Fables of La Fontaine Part 8

The while, my towering form Dares with the mountain top The solar blaze to stop, And wrestle with the storm.

What seems to you the blast of death, To me is but a zephyr's breath.

Beneath my branches had you grown, That spread far round their friendly bower, Less suffering would your life have known, Defended from the tempest's power.

Unhappily you oftenest show In open air your slender form, Along the marshes wet and low, That fringe the kingdom of the storm.

To you, declare I must, Dame Nature seems unjust.'

Then modestly replied the reed: 'Your pity, sir, is kind indeed, But wholly needless for my sake.

The wildest wind that ever blew Is safe to me compared with you.

I bend, indeed, but never break.

Thus far, I own, the hurricane Has beat your st.u.r.dy back in vain; But wait the end.' Just at the word, The tempest's hollow voice was heard.

The North sent forth her fiercest child, Dark, jagged, pitiless, and wild.

The oak, erect, endured the blow; The reed bow'd gracefully and low.

But, gathering up its strength once more, In greater fury than before, The savage blast O'erthrew, at last, That proud, old, sky-encircled head, Whose feet entwined the empire of the dead![29]

[28] The groundwork of this fable is in Aesop, and also in the Fables of Avia.n.u.s. Flavius Avia.n.u.s lived in the fifth century. His Aesopian Fables were written in Latin verse. Caxton printed "The Fables of Avian, translated into Englyshe" at the end of his edition of Aesop.

[29] This fable and "The Animals Sick of the Plague" (Fable I., Book VII.), are generally deemed La Fontaine's two best fables. "The Oak and the Reed" is held to be the perfection of cla.s.sical fable, while "The Animals Sick of the Plague" is esteemed for its fine poetic feeling conjoined with its excellent moral teaching. See Translator's Preface.

BOOK II.

I.--AGAINST THE HARD TO SUIT.[1]

Were I a pet of fair Calliope, I would devote the gifts conferr'd on me To dress in verse old Aesop's lies divine; For verse, and they, and truth, do well combine; But, not a favourite on the Muses' hill, I dare not arrogate the magic skill, To ornament these charming stories.

A bard might brighten up their glories, No doubt. I try,--what one more wise must do.

Thus much I have accomplish'd hitherto:-- By help of my translation, The beasts hold conversation, In French, as ne'er they did before.

Indeed, to claim a little more, The plants and trees,[2] with smiling features, Are turn'd by me to talking creatures.

Who says, that this is not enchanting?

'Ah,' says the critics, 'hear what vaunting!

From one whose work, all told, no more is Than half-a-dozen baby stories.'[3]

Would you a theme more credible, my censors, In graver tone, and style which now and then soars?

Then list! For ten long years the men of Troy, By means that only heroes can employ, Had held the allied hosts of Greece at bay,-- Their minings, batterings, stormings day by day, Their hundred battles on the crimson plain, Their blood of thousand heroes, all in vain,-- When, by Minerva's art, a horse of wood, Of lofty size before their city stood, Whose flanks immense the sage Ulysses hold, Brave Diomed, and Ajax fierce and bold, Whom, with their myrmidons, the huge machine Would bear within the fated town unseen, To wreak upon its very G.o.ds their rage-- Unheard-of stratagem, in any age.

Which well its crafty authors did repay....

'Enough, enough,' our critic folks will say; 'Your period excites alarm, Lest you should do your lungs some harm; And then your monstrous wooden horse, With squadrons in it at their ease, Is even harder to endorse Than Renard cheating Raven of his cheese.

And, more than that, it fits you ill To wield the old heroic quill.'

Well, then, a humbler tone, if such your will is:-- Long sigh'd and pined the jealous Amaryllis For her Alcippus, in the sad belief, None, save her sheep and dog, would know her grief.

Thyrsis, who knows, among the willows slips, And hears the gentle shepherdess's lips Beseech the kind and gentle zephyr To bear these accents to her lover....

'Stop!' says my censor: 'To laws of rhyme quite irreducible, That couplet needs again the crucible; Poetic men, sir, Must nicely shun the shocks Of rhymes unorthodox.'

A curse on critics! hold your tongue!

Know I not how to end my song?

Of time and strength what greater waste Than my attempt to suit your taste?

Some men, more nice than wise, There's nought that satisfies.

[1] Phaedrus, Book IV. 7.

[2] _The plants and trees_.--Aristotle's rule for pure fable is that its _dramatis personae_ should be animals only--excluding man. Dr. Johnson (writing upon Gay's Fables) agrees in this dictum "generally." But hardly any of the fabulists, from Aesop downwards, seem to have bound themselves by the rule; and in this fable we have La Fontaine rather exulting in his a.s.signment of speech, &c., not only to the lower animals but to "plants and trees," &c., as well as otherwise defying the "hard to suit," _i.e._, the critics.

[3] _Half-a-dozen baby stories_.--Here La Fontaine exalts his muse as a fabulist. This is in reply to certain of his critics who p.r.o.nounced his work puerile, and pretended to wish him to adopt the higher forms of poetry. Some of the fables of the first six Books were originally published in a semi-private way before 1668. See the Translators Preface. La Fontaine defends his art as a writer of fables also in Book III. (Fable I.); Book V. (Fable I.); Book VI.

(Fable I.); Book VII. (Introduction); Book VIII. (Fable IV.), and Book IX. (Fable I).

II.--THE COUNCIL HELD BY THE RATS [4]

Old Rodilard,[5] a certain cat, Such havoc of the rats had made, 'Twas difficult to find a rat With nature's debt unpaid.

The few that did remain, To leave their holes afraid, From usual food abstain, Not eating half their fill.

And wonder no one will That one who made of rats his revel, With rats pa.s.s'd not for cat, but devil.

Now, on a day, this dread rat-eater, Who had a wife, went out to meet her; And while he held his caterwauling, The unkill'd rats, their chapter calling, Discuss'd the point, in grave debate, How they might shun impending fate.

Their dean, a prudent rat, Thought best, and better soon than late, To bell the fatal cat; That, when he took his hunting round, The rats, well caution'd by the sound, Might hide in safety under ground; Indeed he knew no other means.

And all the rest At once confess'd Their minds were with the dean's.

No better plan, they all believed, Could possibly have been conceived, No doubt the thing would work right well, If any one would hang the bell.

But, one by one, said every rat, 'I'm not so big a fool as that.'

The plan, knock'd up in this respect, The council closed without effect.

And many a council I have seen, Or reverend chapter with its dean, That, thus resolving wisely, Fell through like this precisely.

To argue or refute Wise counsellors abound; The man to execute Is harder to be found.

[4] Faerno and Abstemius both have fables upon this subject. Gabriel Faerno (1500-1561) was an Italian writer who published fables in Latin. Perrault translated these into French verse, and published them at Paris in 1699. Faerno was also a famous editor of Terence.

Laurentius Abstemius, or Astemio, was an Italian fabulist of the fifteenth century. After their first publication his fables often appeared in editions of Aesop.

[5] _Rodilard_.--The name no doubt taken from the famous cat Rodilardus (bacon-gnawer), in Rabelais, _Pantagruel_, IV., ch. LXVII.

III.--THE WOLF ACCUSING THE FOX BEFORE THE MONKEY.[6]

A wolf, affirming his belief That he had suffer'd by a thief, Brought up his neighbour fox-- Of whom it was by all confess'd, His character was not the best-- To fill the prisoner's box.

As judge between these vermin, A monkey graced the ermine; And truly other gifts of Themis[7]

Did scarcely seem his; For while each party plead his cause, Appealing boldly to the laws, And much the question vex'd, Our monkey sat perplex'd.

Their words and wrath expended, Their strife at length was ended; When, by their malice taught, The judge this judgment brought: 'Your characters, my friends, I long have known, As on this trial clearly shown; And hence I fine you both--the grounds at large To state would little profit-- You wolf, in short, as bringing groundless charge, You fox, as guilty of it.'

Come at it right or wrong, the judge opined No other than a villain could be fined.[8]

[6] Phaedrus, I. 10.

[7] _Themis_.--The G.o.ddess of Justice.

[8] So Philip of Macedon is said to have decided a suit by condemning the defendant to banishment and the plaintiff to follow him. The wisdom of each decision lies in taking advantage of a doubtful case to convict two well-known rogues of--previous bad character.

IV.--THE TWO BULLS AND THE FROG.[9]

Two bulls engaged in shocking battle, Both for a certain heifer's sake, And lordship over certain cattle, A frog began to groan and quake.

'But what is this to you?'

Inquired another of the croaking crew.

'Why, sister, don't you see, The end of this will be, That one of these big brutes will yield, And then be exiled from the field?