Fables of La Fontaine Part 61

For could a heart that throbb'd to bless Its friends with boundless tenderness,-- Or could that heaven-descended mind Which, in its matchless beauty, join'd The strength of man with woman's grace,-- Be given to sculptor to express?

O Iris, who canst charm the soul-- Nay, bind it with supreme control,-- Whom as myself I can but love,-- (Nay, not that word: as I'm a man, Your court has placed it under ban, And we'll dismiss it,) pray approve My filling up this hasty plan!

This sketch has here received a place, A simple anecdote to grace, Where friendship shows so sweet a face, That in its features you may find Somewhat accordant to your mind.

Not that the tale may kings beseem; But he who winneth your esteem Is not a monarch placed above The need and influence of love, But simple mortal, void of crown, That would for friends his life lay down-- Than which I know no friendlier act.

Four animals, in league compact, Are now to give our n.o.ble race A useful lesson in the case.

Rat, raven, tortoise, and gazelle, Once into firmest friendship fell.

'Twas in a home unknown to man That they their happiness began.

But safe from man there's no retreat: Pierce you the loneliest wood, Or dive beneath the deepest flood, Or mount you where the eagles brood,-- His secret ambuscade you meet.

The light gazelle, in harmless play, Amused herself abroad one day, When, by mischance, her track was found And follow'd by the baying hound-- That barbarous tool of barbarous man-- From which far, far away she ran.

At meal-time to the others The rat observed,--'My brothers, How happens it that we Are met to-day but three?

Is Miss Gazelle so little steady?

Hath she forgotten us already?'

Out cried the tortoise at the word,-- 'Were I, as Raven is, a bird, I'd fly this instant from my seat, And learn what accident, and where, Hath kept away our sister fair,-- Our sister of the flying feet; For of her heart, dear rat, It were a shame to doubt of that.'

The raven flew; He spied afar,--the face he knew,-- The poor gazelle entangled in a snare, In anguish vainly floundering there.

Straight back he turn'd, and gave the alarm; For to have ask'd the sufferer now, The why and wherefore, when and how, She had incurr'd so great a harm,-- And lose in vain debate The turning-point of fate, As would the master of a school,-- He was by no means such a fool.[30]

On tidings of so sad a pith, The three their council held forthwith.

By two it was the vote To hasten to the spot Where lay the poor gazelle.

'Our friend here in his sh.e.l.l, I think, will do as well To guard the house,' the raven said; 'For, with his creeping pace, When would he reach the place?

Not till the deer were dead.'

Eschewing more debate, They flew to aid their mate, That luckless mountain roe.

The tortoise, too, resolved to go.

Behold him plodding on behind, And plainly cursing in his mind, The fate that left his legs to lack, And glued his dwelling to his back.

The snare was cut by Rongemail, (For so the rat they rightly hail).

Conceive their joy yourself you may.

Just then the hunter came that way, And, 'Who hath filch'd my prey?'

Cried he, upon the spot Where now his prey was not.-- A hole hid Rongemail; A tree the bird as well; The woods, the free gazelle.

The hunter, well nigh mad, To find no inkling could be had, Espied the tortoise in his path, And straightway check'd his wrath.

'Why let my courage flag, Because my snare has chanced to miss?

I'll have a supper out of this.'

He said, and put it in his bag.

And it had paid the forfeit so, Had not the raven told the roe, Who from her covert came, Pretending to be lame.

The man, right eager to pursue, Aside his wallet threw, Which Rongemail took care To serve as he had done the snare; Thus putting to an end The hunter's supper on his friend.

'Tis thus sage Pilpay's tale I follow.

Were I the ward of golden-hair'd Apollo, It were, by favour of that G.o.d, easy-- And surely for your sake-- As long a tale to make As is the Iliad or Odyssey.

Grey Rongemail the hero's part should play, Though each would be as needful in his way.

He of the mansion portable awoke Sir Raven by the words he spoke, To act the spy, and then the swift express.

The light gazelle alone had had th' address The hunter to engage, and furnish time For Rongemail to do his deed sublime.

Thus each his part perform'd. Which wins the prize?

The heart, so far as in my judgment lies.[31]

[27] Bidpaii.

[28] _Madame de la Sabliere_.--See note to Fable I., Book X.: also Translator's Preface.

[29] _Some mortals kneeling at her feet_.--In allusion to the distinguished company which a.s.sembled at the house of Madame de la Sabliere. See notes on John Sobieski (King John III., of Poland), &c., Fable I., Book X.

[30] _Such a fool_.--In allusion to Fable XIX., Book I.

[31] This fable was also first published in the "Works" of De Maucroix and La Fontaine, 1685. The text of the later issue is slightly abridged.

XVI.--THE WOODS AND THE WOODMAN.[32]

A certain wood-chopper lost or broke From his axe's eye a bit of oak.

The forest must needs be somewhat spared While such a loss was being repair'd.

Came the man at last, and humbly pray'd That the woods would kindly lend to him-- A moderate loan--a single limb, Whereof might another helve be made, And his axe should elsewhere drive its trade.

O, the oaks and firs that then might stand, A pride and a joy throughout the land, For their ancientness and glorious charms!

The innocent Forest lent him arms; But bitter indeed was her regret; For the wretch, his axe new-helved and whet, Did nought but his benefactress spoil Of the finest trees that graced her soil; And ceaselessly was she made to groan, Doing penance for that fatal loan.

Behold the world-stage and its actors, Where benefits hurt benefactors!-- A weary theme, and full of pain; For where's the shade so cool and sweet, Protecting strangers from the heat, But might of such a wrong complain?

Alas! I vex myself in vain; Ingrat.i.tude, do what I will, Is sure to be the fashion still.

[32] First published in 1685, in the "Works" of De Maucroix and La Fontaine; a statement applying also to several of the remaining fables.

XVII.--THE FOX, THE WOLF, AND THE HORSE.[33]

A fox, though young, by no means raw, Had seen a horse, the first he ever saw: 'Ho! neighbour wolf,' said he to one quite green, 'A creature in our meadow I have seen,-- Sleek, grand! I seem to see him yet,-- The finest beast I ever met.'

'Is he a stouter one than we?'

The wolf demanded, eagerly; 'Some picture of him let me see.'

'If I could paint,' said fox, 'I should delight T' antic.i.p.ate your pleasure at the sight; But come; who knows? perhaps it is a prey By fortune offer'd in our way.'

They went. The horse, turn'd loose to graze, Not liking much their looks or ways, Was just about to gallop off.

'Sir,' said the fox, 'your humble servants, we Make bold to ask you what your name may be.'

The horse, an animal with brains enough, Replied, 'Sirs, you yourselves may read my name; My sh.o.e.r round my heel hath writ the same.'

The fox excus'd himself for want of knowledge: 'Me, sir, my parents did not educate,-- So poor, a hole was their entire estate.

My friend, the wolf, however, taught at college, Could read it were it even Greek.'

The wolf, to flattery weak, Approach'd to verify the boast; For which four teeth he lost.

The high raised hoof came down with such a blow, As laid him bleeding on the ground full low.

'My brother,' said the fox, 'this shows how just What once was taught me by a fox of wit,-- Which on thy jaws this animal hath writ,-- "All unknown things the wise mistrust."'

[33] Aesop.

XVIII.--THE FOX AND THE TURKEYS.

Against a robber fox, a tree Some turkeys served as citadel.

That villain, much provoked to see Each standing there as sentinel, Cried out, 'Such witless birds At me stretch out their necks, and gobble!

No, by the powers! I'll give them trouble.'

He verified his words.

The moon, that shined full on the oak, Seem'd then to help the turkey folk.

But fox, in arts of siege well versed, Ransack'd his bag of tricks accursed.

He feign'd himself about to climb; Walk'd on his hinder legs sublime; Then death most aptly counterfeited, And seem'd anon resuscitated.

A practiser of wizard arts Could not have fill'd so many parts.

In moonlight he contrived to raise His tail, and make it seem a blaze: And countless other tricks like that.

Meanwhile, no turkey slept or sat.

Their constant vigilance at length, As hoped the fox, wore out their strength.

Bewilder'd by the rigs he run, They lost their balance one by one.