Tales and Novels of J. de La Fontaine Part 17

AT length, resolved to shun the glorious light, Since her dear spouse no longer had the sight, O'erwhelmed with grief she sought Death's dreary cell, Her love to follow, and with him to dwell.

A SLAVE, through pity, with the widow went; To live or die with her she was content; To die, howe'er, she never could intend: No doubt she only thought about her friend, The mistress whom she never wished to quit, Since from her birth with her she used to sit.

They loved each other with a friendship true: From early years it daily stronger grew; Look through the universe you'll scarcely find, So great a likeness, both in heart and mind.

The slave, more clever than the lady fair, At first her mistress left to wild despair; She then essayed to soothe each torment dire; But reason 's fruitless, with a soul on fire.

No consolation would the belle receive, For one no more, she constantly would grieve, And sought to follow him to regions blessed:-- The sword had shortest proved, if not the best.

BUT still the lady anxious was to view, Again those precious relicks, and pursue, E'en in the tomb what yet her soul held dear No aliment she took her mind to cheer; The gate of famine was the one she chose, By which to leave this nether world of woes.

A DAY she pa.s.sed; another day the same; Her only sustenance, sobs, sighs, and flame Still unappeased; she murmur'd 'gainst her fate; But nothing could her direful woes abate.

ANOTHER corpse a residence had got, A trifling distance from the gloomy spot; But very diff'rent, since, by way of tomb, Enchained on gibbet was the latter's doom; To frighten robbers was the form designed, And show the punishment that rogues should find.

A SOLDIER, as a sentinel was set, To guard the gallows, who good payment met; 'Twas ruled, howe'er, if robbers, parents, friends, The body carried off, to make amends, The sentinel at once should take its place Severity too great for such a case; But publick safety fully to maintain, 'Twas right the sentry pardon should not gain.

WHILE moving round his post, he saw at night Shine, cross the tomb, a strange, unusual light, Which thither drew him, curious to unfold What, through the c.h.i.n.ks, his eyesight could behold.

OUR wight soon heard the lady's cries distressed, On which he entered, and with ardour pressed, The cause of such excessive grief to know, And if 'twas in his pow'r to ease her woe.

DISSOLVED in tears, and quite o'ercome with care; She scarcely noticed that a man was there.

The corpse, howe'er, too plainly told her pain, And fully seemed the myst'ry to explain.

We've sworn, exclaimed the slave, what's 'yond belief, That here we'll die of famine and of grief.

THOUGH eloquence was not the soldier's art, He both convinced 'twas wrong with life to part: The dame was great attention led to pay, To what the son of Mars inclined to say, Which seemed to soften her severe distress: With time each poignant smart is rendered less.

IF, said the soldier, you have made a vow, That you, some food to take will not allow; Yet, looking on while I my supper eat, Will not prolong your lives, nor oaths defeat.

HIS open manner much was formed to please; The lady and her maid grew more at ease, Which made the gen'rous sentinel conclude, To bring his meat they would not fancy rude.

THIS done, the slave no longer was inclined To follow Death, as soon she changed her mind.

Said she, good madam, pleasing thoughts I've got; Don't you believe that, if you live or not, 'Tis to your husband ev'ry whit the same?

Had you gone first, would he have had the name Of following to the grave as you design?

No, no, he'd to another course incline.

Long years of comfort we may clearly crave; At twenty years it's surely wrong to brave Both death and famine in a gloomy tomb There's time enough to think of such a doom.

At best, too soon we die; do let us wait; Here's nothing now at least to haste our fate.

In truth, I wish to see a good old age: To bury charms like your's, would that be sage?

Of what advantage, I should wish to know, To carry beauty to the shades below?

Those heavenly features make my bosom sigh, To think from earthly praise they mean to fly.

THIS flatt'ry roused the beauteous widowed fair; The G.o.d of soft persuasion soon was there, And from his quiver in a moment drew Two arrows keen, which from his bow-string flew; With one he pierced the soldier to the heart, The lady slightly felt the other dart.

Her youth and beauty, spite of tears, appeared, And men of taste such charms had long revered; A mind of tender feeling might, through life.

Have loved her--even though she were a wife.

THE sentinel was smitten with her charms; Grief, pity, sighs, belong to Cupid's arms; When bosoms heave and eyes are drowned in tears, Then beauty oft with conq'ring grace appears.

BEHOLD our widow list'ning to his praise, Incipient fuel Cupid's flame to raise; Behold her, even glad to view the wight, Whose well tim'd flatt'ry filled her with delight

AT length, to eat he on the fair prevailed, And pleased her better than the dead bewailed.

So well he managed, that she changed her plan, And, by degrees, to love him fondly 'gan.

The son of Mars a darling husband grew, While yet her former dear was full in view.

MEANTIME the corpse, that long in chains had swung, By thieves was carried off from where it hung.

The noise was heard, and thither ran our wight; But vain his efforts:--they were out of sight; Confused, distressed, he sought again the tomb, To tell his grief and settle, 'mid the gloom, How best to act, and where his head to hide, Since hang he must, the laws would now decide.

THE slave replied, your gibbet-thief, you say, Some lurking rogues this night have borne away: The law, it seems, will ne'er accord you grace The corpse that's here, let's set in t'other's place: The pa.s.sers-by the change will never tell The lady gave consent, and all was well.

O FICKLE females, ever you're the same; A woman's a woman, both in mind and name Some fair we find, and some unlike the dove, But CONSTANCY'S the highest charm of love.

YE prudes, for ever doubt of full success; Don't boast at all: too much you may profess, How good soever your design may be, Not less is ours, you easily may see; The MATRON'S tale is not beyond belief: To entertain, our object is in chief.

THE widow's only errors were her cries; And mad design her life to sacrifice; For, merely setting husband-dead in place of one of this patibulary race, Was surely not a fault so very grave: Her lover's life was what she sought to save.

A LIVING drum-boy, truly be it said, Is better far, than any monarch dead.

BELPHEGOR ADDRESSED TO MISS DE CHAMMELAY

YOUR name with ev'ry pleasure here I place, The last effusions of my muse to grace.

O charming Phillis! may the same extend Through time's dark night: our praise together blend; To this we surely may pretend to aim Your acting and my rhymes attention claim.

Long, long in mem'ry's page your fame shall live; You, who such ecstacy so often give; O'er minds, o'er hearts triumphantly you reign: In Berenice, in Phaedra, and Chimene, Your tears and plaintive accents all engage: Beyond compare in proud Camilla's rage; Your voice and manner auditors delight; Who strong emotions can so well excite?

No fine eulogium from my pen expect: With you each air and grace appear correct My first of Phillis's you ought to be; My sole affection had been placed on thee; Long since, had I presumed the truth to tell; But he who loves would fain be loved as well.

NO hope of gaining such a charming fair, Too soon, perhaps, I ceded to despair; Your friend, was all I ventured to be thought, Though in your net I more than half was caught.

Most willingly your lover I'd have been; But time it is our story should be seen.

ONE, day, old Satan, sov'reign dread of h.e.l.l; Reviewed his subjects, as our hist'ries tell; The diff'rent ranks, confounded as they stood, Kings, n.o.bles, females, and plebeian blood, Such grief expressed, and made such horrid cries, As almost stunned, and filled him with surprise.

The monarch, as he pa.s.sed, desired to know The cause that sent each shade to realms below.

Some said--my HUSBAND; others WIFE replied; The same was echoed loud from ev'ry side.

His majesty on this was heard to say: If truth these shadows to my ears convey, With ease our glory we may now augment: I'm fully bent to try th' experiment.

With this design we must some demon send, Who wily art with prudence well can blend; And, not content with watching Hymen's flock, Must add his own experience to the stock.

THE sable senate instantly approved The proposition that the monarch moved; Belphegor was to execute the work; The proper talent in him seemed to lurk: All ears and eyes, a prying knave in grain In short, the very thing they wished to gain.

THAT he might all expense and cost defray, They gave him num'rous bills without delay, And credit too, in ev'ry place of note, With various things that might their plan promote.

He was, besides, the human lot to fill, Of pleasure and of pain:--of good and ill; In fact, whate'er for mortals was designed, With his legation was to be combined.

He might by industry and wily art, His own afflictions dissipate in part; But die he could not, nor his country see, Till he ten years complete on earth should be.

BEHOLD him trav'lling o'er th' extensive s.p.a.ce; Between the realms of darkness and our race.

To pa.s.s it, scarcely he a moment took; On Florence instantly he cast a look;-- Delighted with the beauty of the spot, He there resolved to fix his earthly lot, Regarding it as proper for his wiles, A city famed for wanton freaks and guiles.

Belphegor soon a n.o.ble mansion hired, And furnished it with ev'ry thing desired; As signor Roderick he designed to pa.s.s; His equipage was large of ev'ry cla.s.s; Expense antic.i.p.ating day by day, What, in ten years, he had to throw away.

HIS n.o.ble entertainments raised surprise; Magnificence alone would not suffice; Delightful pleasures he dispensed around, And flattery abundantly was found, An art in which a demon should excel: No devil surely e'er was liked so well.

His heart was soon the object of the FAIR; To please Belphegor was their constant care.