cause,
'Tis sure we violate their laws.
In witness of this truth perceive
How Roman avarice makes us grieve;
For 'tis not by its arms that Rome
Has robbed us both of peace and home;
'Tis we ourselves, ill ways pursuing,
Have worked at length our own undoing.
Then, Romans, fear that Heaven, in time,
To <i>you</i> may send the wage of crime,
And justice, in <i>our</i> vengeful hands
Placing its destructive brands,
Hurl swift o'er you the endless waves
Of war, and make you fettered slaves!
Why, why should we be slaves to you?
What is't that you can better do
Than the poor tribes you scourge with war?
Why trouble lives that tranquil are?
Before you came we fed in peace
Our flocks and reaped our fields' increase.
What to the Germans have you taught?
Courageous they and quick of thought,
Had avarice been their only aim,
They might have played a different game,
And now have held the world in chains;
But, ah! believe me, they would not
Have scourged your race with needless pains,
Had victory been now their lot.
The cruelties by your prefects wrought
Can scarce be ever borne in thought;
Us e'en your Roman altars scare,
For your gods eyes are everywhere.
The gods, alas! 'Tis thanks to you
That nought but horror meets their view,
That they themselves are scoffed and jeered at,
And all but avarice is sneered at.
Of all the cruel men you sent
To rule our towns, not one's content.
They seize our lands, they make us toil,
And e'en our little huts they spoil.
Oh, call them back. Our boors refuse
To till the fields for others' use.
We quit our homes, and to the mountains fly,
No tender wife now bears us company;
With wolves and bears we pass our lives away,
For who would children rear for Rome to slay?
And, oh! the terrors of your prefects bring
One added horror; for a hateful thing,
Unknown before, has now spread far and wide
Throughout our native land--Infanticide!
Call back your men, or else the German race
From day to day in vice will grow apace.
But why should I come here to make appeal?
The self-same vices spoil your commonweal:
At Rome, as on the Danube's banks, the way
To gain a scrap of justice is to pay.
I know my words are rude, and only wait
Humbly to suffer candour's usual fate."
The half wild peasant paused, and all,
Astonished that such words could fall
From lips uncouth, and that such sense,
Large-heartedness, and eloquence,
Could dwell within a savage man,
Proclaimed him a Patrician.