Fables of La Fontaine Part 35

His brother I was born, And not his slave forlorn.

The self-same blood in both, I'm just as good as he: A poison dwells in me As virulent as doth[25]

In him. In mercy, heed, And grant me this decree, That I, in turn, may lead-- My brother, follow me.

My course shall be so wise, That no complaint shall rise.'

With cruel kindness Heaven granted The very thing he blindly wanted: To such desires of beasts and men, Though often deaf, it was not then.

At once this novel guide, That saw no more in broad daylight Than in the murk of darkest night, His powers of leading tried, Struck trees, and men, and stones, and bricks, And led his brother straight to Styx.

And to the same unlovely home, Some states by such an error come.

[24] Plutarch's Lives, _Agis_, "The fable of the servant, enforcing the moral that you cannot have the same man both for your governor and your slave."

[25] An ancient mistake in natural history.--Translator.

XVIII.--AN ANIMAL IN THE MOON.[26]

While one philosopher[27] affirms That by our senses we're deceived, Another[28] swears, in plainest terms, The senses are to be believed.

The twain are right. Philosophy Correctly calls us dupes whene'er Upon mere senses we rely.

But when we wisely rectify The raw report of eye or ear, By distance, medium, circ.u.mstance, In real knowledge we advance.

These things hath nature wisely plann'd-- Whereof the proof shall be at hand.

I see the sun: its dazzling glow Seems but a hand-breadth here below; But should I see it in its home, That azure, star-besprinkled dome, Of all the universe the eye, Its blaze would fill one half the sky.

The powers of trigonometry Have set my mind from blunder free.

The ignorant believe it flat; I make it round, instead of that.

I fasten, fix, on nothing ground it, And send the earth to travel round it.

In short, I contradict my eyes, And sift the truth from constant lies.

The mind, not hasty at conclusion, Resists the onset of illusion, Forbids the sense to get the better, And ne'er believes it to the letter.

Between my eyes, perhaps too ready, And ears as much or more too slow, A judge with balance true and steady, I come, at last, some things to know.

Thus when the water crooks a stick,[29]

My reason straightens it as quick-- Kind Mistress Reason--foe of error, And best of shields from needless terror!

The creed is common with our race, The moon contains a woman's face.

True? No. Whence, then, the notion, From mountain top to ocean?

The roughness of that satellite, Its hills and dales, of every grade, Effect a change of light and shade Deceptive to our feeble sight; So that, besides the human face, All sorts of creatures one might trace.

Indeed, a living beast, I ween, Has lately been by England seen.

All duly placed the telescope, And keen observers full of hope, An animal entirely new, In that fair planet, came to view.

Abroad and fast the wonder flew;-- Some change had taken place on high, Presaging earthly changes nigh; Perhaps, indeed, it might betoken The wars[30] that had already broken Out wildly o'er the Continent.

The king to see the wonder went: (As patron of the sciences, No right to go more plain than his.) To him, in turn, distinct and clear, This lunar monster did appear.-- A mouse, between the lenses caged, Had caused these wars, so fiercely waged!

No doubt the happy English folks Laugh'd at it as the best of jokes.

How soon will Mars afford the chance For like amus.e.m.e.nts here in France!

He makes us reap broad fields of glory.

Our foes may fear the battle-ground; For us, it is no sooner found, Than Louis, with fresh laurels crown'd, Bears higher up our country's story.

The daughters, too, of Memory,-- The Pleasures and the Graces,-- Still show their cheering faces: We wish for peace, but do not sigh.

The English Charles the secret knows To make the most of his repose.

And more than this, he'll know the way, By valour, working sword in hand, To bring his sea-encircled land To share the fight it only sees to-day.

Yet, could he but this quarrel quell, What incense-clouds would grateful swell!

What deed more worthy of his fame!

Augustus, Julius[31]--pray, which Caesar's name Shines now on story's page with purest flame?

O people happy in your st.u.r.dy hearts!

Say, when shall Peace pack up these b.l.o.o.d.y darts, And send us all, like you, to softer arts?

[26] This fable is founded on a fact which occurred in the experience of the astronomer Sir Paul Neal, a member of the Royal Society of London.--Translator. Sir Paul Neal, whose _lapsus_ suggested this fable, thought he had discovered an animal in the moon.

Unluckily, however, after having made his "discovery" known, it was found that the ground of it was simply the accidental presence of a mouse in the object-gla.s.s of his telescope. Samuel Butler, the author of "Hudibras," has also made fun of this otherwise rather tragical episode in the early history of the Royal Society of London, _vide_ his "Elephant in the Moon."

[27] _One philosopher._--Democritus, the so-called "laughing (or scoffing) philosopher." He lived B.C. about 400 years. Fable XXVI., Book VIII., is devoted to him and how he was treated by his contemporaries.

[28] _Another._--Epicurus, founder of the Epicurean philosophy. He lived B. C. about 300 years.

[29] _Water crooks a stick_.--An allusion to the bent appearance which a stick has in water, consequent upon the refraction of light.

[30] _The wars_.--This fable appears to have been composed about the beginning of the year 1677. The European powers then found themselves exhausted by wars, and desirous of peace. England, the only neutral, became, of course, the arbiter of the negotiations which ensued at Nimeguen. All the belligerent parties invoked her mediation. Charles II., however, felt himself exceedingly embarra.s.sed by his secret connections with Louis XIV., which made him desire to prescribe conditions favourable to that monarch; while, on the other hand, he feared the people of England, if, treacherous to her interests, he should fail to favour the nations allied and combined against France.--Translator. _Vide_ Hume: who also says that the English king "had actually in secret sold his neutrality to France, and he received remittances of 1,000,000 livres a year, which was afterwards increased to 2,000,000 livres; a considerable sum in the embarra.s.sed state of his revenue." Hume's _Hist. England_, Bell's edit., 1854, vol. vi., p. 242.

[31] _Augustus, Julius._--Augustus Caesar was eminent for his pacific policy, as Julius Caesar was eminent for his warlike policy.

BOOK VIII.

I.--DEATH AND THE DYING.[1]

Death never taketh by surprise The well-prepared, to wit, the wise-- They knowing of themselves the time To meditate the final change of clime.

That time, alas! embraces all Which into hours and minutes we divide; There is no part, however small, That from this tribute one can hide.

The very moment, oft, which bids The heirs of empire see the light Is that which shuts their fringed lids In everlasting night.

Defend yourself by rank and wealth, Plead beauty, virtue, youth, and health,-- Unblushing Death will ravish all; The world itself shall pa.s.s beneath his pall.

No truth is better known; but, truth to say, No truth is oftener thrown away.

A man, well in his second century, Complain'd that Death had call'd him suddenly; Had left no time his plans to fill, To balance books, or make his will.

'O Death,' said he, 'd' ye call it fair, Without a warning to prepare, To take a man on lifted leg?

O, wait a little while, I beg.

My wife cannot be left alone; I must set out my nephew's son, And let me build my house a wing, Before you strike, O cruel king!'

'Old man,' said Death, 'one thing is sure,-- My visit here's not premature.

Hast thou not lived a century!

Darest thou engage to find for me?

In Paris' walls two older men Has France, among her millions ten?

Thou say'st I should have sent thee word Thy lamp to trim, thy loins to gird, And then my coming had been meet-- Thy will engross'd, Thy house complete!

Did not thy feelings notify?

Did not they tell thee thou must die?

Thy taste and hearing are no more; Thy sight itself is gone before; For thee the sun superfluous shines, And all the wealth of Indian mines; Thy mates I've shown thee dead or dying.

What's this, indeed, but notifying?

Come on, old man, without reply; For to the great and common weal It doth but little signify Whether thy will shall ever feel The impress of thy hand and seal.'

And Death had reason,--ghastly sage!

For surely man, at such an age, Should part from life as from a feast, Returning decent thanks, at least, To Him who spread the various cheer, And unrepining take his bier; For shun it long no creature can.

Repinest thou, grey-headed man?

See younger mortals rushing by To meet their death without a sigh-- Death full of triumph and of fame, But in its terrors still the same.-- But, ah! my words are thrown away!

Those most like Death most dread his sway.

[1] Abstemius.

II.--THE COBBLER AND THE FINANCIER.