A Hundred Fables of La Fontaine Part 19

Their bargain vanish'd suddenly in air; For who could plead his interest with a bear?

One of the friends sprung up a tree; The other, cold as ice could be, Fell on his face, feign'd death, And closely held his breath,-- He having somewhere heard it said The bear ne'er preys upon the dead.

Sir Bear, sad blockhead, was deceived-- The prostrate man a corpse believed; But, half suspecting some deceit, He feels and snuffs from head to feet, And in the nostrils blows.

The body's surely dead, he thinks.

"I'll leave it," says he, "for it stinks;"

And off into the woods he goes.

The other dealer, from his tree Descending cautiously, to see His comrade lying in the dirt, Consoling, says, "It is a wonder That, by the monster forced asunder, We're, after all, more scared than hurt.

But," addeth he, "what of the creature's skin?

He held his muzzle very near; What did he whisper in your ear?"

"He gave this caution,--'Never dare Again to sell the skin of bear Its owner has not ceased to wear.'"

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE BEAR AND THE TWO COMPANIONS.]

The Lion, the Wolf, and the Fox

A Lion, old, and impotent with gout, Would have some cure for age found out.

This king, from every species,-- Call'd to his aid the leeches.

They came, from quacks without degree To doctors of the highest fee.

Advised, prescribed, talk'd learnedly; But with the rest Came not Sir Cunning Fox, M.D.

Sir Wolf the royal couch attended, And his suspicions there express'd.

Forthwith his majesty, offended, Resolved Sir Cunning Fox should come, And sent to smoke him from his home.

He came, was duly usher'd in, And, knowing where Sir Wolf had been, Said, "Sire, abused your royal ear Has been by rumours insincere; To wit, that I've been self-exempt From coming here, through sheer contempt.

But, sire, your royal health to aid, I vow'd to make a pilgrimage, And, on my way, met doctors sage, In skill the wonder of the age, Whom carefully I did consult About that great debility Term'd in the books senility, Of which you fear, with reason, the result.

You lack, they say, the vital heat, By age extreme become effete.

Drawn from a living wolf, the hide Should warm and smoking be applied.

Sir Wolf, here, won't refuse to give His hide to cure you, as I live."

The king was pleased with this advice.

Flay'd, jointed, served up in a trice, Sir Wolf first wrapped the monarch up, Then furnish'd him whereon to sup.

_Beware, ye courtiers, lest ye gain,_ _By slander's arts, less power than pain._

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE LION THE WOLF AND THE FOX.]

The Battle of the Rats and Weasels.

The weasels live, no more than cats, On terms of friendship with the rats; And, were it not that these Through doors contrive to squeeze Too narrow for their foes, The animals long-snouted Would long ago have routed, And from the planet scouted Their race, as I suppose.

One year it did betide, When they were multiplied, An army took the field Of rats, with spear and shield, Whose crowded ranks led on A king named Ratapon.

The weasels, too, their banner Unfurl'd in warlike manner.

As Fame her trumpet sounds, The victory balanced well; Enrich'd were fallow grounds Where slaughter'd legions fell; But by said trollop's tattle, The loss of life in battle Thinn'd most the rattish race In almost every place;

And finally their rout Was total, spite of stout Artarpax and Psicarpax, And valiant Meridarpax, Who, cover'd o'er with dust, Long time sustain'd their host Down sinking on the plain.

Their efforts were in vain; Fate ruled that final hour, (Inexorable power!) And so the captains fled As well as those they led; The princes perish'd all.

The undistinguish'd small In certain holes found shelter; In crowding, helter-skelter; But the n.o.bility Could not go in so free, Who proudly had a.s.sumed Each one a helmet plumed; We know not, truly, whether For honour's sake the feather, Or foes to strike with terror; But, truly, 'twas their error.

Nor hole, nor crack, nor crevice Will let their head-gear in; While meaner rats in bevies An easy pa.s.sage win;-- So that the shafts of fate Do chiefly hit the great.

_A feather in the cap_ _Is oft a great mishap._ _An equipage too grand_ _Comes often to a stand_ _Within a narrow place._ _The small, whate'er the case,_ _With ease slip through a strait,_ _Where larger folks must wait._

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE BATTLE OF THE RATS AND THE WEASELS.]

The Animals Sick of the Plague.

The sorest ill that Heaven hath Sent on this lower world in wrath,-- The plague (to call it by its name,) One single day of which Would Pluto's ferryman enrich,-- Waged war on beasts, both wild and tame.

They died not all, but all were sick: No hunting now, by force or trick, To save what might so soon expire.

No food excited their desire; Nor wolf nor fox now watch'd to slay The innocent and tender prey.

The turtles fled; So love and therefore joy were dead.

The lion council held, and said: "My friends, I do believe This awful scourge, for which we grieve, Is for our sins a punishment Most righteously by Heaven sent.

Let us our guiltiest beast resign, A sacrifice to wrath divine.

Perhaps this offering, truly small, May gain the life and health of all.

By history we find it noted That lives have been just so devoted.

Then let us all turn eyes within, And ferret out the hidden sin.

Himself let no one spare nor flatter, But make clean conscience in the matter.

For me, my appet.i.te has play'd the glutton Too much and often upon mutton.

What harm had e'er my victims done?

I answer, truly, None.

Perhaps, sometimes, by hunger press'd, I've eat the shepherd with the rest.

I yield myself, if need there be; And yet I think, in equity, Each should confess his sins with me; For laws of right and justice cry, The guiltiest alone should die."

"Sire," said the fox, "your majesty Is humbler than a king should be,

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE ANIMALS SICK OF THE PLAGUE.]

And over-squeamish in the case.

What! eating stupid sheep a crime?

No, never, sire, at any time.

It rather was an act of grace, A mark of honour to their race.

And as to shepherds, one may swear, The fate your majesty describes, Is recompense less full than fair For such usurpers o'er our tribes."

Thus Renard glibly spoke, And loud applause from flatterers broke.

Of neither tiger, boar, nor bear, Did any keen inquirer dare To ask for crimes of high degree; The fighters, biters, scratchers, all From every mortal sin were free; The very dogs, both great and small, Were saints, as far as dogs could be.

The a.s.s, confessing in his turn, Thus spoke in tones of deep concern:-- "I happen'd through a mead to pa.s.s; The monks, its owners, were at ma.s.s; Keen hunger, leisure, tender gra.s.s, And add to these the devil too, All tempted me the deed to do.

I browsed the bigness of my tongue; Since truth must out, I own it wrong."

On this, a hue and cry arose, As if the beasts were all his foes: A wolf, haranguing lawyer-wise.

Denounced the a.s.s for sacrifice-- The bald-pate, scabby, ragged lout, By whom the plague had come, no doubt.

His fault was judged a hanging crime.

"What? eat another's gra.s.s? O shame!

The noose of rope and death sublime, For that offence, were all too tame!"