Fables of La Fontaine Part 63

My dogs, that never saw such jokes, Won't bark beyond these honest folks.'

The rogue would try the trick again.

He did so to his cost and pain.

Again with dogs the welkin rings; Again our fox from gallows swings; But though he hangs with greater faith, This time, he does it to his death.

So uniformly is it true, A stratagem is best when new.

The hunter, had himself been hunted, So apt a trick had not invented; Not that his wit had been deficient;-- With that, it cannot be denied, Your English folks are well-provision'd;-- But wanting love of life sufficient, Full many an Englishman has died.

One word to you, and I must quit My much-inviting subject: A long eulogium is a project For which my lyre is all unfit.

The song or verse is truly rare, Which can its meed of incense bear, And yet amuse the general ear, Or wing its way to lands afar.

Your prince[37] once told you, I have heard, (An able judge, as rumour says,) That he one dash of love preferr'd To all a sheet could hold of praise.

Accept--'tis all I crave--the offering Which here my muse has dared to bring-- Her last, perhaps, of earthly acts; She blushes at its sad defects.

Still, by your favour of my rhyme, Might not the self-same homage please, the while, The dame who fills your northern clime With winged emigrants sublime From Cytherea's isle?[38]

By this, you understand, I mean Love's guardian G.o.ddess, Mazarin.[39]

[35] Abstemius.

[36] _Madame Harvey_.--An English lady (_nee_ Montagu), the widow of an officer of Charles II. (of England) who is said to have died at Constantinople. She was a visitor at the English emba.s.sy in Paris, and moved in the highest circles generally of that city; a circ.u.mstance which enabled La Fontaine to make her acquaintance and secure her as one of his best friends and patrons. She died in 1702.

[37] _Your Prince_.--Charles II. of England.

[38] _Cytherea's isle_.--Where Venus was worshipped.

[39] _G.o.ddess Mazarin_.--The d.u.c.h.ess de Mazarin, niece to the Cardinal. She was at this time in England, where she died (at Chelsea) in 1699. She married the Duke de la Meilleraie, but it was stipulated that she should adopt the name and arms of Mazarin.

XXIV.--THE SUN AND THE FROGS.[40]

Long from the monarch of the stars The daughters of the mud received Support and aid; nor dearth nor wars, Meanwhile, their teeming nation grieved.

They spread their empire far and wide Through every marsh, by every tide.

The queens of swamps--I mean no more Than simply frogs (great names are cheap)-- Caball'd together on the sh.o.r.e, And cursed their patron from the deep, And came to be a perfect bore.

Pride, rashness, and ingrat.i.tude, The progeny of fortune good, Soon brought them to a bitter cry,-- The end of sleep for earth and sky.

Their clamours, if they did not craze, Would truly seem enough to raise All living things to mutiny Against the power of Nature's eye.

The sun,[41] according to their croak, Was turning all the world to smoke.

It now behoved to take alarm, And promptly powerful troops to arm.

Forthwith in haste they sent Their croaking emba.s.sies; To all their states they went, And all their colonies.

To hear them talk, the all That rides upon this whirling ball, Of men and things, was left at stake Upon the mud that skirts a lake!

The same complaint, in fens and bogs, Still ever strains their lungs; And yet these much-complaining frogs Had better hold their tongues; For, should the sun in anger rise, And hurl his vengeance from the skies, That kingless, half-aquatic crew Their impudence would sorely rue.

[40] Phaedrus, I., 6. Fable XII., Book VI., gives another version of the same story.

[41] _The sun_.--This fable has reference to the current troubles between France and the Dutch. Louis XIV. is the sun. He had adopted the sun as his emblem.

XXV.--THE LEAGUE OF THE RATS.

A mouse was once in mortal fear Of a cat that watch'd her portal near.

What could be done in such a case?

With prudent care she left the catship, And courted, with a humble grace, A neighbour of a higher race, Whose lordship--I should say his ratship-- Lay in a great hotel; And who had boasted oft, 'tis said, Of living wholly without dread.

'Well,' said this braggart, 'well, Dame Mouse, what should I do?

Alone I cannot rout The foe that threatens you.

I'll rally all the rats about, And then I'll play him such a trick!'

The mouse her court'sy dropp'd, And off the hero scamper'd quick, Nor till he reach'd the b.u.t.tery stopp'd, Where scores of rats were cl.u.s.tered, In riotous extravagance, All feasting at the host's expense.

To him, arriving there much fl.u.s.tered, Indeed, quite out of breath, A rat among the feasters saith, 'What news? what news? I pray you, speak.'

The rat, recovering breath to squeak, Replied, 'To tell the matter in a trice, It is, that we must promptly aid the mice; For old Raminagrab is making Among their ranks a dreadful quaking.

This cat, of cats the very devil, When mice are gone, will do us evil.'

'True, true,' said each and all; 'To arms! to arms!' they cry and call.

Some ratties by their fears Were melted e'en to tears.

It matter'd not a whisk, Nor check'd the valour brisk.

Each took upon his back Some cheese in haversack, And roundly swore to risk His carca.s.s in the cause.

They march'd as to a feast, Not flinching in the least.-- But quite too late, for in his jaws The cat already held the mouse.

They rapidly approach'd the house-- To save their friend, beyond a doubt.

Just then the cat came growling out, The mouse beneath his whisker'd nose.

And march'd along before his foes.

At such a voice, our rats discreet, Foreboding a defeat, Effected, in a style most fleet, A fortunate retreat.

Back hurried to his hole each rat, And afterwards took care to shun the cat.

XXVI.--DAPHNIS AND ALCIMADURE.

An Imitation Of Theocritus.[42]

To Madame De La Mesangere.[43]

Offspring of her to whom, to-day, While from thy lovely self away, A thousand hearts their homage pay, Besides the throngs whom friendship binds to please, And some whom love presents thee on their knees!

A mandate which I cannot thrust aside Between you both impels me to divide Some of the incense which the dews distil Upon the roses of a sacred hill, And which, by secret of my trade, Is sweet and most delicious made.

To you, I say, ... but all to say Would task me far beyond my day; I need judiciously to choose; Thus husbanding my voice and muse, Whose strength and leisure soon would fail.

I'll only praise your tender heart, and hale, Exalted feelings, wit, and grace, In which there's none can claim a higher place, Excepting her whose praise is your entail.

Let not too many thorns forbid to touch These roses--I may call them such-- If Love should ever say as much.

By him it will be better said, indeed; And they who his advices will not heed, Scourge fearfully will he, As you shall shortly see.

A blooming miracle of yore Despised his G.o.dship's sovereign power; They call'd her name Alcimadure.

A haughty creature, fierce and wild, She sported, Nature's tameless child.

Rough paths her wayward feet would lead To darkest glens of mossy trees; Or she would dance on daisied mead, With nought of law but her caprice.

A fairer could not be, Nor crueller, than she.

Still charming in her sternest mien,-- E'en when her haughty look debarr'd,-- What had she been to lover in The fortress of her kind regard!

Daphnis, a high-born shepherd swain, Had loved this maiden to his bane.

Not one regardful look or smile, Nor e'en a gracious word, the while, Relieved the fierceness of his pain.

O'erwearied with a suit so vain, His hope was but to die; No power had he to fly.

He sought, impell'd by dark despair, The portals of the cruel fair.

Alas! the winds his only listeners were!

The mistress gave no entrance there-- No entrance to the palace where, Ingrate, against her natal day, She join'd the treasures sweet and gay In garden or in wild-wood grown, To blooming beauty all her own.

'I hoped,' he cried, 'Before your eyes I should have died; But, ah! too deeply I have won your hate; Nor should it be surprising news To me, that you should now refuse To lighten thus my cruel fate.

My sire, when I shall be no more, Is charged to lay your feet before The heritage your heart neglected.

With this my pasturage shall be connected, My trusty dog, and all that he protected; And, of my goods which then remain, My mourning friends shall rear a fane.

There shall your image stand, midst rosy bowers, Reviving through the ceaseless hours An altar built of living flowers.

Near by, my simple monument Shall this short epitaph present: "Here Daphnis died of love. Stop, pa.s.senger, And say thou, with a falling tear, This youth here fell, unable to endure The ban of proud Alcimadure."'

He would have added, but his heart Now felt the last, the fatal dart.

Forth march'd the maid, in triumph deck'd, And of his murder little reck'd.