Fables of La Fontaine Part 60

Her charms as witnesses shall serve; As witnesses, those talents high Pour'd on you by the lavish sky, Outs.h.i.+ning all pretence of peers Throughout your youthful years.

A Bourbon seasons grace with wit: To that which gains esteem, in mixture fit, He adds a portion from, above, Wherewith to waken love.

To paint your joy--my task is less sublime: I therefore turn aside to rhyme What did a certain bird of prey.

A kite, possessor of a nest antique, Was caught alive one day.

It was the captor's freak That this so rare a bird Should on his sovereign be conferr'd.

The kite, presented by the man of chase, With due respect, before the monarch's face, If our account is true, Immediately flew And perch'd upon the royal nose.

What! on the nose of majesty?

Ay, on the consecrated nose did he!

Had not the king his sceptre and his crown?

Why, if he had, or had not, 'twere all one: The royal nose, as if it graced a clown, Was seized. The things by courtiers done, And said, and shriek'd, 'twere hopeless to relate.

The king in silence sate: An outcry, from a sovereign king, Were quite an unbecoming thing.

The bird retain'd the post where he had fasten'd; No cries nor efforts his departure hasten'd.

His master call'd, as in an agony of pain, Presented lure and fist, but all in vain.

It seem'd as if the cursed bird, With instinct most absurd, In spite of all the noise and blows, Would roost upon that sacred nose!

The urging off of courtiers, pages, master, But roused his will to cling the faster.

At last he quit, as thus the monarch spoke: 'Give egress hence, imprimis, to this kite, And, next, to him who aim'd at our delight.

From each his office we revoke.

The one as kite we now discharge; The other, as a forester at large.

As in our station it is fit, We do all punishment remit.'

The court admired. The courtiers praised the deed, In which themselves did but so ill succeed.-- Few kings had taken such a course.

The fowler might have fared far worse; His only crime, as of his kite, Consisted in his want of light, About the danger there might be In coming near to royalty.

Forsooth, their scope had wholly been Within the woods. Was that a sin?-- By Pilpay this remarkable affair Is placed beside the Ganges' flood.

No human creature ventures, there, To shed of animals the blood: The deed not even royalty would dare.

'Know we,' they say,--both lord and liege,-- 'This bird saw not the Trojan siege?

Perhaps a hero's part he bore, And there the highest helmet wore.

What once he was, he yet may be.

Taught by Pythagoras are we, That we our forms with animals exchange; We're kites or pigeons for a while, Then biped plodders on the soil; And then As volatile, again The liquid air we range.--'

Now since two versions of this tale exist, I'll give the other if you list.

A certain falconer had caught A kite, and for his sovereign thought The bird a present rich and rare.

It may be once a century Such game is taken from the air; For 'tis the pink of falconry.

The captor pierced the courtier crowd, With zeal and sweat, as if for life; Of such a princely present proud, His hopes of fortune sprang full rife; When, slap, the savage made him feel His talons, newly arm'd with steel, By perching on his nasal member, As if it had been senseless timber.

Outshriek'd the wight; but peals of laughter, Which threaten'd ceiling, roof, and rafter, From courtier, page, and monarch broke: Who had not laugh'd at such a joke?

From me, so p.r.o.ne am I to such a sin, An empire had not held me in.

I dare not say, that, had the pope been there, He would have join'd the laugh sonorous; But sad the king, I hold, who should not dare To lead, for such a cause, in such a chorus.

The G.o.ds are laughers. Spite of ebon brows, Jove joints the laugh which he allows.

As history saith, the thunderer's laugh went up When limping Vulcan served the nectar cup.

Whether or not immortals here are wise, Good sense, I think, in my digression lies.

For, since the moral's what we have in view, What could the falconer's fate have taught us new?

Who does not notice, in the course of things, More foolish falconers than indulgent kings?

[21] Bidpaii.

[22] _Prince de Conti_.--This was Francis-Louis, Prince de la Roche-sur-Yon and de Conti, another of La Fontaine's great friends at court. He was born in Paris, 1664, and died in 1709.

[23] _Would Hymen dwell_.--An allusion to the marriage of the Prince with Marie-Theresa de Bourbon (Mdlle. de Blois, the daughter of the King and La Valliere), which took place in 1688.

XIII.--THE FOX, THE FLIES, AND THE HEDGEHOG.[24]

A fox, old, subtle, vigilant, and sly,-- By hunters wounded, fallen in the mud,-- Attracted, by the traces of his blood, That buzzing parasite, the fly.

He blamed the G.o.ds, and wonder'd why The Fates so cruelly should wish To feast the fly on such a costly dish.

'What! light on me! make me its food!

Me, me, the nimblest of the wood!

How long has fox-meat been so good?

What serves my tail? Is it a useless weight?

Go,--Heaven confound thee, greedy reprobate!-- And suck thy fill from some more vulgar veins!'

A hedgehog, witnessing his pains, (This fretful personage Here graces first my page,) Desired to set him free From such cupidity.

'My neighbour fox,' said he, My quills these rascals shall empale, And ease thy torments without fail.'

'Not for the world, my friend!' the fox replied.

'Pray let them finish their repast.

These flies are full. Should they be set aside, New hungrier swarms would finish me at last.'

Consumers are too common here below, In court and camp, in church and state, we know.

Old Aristotle's penetration Remark'd our fable's application; It might more clearly in our nation.

The fuller certain men are fed, The less the public will be bled.

[24] Aesop; also Philibert Hegemon, and others.

XIV.--LOVE AND FOLLY.[25]

Love bears a world of mystery-- His arrows, quiver, torch, and infancy: 'Tis not a trifling work to sound A sea of science so profound: And, hence, t' explain it all to-day Is not my aim; but, in my simple way, To show how that blind archer lad (And he a G.o.d!) came by the loss of sight, And eke what consequence the evil had, Or good, perhaps, if named aright-- A point I leave the lover to decide, As fittest judge, who hath the matter tried.

Together on a certain day, Said Love and Folly were at play: The former yet enjoy'd his eyes.

Dispute arose. Love thought it wise Before the council of the G.o.ds to go, Where both of them by birth held stations; But Folly, in her lack of patience, Dealt on his forehead such a blow As seal'd his...o...b.. to all the light of heaven.

Now Venus claim'd that vengeance should be given.

And by what force of tears yourselves may guess The woman and the mother sought redress.

The G.o.ds were deafen'd with her cries-- Jove, Nemesis, the stern a.s.size Of Orcus,--all the G.o.ds, in short, From whom she might the boon extort.

The enormous wrong she well portray'd-- Her son a wretched groper made, An ugly staff his steps to aid!

For such a crime, it would appear, No punishment could be severe: The damage, too, must be repair'd.

The case maturely weigh'd and cast, The public weal with private squared: Poor Folly was condemn'd at last, By judgment of the court above, To serve for aye as guide to Love.[26]

[25] It is thought that La Fontaine owed somewhat of his idea of this fable to one of the poems of Louise Labbe, "the beautiful ropemaker," as she was called, who lived between 1526 and 1566.

[26] This fable was first published in the collection of the "Works in Prose, and Verse of the Sieurs Maucroix and La Fontaine," issued by the joint authors in 1685. See, for M. de Maucroix, note to Fable I., Book III.

XV.--THE RAVEN, THE GAZELLE, THE TORTOISE, AND THE RAT.[27]

To Madame De La Sabliere.[28]

A temple I reserved you in my rhyme: It might not be completed but with time.

Already its endurance I had grounded Upon this charming art, divinely founded; And on the name of that divinity For whom its adoration was to be.

These words I should have written o'er its gate-- TO IRIS IS THIS PALACE CONSECRATE; Not her who served the queen divine; For Juno's self, and he who crown'd her bliss, Had thought it for their dignity, I wis, To bear the messages of mine.

Within the dome the apotheosis Should greet th' enraptured sight-- All heaven, in pomp and order meet, Conducting Iris to her seat Beneath a canopy of light!

The walls would amply serve to paint her life,-- A matter sweet, indeed, but little rife In those events, which, order'd by the Fates, Cause birth, or change, or overthrow of states.

The innermost should hold her image,-- Her features, smiles, attractions there,-- Her art of pleasing without care,-- Her loveliness, that's sure of homage.

Some mortals, kneeling at her feet,[29]-- Earth's n.o.blest heroes,--should be seen; Ay, demiG.o.ds, and even G.o.ds, I ween: (The wors.h.i.+pp'd of the world thinks meet, Sometimes her altar to perfume.) Her eyes, so far as that might be, Her soul's rich jewel should illume; Alas! but how imperfectly!