Fables of La Fontaine Part 39

Her claim to it so good, Few fail to give her place Above the human race: How could they, if they would?

Now come we to our end:-- As she opines my tales Are hard to comprehend-- For even genius fails Some things to understand-- So let us take in hand To make unnecessary, For once, a commentary.

Come shepherds now,--and rhyme we afterwards The talk between the wolves and fleecy herds.

To Amaranth, the young and fair, Said Thyrsis, once, with serious air,-- 'O, if you knew, like me, a certain ill, With which we men are harm'd, As well as strangely charm'd, No boon from Heaven your heart could like it fill!

Please let me name it in your ear,-- A harmless word,--you need not fear.

Would I deceive you, you, for whom I bear The tenderest sentiments that ever were?'

Then Amaranth replied, 'What is its name? I beg you, do not hide'

''Tis LOVE.'--' The word is beautiful! reveal Its signs and symptoms, how it makes one feel.'-- 'Its pains are ecstacies. So sweet its stings, The nectar-cups and incense-pots of kings, Compared, are flat, insipid things.

One strays all lonely in the wood-- Leans silent o'er the placid flood, And there with great complacency, A certain face can see-- 'Tis not one's own--but image fair, Retreating, Fleeting, Meeting, Greeting, Following everywhere.

For all the rest of human kind, One is as good, in short, as blind.

There is a shepherd wight, I ween, Well known upon the village green, Whose voice, whose name, whose turning of the hinge Excites upon the cheek a richer tinge-- The thought of whom is signal for a sigh-- The breast that heaves it knows not why-- Whose face the maiden fears to see, Yet none so welcome still as he.'-- Here Amaranth cut short his speech: 'O! O! is that the evil which you preach?

To me I think it is no stranger; I must have felt its power and danger.'

Here Thrysis thought his end was gain'd, When further thus the maid explain'd: ''Tis just the very sentiment Which I have felt for Clidamant!'

The other, vex'd and mortified, Now bit his lips, and nearly died.

Like him are mult.i.tudes, who when Their own advancement they have meant, Have play'd the game of other men.

[20] _Mdlle. de Sillery_.--Gabrielle-Francoise Brulart de Sillery, niece of La Fontaine's friend and patron, the Duke de La Rochefoucauld (author of the _Maximes_). She married Louis de Tibergeau, Marquis de La Motte-au-Maine, and died in 1732.

[21] _Italian wit_.--Referring to his Tales, in which he had borrowed many subjects from Boccaccio.--Translator.

XIV.--THE FUNERAL OF THE LIONESS.[22]

The lion's consort died: Crowds, gather'd at his side, Must needs console the prince, And thus their loyalty evince By compliments of course; Which make affliction worse.

Officially he cites His realm to funeral rites, At such a time and place; His marshals of the mace Would order the affair.

Judge you if all came there.

Meantime, the prince gave way To sorrow night and day.

With cries of wild lament His cave he well-nigh rent.

And from his courtiers far and near, Sounds imitative you might hear.

The court a country seems to me, Whose people are, no matter what,-- Sad, gay, indifferent, or not,-- As suits the will of majesty; Or, if unable so to be, Their task it is to seem it all-- Chameleons, monkeys, great and small.

'Twould seem one spirit serves a thousand bodies-- A paradise, indeed, for soulless noddies.

But to our tale again: The stag graced not the funeral train; Of tears his cheeks bore not a stain; For how could such a thing have been, When death avenged him on the queen, Who, not content with taking one, Had choked to death his wife and son?

The tears, in truth, refused to run.

A flatterer, who watch'd the while, Affirm'd that he had seen him smile.

If, as the wise man somewhere saith, A king's is like a lion's wrath, What should King Lion's be but death?

The stag, however, could not read; Hence paid this proverb little heed, And walk'd, intrepid, to'ards the throne; When thus the king, in fearful tone: 'Thou caitiff of the wood!

Presum'st to laugh at such a time?

Joins not thy voice the mournful chime?

We suffer not the blood Of such a wretch profane Our sacred claws to stain.

Wolves, let a sacrifice be made, Avenge your mistress' awful shade.'

'Sire,' did the stag reply, The time for tears is quite gone by; For in the flowers, not far from here, Your worthy consort did appear; Her form, in spite of my surprise, I could not fail to recognise.

"My friend," said she, "beware Lest funeral pomp about my bier, When I shall go with G.o.ds to share, Compel thine eye to drop a tear.

With kindred saints I rove In the Elysian grove, And taste a sort of bliss Unknown in worlds like this.

Still, let the royal sorrow flow Its proper season here below; 'Tis not unpleasing, I confess."'

The king and court scarce hear him out.

Up goes the loud and welcome shout-- 'A miracle! an apotheosis!'

And such at once the fashion is, So far from dying in a ditch, The stag retires with presents rich.

Amuse the ear of royalty With pleasant dreams, and flattery,-- No matter what you may have done, Nor yet how high its wrath may run,-- The bait is swallow'd--object won.

[22] Abstemius.

XV.--THE RAT AND THE ELEPHANT.

One's own importance to enhance, Inspirited by self-esteem, Is quite a common thing in France; A French disease it well might seem.

The strutting cavaliers of Spain Are in another manner vain.

Their pride has more insanity; More silliness our vanity.

Let's shadow forth our own disease-- Well worth a hundred tales like these.

A rat, of quite the smallest size, Fix'd on an elephant his eyes, And jeer'd the beast of high descent Because his feet so slowly went.

Upon his back, three stories high, There sat, beneath a canopy, A certain sultan of renown, His dog, and cat, and concubine, His parrot, servant, and his wine, All pilgrims to a distant town.

The rat profess'd to be amazed That all the people stood and gazed With wonder, as he pa.s.s'd the road, Both at the creature and his load.

'As if,' said he, 'to occupy A little more of land or sky Made one, in view of common sense, Of greater worth and consequence!

What see ye, men, in this parade, That food for wonder need be made?

The bulk which makes a child afraid?

In truth, I take myself to be, In all aspects, as good as he.'

And further might have gone his vaunt; But, darting down, the cat Convinced him that a rat Is smaller than an elephant.

XVI.--THE HOROSCOPE.

On death we mortals often run, Just by the roads we take to shun.

A father's only heir, a son, Was over-loved, and doted on So greatly, that astrology Was question'd what his fate might be.

The man of stars this caution gave-- That, until twenty years of age, No lion, even in a cage, The boy should see,--his life to save.

The sire, to silence every fear About a life so very dear, Forbade that any one should let His son beyond his threshold get.

Within his palace walls, the boy Might all that heart could wish enjoy-- Might with his mates walk, leap, and run, And frolic in the wildest fun.

When come of age to love the chase, That exercise was oft depicted To him as one that brought disgrace, To which but blackguards were addicted.

But neither warning nor derision Could change his ardent disposition.

The youth, fierce, restless, full of blood, Was prompted by the boiling flood To love the dangers of the wood.

The more opposed, the stronger grew His mad desire. The cause he knew, For which he was so closely pent; And as, where'er he went, In that magnificent abode, Both tapestry and canvas show'd The feats he did so much admire, A painted lion roused his ire.

'Ah, monster!' cried he, in his rage, 'Tis you that keep me in my cage.'

With that, he clinch'd his fist, To strike the harmless beast-- And did his hand impale Upon a hidden nail!

And thus this cherish'd head, For which the healing art But vainly did its part, Was hurried to the dead, By caution blindly meant To shun that sad event.

The poet Aeschylus, 'tis said, By much the same precaution bled.

A conjuror foretold A house would crush him in its fall;-- Forth sallied he, though old, From town and roof-protected hall, And took his lodgings, wet or dry, Abroad, beneath the open sky.

An eagle, bearing through the air A tortoise for her household fare, Which first she wish'd to break, The creature dropp'd, by sad mistake, Plump on the poet's forehead bare, As if it were a naked rock-- To Aeschylus a fatal shock!