Fables of La Fontaine Part 54

'To teach him music be my care,'

Apollo said, the wise and fair; 'And mine,' that mighty G.o.d replied, In the Nemaean lion's hide, 'To teach him to subdue The vices, an envenom'd crew, Like Hydras springing ever new.

The foe of weakening luxury, The boy divine will learn from me Those rugged paths, so little trod, That lead to glory man and G.o.d.'

Said Cupid, when it came his turn, 'All things from me the boy may learn.'

Well spoke the G.o.d of love.

What feat of Mars, or Hercules, Or bright Apollo, lies above Wit, wing'd by a desire to please?

[2] This t.i.tle does not exist in the original editions. It appeared for the first time in the edition of 1709. The original heading to the fable is "For Monseigneur," &c.

[3] _To Jupiter was born a son_.--Jupiter here is Louis XIV., and his son is the Duke du Maine to whom the fable is addressed. The duke was the son of Louis and Madame de Montespan. He was born at Versailles in 1670; and when La Fontaine wrote this address to him he was about eight years old, and the pupil of Madame de Maintenon, his mother's successor in the affections of the king.

III.--THE FARMER, THE DOG, AND THE FOX.[4]

The wolf and fox are neighbours strange: I would not build within their range.

The fox once eyed with strict regard From day to day, a poultry-yard; But though a most accomplish'd cheat, He could not get a fowl to eat.

Between the risk and appet.i.te, His rogueship's trouble was not slight.

'Alas!' quoth he, 'this stupid rabble But mock me with their constant gabble; I go and come, and rack my brains, And get my labour for my pains.

Your rustic owner, safe at home, Takes all the profits as they come: He sells his capons and his chicks, Or keeps them hanging on his hook, All dress'd and ready for his cook; But I, adept in art and tricks, Should I but catch the toughest crower, Should be brimful of joy, and more.

O Jove supreme! why was I made A master of the fox's trade?

By all the higher powers, and lower, I swear to rob this chicken-grower!'

Revolving such revenge within, When night had still'd the various din, And poppies seem'd to bear full sway O'er man and dog, as lock'd they lay Alike secure in slumber deep, And c.o.c.ks and hens were fast asleep, Upon the populous roost he stole.

By negligence,--a common sin,-- The farmer left unclosed the hole, And, stooping down, the fox went in.

The blood of every fowl was spill'd, The citadel with murder fill'd.

The dawn disclosed sad sights, I ween, When heaps on slaughter'd heaps were seen, All weltering in their mingled gore.

With horror stricken, as of yore, The sun well nigh shrunk back again, To hide beneath the liquid main.

Such sight once saw the Trojan plain, When on the fierce Atrides'[5] head Apollo's awful anger fell, And strew'd the crimson field with dead: Of Greeks, scarce one was left to tell The carnage of that night so dread.

Such slaughter, too, around his tent, The furious Ajax made, one night, Of sheep and goats, in easy fight; In anger blindly confident That by his well-directed blows Ulysses fell, or some of those By whose iniquity and lies That wily rival took the prize.

The fox, thus having Ajax play'd, Bore off the nicest of the brood,-- As many pullets as he could,-- And left the rest, all prostrate laid.

The owner found his sole resource His servants and his dog to curse.

'You useless puppy, better drown'd!

Why did you not your 'larum sound?'

'Why did you not the evil shun,'

Quoth Towser, 'as you might have done?

If you, whose interest was more, Could sleep and leave an open door, Think you that I, a dog at best, Would watch, and lose my precious rest?'

This pithy speech had been, in truth, Good logic in a master's mouth; But, coming from a menial's lip, It even lack'd the lawyership To save poor Towser from the whip.

O thou who head'st a family, (An honour never grudged by me,) Thou art a patriarch unwise, To sleep, and trust another's eyes.

Thyself shouldst go to bed the last, Thy doors all seen to, shut and fast.

I charge you never let a fox see Your special business done by proxy.

[4] Abstemius.

[5] _Atrides_.--Atreus, or Atrides, king of Mycenae, and grandfather of Agamemnon. He caused his brother Theyestes to banquet on the flesh of his own children. After the repast, proceeds the story, the arms and heads of the murdered children were produced to convince Theyestes of what he had feasted on; and at the deed "the sun shrunk back in his course."

IV.--THE MOGUL'S DREAM.[6]

Long since, a Mogul saw, in dream, A vizier in Elysian bliss; No higher joy could be or seem, Or purer, than was ever his.

Elsewhere was dream'd of by the same A wretched hermit wrapp'd in flame, Whose lot e'en touch'd, so pain'd was he, The partners of his misery.

Was Minos[7] mock'd? or had these ghosts, By some mistake, exchanged their posts?

Surprise at this the vision broke; The dreamer suddenly awoke.

Some mystery suspecting in it, He got a wise one to explain it.

Replied the sage interpreter, 'Let not the thing a marvel seem: There is a meaning in your dream: If I have aught of knowledge, sir, It covers counsel from the G.o.ds.

While tenanting these clay abodes, This vizier sometimes gladly sought The solitude that favours thought; Whereas, the hermit, in his cot, Had longings for a vizier's lot.'

To this interpretation dared I add, The love of solitude I would inspire.

It satisfies the heart's desire With unenc.u.mber'd gifts and glad-- Heaven-planted joys, of stingless sweet, Aye springing up beneath our feet.

O Solitude! whose secret charms I know-- Retreats that I have loved--when shall I go To taste, far from a world of din and noise, Your shades so fresh, where silence has a voice?

When shall their soothing gloom my refuge be?

When shall the sacred Nine, from courts afar, And cities with all solitude at war, Engross entire, and teach their votary The stealthy movements of the spangled nights, The names and virtues of those errant lights Which rule o'er human character and fate?

Or, if not born to purposes so great, The streams, at least, shall win my heartfelt thanks, While, in my verse, I paint their flowery banks.

Fate shall not weave my life with golden thread, Nor, 'neath rich fret-work, on a purple bed, Shall I repose, full late, my care-worn head.

But will my sleep be less a treasure?

Less deep, thereby, and full of pleasure?

I vow it, sweet and gentle as the dew, Within those deserts sacrifices new; And when the time shall come to yield my breath, Without remorse I'll join the ranks of Death.[8]

[6] The original story of this fable is traced to Sadi, the Persian poet and fabulist, who flourished in the twelfth century. La Fontaine probably found it in the French edition of Sadi's "Gulistan; or the Garden of Flowers" which was published by Andre du Ryer in 1634.

[7] _Minos_.--Chief judge in the infernal regions.

[8] For some remarks upon this fable see Translator's Preface.

V.--THE LION, THE MONKEY, AND THE TWO a.s.sES.[9]

The lion, for his kingdom's sake, In morals would some lessons take, And therefore call'd, one summer's day, The monkey, master of the arts, An animal of brilliant parts, To hear what he could say.

'Great king,' the monkey thus began, 'To reign upon the wisest plan Requires a prince to set his zeal, And pa.s.sion for the public weal, Distinctly and quite high above A certain feeling call'd self-love, The parent of all vices, In creatures of all sizes.

To will this feeling from one's breast away, Is not the easy labour of a day; 'Tis much to moderate its tyrant sway.

By that your majesty august, Will execute your royal trust, From folly free and aught unjust.'

'Give me,' replied the king, 'Example of each thing.'

'Each species,' said the sage,-- 'And I begin with ours,-- Exalts its own peculiar powers Above sound reason's gauge.

Meanwhile, all other kinds and tribes As fools and blockheads it describes, With other compliments as cheap.

But, on the other hand, the same Self-love inspires a beast to heap The highest pyramid of fame For every one that bears his name; Because he justly deems such praise The easiest way himself to raise.

'Tis my conclusion in the case, That many a talent here below Is but cabal, or sheer grimace,-- The art of seeming things to know-- An art in which perfection lies More with the ignorant than wise.

'Two a.s.ses tracking, t'other day, Of which each in his turn, Did incense to the other burn, Quite in the usual way,-- I heard one to his comrade say, "My lord, do you not find The prince of knaves and fools To be this man, who boasts of mind Instructed in his schools?

With wit unseemly and profane, He mocks our venerable race-- On each of his who lacketh brain Bestows our ancient surname, a.s.s!

And, with abusive tongue portraying, Describes our laugh and talk as braying!

These bipeds of their folly tell us, While thus pretending to excel us."

"No, 'tis for you to speak, my friend, And let their orators attend.

The braying is their own, but let them be: We understand each other, and agree, And that's enough. As for your song, Such wonders to its notes belong, The nightingale is put to shame, And Lambert[10] loses half his fame."

"My lord," the other a.s.s replied, "Such talents in yourself reside, Of a.s.ses all, the joy and pride."

These donkeys, not quite satisfied With scratching thus each other's hide, Must needs the cities visit, Their fortunes there to raise, By sounding forth the praise, Each, of the other's skill exquisite.

Full many, in this age of ours,-- Not only among a.s.ses, But in the higher cla.s.ses, Whom Heaven hath clothed with higher powers,-- Dared they but do it, would exalt A simple innocence from fault, Or virtue common and domestic, To excellence majestic.

I've said too much, perhaps; but I suppose Your majesty the secret won't disclose, Since 'twas your majesty's request that I This matter should exemplify.

How love of self gives food to ridicule, I've shown. To prove the balance of my rule, That justice is a sufferer thereby, A longer time will take.'