Fables of La Fontaine Part 46

A troutling, some time since,[12]

Endeavour'd vainly to convince A hungry fisherman Of his unfitness for the frying-pan.

That controversy made it plain That letting go a good secure, In hope of future gain, Is but imprudence pure.

The fisherman had reason good-- The troutling did the best he could-- Both argued for their lives.

Now, if my present purpose thrives, I'll prop my former proposition By building on a small addition.

A certain wolf, in point of wit The prudent fisher's opposite, A dog once finding far astray, Prepared to take him as his prey.

The dog his leanness pled; 'Your lords.h.i.+p, sure,' he said, 'Cannot be very eager To eat a dog so meagre.

To wait a little do not grudge: The wedding of my master's only daughter Will cause of fatted calves and fowls a slaughter; And then, as you yourself can judge, I cannot help becoming fatter.'

The wolf, believing, waived the matter, And so, some days therefrom, Return'd with sole design to see If fat enough his dog might be.

The rogue was now at home: He saw the hunter through the fence.

'My friend,' said he, 'please wait; I'll be with you a moment hence, And fetch our porter of the gate.'

This porter was a dog immense, That left to wolves no future tense.

Suspicion gave our wolf a jog,-- It might not be so safely tamper'd.

'My service to your porter dog,'

Was his reply, as off he scamper'd.

His legs proved better than his head, And saved him life to learn his trade.

[11] Aesop.

[12] _A troutling_.--See Book V., Fable III.--Translator.

XI.--NOTHING TOO MUCH.[13]

Look where we will throughout creation, We look in vain for moderation.

There is a certain golden mean, Which Nature's sovereign Lord, I ween, Design'd the path of all forever.

Doth one pursue it? Never.

E'en things which by their nature bless, Are turn'd to curses by excess.

The grain, best gift of Ceres fair, Green waving in the genial air, By overgrowth exhausts the soil; By superfluity of leaves Defrauds the treasure of its sheaves, And mocks the busy farmer's toil.

Not less redundant is the tree, So sweet a thing is luxury.

The grain within due bounds to keep, Their Maker licenses the sheep The leaves excessive to retrench.

In troops they spread across the plain, And, nibbling down the hapless grain, Contrive to spoil it, root and branch.

So, then, with, licence from on high, The wolves are sent on sheep to prey; The whole the greedy gluttons slay; Or, if they don't, they try.

Next, men are sent on wolves to take The vengeance now condign: In turn the same abuse they make Of this behest divine.

Of animals, the human kind Are to excess the most inclined.

On low and high we make the charge,-- Indeed, upon the race at large.

There liveth not the soul select That sinneth not in this respect.

Of "Nought too much," the fact is, All preach the truth,--none practise.

[13] Abstemius.

XII.--THE WAX-CANDLE.[14]

From bowers of G.o.ds the bees came down to man.

On Mount Hymettus,[15] first, they say, They made their home, and stored away The treasures which the zephyrs fan.

When men had robb'd these daughters of the sky, And left their palaces of nectar dry,-- Or, as in French the thing's explain'd When hives were of their honey drain'd-- The spoilers 'gan the wax to handle, And fas.h.i.+on'd from it many a candle.

Of these, one, seeing clay, made brick by fire, Remain uninjured by the teeth of time, Was kindled into great desire For immortality sublime.

And so this new Empedocles[16]

Upon the blazing pile one sees, Self-doom'd by purest folly To fate so melancholy.

The candle lack'd philosophy: All things are made diverse to be.

To wander from our destined tracks-- There cannot be a vainer wish; But this Empedocles of wax, That melted in the chafing-dish, Was truly not a greater fool Than he of whom we read at school.

[14] Abstemius.

[15] _Mount Hymettus_.--This was the mountain whence the Greeks got fine honey.

[16] _Empedocles_.--A Pythagorean philosopher who a.s.serted that he had been, before becoming a man, a girl, a boy, a shrub, a bird, and a fish. He is further credited with the vanity of wis.h.i.+ng to be thought a G.o.d, and hence of throwing himself into Mount Etna to conceal his death. Unfortunately for the success of this scheme, says one story, he convicted himself of suicide by inadvertently leaving his slippers at the foot of the volcano.

XIII.--JUPITER AND THE Pa.s.sENGER.[17]

How danger would the G.o.ds enrich, If we the vows remember'd which It drives us to! But, danger past, Kind Providence is paid the last.

No earthly debt is treated so.

'Now, Jove,' the wretch exclaims, 'will wait; He sends no sheriff to one's gate, Like creditors below;'

But, let me ask the dolt, What means the thunderbolt?

A pa.s.senger, endanger'd by the sea, Had vow'd a hundred oxen good To him who quell'd old Terra's brood.

He had not one: as well might he Have vow'd a hundred elephants.

Arrived on sh.o.r.e, his good intents Were dwindled to the smoke which rose An offering merely for the nose, From half a dozen beefless bones.

'Great Jove,' said he, 'behold my vow!

The fumes of beef thou breathest now Are all thy G.o.ds.h.i.+p ever owns: From debt I therefore stand acquitted.'

With seeming smile, the G.o.d submitted, But not long after caught him well, By sending him a dream, to tell Of treasure hid. Off ran the liar, As if to quench a house on fire, And on a band of robbers fell.

As but a crown he had that day, He promised them of sterling gold A hundred talents truly told; Directing where conceal'd they lay, In such a village on their way.

The rogues so much the tale suspected, Said one, 'If we should suffer you to, You'd cheaply get us all detected; Go, then, and bear your gold to Pluto.'

[17] Aesop.

XIV.--THE CAT AND THE FOX.

The cat and fox, when saints were all the rage, Together went on pilgrimage.

Arch hypocrites and swindlers, they, By sleight of face and sleight of paw, Regardless both of right and law, Contrived expenses to repay, By eating many a fowl and cheese, And other tricks as bad as these.

Disputing served them to beguile The road of many a weary mile.

Disputing! but for this resort, The world would go to sleep, in short.

Our pilgrims, as a thing of course, Disputed till their throats were hoa.r.s.e.

Then, dropping to a lower tone, They talk'd of this, and talk'd of that, Till Renard whisper'd to the cat, 'You think yourself a knowing one: How many cunning tricks have you?

For I've a hundred, old and new, All ready in my haversack.'

The cat replied, 'I do not lack, Though with but one provided; And, truth to honour, for that matter, I hold it than a thousand better.'

In fresh dispute they sided; And loudly were they at it, when Approach'd a mob of dogs and men.

'Now,' said the cat, 'your tricks ransack, And put your cunning brains to rack, One life to save; I'll show you mine-- A trick, you see, for saving nine.'