Fables of La Fontaine Part 55

'Twas thus the monkey spake.

But my informant does not state, That e'er the sage did demonstrate The other point, more delicate.

Perhaps he thought none but a fool A lion would too strictly school.

[9] This fable is founded upon the Latin proverb _Asinus asinum fricat_.

[10] _Lambert_.--This was Michael Lambert, master of chamber-music to Louis XIV., and brother-in-law to the Grand Monarque's other great music man, J. B. Lulli, who was chapel-music master.

VI.--THE WOLF AND THE FOX.

Why Aesop gave the palm of cunning, O'er flying animals and running, To Renard Fox, I cannot tell, Though I have search'd the subject well.

Hath not Sir Wolf an equal skill In tricks and artifices shown, When he would do some life an ill, Or from his foes defend his own?

I think he hath; and, void of disrespect, I might, perhaps, my master contradict: Yet here's a case, in which the burrow-lodger Was palpably, I own, the brightest dodger.

One night he spied within a well, Wherein the fullest moonlight fell, What seem'd to him an ample cheese.

Two balanced buckets took their turns When drawers thence would fill their urns.

Our fox went down in one of these, By hunger greatly press'd to sup, And drew the other empty up.

Convinced at once of his mistake, And anxious for his safety's sake, He saw his death was near and sure, Unless some other wretch in need The same moon's image should allure To take a bucket and succeed To his predicament, indeed.

Two days pa.s.s'd by, and none approach'd the well; Unhalting Time, as is his wont, Was scooping from the moon's full front, And as he scoop'd Sir Renard's courage fell.

His crony wolf, of clamorous maw, Poor fox at last above him saw, And cried, 'My comrade, look you here!

See what abundance of good cheer!

A cheese of most delicious zest!

Which Faunus must himself have press'd, Of milk by heifer Io given.

If Jupiter were sick in heaven, The taste would bring his appet.i.te.

I've taken, as you see, a bite; But still for both there is a plenty.

Pray take the bucket that I've sent ye; Come down, and get your share.'

Although, to make the story fair, The fox had used his utmost care, The wolf (a fool to give him credit) Went down because his stomach bid it-- And by his weight pull'd up Sir Renard to the top.

We need not mock this simpleton, For we ourselves such deeds have done.

Our faith is p.r.o.ne to lend its ear To aught which we desire or fear.

VII.--THE PEASANT OF THE DANUBE.[11]

To judge no man by outside view, Is good advice, though not quite new.

Some time ago a mouse's fright Upon this moral shed some light.

I have for proof at present, With, Aesop and good Socrates,[12]

Of Danube's banks a certain peasant, Whose portrait drawn to life, one sees, By Marc Aurelius, if you please.

The first are well known, far and near: I briefly sketch the other here.

The crop upon his fertile chin Was anything but soft or thin; Indeed, his person, clothed in hair, Might personate an unlick'd bear.

Beneath his matted brow there lay An eye that squinted every way; A crooked nose and monstrous lips he bore, And goat-skin round his trunk he wore, With bulrush belt. And such a man as this is Was delegate from towns the Danube kisses, When not a nook on earth there linger'd By Roman avarice not finger'd.

Before the senate thus he spoke:-- 'Romans and senators who hear, I, first of all, the G.o.ds invoke, The powers whom mortals justly fear, That from my tongue there may not fall A word which I may need recall.

Without their aid there enters nought To human hearts of good or just: Whoever leaves the same unsought, Is p.r.o.ne to violate his trust; The prey of Roman avarice, Ourselves are witnesses of this.

Rome, by our crimes, our scourge has grown, More than by valour of her own.

Romans, beware lest Heaven, some day, Exact for all our groans the pay, And, arming us, by just reverse, To do its vengeance, stern, but meet, Shall pour on you the va.s.sal's curse, And place your necks beneath our feet!

And wherefore not? For are you better Than hundreds of the tribes diverse Who clank the galling Roman fetter?

What right gives you the universe?

Why come and mar our quiet life?

We till'd our acres free from strife; In arts our hands were skill'd to toil, As well as o'er the generous soil.

What have you taught the Germans brave?

Apt scholars, had but they Your appet.i.te for sway, They might, instead of you, enslave, Without your inhumanity.

That which your praetors perpetrate On us, as subjects of your state, My powers would fail me to relate.

Profaned their altars and their rites, The pity of your G.o.ds our lot excites.

Thanks to your representatives, In you they see but shameless thieves, Who plunder G.o.ds as well as men.

By sateless avarice insane, The men that rule our land from this Are like the bottomless abyss.

To satisfy their l.u.s.t of gain, Both man and nature toil in vain.

Recall them; for indeed we will Our fields for such no longer till.

From all our towns and plains we fly For refuge to our mountains high.

We quit our homes and tender wives, To lead with savage beasts our lives-- No more to welcome into day A progeny for Rome a prey.

And as to those already born-- Poor helpless babes forlorn!-- We wish them short career in time: Your praetors force us to the crime.

Are they our teachers? Call them home,-- They teach but luxury and vice,-- Lest Germans should their likes become, In fell remorseless avarice.

Have we a remedy at Rome?

I'll tell you here how matters go.

Hath one no present to bestow, No purple for a judge or so, The laws for him are deaf and dumb; Their minister has aye in store A thousand hindrances or more.

I'm sensible that truths like these Are not the things to please.

I've done. Let death avenge you here Of my complaint, a little too sincere.'

He said no more; but all admired The thought with which his speech was fired; The eloquence and heart of oak With which the prostrate savage spoke.

Indeed, so much were all delighted, As due revenge, the man was knighted.

The praetors were at once displaced, And better men the office graced.

The senate, also, by decree, Besought a copy of the speech, Which might to future speakers be A model for the use of each.

Not long, howe'er, had Rome the sense To entertain such eloquence.

[11] La Fontaine got the historical story embodied in this fable from Marcus Aurelius (as he acknowledges), probably through Francois Ca.s.sandre's "Paralleles Historiques," 1676, and the translation (from the Spanish of Guevara) t.i.tled the "Horloge des Princes,"

which Grise and De Heberay published at Lyons in 1575.

[12] Aesop and Socrates are usually represented as very ugly.

VIII.--THE OLD MAN AND THE THREE YOUNG ONES.[13]

A man was planting at fourscore.

Three striplings, who their satchels wore, 'In building,' cried, 'the sense were more; But then to plant young trees at that age!

The man is surely in his dotage.

Pray, in the name of common sense, What fruit can he expect to gather Of all this labour and expense?

Why, he must live like Lamech's father!

What use for thee, grey-headed man, To load the remnant of thy span With care for days that never can be thine?

Thyself to thought of errors past resign.

Long-growing hope, and lofty plan, Leave thou to us, to whom such things belong.'

'To you!' replied the old man, hale and strong; 'I dare p.r.o.nounce you altogether wrong.

The settled part of man's estate Is very brief, and comes full late.

To those pale, gaming sisters trine, Your lives are stakes as well as mine.

While so uncertain is the sequel, Our terms of future life are equal; For none can tell who last shall close his eyes Upon the glories of these azure skies; Nor any moment give us, ere it flies, a.s.surance that another such shall rise, But my descendants, whosoe'er they be, Shall owe these cooling fruits and shades to me.

Do you acquit yourselves, in wisdom's sight, From ministering to other hearts delight?

Why, boys, this is the fruit I gather now; And sweeter never blush'd on bended bough.

Of this, to-morrow, I may take my fill; Indeed, I may enjoy its sweetness till I see full many mornings chase the glooms From off the marble of your youthful tombs.'

The grey-beard man was right. One of the three, Embarking, foreign lands to see, Was drown'd within the very port.