tales for children from many lands edited by f.c. tilney [illustration: the heart of thyrsis left.] the original fables of la fontaine rendered into english prose by fredk. colin tilney with coloured illustrations by the author london: j.m. dent & sons limited new york: e.p. dutton & company preface if deep wisdom, gentle satire, polite cynicism, and, above all, irresistible humour are qualities which make a book attractive then la fontaine's _fables_ should be in the hands of all. their charm is two-fold; for whilst they induce pleasurable reflection in the reader they delight him by the gaiety of their subject matter. notwithstanding the fact that the spell of la fontaine's verse necessarily disappears when another tongue is employed, his english translators, both elizur wright and walter thornbury, have courageously attempted to do him justice in prosody. in this little book no such effort has been made, chiefly for the reason that, for any but the unusually gifted, to snatch at rhythm and rhyme is often to let drop the apt and ready word as Æsop's mastiff dropped his dinner. but there is a further excuse for the present writer. verse has little attraction for children unless it jingles merrily, and that is a thing as impossible as it is undesirable where the claims of a philosophic original make restrictions. since the spirit is more likely to survive if the letter is not exacting, it is difficult to see why custom looks askance upon prose versions of poetry. but this little book may escape such censure on the ground of its being but a selection from the complete _fables_ of la fontaine. it presents only those of which the great fabulist was himself the originator. a selection of some sort being imperative there seemed to be a simple and easy choice in the condition of absolute originality; particularly as the older fables are given in another volume of this series. this translation (in which i gratefully acknowledge the assistance of my friend mrs. a.h. beddoe) is neither "free" nor literal. it sometimes amplifies a thought, much as a musician might amplify the harmonies upon a master's figured bass. but even this is rarely done, and then only with a view to the youthful reader's pleasure and profit. with that view, further, the social and political introductions to the fables have been omitted, as well as the scientific discourses and the allusions to the unfortunate wars of louis xiv. and other historical matters, all of which would have neither meaning nor interest but for "grown-ups" of a certain class. f.c. tilney. contents page the two mules the hare and the partridge the gardener and his landlord the man and his image the animals sick of the plague the unhappily married man the rat retired from the world the maiden the wishes the dairy-woman and the pail of milk the priest and the corpse the man who ran after fortune and the man who waited for her in his bed an animal in the moon the fortune-tellers the cobbler and the financier the power of fable the dog who carried his master's dinner thyrsis and amaranth the rat and the elephant the horoscope jupiter and the thunderbolts education democritus and the people of abdera the acorn and the pumpkin the schoolboy, the pedant, and the owner of a garden the sculptor and the statue of jupiter the oyster and the pleaders the cat and the fox the monkey and the cat the two rats, the fox, and the egg the dog with his ears cropped the lioness and the she-bear the rabbits the gods wishing to instruct a son of jupiter the lion, the monkey, and the two asses the wolf and the fox in the well the mice and the screech-owl the companions of ulysses the quarrel between the dogs and the cats and between the cats and the mice the wolf and the fox love and folly the forest and the woodcutter the fox and the young turkeys the ape the scythian philosopher the elephant and jupiter's ape the league of rats the arbiter, the hospitaller, and the hermit list of illustrations the heart of thyrsis leapt frontispiece "you boasted of being so swift" facing page over toppled the milk " the garret was still a sibyl's den " deliberately swallowed the oyster " "why cannot you be silent also?" " descended by his greater weight " a guide for the footsteps of love " the poet jean de la fontaine was born at château-thierry on july , . he was a kindly, merry, and generous man and much beloved. his fables were written in verse and were published in three collections at different times of his life. many were new versions of existing fables; but those of his later years were more often original inventions. all in this book are of la fontaine's own invention, although several have since appeared in collections of Æsop's fables without the acknowledgment that is la fontaine's due. he died on april , , at the age of seventy-three. [illustration] i the two mules (book i.--no. ) there were two heavily-laden mules making a journey together. one was carrying oats and the other bore a parcel of silver money collected from the people as a tax upon salt. this, we learn, was a tax which produced much money for the government, but it bore very hard upon the people, who revolted many times against it. the mule that carried the silver was very proud of his burden, and would not have been relieved of it if he could. as he stepped out he took care that the bells upon his harness should jingle well as became a mule of so much importance. suddenly a band of robbers burst into the road, pounced upon the treasure mule, seized it by the bridle, and stopped it short. struggling to defend itself the unhappy creature groaned and sighed as it cried: "is this then the fate that has been in store for me: that i must fall and perish whilst my fellow traveller escapes free from danger?" "my friend," exclaimed the mule that carried only the oats, and whom the robbers had not troubled about, "it is not always good to have exalted work to do. had you been like me, a mere slave to a miller, you would not have been in such a bad way now!" [illustration: you boasted of being so swift.] ii the hare and the partridge (book v.--no. ) never mock at other people's misfortune; for you cannot tell how soon you yourself may be unhappy. Æsop the sage has given us one or two examples of this truth, and i am going to tell you of a similar one now. a hare and a partridge were living as fellow-citizens very peacefully in a field, when a pack of hounds making an onset obliged the hare to seek refuge. he rushed into his form and succeeded in putting the hounds at fault. but here the scent from his over-heated body betrayed him. towler, philosophising, concluded that this scent came from his hare, and with admirable zeal routed him out. then old trusty, who never is at fault, proclaimed that the hare was gone away. the poor unfortunate creature at last died in his form. the partridge, his companion, thought fit to soothe his last moments with some scoffing remarks upon his fate. "you boasted of being so swift," she said "what has come to your feet, then?" but even as she was chuckling her own turn came. secure in the belief that her wings would save her whatever happened, she did not reckon upon the cruel talons of the hawk. iii the gardener and his landlord (book iv.--no. ) a man who had a great fondness for gardening, being half a countryman and half town-bred, possessed in a certain village a fair-sized plot with a field attached, and all enclosed by a quickset hedge. here sorrel and lettuce grew freely, as well as such flowers as spanish jasmine and wild thyme, and from these his good wife margot culled many a posy for her high days and holidays. this happy state of things was soon troubled by the visits of a hare, and to such an extent that the man had to go to his landlord and lodge a complaint. "this wretched animal," he said, "comes here and stuffs himself night and morning, and simply laughs at traps and snares. as for stones and sticks they make no difference whatever to him. he must be enchanted." "enchanted!" cried the landlord. "i defy enchantment! were he the devil himself old towler would soon rout him out in spite of his tricks. i'll rid you of him, my man, never fear!" "and when?" asked the man. "oh, to-morrow, without more delay!" the affair being thus arranged, on the morrow came the landlord with all his following. "first of all," he said, "how about breakfast? your chickens are tender i'll be bound. come here, my dear," he added, addressing the man's daughter, and then, to her father, "when are you going to let her marry? hasn't a son-in-law come on the scene yet? my dear fellow, this is a thing that positively must be done you know, you'll have to put your hand in your pocket to some purpose." so saying he sat down beside the damsel, took her hand, held her by the arm, toyed with her fichu, and took other silly and trifling liberties which the girl resented with great self-respect, whilst the father grew a little uneasy in his mind. nevertheless, the cooking went on. there was quite a run on the kitchen. "how ripe are your hams? they look good." "sir," replied the flattered host, "they are yours." "oh, really now! well i'll take them, and that right gladly." the landlord and his family, his dogs, his horses, and his men-servants, all take breakfast with hearty appetites. he assumes the host's place and privileges, drinks his wine and caresses his daughter. after this a crowd of hunters take seats at the breakfast table. now everybody is lively and busy with preparations for the hunt. they wind the horns to such purpose that the good man is dumbfounded by the din. worse than that they make terrible havoc in the poor garden. good-bye to all the neat rows and beds! good-bye to the chickory and the leeks! good-bye to all the pot-herbs! the hare lies hidden under the leaves of a great cabbage, but being discovered is quickly started, whereupon he rushes to a hole--nay, worse than a hole, a great and horrible gap in the poor hedge, made by the landlord's order, so that they might all burst out of the garden in fine style; for it would have looked ridiculous for them to ride out at the gate. the poor man objected. "this is fine fun for princes, no doubt----"; but they let him talk, whilst dogs and men together did more harm in one hour than all the hares in the province would have done in a century. little princes, settle your own quarrels amongst yourselves. it is madness to have recourse to kings. you should never let them engage in your wars, nor even enter your domains. iv the man and his image (book i.--no. ) once there was a man who loved himself very much, and who permitted himself no rivals in that love. he thought his face and figure the handsomest in all the world. anything in the shape of a mirror that could show him his own likeness he took care to avoid; for he did not want to be reminded that perhaps he was over-rating his beauty. for this reason he hated looking-glasses and accused them of being false. he made a very great mistake in this respect; but that he did not mind, being quite content to live in the happiness the mistake afforded him. to cure him of so grievous an error, officious fate managed matters in such a way that wherever he turned his eyes they would fall on one of those mute little counsellors that ladies carry and appeal to when they are anxious about their appearance. he found mirrors in the houses; mirrors in the shops; mirrors in the pockets of gallants; mirrors even as ornaments on waist-belts of ladies. what was he to do--this poor narcissus? he thought to avoid all such things by going far away from haunts of mankind, where he should never have to face a mirror again. but in the woods to which he retreated a clear rivulet ran. into this he happened to look and--saw himself again. angrily he told himself that his eyes had been deluded by an idle fancy. henceforth he would keep away from the water! this he tried his utmost to do; but who can resist the beauty of a woodland stream? there he was and remained, always with that which he had determined to shun. my meaning is easily seen. it applies to everybody; for everybody takes some joy in harbouring this very error. the man in love with himself stands for the soul of each one of us. all the mirrors wherein he saw himself reflected stand for the faults of other people, in which we really see our own faults though we hate to recognise them as such. as for the brook, that, as every one knows, stands for the book of maxims which the duke de la rochefoucauld[ ] wrote. footnotes: [footnote : this fable was dedicated to the duke de la rochefoucauld.] v the animals sick of the plague (book vii.--no. ) one of those dread evils which spread terror far and wide, and which heaven, in its anger, ordains for the punishment of wickedness upon earth--a plague in fact; and so dire a one as to make rich in one day that grim ferryman who takes a coin from all who cross the river acheron to the land of the dead--such a plague was once waging war against the animals. all were attacked, although all did not die. so hopeless was the case that not one of them attempted to sustain their sinking lives. even the sight of food did not rouse them. wolves and foxes no longer turned eager and calculating eyes upon their gentle and guileless prey. the turtle-doves went no more in cooing pairs, but were content to avoid each other. love and the joy that comes of love were both at an end. at length the lion called a council of all the beasts and addressed them in these words: "my dear friends, it seems to me that it is for our sins that heaven has permitted this misfortune to fall upon us. would it not be well if the most blameworthy among us allowed himself to be offered as a sacrifice to appease the celestial wrath? by so doing he might secure our recovery. history tells us that this course is usually pursued in such cases as ours. let us look into our consciences without self-deception or condoning. for my own part, i freely admit that in order to satisfy my gluttony i have devoured an appalling number of sheep; and yet what had they done to me to deserve such a fate? nothing that could be called an offence. sometimes, indeed, i have gone so far as to eat the shepherd too! on the whole, i think i had better render myself for this act of sacrifice; that is, if we agree that it is a thing necessary to the general good. and yet i think it would be only fair that every one should declare his sins as well as i; for i could wish that, in justice, it were the most culpable that should perish." "sire," said the fox, "you are really too yielding for a king, and your scruples show too much delicacy of feeling. eating sheep indeed! what of that?--a foolish and rascally tribe! is that a crime? no! a hundred times no! on the contrary your noble jaws did but do them great honour. as for the shepherd, it may be fairly said that all the harm he got he merited, since he was one of those who fancy they have dominion over the animal kingdom." thus spake the fox and every other flatterer in the assembly applauded him. nor did any seek to inquire deeply into the least pardonable offences of the tiger, the bear, and the other mighty ones. all those of an aggressive nature, right down to the simple watch-dog, were something like saints in their own opinions. when the ass stood forth in his turn he struck a different note: nothing of fangs and talons and blood. "i remember," he said, "that once in passing a field belonging to a monastery i was urged by hunger, by opportunity, by the tenderness of the grass, and perhaps by the evil one egging me on, to enter and crop just a taste, about as much as the length of my tongue. i know that i did wrong, having really no right there." at these words all the assembly turned upon him. the wolf took upon himself to make a speech proving without doubt that the ass was an accursed wretch, a mangy brute, who certainly ought to be told off for sacrifice, since through his wickedness all their misfortunes had come about. his peccadillo was judged to be a hanging matter. "what! eat the grass belonging to another? how abominable a crime! nothing but death could expiate such an outrage!" and forthwith they proved as much to the poor ass. accordingly as your power is great or small, the judgments of a court will whiten or blacken your reputation. vi the unhappily married man (book vii.--no. ) if goodness were always the comrade of beauty i would seek a wife to-morrow; but as divorce between these two is no new thing, and as there are so few lovely forms that enshrine lovely souls, thus uniting both one and the other delight, do not take it amiss that i refrain from seeking such a rare combination. i have seen many marriages, but not one of them has held out allurements for me. nevertheless, nearly the whole four quarters of mankind courageously expose themselves to this the greatest of all hazards, and--the whole four quarters usually repent it. i will tell you of one who, having repented, found that there was nothing for it but to send home again his quarrelsome, avaricious, and jealous spouse. she was one whom nothing pleased; for her, nothing was right. for her, one rose too late; one retired too early. first it was this, then it was that, and then again 'twas something else. the servants raged. the husband was at his wit's end. "you think of nothing, sir." "you spend too much." "you gad about, sir." "you are idle." indeed she had so much to say that, in the end, tired of hearing such a termagant, he sent her to her parents in the country. there she mixed with those who minded the turkeys and pigs until she was thought to be somewhat tamed, when the husband sent for her again. "well, my dear, how have you been getting on? how did you spend your time? did you like the simple life of the country?" "oh, pretty well!" she said, "but what annoyed me was to see the laziness of those people. they are worse there than here. they showed no care whatever for the herds and flocks they were supposed to mind. i didn't forget to let them know what i thought of them. of course, they didn't like it, and they all hated me in the end." "ah! my dear. if you fell foul of people whom you saw for but a moment or so in the day and when they returned in the evening--if you made them tired of you; what will the servants in this house become, who must have you railing at them the whole day long? and what will your poor husband do whom you expected to have near you all day and night too? return to the village, my dear. adieu! and if during my life the idea should possess me to have you back again, may i, for my sins, have two such as you for ever at my elbows in the world to come." [illustration] vii the rat retired from the world (book vii.--no. ) the ancients had a legend which told of a certain rat who, weary of the anxieties of this world, retired to a cheese, therein to live in peace. profound solitude reigned around the hermit. he worked so hard with his feet and his teeth that in a few days he had a spacious dwelling and food in plenty. what more could he desire? he thrived well, growing large and fat. blessings are showered upon those who are vowed to simplicity and renunciation! one day a deputation from rat-land waited upon him, begging that out of his abundance he would grant a slight dole towards fitting out a journey to a strange country where the rats hoped to get succour in their great war against the cat-tribe. ratopolis was besieged, and owing to the poverty of the beleaguered republic they were forced to start with empty wallets. they asked but little, believing that in a few days help would arrive. "my friends," said the hermit, "earthly affairs no longer concern me. in what way could a poor recluse assist you? what could he do but pray for the help you need! my best hopes and wishes you may be assured of." with these words this latest among the saints shut his door. whom have i in mind, do you think, when i speak of this rat, so sparing of his help? a monk?--oh, no! a dervish rather, for a monk, i suppose, is at all times charitable. viii the maiden (book vii.--no. ) a certain damsel of considerable pride made up her mind to choose a husband who should be young, well-built, and handsome; of agreeable manners and--note these two points--neither cold nor jealous. moreover, she held it necessary that he should have means, high birth, intellect; in fact, everything. but whoever was endowed with everything? the fates were evidently anxious to do their best for her, for they sent her some most noteworthy suitors. but these the proud beauty found not half good enough. "what, men like those! you propose them for me! why they are pitiable! look at them--fine types, indeed!" according to her one was a dullard; another's nose was impossible. with this it was one thing; with that it was another; for superior people are disdainful above all things. after these eligible gentlemen had been dismissed, came others of less worth, and at these too she mocked. "why," said she, "i would not bemean myself to open the door to such. they must think me very anxious to be married. thank heaven my single state causes me no regrets." the maiden contented herself with such notions until advancing age made her step down from her pedestal. adieu then to all suitors. one year passed and then another. her anxiety increased, and after anger came grief. she felt that those little smiles and glances which, at the bidding of love, lurk in the countenances of fair maidens were day by day deserting her. finally, when love himself departed, her features gave pleasure to none. then she had recourse to those hundred little ruses and tricks of the toilet to repair the ravages of time; but nothing that she could do arrested the depredations of that despicable thief. one may repair a house gone to ruin: but the same thing is not possible with a face! her refined ladyship now sang to a different tune, for her mirror advised her to take a husband without delay. perhaps also her heart harboured the wish. even superior persons may have longings! this one at last made a choice that people would at one time have thought impossible; for she was very pleased and happy in marrying an ugly cripple. ix the wishes (book vii.--no. ) when the great mogul held empire, there were certain little sprites who used to undertake all sorts of tasks helpful to mankind. they would do housework, stable-work, and even gardening. but if one interfered with them, all would be spoilt. one of these friendly sprites cultivated the garden of a worthy family living near the ganges. his duties were performed deftly and noiselessly. he loved not only his master and mistress, but the garden also. possibly the zephyrs, who are said to be friends of the sprites, helped him in his tasks. at any rate he did his very best, and never ceased in his efforts to load his hosts with every pleasure. to prove his zeal he would have stayed with these people for ever, in spite of the natural propensity of his kind for waywardness. but his mischievous fellow-sprites fell to plotting. they induced the chief of their band to remove him to another field of labour. this the chief promised and, either by caprice or by policy, finally brought about. orders came that the devoted worker should set out for the uttermost part of norway, there to take charge of a house which at all times of the year was covered with snow. so from being an indian, the poor thing became a laplander. "i am forced to leave you," he said to his hosts, "but for what fault of mine this has come to pass i cannot tell. i only know that go i must, and in a very little while too; a month perhaps, or maybe only a week. make the most of the interval. fortunately, i can fulfil three wishes for you; but not more than three." to mankind there is nothing very out-of-the-way in merely wishing. these good people decided that their first wish should be for abundance, and straightway. abundance, by the double-handful, poured gold into their coffers; wheat into their granaries; wine into their cellars. repletion was everywhere. but, alas, what cares of direction, what account keeping; what time and anxiety this affluence involved! thieves plotted against them. great lords borrowed from them. the prince taxed them. they were, in fact, reduced to misery by this excess of good fortune. at last they could endure it no longer. "take back this awful overplus of wealth," they cried. "even the poor are happy in comparison with us, and poverty is more covetable than such riches. away, then, with these treasures! and thou, sweet moderation, mother of all peace, sister of repose, come to us again!" with these words, which made their second wish, lo! moderation returned and they received her with open arms, once again enjoying peace. thus at the end of these two wishes they were exactly where they were in the first place, and so it is with all who are given to wishing, and wasting in dreams the time they had better have spent in doing. but being philosophical people they laughed, and the sprite laughed with them. to profit by his generosity when he had left them, they hazarded their third wish and asked for wisdom. wisdom is a treasure which never embarrasses. x the dairy-woman and the pail of milk (book vii.--no. ) a young country woman named perrette set out one morning from her little dairy-farm with a pail of milk which she cleverly balanced upon her head over a pad or cushion. she hurried with sprightly steps to the market town, and so that she might be the less encumbered, wore a kirtle that was short and light--in truth a simple petticoat--and shoes low and easy. as she went, her thoughts ran upon the price to be gained for her milk, and she schemed a way to lay out the sum in the purchase of one hundred eggs. she was sure that with care and diligence these would yield three broods. "it would be quite easy to me," she said, "to raise the chicks near the house. the fox would be clever who would not leave me enough to buy one pig. a pig would fatten at the cost of a little bran, and when he had grown a fair size i should make a bargain of him for a good round sum. and then, considering the price he will fetch, what is to prevent my putting into our stable a cow and a calf? i can fancy how the calf will frisk about among the sheep!" thereupon perrette herself frisked for joy, transported with the picture of her affluence. over toppled the milk! adieu to calf and cow and pig and broods! this lady of wealth had to leave, with tearful eyes, her dissipated fortunes, and go straight to her husband framing excuses to avoid a beating. [illustration: overtoppled the milk.] the farce became known to the whole countryside, and people called perrette by the name of "milkpail" ever after. who has never talked wildly? who has never built castles in spain? wise men as well as milkmaids; sages and fools, all have waking dreams and find them sweet! our senses are carried away by some flattering falsehood, and then wealth, honours, and beauty seem ours to command. alone with my thoughts i challenge the bravest. i dethrone monarchs and the people rejoicing crown me instead, showering diadems upon my head. then lo! a little accident happens to bring me back to my senses, and i am poor jack as before. xi the priest and the corpse (book vii.--no. ) there was a funeral. the dead body was progressing sadly towards its last resting place; and following rather gladly, was the priest who meant to bury it as soon as possible. the dead man, in a leaden coffin, was borne in a coach, and was properly shrouded in that robe the dead always wear be it summer or winter. as for the priest, he sat near it, intoning as hard as he could all sorts of orisons, psalms, lessons, verses, and responses, in the hope that the more he gave the more would be paid for. "leave it to me, mr. deadman," his actions seemed to say. "i'll give you a nice selection; a little of everything. it's only a matter of fees, you know." and the rev. john crow kept his eye on his silent charge as if he expected some one would make off with it. "mr. deadman," his looks proclaimed, "by you i shall receive so and so much in money, so and so much in wax candles, and, possibly, a little more in incidental profits. on the strength of these calculations he promised himself a quarter-cask of the best wine the neighbourhood could offer. beyond that he settled that a certain very attractive niece of his, as well as his housekeeper paquette, should both have new dresses. whilst these pleasant and generous thoughts were running in his mind there came a terrific shock. the car overturned. the rev. john crow's head was broken by the coffin which fell upon him. alas for the poor priest! he went to heaven with the parishioner he thought only to bury. in reality, life over and over again is nothing but the fate of the rev. john crow who counted on his dead, and of perrette who counted on her chickens. xii the man who ran after fortune and the man who waited for her in his bed (book vii.--no. ) who does not run after fortune? i would i were in some spot whence i could watch the eager crowds rushing from kingdom to kingdom in their vain chase after the daughter of chance! they are indeed but faithful followers of a phantom; for when they think they have her, lo! she is gone! poor wretches! one must pity rather than blame their foolishness. "that man," they say with sanguine voice, "raised cabbages; and now he is pope! are we not as good as he?" ah! yes! a hundred times as good perhaps; but what of that? fortune has no eyes for all your merit. besides, is papacy, after all, worth peace, which one must leave behind for it? peace--a treasure that once was the possession of gods alone--is seldom granted to the votaries of dame fortune. do not seek her; and then she will seek you. that is the way with women! there once were two friends, who lived comfortably and prospered moderately in a village; but one of them was always wishing to do better. one day he said to the other, "suppose we left this place and tried our luck elsewhere? you know that a prophet is never received in his own country!" "you try, by all means," returned his friend, "but as for me, i am contented where i am. i desire neither better climate nor better possibilities. you please yourself. follow your unquiet spirit. you'll soon return, and i shall sleep soundly enough awaiting you." so the man of ambition, or the money-grubber, whichever you like to call him, took to the road, and arrived next day at a place where, if anywhere, dame fortune should be found, namely, the court. he stayed at court for some long time, never missing an opportunity to put himself in the way of favours. he was in evidence when the king went to bed, when he arose, and on all other propitious occasions. "what's amiss?" he said at last. "fortune, i am convinced, dwells here; for i have seen her the guest now of this one and now of that one. how is it that i cannot entertain the capricious creature? i must try her elsewhere. i have already been told that the people of this place are exceedingly ambitious. evidently there is no room for me here. so, adieu! gentleman of the court, and follow to the bitter end this will-o'-the-wisp! they tell me that dame fortune has temples in surat. very well! we will go there." he embarked at once. what hearts of bronze have humankind! the man who first attempted this awful route and defied its terrors must have had a heart of adamant. often did our traveller turn his eyes towards his little home as first pirates, then contrary winds, then calms, then rocks--all agents of death--in turn assailed him. strange it is that men should take such pains to meet death, since it will come only too quickly to them in their homes! our adventurer arrived in india. there they told him that japan was the place where fortune dispensed her favours. he hurried there. the sea wearied of carrying him about. in the end all the profit his long voyages brought him was the lesson which he learnt from savages, and that was: "stop in your own country and let nature instruct you." japan, india, or anywhere else; no one place was better than another as a hunting ground for fortune; so the conclusion was forced upon him that he had been wiser had he stayed in his own village. at last he renounced all these ungrateful wanderings and returned to his own country; and as he caught sight of his homestead from afar he wept for joy, and cried: "happy is the man who, staying in his home, finds constant occupation in adjusting his desires to his surroundings. to him the court, the sea, and the land of fortune are but hearsay. thou, fickle dame, flaunting before our eyes dignities and wealth, dost cause us to follow after these allurements to the ends of the earth, only to find them empty shams. henceforth i wander no more, for here at home a hundred times more success shall i find." having registered this vow against fortune the wanderer came to the door of his friend, and lo! there sat fortune, waiting on the threshold, whilst his friend slumbered within. xiii an animal in the moon (book vii.--no. ) whilst one philosopher tells us that men are constantly the dupes of their own senses, another will swear that the senses never deceive. both are right. philosophy truly affirms that the senses will deceive so long as men are content to take upon trust the evidence the senses bring. but if this evidence is weighed, measured, and tested by every available resource of science the senses can deceive no one. * * * * * in england, not long ago, when a large telescope was levelled to observe the moon, the observer was astounded to see what he took to be some new animal in this lovely planet. everybody was excited about the marvellous appearance. something had occurred up above there which, without doubt, must betoken great changes of some sort. who could tell but that all the dreadful wars that were then convulsing europe had not been caused by it? the king, who patronised the sciences, hastened to the observatory to see the sight, and see it he did. there was the monster right enough! and what was it after all?--nothing but a poor little mouse that had by some unlucky chance got in between the lenses of the telescope. here was the cause of all the devastating wars! everybody laughed.... xiv the fortune-tellers (book vii.--no. ) reputations may be made by the merest chances, and yet reputations control the fashions. that is a little prologue that would fit the case of all sorts of people. everywhere around one sees prejudices, scheming, and obtuseness; but little or no justice. nothing can be done to stem this torrent of evil. it must run its course. it always has been and always will be. a woman in paris once made it her profession to tell fortunes. she became very popular and had great success. did anybody lose a bit of finery; had any one a sweetheart; had any wife a husband she was tired of; any husband a jealous wife, to the prophetess such would run simply to be told the thing that it was comforting to hear. the stock-in-trade of this fortune-teller consisted merely of a convincing manner, a few words of scientific jargon, a great deal of impudence, and much good luck. all these things together so impressed the people that as often as not they would cry, "miraculous!" in short, although the woman's ignorance was quite twenty-three carat she passed for a veritable oracle. notwithstanding the fact that this oracle only lived in a garret, she found so many ready to pay her well for her shams that she soon grew rich enough to improve the position of her husband, to rent an office, and buy a house. the garret being left empty was shortly tenanted by another woman to whom all the town--women, girls, valets, fine gentlemen--everybody in fact swarmed, as before, to consult their destiny. the former tenant had built up such a reputation that the garret was still a sibyl's den, in spite of the fact that quite a different creature dwelt in it. "i tell fortunes? surely you're joking! why, gentlemen, i cannot read, and as for writing, i never learnt more than to make my mark." but these disclaimers were useless. people insisted on having their fortunes told, and she had to do it. in consequence, she put by plenty of money, being able to earn, in spite of herself, quite as much as two lawyers could. the poverty of her home was a help rather than a hindrance. four broken chairs and a broom-handle savoured of a witch's frolic. if this woman had told the truth in a room well-furnished she would have been scorned. the fashion for a garret had set in, and garret it must be. in her new chambers the first fortune-teller waited in vain; for it was the outward sign alone that brought customers, and the sign was poverty. i have seen in a palace a robe worn awry win much distinction and success, such crowds of followers and adherents did it draw. you may well ask me why! [illustration: the garret was still a sybil's den.] xv the cobbler and the financier (book viii.--no. ) there was once a cobbler who was so light hearted that he sang from morning to night. it was wonderful to watch him at his work, and more wonderful still to hear his runs and trills. he was in fact happier than the seven sages. this merry soul had a neighbour who was exactly the reverse. he sang little and slept less; for he was a financier, and made of money, as they say. whenever it happened that after a sleepless night he would doze off in the early morning, the cobbler, who was always up betimes, would wake him up again with his joyful songs. "ha!" thought the man of wealth, "what a misfortune it is that one cannot buy sleep in the open market as one buys food and drink!" then an idea came to him. he invited the cobbler to his house, where he asked him some questions. "tell me, master gregory, what do you suppose your earnings amount to in a year?" "in a year," laughed the cobbler, "that's more than i know. i never keep accounts that way, nor even keep one day from another. so long as i can make both ends meet, that's good enough for me!" "really!" replied the financier. "but what can you earn in one day?" "oh, sometimes more and sometimes less. the mischief of it is that there are so many fête days and high-days and fast-days crowded into the year, on which, as the priest tells us, it is wicked to work at all; and worse still he keeps on finding some new saint or other to give weight to his sermons. if it were not for that, cobbling would be a fine paying game." at this the wealthy man laughed. "look here, my friend, to-day i'll lift you to the seats of the mighty! here is a hundred pounds. guard them and use them with care." when the cobbler held the bag of money in his hand he imagined that it must be as much as would be coined in a hundred years. returning home he buried the cash in his cellar. alas! he buried his joy with it, for there were no more songs. from the moment he came into possession of this wealth, the love of which is the root of all evil, his voice left him, and not only his voice, but his sleep also. and in place of these came anxiety, suspicion, and alarms; guests which abode with him constantly. all day he kept his eye on the cellar door. did a cat make a noise in the night, then for a certainty that cat was after his money. at last, in despair, the wretched cobbler ran to the financier whom he now no longer kept awake. "oh, give me back my joy in life, my songs, my sleep; and take your hundred pounds again." xvi the power of fable (book viii.--no. ) in the old, vain, and fickle city of athens, an orator,[ ] seeing how the light-hearted citizens were blind to certain dangers which threatened the state, presented himself before the tribune, and there sought, by the very tyranny of his forceful eloquence, to move the heart of the republic towards a sense of the common welfare. but the people neither heard nor heeded. then the orator had recourse to more urgent arguments and stronger metaphors, potent enough to touch hearts of stone. he spoke in thunders that might have raised the dead; but his words were carried away on the wind. the beast of many heads[ ] did not deign to hear the launching of these thunderbolts. it was engrossed in something quite different. a fight between two urchins was what the crowd found so engaging; not the orator's warnings. what then did the speaker do? he tried another plan. "ceres," he began, "made a voyage one day with an eel and a swallow. after a time the three travellers were stopped by a river. this the eel got over by swimming and the swallow by flying----" "well! what about ceres? what did she do?" cried the crowd with one voice. "she did what she did!" retorted the speaker in anger. "but first she raged against you. what! does it take a child's story to open your ears, you who should be eager for any news of the peril that menaces; you, the only state in greece that takes no heed? you ask what ceres did. why do you not ask what philip[ ] does?" at this reproach the assembly was stirred. a mere fable brought them open-eared to all the orator would say. we are all athenians in this respect. i myself am, even as i point this moral. i should take the utmost pleasure now in hearing "the ass's skin"[ ] told to me. the world is old, they say: so it is; but, nevertheless, it is as greedy of amusement as a child. footnotes: [footnote : elizur wright explains that the orator was demades.] [footnote : horace spoke of the roman people as a beast with many heads.] [footnote : philip of macedon, who was at war against the greeks.] [footnote : an old french nursery tale.] xvii the dog who carried his master's dinner (book viii.--no. ) our hands are no more proof against gold than our eyes are proof against beauty. there are but few who guard their treasures with care enough. a certain dog who had been taught to carry to his master the mid-day meal was one day trotting along with the savoury burden slung around his neck. he was tempted to take a taste himself; but knew that it would be wrong to do so, and being a temperate, self-governed dog he refrained. we of the human race allow ourselves to be tempted by covetable things often enough; but, strange as it is, there seems to be more difficulty in teaching mankind to resist temptation than there is in teaching dogs to do so. on this particular day the dog was met by a mastiff who at once wanted the dinner, but did not find it so easy to capture as he thought; for our dog put it down and stood guard over it. there was a mighty tussle. soon others arrived; curs that were used to knocks and kicks while picking up a living in the streets. seeing that he should be badly over-matched, and that his master's dinner was in danger of being devoured by the crowd, he bethought himself how he too might have his share, if shared it must be. so he very wisely exclaimed, "no fighting, gentlemen, my bit will suffice me. do as you please with the rest." with these words he snapped up a portion, upon which all the rest began to pull and jostle to their utmost and feasted merrily. in this i seem to see the picture of one of those unfortunate towns or states which occasionally have suffered from the greed of their ministers and officials. each functionary has an eye to his own advantage, and the smartest sets a pattern for the others. the way in which the public funds disappear is amusing. if one sheriff or provost, having a scruple of conscience, finds a trifling argument in defence of the public interest the others show him that he is a fool if he utters half a word. so, with a very little trouble, he gives way, and often becomes the leading offender. xviii thyrsis and amaranth (book viii.--no. ) a shepherd who was deeply in love with a shepherdess was sitting one day by her side trying to find words to express the emotions her charms created in his breast. "ah! amaranth, dear," he sighed, "could you but feel, as i do, a certain pain which, whilst it tears the heart, is so delightful that it enchants, you would say that nothing under heaven is its equal. let me tell you of it. believe me, trust me. would i deceive you? you, for whom i am filled with the tenderest sentiments the heart can feel!" "and what, my thyrsis, is the name you give this pleasing pain?" "it is called love," said thyrsis. "ah!" responded the maiden, "that is a beautiful name. tell me by what signs i may know it, if it come to me. what are the feelings it gives one?" thyrsis, taking heart of grace, replied with much ardour: "one feels an anguish beside which the joys of kings are but dull and insipid. one forgets oneself, and takes pleasure in the solitudes of the woods. to glance into a brook is to see, not oneself, but an ever-haunting image. to any other form one's eyes are blind. it may be that there is a shepherd in the village at whose voice, at the mention of whose name, you will blush; at the thought of whom you will sigh. why, one knows not! to see him will be a burning desire, and yet you would shrink from him." "oho!" said amaranth. "is this then the pain you have preached so much! it is hardly new to me. i seem to know something of it." the heart of thyrsis leapt, for he thought that at last he had gained his end; when the fair one added, "'tis just in this way that i feel for cladimant!" imagine the vexation and misery of poor thyrsis! how many like him, intending to work solely for themselves, prove only to have been stepping stones for others. xix the rat and the elephant (book viii.--no. ) an uncommonly small rat was watching an uncommonly big elephant and sneering at the slowness of his steps. the enormous animal was heavily laden. on his back rose a three-storied howdah, wherein were accommodated a celebrated sultana, her dog, her cat, her monkey, her parrot, her old servant, and all her household. they were going upon a pilgrimage. the rat wondered why all the people should express astonishment at seeing this enormous bulk--"as if the fact of occupying more or less space implied that one was the more or less important accordingly! what is it you admire in him, you men? if it is only the weight of his body which fills the children with terror, then we rats, small as we are, consider ourselves not one grain less than the elephant." he would have said more; but the cat, bounding out of her cage, let him see in an instant that a rat is not an elephant. xx the horoscope (book viii.--no. ) our destiny is frequently met in the very paths we take to avoid it. a father had an only son whom he loved excessively. his devoted affection caused him to be so anxious as to the boy's welfare that he sought to learn from astrologers and fortune-tellers what fate was in store for the son and heir. one of these soothsayers told him that an especial danger lay with lions, from which the youth must be guarded until the age of twenty was reached, but not after. the father, to make sure of this precaution, upon the issue of which depended the life of his loved one, commanded that by no chance should the boy ever be permitted to go beyond the threshold of the house. ample provision was made for the satisfaction of all the wishes proper to youth in the way of play with his companions, jumping, running, walking, and so forth. as the age approached when the spirits of youth yearn for the chase, he was taught to hold that sport in abhorrence. but temperament cannot be changed by persuasion and counsel, nor by enlightenment. the young man, eager, ardent, and full of courage, no sooner felt the promptings of his years than he sighed for the forbidden pleasures. the greater the hindrance the stronger the desire. knowing the reason of his galling restrictions, and viewing day by day in his palatial home the hunting scenes pictured in paint and tapestry on every wall, his excitement became unrestrained. once his eye fell upon a pictured lion. "ah! monster!" he exclaimed in a transport of indignation. "it is to you that the shade and fetters in which i live are due!" with that he struck the lion's form a heavy blow with his fist. hidden under the tapestry a great nail offered its cruel point, and upon this his hand was impaled. the wound grew beyond the reach of medical skill, and in the end this life, so guarded and cherished, was lost by means of the very care taken to preserve it. the same jealous precaution proved fatal to the poet Æschylus. it is said that some fortune-teller menaced him with the fall of a house as his doom, upon which he at once left the town and made his bed in the open fields, far from roofs and beneath the sky. but an eagle flew by overhead carrying in its talons a tortoise, and seeing the bald head of the poet beneath, which it mistook for a stone, the bird let fall its prey in order to break the shell of the tortoise. thus were the days of poor Æschylus ended. from these two examples it would seem that this art of fortune-telling, if there be any truth in it, causes one to fall into the very evil one would be in dread of when one consulted it. but i will demonstrate and maintain that the art is false. i do not believe that nature would have tied her own hands, and ours also, to the extent of marking our fate in the heavens. for our fate depends upon certain combinations of time, place, and people; not upon the combinations of charlatans. a shepherd and a king are born under the same planet: one carries the sceptre; the other the crook. the planet jupiter willed it so! but what is this planet jupiter? a body without senses. whence comes it then that its influence works so differently on these two men? further, how could its influence, if it had any, penetrate through endless voids to our world? * * * * * do not attach too much importance to the two instances i have related. this beloved son and the good man Æschylus are beside the mark. nevertheless, however blind and lying is the fortuneteller's art, it may yet hit home once in a thousand times. that is just a matter of chance. [illustration] xxi jupiter and the thunderbolts (book viii--no. ) one day, as jupiter seated on high looked down upon the world, he was incensed at the faults committed by mankind. "let us," he said, "have some other occupants in the regions of the universe in place of these present inhabitants who importune and weary me. go you to hades, mercury, and bring hither the cruellest of the furies. this time, o race that i have too tenderly nurtured, you shall perish." after this outburst the temper of the god began to cool. o ye sovereigns of this world, to whom it has been given to be the arbiters of our destinies, let a night intervene between your wrath and the storm which follow! mercury, light of wing and sweet of tongue, descended to the abode of the dread sisters tisiphone, megæra, and alecto, and his choice fell upon the latter, the pitiless one. she, feeling proud of the preference, grew so arrogant as to swear by pluto that the whole of the human brood should soon people his domains. but jupiter did not approve of the vow this member of the eumenides had sworn, and he sent her back to hades. at the same time he launched a thunderbolt upon one particularly perfidious race of men. this, however, being hurled by a father's arm, mercifully fell in a desert, causing less ruin than alarm. what followed from this was simply that the wicked brood took heart at such indulgence and did not trouble to mend their ways. then all the gods in olympus complained, until he who controls the clouds swore by the styx that further storms should be sent and that they should not fail as the other had. the olympians only smiled at this. they told jupiter that as he was the father it would be better if he left in other hands the making of thunderbolts. vulcan undertook the task. soon his furnaces glowed with bolts of two kinds; one that hits its mark with a deadly unerring--and that is the sort which any of the olympian gods will hurl; whilst the other sort was that which becomes scattered on its course and does damage only to the mountain tops, or perchance is even lost on the way. it is this kind of thunderbolt that jupiter sends. his fatherly heart permits him to use no other. xxii education (book viii.--no. ) once upon a time there were two dogs, one named lurcher and the other cæsar. they were brothers; handsome, well-built, and plucky, and descended from dogs who were famous in their day. these two brothers, falling into the hands of different masters, found their destinies likewise in different spheres; for whilst one haunted the forests, the other lurched about a kitchen. the names to which they now answered were not, however, the names that were first given them. the influence of each one's career upon his nature brought about a new name and a new reputation; for cæsar's nature was improved and strengthened by the life he led, whilst lurcher's was made more and more despicable by a degraded existence. a scullion named him lurcher; but the other dog received his noble name on account of his life of high adventure. he had held many a stag at bay, killed many a hare, and otherwise risen to the position of a cæsar among dogs. care was taken that he should not mate indiscriminately, so that his descendants' blood should not degenerate. on the other hand, poor lurcher bestowed his affections wherever he would and his brood became populous. he was the progenitor of all turn-spits in france; a variety which became common enough to form at last a race in themselves. they show more readiness to flee than to attack, and are the very antipodes of the cæsars. we do not always follow our ancestors, nor even resemble our fathers. want of care, the flight of time, a thousand things, cause us to degenerate. ah! how many, cæsars, failing to cultivate their best nature and their gifts, become lurchers! xxiii democritus and the people of abdera (book viii.--no. ) how i have always hated the opinions of the mob! to me, a mob seems profane, unjust, and rash, putting false construction on all things, and judging every matter by a mob-made standard. democritus had experience of this. his countrymen thought him mad. little minds! but then, no one is a prophet in his own country! the people themselves were mad, of course, and democritus was the wise man. nevertheless the error went so far that the city of abdera[ ] sent a messenger to the great physician hippocrates, requesting him both by letter and by spoken word to come and restore the sage's reason. "our citizen," said the spokesman with tears in his eyes, "has lost his wits, alas! study has corrupted democritus. if he were less wise we should esteem him much more. he will have it that there is no limit to the number of worlds like ours and that possibly they are inhabited with numberless democrituses. not satisfied with these wild dreams, he talks also of atoms--phantoms born only in his own empty brain. then, measuring the very heavens, though he remains here below to do it, he claims to know the universe; yet admits that he does not know himself. time was when he could control debates, now he mutters only to himself. so come, thou divine mortal, for the patient's case is a bad one." hippocrates, though he had little faith in these people, went nevertheless. now mark, i beg of you, what strange meetings fate may bring about in this life! hippocrates arrived just at the time when this man, who was supposed to have neither sense nor reason, happened to be searching into a question as to whether this very reason was seated in the heart or in the head of men and beasts. sitting in leafy shade, beside a brook, and with many a volume at his feet, he was occupied wholly with a study of the convolutions of the brain; and thus absorbed, as his manner was, he scarcely noticed the advance of his friend the learned physician. their greeting was soon over as you may imagine, for the sage is at all times chary of time and speech. so having put aside mere trifles of conversation, they reasoned upon man and his mind, and next fell to talking upon ethics. it is not necessary that i should here enlarge upon what each had to say to the other on these matters. the little tale suffices to show that we may rightly take exception to the judgments of the mob. that being so, in what sense is it true, as i have read in a certain passage, that the voice of the people is the voice of god? footnotes: [footnote : a city on the shores of thracia.] [illustration] xxiv the acorn and the pumpkin (book ix.--no. ) what god does is done well. without going round the world to seek a proof of that, i can find one in the pumpkin. a villager was once struck with the largeness of a pumpkin and the thinness of the stem upon which it grew. "what could the almighty have been thinking about?" he cried. "he has certainly chosen a bad place for a pumpkin to grow. eh zounds! now i would have hung it on one of these oaks. that would have been just as it should be. like fruit, like tree! what a pity, hodge," said he, addressing himself, "that you were not on the spot to give advice at the creation which the parson preaches about. everything would have been properly done then. for instance; wouldn't this acorn, no bigger than my little finger, be better hanging on this frail stem? the almighty has blundered there surely! the more i think about these fruits and their situations, the more it seems to me that it is all a mistake." becoming worried by so much reflection our hodge cast himself under an oak saying, "a man can't sleep when he has so much brain." then he at once dropped off into a nap. presently an acorn fell plump upon his nose. starting from sleep, he put his hand up to see what had happened and found the acorn caught in his beard, whilst his nose began to pain and bleed. "oh, oh!" he cried, "i am bleeding. how would it have been if a heavier mass than this had fallen from the tree: if this acorn had been a pumpkin? the almighty did not intend that, i see. doubtless he was right. i understand the reason why perfectly now." so praising god for all things hodge took his way home. xxv the schoolboy, the pedant, and the owner of a garden (book ix.--no. ) a youngster, who was doubly foolish and doubly a rogue--in which perhaps he savoured of the school he went to--was given, they say, to robbing a neighbour's garden of its fruit and flowers. this may have been because he was too young to know better, and perhaps because teachers do not always mould the minds of young people in the right way. the owner of the garden boasted in each season the very best of what was due. in spring he could show the most delightful blossoms and in autumn the very pick of all the apples. one day he espied this schoolboy carelessly climbing a fruit tree and knocking off the buds, those sweet and fragile forerunners of promised fruit in abundance. the urchin even broke off a bough, and did so much other damage that the owner sent a message of complaint to the boy's schoolmaster. this worthy soon appeared, and behind him a tribe of the scholars, who swarmed into the orchard and began behaving worse than the first one. the schoolmaster's plan in thus aggravating the injury was really to make an opportunity for delivering them all a good lesson, which they should remember all their lives. he quoted virgil and cicero; he made many scientific allusions and ran his discourse to such a length that the little wretches were able to get all over the garden and despoil it in a hundred places. i hate pompous and pedantic speeches that are out of place and never-ending; and i do not know a worse fool in the world than a naughty schoolboy--unless indeed it be the schoolmaster of such a boy. the better of them would never suit me as a neighbour. xxvi the sculptor and the statue of jupiter (book ix.--no. ) once a sculptor who saw for sale a block of marble was so struck with its beauty that he could not resist the temptation to buy it. when it was in his studio he thought to himself, "now what shall my chisel make of it? shall it be a god, a table, or a basin? it shall be a god. and i, myself, shall ordain that the god shall poise a thunderbolt in his hand. so tremble, mortals, and worship! behold the lord of the earth!" the artist set to work and expressed so powerfully the attributes of the god that those who saw it averred that it only lacked speech to be jupiter himself. it is said that the sculptor had scarcely completed the statue when he became so overawed as to fear and tremble before the work of his own hands. the poet of old, likewise, greatly dreaded the hate and the wrath of the gods he himself created: a weakness which left little to choose between him and the sculptor. these traits are those of childhood. the minds of children are always anxious lest any one should maltreat their dolls. the emotions invariably give the lead to the intellect, and this fact accounts for the great error of paganism. for that error has been prompted by the emotions of men in all the peoples of the earth. men uphold with fanatic zeal the interests of the unreal creatures of their imagination. pygmalion became enamoured of the venus[ ] he had created, and in the same way every one tries to turn his dreams into reality. man remains as ice before truth, but catches fire before illusion. footnotes: [footnote : la fontaine forgets. it was galatea whose image pygmalion created and whom venus brought to life.] xxvii the oyster and the pleaders (book ix.--no. ) one day two pilgrims espied upon the sands of the shore an oyster that had been thrown up by the tide. they devoured it with their eyes whilst pointing at it with their fingers; but whose teeth should deal with it was a matter of dispute. when one stopped to pick up the prey the other pushed him away saying: "it would be just as well first to decide which of us is to have the pleasure of it. he who first saw it should swallow it, and let the other watch him eat." "if you settle the affair that way," replied his companion, "i have good eyes, thank god." "but my sight is not bad either," said the other, "and i saw it before you did, and that i'll stake my life upon." "well, suppose you did see it, i smelt it." during this lively interlude justice nincompoop arrived on the scene, and to him they appealed to judge their claims. the justice very gravely took the oyster, opened it, and put it into his mouth, whilst the two claimants looked on. having deliberately swallowed the oyster, the justice, in the portentous tones of a lord chief justice, said, "the court here awards each of you a shell, without costs. let each go home peaceably." reckon what it costs to go to law in these days. then count what remains to most families. you will see that justice nincompoop draws all the money and leaves only the empty purse and the shells to the litigants. [illustration: deliberately swallowed the oyster.] xxviii the cat and the fox (book ix.--no. ) the cat and the fox, in the manner of good little saints, started out upon a pilgrimage. they were both humbugs, arch-hypocrites, two downright highwaymen, who for the expenses of their journey indemnified themselves by seeing who could devour the most fowls and gobble the most cheese. the way was long and therefore wearisome, so they shortened it by arguing. argumentation is a great help. without it one would go to sleep. our pilgrims shouted themselves hoarse. then having argued themselves out, they talked of other things. at length the fox said to the cat, "you pretend that you're very clever. do you know as much as i? i have a hundred ruses up my sleeve." "no," answered the cat, "i have but one; but that is always ready to hand, and i maintain that it is worth a thousand other dodges." then they fell again to disputing one against the other on each side of the question, the whys and the wherefores, raising their voices higher and higher. presently the sudden appearance of a pack of hounds stopped their noise. the cat said to the fox, "now, my friend, ransack that cunning brain of yours for one of your thousand ruses. fetch down from your sleeve one of those certain stratagems. as for me, this is my dodge." so saying, he bounded to a tall tree and climbed to its top with alacrity. the fox tried a hundred futile doublings; ran into a hundred holes; put the hounds at fault a hundred times; tried everywhere to find a safe place of retreat, but everywhere failed between being smoked out of one and driven out of another by the hounds. finally, as he came out of a hole two nimble dogs set upon him and strangled him at the first grip. too many expedients may spoil the business. one loses time in choosing between them and in trying too many. have only one; but let it be a good one. xxix the monkey and the cat (book ix.--no. ) bertrand was a monkey and ratter was a cat. they shared the same dwelling and had the same master, and a pretty mischievous pair they were. it was impossible to intimidate them. if anything was missed or spoilt, no one thought of blaming the other people in the house. bertrand stole all he could lay his hands upon, and as for ratter, he gave more attention to cheese than he did to the mice. one day, in the chimney corner, these two rascals sat watching some chestnuts that were roasting before the fire. how jolly it would be to steal them they thought: doubly desirable, for it would not only be joy to themselves, but an annoyance to others. "brother," said bertrand to ratter, "this day you shall achieve your master-stroke: you shall snatch some chestnuts out of the fire for me. providence has not fitted me for that sort of game. if it had, i assure you chestnuts would have a fine time." no sooner said than done. ratter delicately stirred the cinders with his paw, stretched out his claws two or three times to prepare for the stroke, and then adroitly whipped out first one, then two, then three of the chestnuts, whilst bertrand crunched them up between his teeth. in came a servant, and there was an end of the business. farewell, ye rogues! i am told that ratter was by no means satisfied with the affair. and princes are equally dissatisfied when, flattered to be employed in any uncomfortable concern, they burn their fingers in a distant province for the profit of some king. xxx the two rats, the fox, and the egg[ ] (book x.--no. ) do not take it ill if, in these fables, i mingle a little of the bold, daring, and fine-spun philosophy that is called new. they say that the lower animals are mere machines: that everything they do is prompted, not by choice, but by mechanism, coming about as it were by springs. there is, they say, neither feeling nor soul--nothing but a mechanical body. it goes just as a watch or clock goes, plodding on with even motion, blindly and aimlessly. open such a machine and examine it; what do we find? wheels take the place of intelligence. the first wheel moves the second, and that in turn moves a third, with the result that, in due time, it strikes the hour. according to these new philosophers, that is exactly the case with an animal. it receives a blow in a certain spot, this spot conveys the sensation to another spot, and so the message goes on from place to place until the brain receives it and the impression is made. that is all very well, but how is the impression made? it is necessarily made, without passion, without will, say these philosophers. they tell us that the common idea is that an animal is actuated by emotions which we know as sorrow, joy, love, pleasure, pain, cruelty, or some other of these states; but that it is not so. do not deceive yourself, they say. "what is it then?" i ask. a watch, indeed! and pray what of ourselves? ah, well! that is perhaps another thing altogether. this is the way descartes expounds the theory--descartes, that mortal who, if he had lived in pagan times, would have been made a god, and who holds a place between man and the higher spirits, just as some i could name--beasts of burden with long ears--hold a place between man and the oysters. thus, i say, reasons this author: "i have a gift beyond any possessed by others of god's creatures, and that is the gift of thought. i know of what i think." but from positive science we know that although animals may think, they cannot reflect upon what they think. descartes goes further and boldly states that they do not think at all. that is a statement which need not worry us. nevertheless, when in the woods the blast of a horn and the baying of hounds agitates the fleeing quarry; when he vainly endeavours, with all his skill, to confuse and muddle the scent which betrays him to his pursuers; when, an aged beast with full-grown antlers, he puts in his place a younger stag and forces it to carry on the chase with its fresher bait of the scent of its younger body, and thus carry off the hounds and preserve his days--then surely this beast has reasoned. all the twisting and turning, all the malice, deception, and the hundred stratagems to save his life are worthy of the greatest chiefs of war; and worthy of a better fate than death by being torn to pieces; for that is the supreme honour of the stag. again; when the partridge sees its young in danger, before their wings have strength enough to bear them away from death, she makes a pretence of being wounded and flutters along with a trailing wing, enticing the huntsman and his dogs to follow her, and thus by turning away the danger saves her little ones. and when the huntsman believes that his dog has seized her, lo! she rises, laughs at the sportsman, wishes him farewell, and leaves him confused and watching her flight with his eyes. not far from the northern regions there is a country where life goes on as in the early ages, the inhabitants being profoundly ignorant. i speak now of the human creatures. the animals are indeed surprisingly enlightened; for they can construct works which stop the ravages of swollen torrents and make communication possible from bank to bank. the structures are safe and lasting, being founded upon wood over which is laid a bed of mortar. the beavers are the engineers. each one works. the task is common to all, and the old ones see that the young ones do not shirk their labour. there are many taskmasters directing and urging. to such a colony of cunning amphibians the republic of plato itself would be but an apprentice affair. the beavers erect their houses for the winter time, and make bridges of marvellous construction for passing over the ponds; whilst the human folk who live there, though this wonderful work is always before their eyes, can but cross the water by swimming. that these beavers are nothing but bodies without minds nothing will make me believe. but here is something better still. listen to this recital which i had from a king great in fame and glory. this king, defender of the northern world, whom i now cite, is my guarantee: a prince beloved of the goddess of victory. his name alone is a bulwark against the empire of the turks. i speak of the polish king.[ ] a king, it is understood, can never lie. he says, then, that upon the frontiers of his kingdom there are animals that have always been at war among themselves, their passion for fighting having been handed down from father to son. these animals, he explains, are allied to the fox. never has the science of war been more skilfully pursued among men than it is pursued by these beasts, not even in our present century. they have their advanced out-posts, their sentinels and spies; their ambuscades, their expedients, and a thousand other inventions of the pernicious and accursed science warfare, a hag born, herself, of styx,[ ] but giving birth to heroes. properly to sing of the battles of these four-footed warriors homer should return from beyond the shores of acheron.[ ] ah! could he but do so, and bring with him too the rival of old epicurus,[ ] what would the latter say as to the examples i have narrated? he would say only what i have already said, namely, that in the lower animals natural instinct is sufficient to explain all the wonders i have told: that memory leads the animal to repeat over and over again the actions it has made before and found successful. we, as human beings, do differently. our wills decide for us; not the bestial aim, nor the instinct. i walk, i speak, i feel in me a certain force, an intelligent principle which all my bodily mechanism obeys. this force is distinct from anything connected with my body. it is indeed more easily conceived than is the body itself, and of all our movements it is the supreme controller. but how does the body conceive and understand this intelligent force? that is the point! i see the tool obeying the hand; but what guides the hand? who guides the planets in their rapid courses? it may be some angel guide controls the whirling planets; and in like manner some spirit dwells in us and controls all our machinery. the impulse is given--the impression made--but how, i do not know! we shall only learn it in the bosom of god; and to speak frankly, descartes himself was no wiser. on that point we all are equals. all that i know is that this intelligent controlling spirit does not exist in the lower animals. man alone is its temple. nevertheless, we must allow to the beasts a higher plane than that of plants, notwithstanding the fact that plants breathe. is there any explanation to what i shall now relate? two rats who were seeking their living had the good fortune to find an egg. such a dinner was amply sufficient for folks of their species, they had no need to look for an ox. with keen delight and an appetite to match they were just about to eat up the egg between them, when an unbidden guest appeared in the shape of master reynard the fox. this was a most awkward and vexatious visitation. how was the egg to be saved from the jaws of him? to wrap it up carefully and carry it away by the fore paws, or to roll it, or to drag it, were methods as impossible as they were hazardous. but necessity, that ingenious mother, furnished the never-failing invention. the sponger being as yet far enough away to give the rats time to reach their home, one of them lay upon his back and took the egg safely between his arms whilst the other, in spite of sundry shocks and a few slips, dragged him home by the tail. after this recital, let any one who dare maintain that animals have no powers of reason. for my part if i had the portioning of these faculties i would allow as much reasoning power in animals as in infants, who evidently think from their earliest years, from which fact we may conclude that one can think without knowing oneself. i would, similarly, grant the animals a reason, not such as we possess, but far above a blind instinct. i would refine a speck of matter, a tiny atom--extract of light--something more vivid and lively than fire; for since wood can turn to flame, cannot flame, being further purified, teach us something of the rarity of the soul? and is not gold extracted from lead? my creatures should be capable of feeling and judgment; but nothing more. there should be no argument from apes. as to mankind, i would have their lot infinitely better. we men should possess a double treasure; firstly, the soul common to us all, just as we happen to be, sages or fools, children, idiots, or our dumb companions the animals; secondly, another soul in common, in a certain degree, with the angels, and this soul, independent of us though belonging to us, should be able to reach to heavenly heights, whilst it could also dwell within a point's space. having a beginning it should be without end. things incredible but true. during infancy this soul, itself a child of heaven, should appear to us only as a gentle and feeble light; but as the faculties grew, the stronger reason would pierce the darkness of matter enveloping our other imperfect and grosser soul. footnotes: [footnote : at the time when this was written there was much discussion among the learned in france as to the powers of reasoning in animals.] [footnote : the allusion is to sobieski, whose victory over the turks made him famous throughout europe in . la fontaine had frequently met him in the salons of the cultured ladies of france.] [footnote : a nymph of one of the rivers of hades named after her. she became the mother of zelus (zeal), nike (victory), kratos (power), and bia (strength).] [footnote : also a river of hades, the realm of the dead.] [footnote : descartes is meant as the rival of the old philosopher epicurus.] xxxi the dog with his ears cropped (book x.--no. ) "what have i done to be treated in this way? mutilated by my own master! a nice state to be in! dare i present myself before other dogs? o ye kings over the animals, or rather tyrants of them, would any creature do the same to you?" such were the lamentations of poor fido, a young house-dog, whilst those who were busy cropping his ears remained quite untouched by his piercing and dolorous howls. fido believed himself to be ruined for life; but he very shortly found that he was a gainer by the maiming. for being by nature disposed to pilfer from his companions, it would come within his experience to have many misadventures wherein his ears would be torn in a hundred places. aggressive dogs always have ragged ears. the less they have for other dogs' teeth to fasten upon the better. when one has but a single weak place to defend, one protects it against an onset. witness master fido armed with a spiked collar, and having no more ears to catch hold of than are on my hand. even a wolf would not have known where to take him. xxxii the lioness and the she-bear (book x--no. ) mamma lioness had lost one of her cubs. some hunter had made away with it, and the poor unfortunate mother roared out her wailings to such an extent that all the inhabitants of the forest were seriously disturbed. the spells of the night, its darkness and its silence, were powerless to hush the tumult of the queen of the forest. sleep was driven from every animal within hearing. at last the she-bear rose up and coming to the wailing lioness said, "good gossip, just one word with you. all those little ones that have passed between your teeth, had they neither fathers nor mothers?" "to be sure they had." "then if that be so, and as none have come to mourn their dead in cries which would split our heads: if so many mothers have borne their loss silently, why cannot you be silent also?" "i? i be silent? unhappy i? ah! i have lost my son! there is nought for me but to drag out a miserable old age." "but pray tell me what obliges you to do so." "alas! destiny. it is destiny that hates me." [illustration: why cannot you be silent also?] those are the words that are for ever in the mouths of us all. unhappy human kind, let this address itself to you. i hear nothing but the echoing murmur of trifling complaints. whoever, in like case, believes himself the hated of the gods, let him consider hecuba,[ ] and he will render thanks for their clemency. footnotes: [footnote : hecuba was the wife of priam, king of troy. when that city fell hecuba was chosen by ulysses as part of his share in the spoils. she was changed into a dog for avenging the death of her son whose eyes had been put out by the king of thracia, and she finally ended her life by casting herself into the sea.] xxxiii the rabbits (book x.--no. ) when i have noticed how man acts at times, and how, in a thousand ways, he comports himself just as the lower animals do, i have often said to myself that the lord of these lower orders has no fewer faults than his subjects. nature has allowed every living thing a drop or two from the fount at which the spirits of all creatures imbibe. i will prove what i say. if at the hour when night has scarcely passed and day hardly begun i climb into a tree, on the edge of some wood, and, like a new jupiter from the heights of olympus, i send a shot at some unsuspecting rabbit, then the whole colony of rabbits, who were enjoying their thyme-scented meal with open eyes and listening ears upon the heath, immediately scamper away. the report sends them all to seek refuge in their subterranean city. but their great fright is soon over; the danger quickly forgotten. again i see the rabbits more light-hearted than ever coming close under my death-dealing hand. does not this give us a picture of mankind? dispersed by some storm, men no sooner reach a haven than they are ready again to risk the same winds and the same distress. true rabbits, they run again into the death-dealing hands of fortune. let us add to this example another of a more ordinary kind. when strange dogs pass through any spot beyond their customary route there is a grand to-do. i leave you to picture it. all the dogs of the district with one idea in their heads join forces, barking and biting, to chase the intruder beyond the bounds of their territory. so, it may be, a similar joint-interest in property or in glory and grandeur leads such people as the governors of states, certain favoured courtiers, and people of a trade to behave exactly like these jealous dogs. all of us, as a rule, rob the chance-comer and tear him to pieces. vain ladies and men of letters are usually so disposed. woe betide the newly-arrived beauty or a new writer! as few as possible fighting round the cake! that's the best way! i could bring a hundred examples to bear upon this subject; but the shorter a discourse is the better. i take the masters of literature for my model in this and hold that in the best of themes something should be left unsaid for the reader to consider about. therefore this discourse shall end. xxxiv the gods wishing to instruct a son of jupiter (book xi.--no. ) jupiter had a son, who, sensible of his lofty origin, showed always a god-like spirit. childhood is not much concerned with loving; yet to the childhood of this young god, loving and wishing to be loved was the chief concern. in him, love and reason which grow with years, outraced time, that light-winged bearer of the seasons which come, alas! only too quickly. flora,[ ] with laughing looks and winning airs, was the first to touch the heart of the youthful olympian. everything that passion could inspire--delicate sentiments full of tenderness, tears, and sighs--all were there: he forgot nothing. as a son of jupiter he would by right of birth be dowered with greater gifts than the sons of other gods; and it seemed as though all his behaviour were prompted by the reminiscence that he had indeed already been a lover in some former state, so well did he play the part. nevertheless, it was jupiter's wish that the boy should be taught, and assembling the gods in council he said, "so far, i have never been at fault in the conduct of the universe which i have ruled unaided; but there are various charges which i now have decided to distribute amongst the younger gods. this beloved child of mine i have already counted upon. he is of my own blood and many an altar already flames in his honour. yet to merit his rank among the immortals it is necessary that he should possess all knowledge." as the god of the thunders ceased the whole assembly applauded. as for the boy himself, he did not appear to be above the wish to learn everything. "i undertake," said mars, the god of war, "to teach him the art by which so many heroes have won the glories of olympus and extended the empire." "i will be his master in the art of the lyre," promised the fair and learned apollo. "and i," said hercules with the lion's-skin, "will teach him how to overcome vice and quell evil passions, those poisonous monsters which like hydras[ ] are ever reborn in the heart. a foe to effeminate pleasures, he shall learn from me those too seldom trodden paths that lead to honour along the tracks of virtue." when it came to cupid, the god of love, to speak he simply said, "i can show him everything." and cupid was right; for what cannot be achieved with wit and the desire to please? footnotes: [footnote : the goddess of spring and of flowers, was also regarded by the greeks as the goddess of youth and its pleasures.] [footnote : the hydra was a monster with one hundred heads. if one was cut off two grew in its place unless the wound was stopped by fire.] xxxv the lion, the monkey, and the two asses (book xi.--no. ) king lion, thinking that he would govern better if he took a few lessons in moral philosophy, had a monkey brought to him one fine day who was a master of arts in the monkey tribe. the first lesson he gave was as follows:-- "great king, in order to govern wisely a prince should always consider the good of the country before yielding to that feeling which is commonly known as self-love, for that fault is the father of all the vices one sees in animals. to rid oneself of this sentiment is not an easy thing to do, and is not to be done in a day. indeed, merely to moderate it is to achieve a good deal, and if you succeed so far you will never tolerate in yourself anything ridiculous or unjust." "give me," commanded the king, "an example of each of those faults." "every species of creature," continued the philosopher, "esteems itself in its heart above all the others. these others it regards as ignoramuses, calling them by many hard names which, after all, hurt nobody. at the same time this self-love, which sneers at other tribes and other kinds of beasts, induces the individual to heap praise upon other individuals of his own species, because that is a very good way of praising oneself too. from this it is easy to see that many talents here below are in reality but empty pretence, assumption, and pose, and a certain gift of making the most of oneself, better understood by ignorant people than by learned. "the other day i followed two asses who were offering the incense of flattery to each other by turns, and heard one say, 'my lord, do you not think that man, that perfect animal, is both unjust and stupid? he profanes our august name by calling every one of his own kind an ass who is ignorant, or dull, or idiotic; and he calls our laughter and our discourse by the term "braying." it is very amusing that these human people pretend to excel us!' "'my friend,' said his companion, 'it is for you to speak, and for them to hold their tongues. they are the true brayers. but let us speak no more of them. we two understand each other; that is sufficient. and as for the marvels of delight your divine voice lets fall upon our ears, the nightingale herself is but a novice in comparison. you surpass the court musician.' "to this the other donkey replied, 'my lord, i admire in you exactly the same excellencies.' "not content with flattering each other in this way, these two asses went about the cities singing aloud each other's praises. either one thought he was doing a good turn to himself in thus lauding his companion. "well, your majesty, i know of many people to-day, not among asses, but among exalted creatures, whom heaven has been pleased to raise to a high degree, who would, if they dared, change their title of 'excellency to that of 'majesty.' i am saying more than i should, perhaps, and i hope your majesty will keep the secret. you wished to hear of some incident which would show you, among other things, how self-love makes people ridiculous, and there i have given you a good instance. injustice i will speak of another time, it would take too long now." thus spoke the ape. no one has ever been able to tell me whether he ever did speak of injustice to his king. it would have been a delicate matter, and our master of arts, who was no fool, regarded the lion as too terrible a king to submit to being lectured too far. xxxvi the wolf and the fox in the well (book xi.--no. ) why does Æsop give to the fox the reputation of excelling in all tricks of cunning? i have sought for a reason, but cannot find one. does not the wolf, when he has need to defend his life or take that of another, display as much knowingness as the fox? i believe he knows more, and i dare, perhaps with some reason, to contradict my master in this particular. nevertheless, here is a case where undoubtedly all the honour fell to the dweller in burrows. one evening a fox, who was as hungry as a dog, happened to see the round reflection of the moon in a well, and he believed it to be a fine cheese. there were two pails which alternately drew up the water. into the uppermost of these the fox leapt, and his weight caused him to descend the well, where he at once discovered his mistake about the cheese. he became extremely worried and fancied his end approaching, for he could see no way to get up again but by some other hungry one, enticed by the same reflection, coming down in the same way that he had. two days passed without any one coming to the well. time, which is always marching onward, had, during two nights, hollowed the outline of the silvery planet, and reynard was in despair. [illustration: descended by his greater weight.] at last a wolf, parched with thirst, drew near, to whom the fox called from below, "comrade, here is a treat for you! do you see this? it is an exquisite cheese, made by faunus[ ] from milk of the heifer io.[ ] if jupiter were ill and lost his appetite he would find it again by one taste of this. i have only eaten this piece out of it; the rest will be plenty for you. come down in the pail up there. i put it there on purpose for you." a rigmarole so cleverly told was easily believed by the fool of a wolf, who descended by his greater weight, which not only took him down, but brought the fox up. we ought not to laugh at the wolf, for we often enough let ourselves be deluded with just as little cause. everybody is ready to believe the thing he fears and the thing he desires. footnotes: [footnote : the benign spirit of the fields and woods.] [footnote : a priestess who was changed by hera, wife of zeus, into a white heifer.] xxxvii the mice and the screech-owl (book xi.--no. ) it is not always wise to say to your company, "just listen to this joke" or "what do you think of this for a marvel?" for one can never be sure that the listeners will regard the matter in the same way that the teller does. yet here is a case that makes an exception to this good rule, and i maintain that it is in truth wonderful, and, although it has the appearance of being a fable, it is in reality absolute fact. there was once an extremely old pine-tree which an owl, that grim bird which atropus[ ] takes for her interpreter, had made to serve as his palace. but there were other tenants lodging in its cavernous and time-rotted trunk. these were mice, well fed, positive balls of fat, but not one of them had a foot. they had all been mutilated. the owl had nipped their feet off with his beak, whilst feeding and fostering them with wheat from neighbouring stacks. it must be confessed that this bird had reasoned. doubtless, in his time, when hunting mice, he had found that after bringing them home they escaped again from the trunk, and to prevent the recurrence of such a loss the artful rascal had thenceforth nipped off the feet of all he caught, keeping them prisoners and eating them one to-day and one to-morrow. to eat them all at once would have been impossible. he had his health to think of. his forethought, which went quite as far as ours, extended to bringing them grain for their subsistence. * * * * * if this is not reasoning, then i do not understand what reasoning is. see what arguments he used:-- "when these mice are caught they run away, therefore i must eat them as i catch them. what all? impossible! but would it not be well to keep some for a needy future? if so, i must keep them and feed them too, without their escaping. but how's that to be done? happy thought! nip off their feet!" now find me among human beings anything better carried out. did aristotle and his followers do any better thinking, by my faith? note.--this is not a fable. the thing actually occurred, although marvellous enough and almost incredible. i have perhaps carried the forethought of this owl too far, for i do not pretend to establish in animals a line of reasoning; but in this style of literature a little exaggeration is pardonable. footnotes: [footnote : one of the three fates, the first and second being clotho and lachesis. they spun, measured, and cut off, respectively, the thread of life for men at their birth.] [illustration] xxxviii the companions of ulysses (book xii.--no. ) that great hero-wanderer ulysses had been with his companions driven hither and thither at the will of the winds for ten years, never knowing what their ultimate fate was to be. at length they disembarked upon a shore where circe, the daughter of apollo, held her court. receiving them she brewed a delicious but baneful liquor, which she made them drink. the result of this was that first they lost their reason, and a few moments after, their bodies took the forms and features of various animals; some unwieldy, some small. ulysses alone, having the wisdom to withstand the temptation of the treacherous cup, escaped the metamorphosis. he, besides possessing wisdom, bore the look of a hero and had the gift of honeyed speech, so that it came about that the goddess herself imbibed a poison little different from her own; that is to say, she became enamoured of the hero and declared her love to him. now was the time for ulysses to profit by this turn of events, and he was too cunning to miss the opportunity, so he begged and obtained the boon that his friends should be restored to their natural shapes. "but will they be willing to accept their own forms again?" asked the nymph. "go to them and make them the offer." ulysses, glad and eager, ran to his greeks and cried, "the poisoned cup has its remedy, and i come to offer it to you. dear friends of mine, will you not be glad to have your manly forms again? speak, for your speech is already restored." the lion was the first to reply. making an effort to roar he said, "i, for one, am not such a fool. what! renounce all the great advantages that have just been given me? i have teeth. i have claws. i can pull to pieces anything that attacks me. i am, in fact, a king. do you think it would suit me to become a citizen of ithaca once more? who knows but that you might make of me a common soldier again. thank you; but i will remain as i am." ulysses, in sad surprise, turned to the bear. "ah, brother! what form is this you have taken, you who used to be so handsome?" "well, really! i like that!" said the bear in his way. "what form is this? you ask. why it is the form that a bear should have. pray who instructed you that one form is more handsome than another? is it your business to judge between us? i prefer to appeal to the sight of the gentler sex in our ursine race. do i displease you? then pass on. go your ways and leave me to mine. i am free and content as i am, and i tell you frankly and flatly that i will not change my state." the princely greek then turned to a wolf with the same proposals, and risking a similar rebuff said: "comrade, it overwhelms me that a sweet young shepherdess should be driven to complain to the echoing crags of the gluttonous appetite that impelled you to devour her sheep. time was when you would have protected her sheepfold. in those days you led an honest life. leave your lairs and become, instead of a wolf, an honest man again." "what is that?" answered the wolf. "i don't see your point. you come here treating me as though i were a carnivorous beast. but what are you, who are talking in this strain? would not you and yours have eaten these sheep, which all the village is deploring, if i had not? now say, on your oath, do you really think i should have loved slaughter any less if i had remained a man? for a mere word, you men are at times ready to strangle each other. are you not, therefore, as wolves one to another? all things considered, i maintain as a matter of fact that, rascal for rascal, it is better to be a wolf than a man. i decline to make any change in my condition." in this way did ulysses go from one to another making the same representations and receiving from all, large and small alike, the same refusals. liberty, unbridled lust of appetite, the ambushes of the woods, all these things were their supreme delight. they all renounced the glory attaching to great deeds. they thought that in following their passions they were enjoying freedom, not seeing that they were but slaves to themselves. xxxix the quarrel between the dogs and the cats and between the cats and the mice (book xii--no. ) discord has always reigned in the universe; of this our world furnishes a thousand different instances, for with us the sinister goddess has many subjects. let us begin with the four elements. here you may be astonished to observe that they are, throughout, in antagonism to each other. besides these four potentates how many other forces of all descriptions are everlastingly at war! in bygone times there was a house which was full of cats and dogs who lived together like amicable cousins, for this reason: their master had made a hundred irrevocable laws and rules, settling their respective tasks, their meals, and every other incident of their lives, and at the same time he threatened with the whip the first one who should promote a quarrel. the kindly, almostly brotherly nature of this union was very edifying to the neighbours. but at last the concord ceased. some little favouritism in the bestowal of a bone, or a dish of food, caused the outraged remainder to raise furious protests. i have heard some chroniclers attribute the discord to an affair of love and jealousy. at any rate, whatever the origin, the altercation speedily fired both hall and kitchen, and divided the company into partisans for this cat or for that dog. a new rule was made, which exasperated the cats, and their complaints deafened the whole neighbourhood. their advocate advised returning absolutely to the old rules and decrees. the law books were searched for, but could nowhere be found. and that was no wonder, for the books which had been hidden in a corner by one set of partisans at first had been at last devoured by mice. this gave rise to another law-suit, which the mice lost and had to pay for. many old cats, cunning, subtle, and sharp, and bearing a grudge against the whole race of mice beside, lay in wait for them, caught them, and cleared them out of the house, much to the advantage of the master of the establishment. so, returning to my moral, one cannot find under heaven any animal, any being, any creature who has not his opponent. this appears to be a law of nature. it would be time wasted to seek for a reason. god does well whatever he does. beyond that i know nothing; but i do know that people come to high words over nothing three times out of four. ah, ye human folk! even at the age of sixty you ought to be sent back to the schoolmaster. xl the wolf and the fox (book xii.--no. ) a fox once remarked to a wolf, "dear friend, do you know that the utmost i can get for my meals is a tough old cock or perchance a lean hen or two. it is a diet of which i am thoroughly weary. you, on the other hand, feed much better than that, and with far less danger. my foraging takes me close up to houses; but you keep far away. i beg of you, comrade, to teach me your trade. let me be the first of my race to furnish my pot with a plump sheep, and you will not find me ungrateful." "very well," replied the obliging wolf. "i have a brother recently dead, suppose you go and get his skin and wear it." this the fox accordingly did and the wolf commenced to give him lessons. "you must do this and act so, when you wish to separate the dogs from the flocks." at first reynard was a little awkward, but he rapidly improved, and with a little practice he reached at last the perfection of wolfish strategy. just as he had learned all that there was to know a flock approached. the sham wolf ran after it spreading terror all around, even as patroclus wearing[ ] the armour of achilles spread alarm throughout camp and city, when mothers, wives, and old men hastened to the temples for protection. "in this case, the bleating army made sure there must be quite fifty wolves after them, and fled, dog and shepherd with them, to the neighbouring village, leaving only one sheep as a hostage. this remaining sheep our thief instantly seized and was making off with it. but he had not gone more than a few steps when a cock crew near by. at this signal, which habit of life had led him to regard as a warning of dawn and danger, he dropped his disguising wolf-skin and, forgetting his sheep, his lesson, and his master, scampered off with a will. of what use is such shamming? it is an illusion to suppose that one is really changed by making the pretence. one resume's one's first nature upon the earliest occasion for hiding it. footnotes: [footnote : at the siege of troy. he was mistaken for achilles.] [illustration: a guide for the footsteps of love.] xli love and folly (book xii.--no. ) everything to do with love is mystery. cupid's arrows, his quiver, his torch, his boyhood: it is more than a day's work to exhaust this science. i make no pretence here of explaining everything. my object is merely to relate to you, in my own way, how the blind little god was deprived of his sight, and what consequences followed this evil which perchance was a blessing after all. on the latter point i will decide nothing, but will leave it to lovers to judge upon. one day as folly and love were playing together, before the boy had lost his vision, a dispute arose. to settle this matter love wished to lay his cause before a council of the gods; but folly, losing her patience, dealt him a furious blow upon the brow. from that moment and for ever the light of heaven was gone from his eyes. venus demanded redress and revenge, the mother and the wife in her asserting themselves in a way which i leave you to imagine. she deafened the gods with her cries, appealing to jupiter, nemesis, the judges from hades, in fact all who would be importuned. she represented the seriousness of the case, pointing out that her son could now not make a step without a stick. no punishment, she urged, was heavy enough for so dire a crime, and she demanded that the damage should be repaired. when the gods had each well considered the public interest on the one hand and the complainant's demands upon the other, the supreme court gave as its verdict that folly was condemned for ever more to serve as a guide for the footsteps of love. xlii the forest and the woodcutter (book xii.--no. ) a woodcutter had broken or lost the handle of his hatchet and found it not easy to get it repaired at once. during the time, therefore, that it was out of use, the woods enjoyed a respite from further damage. at last the man came humbly and begged of the forest to allow him gently to take just one branch wherewith to make him a new haft, and promised that then he would go elsewhere to ply his trade and get his living. that would leave unthreatened many an oak and many a fir that now won universal respect on account of its age and beauty. the innocent forest acquiesced and furnished him with a new handle. this he fixed to his blade and, as soon as it was finished, fell at once upon the trees, despoiling his benefactress, the forest, of her most cherished ornaments. there was no end to her bewailings: her own gift had caused her grief. here you see the way of the world and of those who follow it. they use the benefit against the benefactors. i weary of talking about it. yet who would not complain that sweet and shady spots should suffer such outrage. alas! it is useless to cry out and be thought a nuisance: ingratitude and abuses will remain the fashion none the less. xliii the fox and the young turkeys (book xii.--no. ) some young turkeys were lucky enough to find a tree which served them as a citadel against the assaults of a certain fox. he, one night, having made the round of the rampart and seen each turkey watching like a sentinel, exclaimed, "what! these people laugh at me, do they? and do they think that they alone are exempt from the common rule? no! by all the gods! no!" he accomplished his design. the moon shining brilliantly seemed to favour the turkey folk against the fox. but he was no novice in the laying of sieges, and had recourse to his bag of rascally tricks. he pretended to climb the tree; stood upon his hind legs; counterfeited death; then came to life again. harlequin himself could not have acted so many parts. he reared his tail and made it gleam in the moonshine, and practised a hundred other pleasantries, during which no turkey could have dared to go to sleep. the enemy tired them out at last by keeping their eyes fixed upon him. the poor birds became dazed. one lost its balance and fell. reynard put it by. then another fell and was caught and laid on one side. nearly half of them at length succumbed and were taken off to the fox's larder. to concentrate too much attention upon a danger may cause us to tumble into it. xliv the ape (book xii.--no. ) there is an ape in paris to whom a wife was once given; and he, imitating many another husband, beat the poor creature to such an extent that she sighed all the breath out of her body and died. their son uttered the most doleful howls as a protest to this terrible business. the father laughs now. his wife is dead and he already has found other lady companions, whom, no doubt, he beats in the same way; for he haunts the taverns and is frequently tipsy. never expect anything good from people who imitate, whether they be apes or authors. of the two the worst kind is the imitating author. xlv the scythian philosopher (book xii.--no. ) a certain austere philosopher of scythia, wishing to follow a pleasant life, travelled through the land of the greeks, and there he found in a quiet spot a sage, one such as virgil has written of; a man the equal of kings, the peer almost of the gods, and like them content and tranquil. the happiness of this sage lay entirely in his beautiful garden. there the scythian found him, pruning hook in hand, cutting away the useless wood from his fruit trees; lopping here, pruning there, trimming this and that, and everywhere aiding nature, who repaid his care with usury. "why this wrecking?" asked the philosopher. "is it wisdom thus to mutilate these poor dwellers in your garden? drop that merciless tool, your pruning hook. leave the work to the scythe of time. he will send them, soon enough, to the shores of the river of the departed." "i am taking away the superfluous," answered the sage, "so that what is left may flourish the better." the scythian returned to his cheerless abode and, taking a bill-hook, cut and trimmed every hour in the day, advising his neighbours to do likewise and prescribing to his friends the means and methods. a universal cutting-down followed. the handsomest boughs were lopped; his orchard mutilated beyond all reason. the seasons were disregarded, and neither young moons nor old were noted. in the end everything languished and died. this scythian philosopher resembles the indiscriminating stoic who cuts away from the soul all passions and desires, good as well as bad, even to the most innocent wishes. for my own part, i protest against such people strongly. they take from the heart its greatest impulses and we cease to live before we are dead. [illustration] xlvi the elephant and jupiter's ape (book xii.--no. ) once in the olden times the elephant and the rhinoceros disputed as to which was the more important, and which should, therefore, have empire over the other animals. they decided to settle the point by battle in an enclosed field. the day was fixed, and all in readiness, when somebody came and informed them that jupiter's ape, bearing a caduceus, had been seen in the air. the fact of his holding a caduceus[ ] proved him to be acting as official messenger from olympus, and the elephant immediately took it for granted that the ape came as ambassador with greetings to his highness. elated with this idea he waited for gille, for that was the name of the ape, and thought him rather tardy in presenting his credentials. but at length master gille did salute his excellency as he passed, and the elephant prepared himself for the message. but not a word was forthcoming. it was evident that the gods were not giving so much attention to these matters as the elephant supposed. what does it matter to those in high places whether one is an elephant or a fly? the would-be monarch was reduced to the necessity of opening the conversation himself. "my cousin jupiter," he began, "will soon be able to watch a rather fine combat from his supreme throne, and his court will see some splendid sport." "what combat?" asked the ape rather severely. "what! do you not know that the rhinoceros denies me precedence: that the elephantidæ are at war with the rhinocerotidæ? you surely know these families: they have some reputation." "i am charmed to learn their names," replied master gille. "we are little concerned about such matters in our vast halls." this shamed and surprised the elephant. "eh! what, then, is the reason of your visit amongst us?" "oh, it was to divide a blade of grass between two ants. we care for all. as for your affair, nothing has been said about it in the council of the gods. the little and the great are equal in their eyes." footnotes: [footnote : the wand or official staff of hermes.] xlvii the league of rats (book xii.--no. ) there was once a mouse who lived in terrible fear of a cat that had lain in wait watching for her. she was in great anxiety to know what she could do to escape the threatening danger. being prudent and wise she consulted her neighbour, a large and important rat. his lordship the rat had taken up his abode in a very good inn, and had boasted a hundred times that he had no fear for either tom-cat or she-cat. neither teeth nor claws caused him any anxious thought. "dame mouse," said this boaster, "whatever i do, i cannot, upon my word, chase away this cat that threatens you without some help. but let me call together all the rats hereabouts and i'll play him a sorry trick or two." the mouse curtsied humbly her thanks and the rat ran with speed to the head-quarters; that is to say to the larder, where the rats were in the habit of assembling. arriving out of breath and perturbed in mind he found them making a great feast at the expense of their host. "what ails you?" asked one of the feasters. "speak!" "in two words," answered he, "the reason for my coming among you in this way is simply that it has become absolutely necessary to help the mice; for grimalkin is abroad making terrible slaughter among them. this, the most devilish of cats, will, when she has no mice left, turn her attention to the eating of rats." "he says what is true," cried they all. "to arms, to arms!" nothing could stem the tide of their impetuosity; although, it is said, a few she-rats shed tears. it was no matter. every one overhauled his equipment, and filled his wallet with cheese. to risk life was the determination of all. they set off, as if to a fête, with happy minds and joyful hearts. alas, for the mouse! these warriors were a moment too late. the cat had her already by the head. advancing at the double the rats ran to the succour of their good little friend; but the cat swore, and stalked away in front of the enemy, having no intention of surrendering her prey. at the sound of the cat's defiance, the prudent rats, fearing ill fate, beat a safe retreat without carrying any further their intended onslaught. each one ran to his hole, and whenever any ventured out again it was always with the utmost caution to avoid the cat. xlviii the arbiter, the hospitaller, and the hermit (book xii.--no. ) three saints, all equally zealous and anxious for their salvation, had the same ideal, although the means by which they strove towards it were different. but as all roads lead to rome, these three were each content to choose their own path. one, touched by the cares, the tediousness, and the reverses which seem to be inevitably attached to lawsuits, offered, without any reward, to judge and settle all causes submitted to him. to make a fortune on this earth was not an end he had in view. ever since there have been laws, man, for his sins, has condemned himself to litigation half his lifetime. half? three-quarters, i should say, and sometimes the whole. this good conciliator imagined he could cure the silly and detestable craze for going to law. the second saint chose the hospitals as his field of labour. i admire him. kindly care taken to alleviate the sufferings of mankind is a charity i prefer before all others. the sick of those days were much as they are now--peevish, impatient, and ever grumbling. they gave our poor hospitaller plenty of work. they would say, "ah! he cares very particularly for such and such. they are his friends, hence we are neglected." but bad as were these complaints they were nothing to those which the arbiter had to face. he got himself into a sorry tangle. no one was content. arbitration pleased neither one side nor the other. according to them the judge could never succeed in holding the balance level. no wonder that at last the self-appointed judge grew weary. he betook himself to the hospitals. there he found that the self-sacrificing hospitaller had nothing better to tell of his results. complaints and murmurs were all that either could gain. with sad hearts they gave up their endeavours and repaired to the silent wood, there to live down their sorrows. in these retreats, at a spot sheltered from the sun, gently tended by the breezes, and near a pure rivulet, they found the third saint, and of him they asked advice. "advice," said he, "is only to be sought of yourselves; for who, better than yourselves, can know your own needs? the knowledge of oneself is the first care imposed upon mankind by the almighty. have you obeyed this mandate whilst out in the world? if there you did not learn to know yourselves, these tranquil shades will certainly help you; for nowhere else is it possible. stir up this stream. do you now see yourselves reflected in it? no! how could you, when the mud is like a thick cloud between us and the crystal? but let it settle, my brothers, and then you will see your image. the better to study yourselves live in the desert." the lonely hermit was believed and the others followed his wise counsel. it does not follow that people should not be well employed. since some must plead; since men die and fall ill, doctors are a necessity and so also are lawyers. these ministers, thank god, will never fail us. the wealth and honours to be won make one sure of that. nevertheless, in these general needs one is apt to neglect oneself. and you, judges, ministers, and princes, who give all your time to the public weal; you, who are troubled by countless annoyances and disappointments, disheartened by failure and corrupted by good fortune--you do not see yourselves. you see no one. should some good impulse lead you to think over these matters, some flatterer breaks in and distracts you. this lesson is the ending of this work. may the centuries to come find it a useful one. i present it to kings. i propose it to the wise. what better ending could i make? letchworth the temple press printers none this ebook was produced by david widger [note: there is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the file for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making an entire meal of them. d.w.] the tales and novels of j. de la fontaine volume . the princess betrothed to the king of garba what various ways in which a thing is told some truth abuse, while others fiction hold; in stories we invention may admit; but diff'rent 'tis with what historick writ; posterity demands that truth should then inspire relation, and direct the pen. alaciel's story's of another kind, and i've a little altered it, you'll find; faults some may see, and others disbelieve; 'tis all the same:--'twill never make me grieve; alaciel's mem'ry, it is very clear, can scarcely by it lose; there's naught to fear. two facts important i have kept in view, in which the author fully i pursue; the one--no less than eight the belle possessed, before a husband's sight her eyes had blessed; the other is, the prince she was to wed ne'er seemed to heed this trespass on his bed, but thought, perhaps, the beauty she had got would prove to any one a happy lot. howe'er this fair, amid adventures dire, more sufferings shared than malice could desire; though eight times, doubtless, she exchanged her knight no proof, that she her spouse was led to slight; 'twas gratitude, compassion, or good will; the dread of worse;--she'd truly had her fill; excuses just, to vindicate her fame, who, spite of troubles, fanned the monarch's flame: of eight the relict, still a maid received ;-- apparently, the prince her pure believed; for, though at times we may be duped in this, yet, after such a number--strange to miss! and i submit to those who've passed the scene, if they, to my opinion, do not lean. the king of alexandria, zarus named, a daughter had, who all his fondness claimed, a star divine alaciel shone around, the charms of beauty's queen were in her found; with soul celestial, gracious, good, and kind, and all-accomplished, all-complying mind. the, rumour of her worth spread far and wide, the king of garba asked her for his bride, and mamolin (the sov'reign of the spot,) to other princes had a pref'rence got. the fair, howe'er, already felt the smart of cupid's arrow, and had lost her heart; but 'twas not known: princesses love conceal, and scarcely dare its whispers fond reveal; within their bosoms poignant pain remains, though flesh and blood, like lasses of the plains. the noble hispal, one of zarus' court, a handsome youth, as histories report, alaciel pleased; a mutual flame arose, though this they durst not venture to disclose or, if expressed, 'twas solely by the eyes:-- soul-speaking language, nothing can disguise! affianced thus, the princess, with a sigh, prepared to part, and fully to comply. the father trusted her to hispal's care, without the least suspicion of the snare; they soon embarked and ploughed the briny main; with anxious hopes in time the port to gain. when they, from egypt's coast had sailed a week; to gain the wind they saw a pirate seek, which having done, he t'wards them bore in haste, to take the ship in which our fair was placed. the battle quickly raged; alike they erred; the pirates slaughter loved, and blood preferred, and, long accustomed to the stormy tide, were most expert, and on their skill relied. in numbers, too, superior they were found; but hisipal's valour greatly shone around, and kept the combat undecided long; at length grifonio, wond'rous large and strong; with twenty sturdy, pirates got on board, and many soon lay gasping by the sword. where'er he trod, grim death and horrour reigned; at length, the round the noble hispal gained. his nervous arm laid many wretches low rage marked his eyes, whene'er he dealt a blow: but, while the youth was thus engaged in fight, grifonio ran to gain a sweeter sight; the princess was on board full well he knew; no time he lost, but to her chamber flew; and, since his pleasures seemed to be her doom; he bore her like a sparrow from the room: but not content with such a charming fair, he took her diamonds, ornaments for hair, and those dear pledges ladies oft receive, when they a lover's ardent flame believe. indeed, i've heard it hinted as a truth, (and very probable for such a youth,) that hispal, while on board, his flame revealed; and what chagrin she felt was then concealed, the passage thinking an improper time, to shew a marked displeasure at his crime. the pirate-chief who carried off his prey, had short-lived joy, for, wishing to convey his charming captive from the ship with speed; one vessel chanced a little to recede, although securely fastened by the crew, with grappling hooks, as usually they do, when quite intent to pass, young hispal made a blow, that dead at once the ruffian laid; his head and shoulders, severed from the trunk; fell in the sea, and to the bottom sunk, abjuring mahomet, and all the tribe of idle prophets, catholics proscribe; erect the rest upon the legs remained; the very posture as before retained; this curious sight no doubt a laugh had raised,-- but in the moment, she, so lately praised, with dread grifonio, fell beyond their view; to save her, straight the gallant hispal flew. the ships, for want of pilots at the helm, at random drifted over neptune's realm. grim death the pirate forced to quit his slave; buoyed up by clothes, she floated on the wave, 'till hispal succour lent, who saw 'twas vain to try with her the vessel to regain. he could, with greater ease, the fair convey to certain rocks, and thither bent his way; those rocks to sailors oft destruction proved, but now the couple saved, who thither moved: 'tis even said the jewels were not lost, but sweet alaciel, howsoever tost, preserved the caskets, which with strings were tied; and seizing these, the treasure drew aside. our swimmer on his back the princess bore; the rock attained; but hardships were not o'er; misfortunes dire the noble pair pursued and famine, worst of ills, around was viewed. no ship was near; the light soon passed away; the night the same; again appeared the day; no vessel hove in sight; no food to eat; our couple's wretchedness seemed now complete; hope left them both, and, mutual passion moved, their situation more tormenting proved. long time in silence they each other eyed at length, to speak the lovely charmer tried said she, 'tis useless, hispal, to bewail: tears, with the cruel parcae, naught avail; each other to console be now our aim; grim death his course will follow still the same. to mitigate the smart let's try anew; in such a place as this few joys accrue. console each other, say you? hispal cried; what can console when forced one's love to hide? besides, fair princess, ev'ry way 'tis clear, improper 'twere for you to love while here; i equally could death or famine brave; but you i tremble for, and wish to save. these words so pained the fair, that gushing tears bedewed alaciel's cheeks, her looks spoke fears; the ardent flame which she'd so long concealed; burst forth in sighs, and all its warmth revealed; while such emotion hispal's eyes expressed, that more than words his anxious wish confessed. these tender scenes were followed by a kiss, the prelude sweet of soft enchanting bliss; but whether taken, or by choice bestowed, alike 'twas clear, their heaving bosoms glowed. those vows now o'er, said hispal with a sigh, in this adventure, if we're doomed to die, indiff'rent surely 'tis, the prey to be of birds of air, or fishes of the sea; my reason tells me ev'ry grave's the same, return we must, at last, from whence we came, here ling'ring death alone we can expect; to brave the waves 'tis better to elect; i yet have strength, and 'tis not far to land; the wind sets fair: let's try to gain the strand; from rock to rock we'll go: i many view, where i can rest; to this we'll bid adieu. to move, alaciel readily agreed; again our couple ventured to proceed; the casket safe in tow; the weather hot; from rock to rock with care our swimmer got; the princess, anxious on his back to keep:-- new mode of traversing the wat'ry deep. with heav'n's assistance, and the rocks for rest, the youth, by hunger and fatigue oppressed, uneasiness of mind, weighed down with care, not for himself, but safety of the fair, a fast of two long tedious days now o'er, the casket and the belle he brought on shore: i think you cry--how wond'rously exact, to bring the casket into ev'ry act! is that a circumstance of weight i pray? it truly seems so, and without delay, you'll see if i be wrong; no airy flight, or jeer, or raillery, have i in sight. had i embarked our couple in a ship without or cash or jewels for the trip, distress had followed, you must be aware; 'tis past our pow'r to live on love or air; in vain affection ev'ry effort tries inexorable hunger all defies. the casket, with the diamonds proved a source, to which 'twas requisite to have recourse; some hispal sold, and others put in pawn, and purchased, near the coast, a house and lawn; with woods, extensive park, and pleasure ground; and many bow'rs and shady walks around, where charming hours they passed, and this 'twas plain, without the casket they could n'er obtain. beneath the wood there was a secret grot, where lovers, when they pleased, concealment got, a quiet, gloomy, solitary place, designed by nature for the billing race. one day, as through the grove a walk they sought, the god of love our couple thither brought; his wishes, hispal, as they went along, explained im part by words direct and strong; the rest his sighs expressed, (they spoke the soul;)-- the princess, trembling, listened to the whole. said he, we now are in a place retired, unknown to man, (such spots how oft desired!) let's take advantage of the present hour: no joys, but those of love, are in our pow'r; all others see withdrawn! and no one knows we even live; perhaps both friends and foes believe us in the belly of a whale; allow me, lovely princess, to prevail; bestow your kindness, or, without delay, those charms to mamolin let me convey. yet, why go thither?--happy you could make the man, whose constancy no perils shake, what would you more?--his passion's ardent grown; and surely you've enough resistance shown. such tender elocution hispal used, that e'en to marble, 'twould have warmth infused; while fair alaciel, on the bark of trees, with bodkin wrote, apparently at ease. but cupid drew her thoughts to higher things, than merely graving what from fancy springs. her lover and the place, at once assured, that such a secret would be well secured; a tempting bait, which made her, with regret, resist the witching charm that her beset. unluckily, 'twas then the month of may, when youthful hearts are often led astray, and soft desire can scarcely be concealed, but presses through the pores to be revealed. how many do we see, by slow degrees, and, step by step, accord their all to please, who, at the onset, never dreamed to grant the smallest favour to their fond gallant. the god of love so archly acts his part, and, in unguarded moments, melts the heart, that many belles have tumbled in the snare, who, how it happened, scarcely could declare. when they had reached the pleasing secret spot; young hispal wished to go within the grot; though nearly overcome, she this declined; but then his services arose to mind; her life from ocean's waves, her honour too, to him she owed; what could he have in view? a something, which already has been shown, was saved through hispal's nervous arm alone: said he, far better bless a real friend, than have each treasure rifled in the end, by some successful ruffian; think it o'er; you little dream for whom you guard the store. the princess felt the truth of this remark, and half surrendered to the loving spark; a show'r obliged the pair, without delay, to seek a shed:--the place i need not say; the rest within the grotto lies concealed:-- the scenes of cupid ne'er should be revealed. alaciel blame, or not--i've many known, with less excuses, who've like favours shown. alone the cavern witnessed not their bliss; in love, a point once gained, naught feels amiss, if trees could speak that grew within the dell, what joys they viewed--what stories they might tell! the park, the lawn, the pleasure grounds, and bow'rs, the belts of roses, and the beds of flow'rs, all, all could whisper something of the kind; at length, both longed their friends again to find, quite cloyed with love, they sighed to be at court; thus spoke the fair her wishes to support. loved youth, to me you must be ever dear; to doubt it would ungen'rous now appear; but tell me, pray, what's love without desire, devoid of fear, and nothing to acquire? flame unconfined is soon exhausted found, but, thwarted in its course 'twill long abound; i fear this spot, which we so highly prize, will soon appear a desert in our eyes, and prove at last our grave; relieve my woe; at once to alexandria, hispal go; alive pronounced, you presently will see, what worthy people think of you and me; conceal our residence, declare you came, my journey to prepare, (your certain aim,) and see that i've a num'rous escort sent, to guard me from a similar event. by it, believe me, you shall nothing lose; and this is what i willingly would choose; for, be i single, or in hymen's band, i'd have you follow me by sea and land, and be assured, should favour i withdraw, that i've observed in you some glaring flaw. were her intentions fully as expressed, or contrary to what her lips confessed, no matter which her view, 'twas very plain, if she would hispal's services retain, 'twere right the youth with promises to feed, while his assistance she so much must need: as soon as he was ready to depart she pressed him fondly to her glowing heart, and charged him with a letter to the king; this hispal hastened to the prince to bring; each sail he crowded:--plied with ev'ry oar; a wind quite fair soon brought him to shore; to court he went, where all with eager eyes, demanded if he lived, amid surprise, and where he left the princess; what her state? these questions answered, hispal, quite elate, procured the escort, which, without delay, though leaving him behind, was sent away: no dark mistrust retained the noble youth; but zarus wished it: such appeared the truth. by one of early years the troop was led, a handsome lad, and elegantly bred. he landed with his party near the park. and these in two divided ere 'twas dark. one half he left a guard upon the shore, and with the other hastened to the door, where dwelled the belle, who daily fairer grew: our chief was smitten instantly at view; and, fearing opportunity again, like this, perhaps, he never might obtain, avowed at once his passion to the fair; at which she frowned, and told him, with an air; to recollect his duty, and her rank:-- with equals only, he should be so frank. on these occasions, prudent 'tis to show your disappointment by a face of woe; seem ev'ry way the picture of despair:-- this countenance our knight appeared to wear; to starve himself he vowed was his design; to use the poniard he should ne'er incline, for then no time for penitence would rest.- the princess of his folly made a jest. he fasted one whole day; she-tried in vain to make him from the enterprise refrain. at length, the second day she 'gan to feel, and strong emotion scarcely could conceal. what! let a person die her charms could save! 'twas cruel, thus to treat a youth so brave. through pity, she at last, to please the chief, consented to bestow on him relief; for, favours, when conferred with sullen air, but little gratify she was aware. when satisfied the smart gallant appeared, and anxiously to putting off adhered, pretending that the wind and tide would fail; the galleys sometimes were unfit to sail, repairs required; then further heard the news, that certain pirates had unpleasant views; to fall upon the escort they'd contrived: at length, a pirate suddenly arrived, surprized the party left upon the shore, destroyed the whole; then sought the house for more, and scaled the walls while darkness spread around. the pirate was grifonio's second found, who, in a trice, the noble mansion took, and joy gave place to grief in ev'ry look. the alexandrian swore and cursed his lot; the pirate soon the lady's story got, and, taking her aside, his share required such impudence alaciel's patience tired, who, ev'ry thing refused with haughty air; of this, howe'er, the robber was aware; in venus' court no novice was he thought; to gain the princess anxiously he sought; said he, you'd better take me as a friend; i'm more than pirate, and you'll comprehend, as you've obliged one dying swain to fast, you fast in turn, or you'll give way at last; 'tis justice this demands: we sons of sea know how to deal with those of each degree; remember you will nothing have to eat, till your surrender fully is complete. no haggling, princess pray, my word receive; what could be done, her terror to relieve? above all law is might:--'twill take its course; entire submission is the last resource. of't what we would not, we're obliged to do, when fate our steps with rigour will pursue. no folly greater than to heighten pain, when we are sensible relief is vain. what she, through pity, to another gave, might well be granted when herself 'twould save. at length she yielded to this suitor rude:-- no grief so great, but what may be subdued. 'twould in the pirate doubtless have been wise, the belle to move, and thus prevent surprise; but who, from folly in amours is free? the god of love and wisdom ne'er agree. while our gay pirate thought himself at ease, the wind quite fair to sail when he might please, dame fortune, sleepy only while we wake, and slily watching when repose we take, contrived a trick the cunning knave to play, and this was put in force ere break of day. a lord, the owner of a neighb'ring seat, unmarried;--fond of what was nice and neat, without attachment, and devoid of care, save something new to meet among the fair; grew tired of those he long around had viewed, now constantly, in thought, our belle pursued. he'd money, friends, and credit all his days, and could two thousand men at pleasure raise: one charming morn, together these he brought; said he, brave fellows, can it well be thought, that we allow a pirate, (dire disgrace!) to plunder as he likes before our face, and make a slave of one whose form 's divine? let's to the castle, such is my design, and from the ruffian liberate the fair; this evening ev'ry one will here repair, well armed, and then in silence we'll proceed, (by night 'tis nothing will impede,) and ere aurora peeps, perform the task; the only booty that i mean to ask is this fair dame; but not a slave to make, i anxiously desire to let her take whate'er is her's:--restore her honour too; all other things i freely leave to you; men, horses, baggage, in a word, the whole of what the knavish rascals now control. another thing, howe'er:--i wish to hang the pirate instantly, before his gang. this speech so well succeeded to inspire, that scarcely could the men retain their ire. the evening came, the party soon arrived; they ate not much, but drink their rage revived. by such expensive treats we've armies known, in germany and flanders overthrown; and our commander was of this aware 'twas prudent, surely, no expense to spare. they carried ladders for the escalade, and each was furnished with a tempered blade; no other thing embarrassing they'd got; no drums; but all was silent as the grot. they reached the house when nearly break of day, the time old morpheus' slumbers often weigh; the gang, with few exceptions, (then asleep), were sent, their vigils with grim death to keep. the chief hung up:--the princess soon appeared; her spirits presently our champion cheered; the pirate scarcely had her bosom moved:-- no tears at least a marked affection proved; but, by her prayers she pardon sought to gain, for some who were not in the conflict slain; consoled the dying, and lamented those, who, by the sword, had closed their book of woes: then left the place without the least regret, where such adventures and alarms she'd met. 'tis said, indeed, she presently forgot the two gallants who last became her lot; and i can easily the fact believe: removed from sight, but few for lovers grieve. she, by her neighbour, was received, we're told, 'mid costly furniture and burnished gold; we may suppose what splendour shone around, when all-attracting he would fain be found; the best of wines; each dish considered rare:-- the gods themselves received not better fare: till then, alaciel ne'er had tasted wine; her faith forbade a liquor so divine; and, unacquainted with the potent juice, she much indulged at table in its use. if lately love disquieted her brain, new poison now pervaded ev'ry vein; both fraught with danger to the beauteous fair, whose charms should guarded be with ev'ry care. the princess by the maids in bed was placed; then thither went the host with anxious haste, what sought he? you will ask:--mere torpid charms:-- i wish the like were clasped within my arms. give me as much, said one the other week, and see if i'd a neighbour's kindness seek. through morpheus' sleepy pow'r, and bacchus' wine: our host, at length, completed his design. alaciel, when at morn, she oped her eyes, was quite o'ercome with terror and surprise, no tears would flow, and fear restrained her voice; unable to resist, she'd got no choice. a night thus passed, the wily lover said, must surely give a license to your bed. the princess thought the same; but our gallant, soon cloyed, for other conquests 'gan to pant. the host one evening from the mansion went; a friend he left himself to represent, and with the charming fair supply his place, which, in the dark he thought, with easy grace, might be effected, if he held his tongue, and properly behaved the whole night long. to this the other willingly agreed; (what friend would be refused, if thus in need?) and this new-comer had complete success he scarcely could his ecstacy express. the dame exclaimed:--pray how could he pretend; to treat me so, and leave me to a friend? the other thought the host was much to blame; but since 'tis o'er, said he, be now your aim, to punish his contempt of beauteous charms; with favours load me--take me to your arms; caress with fond embrace; bestow delight; and seem to love me, though in mere despite. she followed his advice: avenged the wrong; and naught omitted, pleasures to prolong. if he obtained his wishes from the fair, the host about it scarcely seemed to care. the sixth adventure of our charming belle, some writers one way, some another tell; whence many think that favour i have shown, and for her, one gallant the less would own. mere scandal this; from truth i would nor swerve, to please the fair: more credence i deserve; her husband only eight precursors had; the fact was such;--i none suppress nor add. the host returned and found his friend content; to pardon him alaciel gave consent; and 'tween them things would equally divide of royal bosoms clemency's the pride. while thus the princess passed from hand to hand she oft amused her fancy 'mong a band of charming belles that on her would attend, and one of these she made an humble friend. the fav'rite in the house a lover had, a smart, engaging, handsome, clever lad, well born, but much to violence inclined a wooer that could scarcely be confined to gentle means, but oft his suit began, where others end, who follow cupid's plan. it one day happened, that this forward spark; the girl we speak of, met within the park, and to a summer-house the fav'rite drew; the course they took the princess chanced to view as wand'ring near; but neither swain nor fair, suspicion had, that any one was there; and this gallant most confidently thought, the girl by force, might to his terms be brought! his wretched temper, obstacle to love, and ev'ry bliss bestowed by heav'n above, had oft his hopes of favours lately marred; and fear, with those designs, had also jarred: the girl, howe'er, would likely have been kind, if opportunities had pleased her mind. the lover, now convinced that he was feared; in dark designs upon her persevered. no sooner had she entered, than our man locked instantly the door, but vain his plan; to open it the princess had a key; the girl her fault perceived, and tried to flee; he held her fast; the charmer loudly called; the princess came--or vainly she had squalled. quite disappointed: overcome with ire, he wholly lost respect amid desire, and swore by all the gods, that, ere they went, the one or other should to him consent; their hands he'd firmly tie to have his way; for help (the place so far) 'twere vain to pray; to take a lot was all that he'd allow; come, draw, he said; to fortune you must bow; no haggling i request--comply; be still: resolved i am with one to have my will. what has the princess done? the girl replied, that you, to make her suffer, thus decide yes, said the spark, if on her fall the lot, then you'll, at least for present, be forgot. no, cried alaciel, ne'er i'll have it said, to sacrifice i saw a maiden led; i'll suffer rather all that you expect, if you will spare my friend as i direct. 'twas all in vain, the lots were drawn at last, and on the princess was the burthen cast; the other was permitted to retire, and each was sworn that nothing should transpire: but our gallant would sooner have been hung, than have upon such secrets held his tongue; 'tis clear, no longer silent he remained, than one to listen to his tale he'd gained. this change of favourites the princess grieved; that cupid trifled with her she perceived; with much regret she saw her blooming charms, the helen of too many paris' arms. one day it happened, as our beauteous belle was sleeping in a wood beside a dell, by chance there passed, quite near, a wand'ring knight, like those the ladies followed with delight, when they on palfreys rode in days of old, and purity were always thought to hold. this knight, who copied those of famed romance, sir roger, and the rest, in complisance, no sooner saw the princess thus asleep, than instantly he wished a kiss to reap. while thinking, whether from the neck or lip, 'twere best the tempting balm of bliss to sip, he suddenly began to recollect the laws of chivalry he should respect. although the thought retained, his fervent prayer to cupid was, that while the nymph was there, her fascinating charms he might enjoy; sure love's soft senses were ne'er designed to cloy! the princess woke, and great surprise expressed; oh! charming fair, said he, be not distressed; no savage of the woods nor giant 's nigh, a wand'ring knight alone you now descry, delighted thus to meet a beauteous belle such charms divine, what angel can excel! this compliment was followed by his sighs, and frank confession, both from tongue and eyes; our lover far in little time could go; at length, he offered on her to bestow, his hand and heart, and ev'ry thing beside, which custom sanctions when we seek a bride. with courtesy his offer was received, and she related what her bosom grieved; detailed her hist'ry, but with care concealed the six gallants, as wrong to be revealed. the knight, in what he wished, indulgence got; and, while the princess much deplored her lot, the youth proposed alaciel he should bring, to mamolin, or alexandria's king. to mamolin? replied the princess fair, no, no--i now indeed would fain repair, (could i my wishes have), to zarus' court, my native country:--thither give support. if cupid grant me life, rejoined the knight, you there shall go, and i'll assist your, flight; to have redress, upon yourself depends, as well as to requite the best of friends; but should i perish in the bold design, submit you must, as wills the pow'rs divine. i'll freely say, howe'er, that i regard, my services enough to claim reward. alaciel readily to this agreed; and favours fondly promised to concede; t'ensure, indeed, his guarding her throughout, they were to be conferred upon the route, from time to time as onward they should go, not all at once, but daily some to flow. things thus arranged, the fair behind the knight got up at once, and with him took to flight. our cavalier his servants sought to find, that, when he crossed the wood, he left behind; with these a nephew and his tutor rode; the belle a palfrey took, as more the mode, but, by her walked attentively the spark, a tale he'd now relate; at times remark the passing scene; then press his ardent flame; and thus amused our royal, beauteous dame. the treaty was most faithfully observed; no calculation wrong; from naught they swerved. at length they reached the sea; on ship-board got; a quick and pleasing passage was their lot; delightfully serene, which joy increased; to land they came (from perils thought released;) at joppa they debarked; two days remained: and when refreshed, the proper road they gained; their escort was the lover's train alone; on asia's shores to plunder bands are prone; by these were met our spark and lovely fair; new dangers they, alas! were forced to share. to cede, at first, their numbers forced the train; but rallied by our knight they were again; a desp'rate push he made; repulsed their force; and by his valour stopt, at length, their course; in which attack a mortal wound he got, but was not left for dead upon the spot. before his death he full instructions gave, to grant the belle whatever she might crave; he ordered too, his nephew should convey, alaciel to her home without delay, bequeathing him whatever he possessed, and--what the princess owed among the rest. at length, from dread alarms and tears released, the pair fulfilled the will of our deceased; discharged each favour was, of which the last was cancelled just as they the frontiers passed. the nephew here his precious charge resigned, for fear the king should be displeased to find, his daughter guarded by a youthful swain:-- the tutor only with her could remain. no words of mine, no language can express the monarch's joy his child to re-possess; and, since the difficulty i perceive, i'll imitate old sol's retreat at eve, who falls with such rapidity of view, he seems to plunge, dame thetis to pursue. the tutor liked his own details to hear, and entertaining made his tales appear: the num'rous perils that the fair had fled, who laughed aside, no doubt, at what he said. i should observe, the aged tutor cried, the princess, while for liberty she sighed, and quite alone remained (by hispal left,) that she might be of idleness bereft, resolved most fervently a god to serve, from whom she scarcely since would ever swerve, a god much worshipped 'mong the people there, with num'rous temples which his honours share, denominated cabinets and bow'rs, in which, from high respect to heav'nly pow'rs, they represent the image of a bird, a pleasing sight, though (what appears absurd) 'tis bare of plumage, save about the wings; to this each youthful bosom incense brings, while other gods, as i've been often told, they scarcely notice, till they're growing old. did you but know the virtuous steps she trod, while thus devoted to the little god, you'd thank a hundred times the pow'rs above, that gave you such a child to bless your love. but many other customs there abound:-- the fair with perfect liberty are found: can go and come, whene'er the humour fits; no eunuch (shadow like) that never quits; but watches ev'ry movement:--always feared; no men, but who've upon the chin a beard: your daughter from the first, their manners took: so easy is her ev'ry act and look, and truly to her honour i may say, she's all-accommodating ev'ry way. the king delighted seemed at what he heard; but since her journey could not be deferred, the princess, with a num'rous escort, tried again o'er seas t'wards garba's shores to glide, and, there arrived, was cordially received by mamolin, who loved, she soon believed, to fond excess; and, all her suite to aid, a handsome gift to ev'ry one was made. the king with noble feasts the court regaled, at which alaciel pleasantly detailed just what she liked, or true or false, 'twas clear; the prince and courtiers were disposed to hear. at night the queen retired to soft repose, from whence next morn with honour she arose; the king was found much pleasure to express; alaciel asked no more, you well may guess. by this we learn, that husbands who aver their wond'rous penetration often err; and while they fancy things so very plain, they've been preceded by a fav'rite swain. the safest rule 's to be upon your guard; fear ev'ry guile; yet hope the full reward. sweet, charming fair, your characters revere; the mamolin's a bird not common here. with us love's fascination is so soon succeeded by the licensed honey moon, there's scarcely opportunity to fool, though oft the husband proves an easy tool. your friendships may be very chaste and pure, but strangely cupid's lessons will allure. defeat his wiles; resist his tempting charms e'en from suspicion suffer not alarms. don't laugh at my advice; 'twere like the boys, who better might amuse themselves with toys. if any one, howe'er unable seem, to make resistance 'gainst the flame supreme turn all to jest; though right to keep the crown yet lost, 'there wrong, yourself to hang or drown. etext editor's bookmarks: above all law is might ev'ry grave's the same favours, when conferred with sullen air, but little gratify historick writ no folly greater than to heighten pain no grief so great, but what may be subdued of't what we would not, we're obliged to do removed from sight, but few for lovers grieve the eyes:--soul-speaking language, nothing can disguise the god of love and wisdom ne'er agree tis all the same:--'twill never make me grieve tis past our pow'r to live on love or air you little dream for whom you guard the store this ebook was produced by david widger [note: there is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the file for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making an entire meal of them. d.w.] the tales and novels of j. de la fontaine volume . contains: the muleteer the servant girl justified the three gossips' wager the muleteer the lombard princes oft pervade my mind; the present tale boccace relates you'll find; agiluf was the noble monarch's name; teudelingua he married, beauteous dame, the last king's widow, who had left no heir, and whose dominions proved our prince's share. no beauty round compare could with the queen; and ev'ry blessing on the throne was seen, when cupid, in a playful moment, came, and o'er agiluf's stable placed his flame; there left it carelessly to burn at will, which soon began a muleteer to fill, with love's all-powerful, all-consuming fire, that naught controls, and youthful breasts desire. the muleteer was pleasing to the sight: gallant, good-humoured, airy, and polite, and ev'ry way his humble birth belied; a handsome person, nor was sense denied; he showed it well, for when the youth beheld, with eyes of love, the queen, who all excelled, and ev'ry effort anxiously had made, to stop the flames that would his heart invade; when vain it proved, he took a prudent part:-- who can, like cupid, manage wily art? whate'er stupidity we may discern, his pupils more within a day can learn, than masters knowledge in the schools can gain, though they in study should ten years remain; the lowest clown he presently inspires, with ev'ry tendency that love requires; of this our present tale's a proof direct, and none that feel--its truths will e'er suspect: the am'rous muleteer his thoughts employed; consid'ring how his wish might be enjoyed. without success to certainty were brought, life seemed to him not worth a slender thought; to hazard ev'ry thing; to live or die! possession have!--or in the grave to lie! the lombard custom was, that when the king, who slept not with his queen, (a common thing in other countries too), desired to greet his royal consort, and in bed to meet, a night-gown solely o'er his back he threw, and then proceeded to the interview, knocked softly at the door, on which a fair, who waited on the queen with anxious care, allowed the prince to enter; took his light, (which only glimmered in the midst of night,) then put it out, and quickly left the room:-- a little lantern to dispel the gloom, with waxen taper that emitted rays-- in diff'rent countries various are their ways! our wily, prying, crafty muleteer, knew well these forms were current through the year: he, like the king, at night himself equipped, and to the queen's superb apartment slipped. his face concealed the fellow tried to keep; the waiting dame was more than half asleep; the lover got access:--soon all was clear; the prince's coming he had but to fear, and, as the latter had, throughout the day, the chase attended an extensive way, 'twas more than probable he'd not be led, (since such fatigue he'd had,) to quit his bed. perfumed, quite neat, and lively as a bird, our spark (safe entered) uttered not a word. 'twas often customary with the king, when state affairs, or other weighty thing, displeasure gave, to take of love his fill, yet let his tongue the while continue still. a singularity we needs must own, with this the wife was long familiar grown. our am'rous wight more joys than one received, if our narrator of the tale's believed; (in bed a muleteer is worth three kings, and value oft is found in humble things.) the queen began to think her husband's rage had proved a stimulus such wars to wage, and made him wond'rous stout in pleasure's sport, though all the while his thoughts were-'bout the court. with perfect justice heav'n its gifts bestows; but equal talents all should not compose. the prince's virtues doubtless were designed, to take command, and govern o'er mankind. the lawyer, points of difficulty views, decides with judgment, and the truth pursues. in cupid's scenes the muleteer succeeds:-- each has his part:--none universal meeds. with pleasures feasted, our gallant retired, before the morn fresh blushes had acquired. but scarcely had he left the tender scene, 'ere king agiluf came to see his queen, who much surprise expressed, and to him said: my dear, i know your love, but from this bed, you'll recollect how recently you went, and having wonders done, should be content. for heav'n's sake, consider more your health; 'tis dearer far to me than croesus' wealth. within the royal breast suspicions rose, but nothing then the monarch would disclose. he instantly withdrew without a word; his sentiments to speak had been absurd, and to the stable flew, since he believed the circumstances, which his bosom grieved, whate'er mysterious doubts might then appear, proceeded from some am'rous muleteer. when round the dorture he began to creep, the troop appeared as if dissolved in sleep, and so they truly were, save our gallant, whose terrors made him tremble, sigh, and pant: no light the king had got; it still was dark; agiluf groped about to find the spark, persuaded that the culprit might be known, by rapid beating of the pulse alone. the thought was good; to feel the prince began, and at the second venture, found his man, who, whether from the pleasures he'd enjoyed, or fear, or dread discov'ry to avoid, experienced (spite of ev'ry wily art,) at once quick beating of the pulse and heart. in doubt how this adventure yet might end, he thought to seem asleep would him befriend. meanwhile the king, though not without much pains, obtained the scissors used for horses' manes. with these, he said, i'll mark the fond gallant, that i may know again the one i want. the monarch from the muleteer with care, in front, snipt off a bulky lock of hair. this having done, he suddenly withdrew; but carelessly away the trophy threw; of which the sly gallant advantage took, and thus the prince's subtle project shook; for instantly began our artful spark, his fellow servants like himself to mark. when day arrived the monarch was surprised, to see each muleteer alike disguised; no hair in front of either now was seen; why, how is this? said he: what can it mean? fifteen or more, if i believe my sight, my wife has satisfied this very night. well! well! he'll now escape if mum he prove; but there again i trust he ne'er shall move. the servant girl justified boccace alone is not my only source; t'another shop i now shall have recourse; though, certainly, this famed italian wit has many stories for my purpose fit. but since of diff'rent dishes we should taste; upon an ancient work my hands i've placed; where full a hundred narratives are told, and various characters we may behold; from life, navarre's fair queen the fact relates; my story int'rest in her page creates; beyond dispute from her we always find, simplicity with striking art combin'd. yet, whether 'tis the queen who writes, or not; i shall, as usual, here and there allot whate'er additions requisite appear; without such license i'd not persevere, but quit, at once, narrations of the sort; some may be long, though others are too short. let us proceed, howe'er (our plan explained:) a pretty servant-girl a man retain'd. she pleas'd his eye, and presently he thought, with ease she might to am'rous sports be brought; he prov'd not wrong; the wench was blithe and gay, a buxom lass, most able ev'ry way. at dawn, one summer's morn, the spark was led to rise, and leave his wife asleep in bed; he sought at once the garden, where he found the servant-girl collecting flow'rs around, to make a nosegay for his better half, whose birth-day 'twas:--he soon began to laugh, and while the ranging of the flow'rs he prais'd, the servant's neckerchief he slyly rais'd. who, suddenly, on feeling of the hand, resistance feign'd, and seem'd to make a stand; but since these liberties were nothing new, they other fun and frolicks would pursue; the nosegay at the fond gallant was thrown; the flow'rs he kiss'd, and now more ardent grown they romp'd and rattl'd, play'd and skipt around; at length the fair one fell upon the ground; our am'rous spark advantage took of this, and nothing with the couple seem'd amiss. unluckily, a neighbour's prying eyes beheld their playful pranks with great surprise, she, from her window, could the scene o'erlook; when this the fond gallant observ'd, he shook; said he, by heav'ns! our frolicking is seen, by that old haggard, envious, prying quean; but do not heed it; instantly he chose to run and wake his wife, who quickly rose;-- so much the dame he fondl'd and caress'd, the garden walk she took at his request, to have a nosegay, where he play'd anew pranks just the same as those of recent view, which highly gratified our lady fair, who felt dispos'd, and would at eve repair, to her good neighbour, whom she bursting found, with what she'd seen that morn upon the ground. the usual greetings o'er, our envious dame, with scowling brow exclaim'd,--my dear, your fame, i love too much not fully to detail, what i have witnessed, and with truth bewail; will you continue, in your house to keep a girl, whose conduct almost makes me weep? anon i'd kick her from your house, i say; the strumpet should not stay another day. the wife replied, you surely are deceiv'd; an honest, virtuous creature she's believ'd. well, i can easily, my friend, suppose, rejoin'd the neighbour, whence this favour flows; but look about, and be convinc'd, this morn from my own window (true as you are born,) within the garden i your husband spi'd and presently the servant girl i ey'd; at one another various flow'rs they threw, and then the minx a little graver grew. i understand you, cried the list'ning fair; you are deceiv'd:--myself alone was there. neighbour but patience, if you please: attend i pray you've no conception what i meant to say: the playful fair was actively employ'd, in plucking am'rous flow'rs--they kiss'd and toy'd. wife 'twas clearly i, howe'er, for her you took. neighbour the flow'rs for bosoms quickly they forsook; large handfuls frequently they seem'd to grasp, and ev'ry beauty in its turn to clasp. wife but still, why think you, friend, it was not i? has not your spouse with you a right to try what freaks he likes? neighbour but then, upon the ground this girl was thrown, and never cried nor frown'd; you laugh.-- wife indeed i do, 'twas myself. neighbour a flannel petticoat display'd the elf. wife 'twas mine: neighbour be patient:--and inform me, pray, if this were worn by you or her to-day? there lies the point, for, if you'll me believe, your husband did--the most you can conceive. wife how hard of credence!--'twas myself i vow. neighbour oh! that's conclusive; i'll be silent now; though truly i am led to think, my eyes are pretty sharp, and much i feel surprise at what you say; in fact, i would have sworn, i saw them thus at romps this very morn; excuse the hint, and do not turn her off. wife why, turn her off?--the very thought i scoff; she serves me well. neighbour and so it seems is taught; by all means keep her then, since thus she's thought. the three gossips' wager as o'er their wine one day, three gossips sat, discoursing various pranks in pleasant chat, each had a loving friend, and two of these most clearly managed matters at their ease. said one, a princely husband i have got. a better in the world there's surely not; with him i can adjust as humour fits, no need to rise at early dawn, like cits, to prove to him that two and three make four, or ask his leave to ope or shut the door. upon my word, replied another fair, if he were mine, i openly declare, to judge from what so pleasantly you say, i'd make a present of him new-year's day. for pleasure never gives me full delight, unless a little pain the bliss invite. no doubt your husband moves as he is led; thank heav'n a different mortal claims my bed; to take him in, great nicety we need; but howsoe'er, at times i can succeed; the satisfaction doubly then is felt:-- in fond emotion bosoms freely melt. with neither of you, husband or gallant, would i exchange, though these so much you vaunt. on this, the third with candour interfer'd; she thought that oft the god of love appear'd, good husbands playfully to fret and vex, sometimes to rally couples: then perplex; but warmer as the conversation grew, she, anxious that each disputant might view herself victorious, (or believe it so,) exclaim'd, if either of you wish to show who's in the right, with argument have done, and let us practise some new scheme of fun, to dupe our husbands; she who don't succeed shall pay a forfeit; all replied, "agreed." but then, continued she, we ought to take an oath, that we will full discov'ry make, to one another of the various facts, without disguising even trifling acts. and then, good upright macae shall decide; thus things arrang'd, the ladies homeward plied. she, 'mong the three, who felt the most constraint ador'd a youth, contemporaries paint, well made and handsome, but with beardless chin, which led the pair a project to begin; for yet no opportunity they'd found, t' enjoy their wishes, save by stealth around; most ardently she sought to be at ease, and 'twas agreed the lucky thought to seize that like a chambermaid he should be dress'd, and then proceed to execute the jest, attend upon the wily, wedded pair, and offer services with modest air and downcast eyes; the husband on her leer'd, and in her favour prepossess'd appear'd, in hopes one day, to find those pleasing charms resign'd in secret to his longing arms. such pretty cheeks and sparkling eyes he thought, had ne'er till then his roving fancy caught; the girl was hir'd, but seemingly with pain, since prudence ultimately might complain, that (maid and master both so very young) 'twould not be wonderful if things went wrong. at first the husband inattention show'd, and scarcely on the maid a look bestow'd; but presently he chang'd his conduct quite, and presents gave, with promises not slight; at length the servant feign'd to lend an ear, and anxious seem'd obliging to appear. the trap our cunning lovers having laid, one eve this message brought the smiling maid; my lady, sir, is ill, and rest requires, to sleep alone to-night she much desires. to grant the master's wish the girl was led, and they together hurried off to bed. the husband 'tween the sheets himself had plac'd; the nymph was in her petticoat, unlac'd; when suddenly appear'd the wily wife, and promis'd harmony was turn'd to strife. are these your freaks, cried she with mark'd surprise; your usual dish it seems then don't suffice; you want, indeed, to have some nicer fare? a little sooner, by the saints i swear, you'd me a pretty trick, 'tis clear, have shown, and doubtless, then, tit bits to keep been prone. this, howsoe'er, to get you're not design'd, so elsewhere you may try what you can find. and as to you, miss prettyface, you jade, good heav'ns! to think a paltry servant maid should rival me? i'll beat you black and blue! the bread i eat, indeed, must be for you? but i know better, and indeed am clear, not one around will fancy i appear so void of charms, so faded, wither'd, lost, that i should out of doors at once be tost; but i will manage matters:--i design this girl no other bed shall have than mine; then who so bold to touch her there will dare? come, miss, let's to my room at once repair; away--your things to-morrow you can seek; if scandal 'twould spread around, i'd wreak my vengeance instantly, and turn you out; but i am lenient, and desire no rout; perhaps your ruin may be sav'd by care; so night and day your company i'll share; no more my bosom then will feel dismay, for i shall see that you no frolicks play. on this the trembling girl, o'ercome with fears; held down her head and seem'd to hide her tears; pick'd up her clothes and quickly stole away, as if afraid her mistress more might say; and hop'd to act the maid while sol gave light, but play at ease the fond gallant at night; at once she fill'd two places in the house, and thought in both the husband she should chouse, who bless'd his stars that he'd escap'd so well, and sneak'd alone to rest within his cell, while our gay, am'rous pair advantage took, to play at will, and ev'ry solace hook, convinc'd most thoroughly, once lovers kiss'd, that opportunity should n'er be miss'd. here ends the trick our wily gossip play'd; but now let's see the plot another laid. the second dame, whose husband was so meek, that only from her lips the truth he'd seek, when seated with him 'neath a pear tree's shade, contriv'd at ease and her arrangement made. the story i shall presently relate; the butler, strong, well dress'd, and full of prate: who often made the other servants trot, stood near when madam hit upon her plot, to whom she said, i wish the fruit to taste; on which the man prepar'd with ev'ry haste, to climb the tree, and off the produce shook; but while above, the fellow gave a look upon the ground below, and feign'd he saw the spouse and wife--do more than kiss and paw: the servant rubb'd his eyes, as if in doubt, and cried: why truly, sir, if you're so stout, that you must revel 'mid your lady's charms, pray elsewhere take her to your longing arms, where you at ease may frolick hours or days, without my witnessing your loving ways; indeed, i'm quite surprised at what i spy in publick, 'neath a tree such pranks to try! and, if you don't a servant's presence heed, with decency howe'er you should proceed. what, still go on? for shame, i say, for shame! pray wait till by and by; you're much to blame; besides, the nights are long enough you'll find; heav'n genial joys for privacy design'd; and why this place, when you've nice chambers got? what, cried the lady, says this noisy sot? he surely dreams; where can he learn these tales? come down; let's see what 'tis the fellow ails. down william came. how? said the master, how? are we at play? william not now, sir, no, not now. husband why, when then, friend? william while i was in the tree, alive, sir, flay me, if i did not see you on the verdant lawn my lady lay, and kiss, and toy, and other frolicks play. wife 'twere surely better if thou held'st thy tongue, or thou'lt a beating get before 'tis long. husband no, no, my dear, he's mad, and i design the fellow in a madhouse to confine. william is't folly, pray, to see what we behold? wife what hast thou seen? william what i've already told:-- my master and yourself at cupid's game, or else the tree 's enchanted i proclaim. wife enchanted! nonsense; such a sight to see! husband to know the truth myself, i'll climb the tree, then you the fact will quickly from me learn; we may believe what we ourselves discern. soon as the master they above descried, and that below our pair he sharply eyed, the butler took the lady in his arms, and grew at once familiar with her charms; at sight of this the husband gave a yell: made haste to reach the ground, and nearly fell; such liberties he wish'd at once to stop, since what he'd seen had nearly made him drop. how! how!--cried he:--what, e'en before my sight? what can you mean? said she without affright. husband dar'st thou to ask again? wife and why not, pray? husband fine, pretty doings!--presently you'll say; that what i've seen 'tis folly to believe. wife too much is this:--such accusations grieve. husband thou did'st most clearly suffer his embrace. wife i? why, you dream! husband this seems a curious case. my reason's flown'! or have i lost my eyes? wife can you suppose my character i prize so very little, that these pranks i'd play before your face, when i might ev'ry day find minutes to divert myself at will, and (if lik'd such frolicks) take my fill? husband i know not what to think nor what to do; p'rhaps this same tree can tricks at will pursue; let's see again; aloft he went once more, and william acted as he'd done before; but now the husband saw the playful squeeze; without emotion, and returned at ease. to find the cause, said he, no longer try, the tree's enchanted, we may well rely. since, that's the fact, replied the cunning jade; to burn it, quickly william seek fort aid; the tree accurst no longer shall remain; her will the servant wish'd not to restrain, but soon some workmen brought, who felled the tree; and wondered what the fault our fair could see. down hew it, cried the lady, that's your task; more concerns you not; folly 'tis to ask. our second gossip thus obtained success; but now the third: we'll see if she had less: to female friends she often visits paid, and various pastimes there had daily play'd; a leering lover who was weary grown, desired one night she'd meet him quite alone. two, if you will, replied the smiling fair; a trifle 'tis you ask, and i'll repair where'er you wish, and we'll recline at ease; my husband i can manage, if i please, while thus engag'd.--the parties soon agreed; but still the lady for her wits had need, since her dear man from home but rarely went, no pardons sought at rome, but was content with what he nearer got, while his sweet wife more fondness mark'd for gratifying life, and ever anxious, warmest zeal to show, was always wishing distant scenes to know; as pilgrim oft she'd trod a foreign road, but now desir'd those ancient ways t'explode; a plan more rare and difficult she sought, and round her toe our wily dame bethought, to tie a pack-thread, fasten'd to the door, which open'd to the street: then feign'd to snore beside her husband, harry berlinguier, (so, usually, they nam'd her wedded dear.) howe'er, so cunningly with him she dealt, that harry turn'd, and soon the pack-thread felt, which rais'd distrust, and led him to suspect some bad design the thread was meant t'effect. a little time, as if asleep, he lay considering how to act, or what to say; then rose, (his spouse believing not awake,) and softly treading, lest the room should shake; the pack-thread follow'd to the outer door, and thence concluded (what he might deplore,) that his dear partner from her faith would stray, and some gallant that night design'd to play the lover's part and draw the secret clue, when she would rise, and with him freaks pursue, while he (good husband!) quietly in bed might sleep, not dreaming that his wife had fled. for otherwise, what use such pains to take? a visit cuckoldom, perhaps, might make; an honour that he'd willingly decline; on which he studied how to countermine; and like a sentinel mov'd to and fro', to watch if any one would thither go to pull the string, that he could see with ease, and then he'd instantly the culprit seize. the, reader will perceive, we may suppose, besides the entrance which the husband chose, on t'other side a door, where our gallant could enter readily, as he might want, and there the spark a chambermaid let in:-- oft servants prone are found a bribe to win. while berlinguier thus watch'd around and round; the friends with one another pleasures found; but heav'n alone knows how nor what they were:-- no fact transpir'd save all was free from care; so well the servant kept the careful watch, that not a chance was given the pair to catch: the spark at dawn the lady left alone, and ere the husband came the bird was flown; then harry, weary, took his place again, complaining, that he'd felt such racking pain, and dreading, lest alarms her breast should seize, within another room he'd sought for ease. two days had pass'd, when madam thought once more, to set the thread, as she had done before; he left the bed, pretending he was sick, resumed his post; again the lover came, and, with my lady, play'd the former game. the scheme so well succeeded, that the pair thrice wish'd to try the wily pack-thread snare; the husband with the cholic mov'd away, his place the bold gallant resum'd till day. at length their ardour 'gan, it seems, to cool, and harry, they no longer tried to fool; 'twas time to seek the myst'ry of the plot, since, to three acts, the comedy was got. at midnight, when the spark had left the bed; a servant, by his orders, drew the thread; on whom the husband, without fear, laid hold, and with him enter'd like a soldier bold, not then supposing he'd a valet seiz'd; well tim'd it prov'd, howe'er;--the lady pleas'd her voice to raise, on hearing what was said, and through the house confusion quickly spread. the valet now before them bent the knee, and openly declar'd, he came to see the chambermaid, whom he was wont to greet, and by the thread to rouse when time to meet: are these your knavish tricks, replied the dame, with eyes upon her maid that darted flame; when i by chance observ'd about your toe, a thread one night, i then resolv'd to know your scheme in full, and round my own i tied a clue, on which i thoroughly relied, to catch this gay gallant, that you pretend your husband will become, i apprehend. be that as 'twill, to-night from hence you go. my dear, said berlinguier, i'd fain say no; let things remain until to-morrow, pray and then my lady presently gave way. a fortune harry on the girl bestow'd; the like our valet to his master ow'd; to church the happy couple smiling went:-- they'd known each other long, and were content. thus ended then, the third and last amour; the trio hasten'd macae to implore, to say which gain'd the bet, who soon replied:-- i find it, friends, not easy to decide. the case hangs up, and there will long remain; 'tis often thus when justice we'd obtain: etext editor's bookmarks: was always wishing distant scenes to know this ebook was produced by david widger [note: there is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the file for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making an entire meal of them. d.w.] the tales and novels of j. de la fontaine volume . contents: the cudgelled and contented cuckold the husband confessor the cobbler the peasant and his angry lord the cudgelled and contented cuckold some time ago from rome, in smart array, a younger brother homeward bent his way, not much improved, as frequently the case with those who travel to that famous place. upon the road oft finding, where he stayed, delightful wines, and handsome belle or maid, with careless ease he loitered up and down.-- one day there passed him in a country town, attended by a page, a lady fair, whose charming form and all-engaging air, at once his bosom fired with fond desire; and nearer still, her beauties to admire. he most gallantly saw her safely home; attentions charm the sex where'er we roam. our thoughtless rambler pleasures always sought: from rome this spark had num'rous pardons brought; but,--as to virtues (this too oft we find), he'd left them,--with his holiness behind! the lady was, by ev'ry one, confessed, of beauty, youth, and elegance possessed; she wanted naught to form her bliss below, but one whose love would ever fondly flow. indeed so fickle proved this giddy youth, that nothing long would please his heart or tooth; howe'er he earnestly inquired her name, and ev'ry other circumstance the same. she's lady, they replied, to great 'squire good, who's almost bald from age 'tis understood; but as he's rich, and high in rank appears, why that's a recompense you know for years. these facts our young gallant no sooner gained, but ardent hopes at once he entertained; to wily plots his mind he quickly bent, and to a neighb'ring town his servants sent; then, at the house where dwelled our noble 'squire, his humble services proposed for hire. pretending ev'ry sort of work he knew, he soon a fav'rite with old square-toes grew, who (first advising with his charming mate), chief falc'ner made him o'er his fine estate. the new domestick much the lady pleased; he watched and eagerly the moment seized, his ardent passion boldly to declare, in which he showed a novice had no share. 'twas managed well, for nothing but the chase, could square-toes tempt to quit her fond embrace, and then our falc'ner must his steps attend:-- the very time he wished at home to spend. the lady similar emotions showed; for opportunity their bosoms glowed; and who will feel in argument so bold, when this i say, the contrary to hold? at length with pity cupid saw the case, and kindly lent his aid to their embrace. one night the lady said, with eager eyes, my dear, among our servants, which d'ye prize, for moral conduct most and upright heart? to this her spouse replied, the faithful part is with the falc'ner found, i must decide: to him my life i'd readily confide. then you are wrong, said she,--most truly so, for he's a good-for-nothing wretch i know; you'll scarcely credit it, but t'other day, he had the barefaced impudence to say, he loved me much, and then his passion pressed: i'd nearly fallen, i was so distressed. to tear his eyes out, i designed at first, and e'en to choke this wretch, of knaves the worst; by prudence solely was i then restrained, for fear the world should think his point was gained. the better then to prove his dark intent, i feigned an inclination to consent, and in the garden, promised as to-night, i'd near the pear-tree meet this roguish wight. said i, my husband never moves from hence; no jealous fancy, but to show the sense he entertains of my pure, virtuous life, and fond affection for a loving wife. thus circumstanced, your wishes see are vain, unless when he's asleep a march i gain, and softly stealing from his torpid side, with trembling steps i, to my lover, glide. so things remain, my dear; an odd affair:-- on this square-toes 'gan to curse and swear; but his fond rib most earnestly besought, his rage to stifle, as she clearly thought, he might in person, if he'd take the pain, secure the rascal and redress obtain you know, said she, the tree is near the door, upon the left and bears of fruit great store; but if i may my sentiments express, in cap and petticoats you'd best to dress; his insolence is great, and you'll be right, to give your strokes with double force to night; well work his back; flat lay him on the ground:-- a rascal! honourable ladies round, no doubt he many times has served the same; 'tis such impostors characters defame. to rouse his wrath the story quite sufficed; the spouse resolved to do as she advised. howe'er to dupe him was an easy lot; the hour arrived, his dress he soon had got, away he ran with anxious fond delight. in hopes the wily spark to trap that night. but no one there our easy fool could see, and while he waited near the fav'rite tree, half dead with cold, the falc'ner slyly stole, to her who had so well contrived the whole; time, place, and disposition, all combined the loving pair to mutual joys resigned. when our expert gallant had with the dame, an hour or more indulged his ardent flame, though forced at length to quit the loving lass, 'twas not without the favourite parting glass; he then the garden sought, where long the 'squire, upon the knave had wished to vent his ire. no sooner he the silly husband spied, but feigning 'twas the wily wife he eyed, at once he cried,--ah, vilest of the sex! are these thy tricks, so good a man to vex? oh shame upon thee! thus to treat his love, as pure as snow, descending from above. i could not think thou hadst so base a heart, but clear it is, thou need'st a friendly part, and that i'll act: i asked this rendezvous with full intent to see if thou wert true; and, god be praised, without a loose design, to plunge in luxuries pronounced divine. protect me heav'n! poor sinner that i'm here! to guard thy honour i will persevere. my worthy master could i thus disgrace? thou wanton baggage with unblushing face, thee on the spot i'll instantly chastise, and then thy husband of the fact advise. the fierce harangue o'er square-toes pleasure spread, who, mutt'ring 'tween his teeth, with fervour said: o gracious lord! to thee my thanks are due-- to have a wife so chaste--a man so true! but presently he felt upon his back the falc'ner's cudgel vigorously thwack, who soundly basted him as on he ran, to gain the house, with terror, pale and wan. the squire had wished his trusty man, no doubt, had not, at cudgelling, been quite so stout; but since he showed himself so true a friend, and with his actions could such prudence blend, the master fully pardoned what he knew, and quickly to his wife in bed he flew, when he related every thing that passed were we, cried he, a hundred years to last, my lovely dear, we ne'er on earth could find a man so faithful, and so well inclined. i'd have him take within our town a wife, and you and i'll regard him during life. in that, replied the lady, we agree, and heartily thereto i pledged will be. the husband-confessor when francis (named the first) o'er frenchmen reign'd, in italy young arthur laurels gained, and oft such daring valour showed in fight, with ev'ry honour he was made a knight; the monarch placed the spur upon his heel, that all around his proper worth might feel. then household deities at home he sought, where--not at prayers his beauteous dame he caught: he'd left her, truly, quite dissolv'd in tears; but now the belle had bid adieu to fears; and oft was dancing joyously around, with all the company that could be found. gallants in crowds sir arthur soon perceived; at sight of these the knight was sorely grieved; and, turning in his mind how best to act; cried he, can this be truly held a fact, that i've been worthy while i'd fame in view, of cuckoldom at home, and knighthood too? it ought to be but half:--the truth let's know; from constancy the purest blessings flow. then like a father-confessor he dressed, and took his seat where priests their flock confessed. his lady absolution sought that day, and on her knees before him 'gan to pray; the minor sins were told with downcast eyes, and then for hearing those of larger size, the husband-confessor prepared his ears:-- said she, good father, ('mid a flood of tears), my bed receives, (the fault i fear's not slight,) a gentleman, a parson, and a knight. still more had followed, but, by rage o'ercome, sir arthur cut the thread, and she was mum; though, doubtless, had the fair been let proceed, quite long her litany had been decreed. the husband, in a rage, exclaimed, thou jade, a parson, say'st thou? t'whom dost think thou'st made this curst confession?--to my spouse, cried she, i saw you enter here, and came with glee, supposing you'd a trick to raise surprise; howe'er 'tis strange that one so very wise, the riddle should not fully comprehend:-- a knight, the king created you, my friend; a gentleman, your rank was long ago; a parson, you have made yourself you know. goon heav'ns! exclaimed the knight, 'tis very clear, and i a blockhead surely must appear. the cobbler we're told, that once a cobbler, blase by name; a wife had got, whose charms so high in fame; but as it happened, that their cash was spent, the honest couple to a neighbour went, a corn-factor by trade, not overwise to whom they stated facts without disguise; and begged, with falt'ring voice denoting care, that he, of wheat, would half a measure spare, upon their note, which readily he gave, and all advantages desired to wave. the time for payment came; the money used; the cash our factor would not be refused; of writs he talked, attorneys, and distress; the reason:--heav'n can tell, and you may guess; in short, 'twas clear our gay gallant desired, to cheer the wife, whose beauty all admired. said he, what anxiously i wish to get, you've plenty stored, and never wanted yet; you surely know my meaning?--yes, she cried; i'll turn it in my mind, and we'll decide how best to act. away she quickly flew, and blase informed, what ninny had in view. zounds! said the cobbler, we must see, my dear, to hook this little sum:--the way is clear; no risk i'm confident; for prithee run and tell him i've a journey just begun; that he may hither come and have his will; but 'ere he touch thy lips, demand the bill; he'll not refuse the boon i'm very sure; meantime, myself i'll hide and all secure. the note obtained, cough loudly, strong, and clear; twice let it be, that i may plainly hear; then forth i'll sally from my lurking place, and, spite of folly's frowns, prevent disgrace. the, plot succeeded as the pair desired; the cobbler laughed, and all his scheme admired: a purse-proud cit thereon observed and swore; 'twere better to have coughed when all was o'er; then you, all three, would have enjoyed your wish, and been in future all as mute as fish. oh! sir, replied the cobbler's wife at ease, do you suppose that use can hope to please, and like your ladies full of sense appear? (for two were seated with his wedded dear;) perhaps my lady 'd act as you describe, but ev'ry one such prudence don't imbibe. the peasant and his angry lord once on a time, as hist'ry's page relates, a lord, possessed of many large estates, was angry with a poor and humble clod, who tilled his grounds and feared his very nod. th' offence (as often happens) was but small, but on him, vowed the peer, his rage should fall-- said he, a halter, rascal, you deserve; you'll never from the gallows-turnpike swerve: or, soon or late you swinging will be found who, born for hanging, ever yet was drowned? howe'er you'll smile to hear my lenient voice; observe, three punishments await your choice; take which you will.--the first is, you shall eat, of strongest garlick, thirty heads complete; no drink you'll have between, nor sleep, nor rest; you know a breach of promise i detest. or, on your shoulders further i propose, to give you, with a cudgel, thirty blows. or, if more pleasing, that you truly pay, the sum of thirty pounds without delay. the peasant 'gan to turn things in his mind:-- said he, to take the heads i'm not inclined; no drink, you say, between; that makes it worse; to eat the garlick thus, would prove a curse. nor can i suffer on my tender back, that, with a cudgel, thirty blows you thwack. still harder thirty pounds to pay appeared; uncertain how to act, he hanging feared. the noble peer he begged, upon his knees, his penitence to hear, and sentence ease. but mercy dwelled not with the angry lord is this, cried he, the answer?--bring a cord. the peasant, trembling lest his life was sought; the garlick chose, which presently was brought. upon a dish my lord the number told; clod no way liked the garlick to behold. with piteous mien the garlick head he took, then on it num'rous ways was led to look, and grumbling much, began to spit and eat, just like a cat with mustard on her meat, to touch it with his tongue he durst not do; he knew not how to act or what pursue. the peer, delighted at the man's distress, the garlick made him bite, and chew, and press, then gulp it down as if delicious fare; the first he passed; the second made him swear; the third he found was every whit as sad, he wished the devil had it, 'twas so bad. in short, when at the twelfth our wight arrived, he thought his mouth and throat of skin deprived. said he, some drink i earnestly intreat; what, greg'ry, cried my lord, dost feel a heat; in thy repasts dost love to wet thy jaws? well! well! i won't object; thou know'st my laws; much good may't do thee; here, some wine, some wine! yet recollect, to drink, since you design, that afterward, my friend, you'll have to choose the thirty blows, or thirty pounds to lose. but, cried the peasant, i sincerely pray, your lordship's goodness, that the garlick may be taken in the account, for as to pelf, where can an humble lab'rer, like myself, expect the sum of thirty pounds to seize? then, said the peer, be cudgelled if you please; take thirty thwacks; for naught the garlick goes. to moisten well his throat, and ease his woes, the peasant drank a copious draught of wine, and then to bear the cudgel would resign. a single blow he patiently endured; the second, howsoe'er, his patience cured; the third was more severe, and each was worse; the punishment he now began to curse; two lusty wights, with cudgels thrashed his back and regularly gave him thwack and thwack; he cried, he roared, for grace he begged his lord, who marked each blow, and would no ease accord; but carefully observed, from time to time, that lenity he always thought sublime; his gravity preserved; considered too the blows received and what continued due. at length, when greg'ry twenty strokes had got, he piteously exclaimed:--if more's my lot i never shall survive! oh! pray forgive, if you desire, my lord, that i should live. then down with thirty pounds, replied the peer, since you the blows so much pretend to fear; i'm sorry for you; but if all the gold be not prepared, your godfather, i'm told, can lend a part; yet, since so far you've been, to flinch the rest you surely won't be seen. the wretched peasant to his lordship flew, and trembling cried--'tis up! the number view! a scrutiny was made, which nothing gained; no choice but pay the money now remained; this grieved him much, and o'er the fellow's face; the dewy drops were seen to flow apace. all useless proved:--the full demand he sent, with which the peer expressed himself content. unlucky he whoe'er his lord offends! to golden ore, howe'er, the proud man bends: 'twas vain that gregory a pardon prayed; for trivial faults the peasant dearly paid; his throat enflamed--his tender back well beat-- his money gone--and all to make complete, without the least deduction for the pain, the blows and garlick gave the trembling swain. etext editor's bookmarks: who, born for hanging, ever yet was drowned? this ebook was produced by david widger [note: there is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the file for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making an entire meal of them. d.w.] the tales and novels of j. de la fontaine table: la fontaine's life preface joconde the cudgelled and contented cuckold the husband confessor the cobbler the peasant and his angry lord the muleteer the servant girl justified the three gossips' wager the old man's calendar the avaricious wife and tricking gallant the jealous husband the gascon punished the princess betrothed to the king of garba the magick cup the falcon the little dog the eel pie the magnificent the ephesian matron belphegor the little bell the glutton the two friends the country justice alice sick the kiss returned sister jane an imitation of anacreon another imitation of anacreon preface (to the second book) friar philip's geese richard minutolo the monks of catalonia the cradle st. julian's prayer the countryman who sought his calf hans carvel's ring the hermit the convent gardener of lamporechio the mandrake the rhemese the amorous courtesan nicaise the progress of wit the sick abbess the truckers the case of conscience the devil of pope-fig island feronde the psalter king candaules and the doctor of laws the devil in hell neighbour peter's mare the spectacles the bucking tub the impossible thing the picture the pack-saddle the ear-maker, and the mould-mender the river scamander the confidant without knowing it, or the stratagem the clyster the indiscreet confession the contract the quid pro quo, or the mistakes the dress-maker the gascon the pitcher to promise is one thing, to keep it, another the nightingale epitaph of la fontaine life of jean de la fontaine jean de la fontaine was born on the th of july, , at chateau- thierry, and his family held a respectable position there. his education was neglected, but he had received that genius which makes amends for all. while still young the tedium of society led him into retirement, from which a taste for independence afterwards withdrew him. he had reached the age of twenty-two, when a few sounds from the lyre of malherbe, heard by accident, awoke in him the muse which slept. he soon became acquainted with the best models: pheedrus, virgil, horace and terence amongst the latins; plutarch, homer and plato, amongst the greeks; rabelais, marot and d'urfe, amongst the french; tasso, ariosto and boccaccio, amongst the italians. he married, in compliance with the wishes of his family, a beautiful, witty and chaste woman, who drove him to despair. he was sought after and cherished by all distinguished men of letters. but it was two ladies who kept him from experiencing the pangs of poverty. la fontaine, if there remain anything of thee, and if it be permitted to thee for a moment to soar above all time; see the names of la sabliere and of hervard pass with thine to the ages to come! the life of la fontaine was, so to speak, only one of continual distraction. in the midst of society, he was absent from it. regarded almost as an imbecile by the crowd, this clever author, this amiable man, only permitted himself to be seen at intervals and by friends. he had few books and few friends. amongst a large number of works that he has left, everyone knows his fables and his tales, and the circumstances of his life are written in a hundred places. he died on the th of march, . let us keep silence about his last moments, for fear of irritating those who never forgive. his fellow-citizens honour him in his posterity to this day. long after his death, foreigners went to visit the room which he had occupied. once a year, i shall go to visit his tomb. on that day, i shall tear up a fable of la mothe, a tale of vergier, or several of the best pages of grecourt. he was buried in the cemetery of saint-joseph, by the side of moliere. that spot will always be held sacred by poets and people of taste. the author's preface to the first volume of these tales i had resolved not to consent to the printing of these tales, until after i had joined to them those of boccaccio, which are those most to my taste; but several persons have advised me to produce at once what i have remaining of these trifles, in order to prevent from cooling the curiosity to see them, which is still in its first ardour. i gave way to this advice without much difficulty, and i have thought well to profit by the occasion. not only is that permitted me, but it would be vanity on my part to despise such an advantage. it has sufficed me to wish that no one should be imposed upon in my favour, and to follow a road contrary to that of certain persons, who only make friends in order to gain voices in their favour by their means; creatures of the cabal, very different from that spaniard who prided himself on being the son of his own works. although i may still be as much in want of these artifices as any other person, i cannot bring myself to resolve to employ them; however i shall accommodate myself if possible to the taste of the times, instructed as i am by my own experience, that there is nothing which is more necessary. indeed one cannot say that all seasons are suitable for all classes of books. we have seen the roundelays, the metamorphoses, the crambos, reign one after another. at present, these gallantries are out of date and nobody cares about them: so certain is it that what pleases at one time may not please at another! it only belongs to works of truly solid merit and sovereign beauty, to be well received by all minds and in all ages, without possessing any other passport than the sole merit with which they are filled. as mine are so far distant from such a high degree of perfection, prudence advises that i should keep them in my cabinet unless i choose well my own time for producing them. this is what i have done, or what i have tried to do in this edition, in which i have only added new tales, because it seemed to me that people were prepared to take pleasure in them. there are some which i have extended, and others which i have abridged, only for the sake of diversifying them and making them less tedious. but i am occupying myself over matters about which perhaps people will take no notice, whilst i have reason to apprehend much more important objections. there are only two principal ones which can be made against me; the one that this book is licentious; the other that it does not sufficiently spare the fair sex. with regard to the first, i say boldly that the nature of what is understood as a tale decided that it should be so, it being an indispensable law according to horace, or rather according to reason and common sense, that one must conform one's self to the nature of the things about which one writes. now, that i should be permitted to write about these as so many others have done and with success i do not believe it can be doubted; and people cannot condemn me for so doing, without also condemning ariosto before me and the ancients before ariosto. it may be said that i should have done better to have suppressed certain details, or at least to have disguised them. nothing was more easy, but it would have weakened the tale and taken away some of its charm: so much circumspection is only necessary in works which promise great discretion from the beginning, either by their subject or by the manner in which they are treated. i confess that it is necessary to keep within certain limits, and that the narrowest are the best; also it must be allowed me that to be too scrupulous would spoil all. he who would wish to reduce boccaccio to the same modesty as virgil, would assuredly produce nothing worth having, and would sin against the laws of propriety by setting himself the task to observe them. for in order that one may not make a mistake in matters of verse and prose, extreme modesty and propriety are two very different things. cicero makes the latter consist in saying what is appropriate one should say, considering the place, the time, and the persons to whom one is speaking. this principle once admitted, it is not a fault of judgment to entertain the people of to-day with tales which are a little broad. neither do i sin in that against morality. if there is anything in our writings which is capable of making an impression on the mind, it is by no means the gaiety of these tales; it passes off lightly; i should rather fear a tranquil melancholy, into which the most chaste and modest novels are very capable of plunging us, and which is a great preparation for love. as to the second objection, by which people reproach me that this book does wrong to womankind, they would be right if i were speaking seriously: but who does not see that this is all in jest, and consequently cannot injure? we must not be afraid on that account that marriages in the future will be less frequent, and husbands more on their guard. it may still be objected that these tales are unfounded or that they have everywhere a foundation easy to destroy; in short that they are absurdities and have not the least tinge of probability. i reply in a few words that i have my authorities: and besides it is neither truth nor probability which makes the beauty and the charm of these tales: it is only the manner of telling them. these are the principal points on which i have thought it necessary to defend myself. i abandon the rest to the censors; the more so as it would be an infinite undertaking to pretend to reply to all. criticism never stops short nor ever wants for subjects on which to exercise itself: even if those i am able to foresee were taken from it, it would soon have discovered others. tales and novels of j. de la fontaine ....... joconde in lombardy's fair land, in days of yore, once dwelt a prince, of youthful charms, a store; each fair, with anxious look, his favours sought, and ev'ry heart within his net was caught. quite proud of beauteous form and smart address, in which the world was led to acquiesce, he cried one day, while all attention paid, i'll bet a million, nature never made beneath the sun, another man like me, whose symmetry with mine can well agree. if such exist, and here will come, i swear i'll show him ev'ry lib'ral princely care. a noble roman, who the challenge heard, this answer gave the king his soul preferr'd --great prince, if you would see a handsome man, to have my brother here should be your plan; a frame more perfect nature never gave; but this to prove, your courtly dames i crave; may judge the fact, when i'm convinc'd they'll find: like you, the youth will please all womankind; and since so many sweets at once may cloy, 'twere well to have a partner in your joy. the king, surpris'd, expressed a wish to view this brother, form'd by lines so very true; we'll see, said he, if here his charms divine attract the heart of ev'ry nymph, like mine; and should success attend our am'rous lord, to you, my friend, full credit we'll accord. away the roman flew, joconde to get, (so nam'd was he in whom these features met;) 'midst woods and lawns, retir'd from city strife, and lately wedded to a beauteous wife; if bless'd, i know not; but with such a fair, on him must rest the folly to despair. the roman courtier came, his business told the brilliant offers from the monarch bold; his mission had success, but still the youth distraction felt, which 'gan to shake his truth; a pow'rful monarch's favour there he view'd; a partner here, with melting tears bedew'd; and while he wavered on the painful choice, she thus address'd her spouse with plaintive voice: can you, joconde, so truly cruel prove, to quit my fervent love in courts to move? the promises of kings are airy dreams, and scarcely last beyond the day's extremes by watchful, anxious care alone retain'd, and lost, through mere caprice, as soon as gain'd. if weary of my charms, alas! you feel, still think, my love, what joys these woods conceal; here dwell around tranquillity and ease; the streams' soft murmurs, and the balmy breeze, invite to sleep; these vales where breathe the doves, all, all, my dear joconde, renew our loves; you laugh!--ah! cruel, go, expose thy charms, grim death will quickly spare me these alarms! joconde's reply our records ne'er relate, nor what he did, nor how he left his mate; and since contemp'raries decline the task; 'twere folly, such details of me to ask. we're told, howe'er, when ready to depart, with flowing tears she press'd him to her heart; and on his arm a brilliant bracelet plac'd, with hair around her picture nicely trac'd; this guard in full remembrance of my love, she cried;--then clasped her hands to pow'rs above. to see such dire distress, and poignant grief, might lead to think, soon death would bring relief; but i, who know full well the female mind, at best oft doubt affliction of the kind. joconde set out at length; but that same morn; as on he mov'd, his soul with anguish torn, he found the picture he had quite forgot, then turn'd his steed, and back began to trot. while musing what excuse to make his mate, at home he soon arriv'd, and op'd the gate; alighted unobserv'd, ran up the stairs; and ent'ring to the lady unawares, he found this darling rib, so full of charms; intwin'd within a valet's brawny arms! 'midst first emotions of the husband's ire; to stab them while asleep he felt desire; howe'er, he nothing did; the courteous wight; in this dilemma, clearly acted right; the less of such misfortunes said is best; 'twere well the soul of feeling to divest; their lives, through pity, or prudential care; with much reluctance, he was led to spare; asleep he left the pair, for if awake, in honour, he a diff'rent step would take.-- had any smart gallant supplied my place, said he, i might put up with this disgrace; but naught consoles the thought of such a beast; dan cupid wantons, or is blind at least; a bet, or some such whim, induc'd the god, to give his sanction to amours so odd. this perfidy joconde so much dismay'd; his spirits droop'd, his lilies 'gan to fade; no more he look'd the charmer he had been; and when the court's gay dames his face had seen; they cried, is this the beauty, we were told, would captivate each heart, or young or old? why, he's the jaundice; ev'ry view displays the mien of one,--just fasted forty days! with secret pleasure, this, astolphus learn'd; the roman, for his brother, risks discern'd, whose secret griefs were carefully conceal'd, (and these joconde could never wish reveal'd;) yet, spite of gloomy looks and hollow eyes, his graceful features pierc'd the wan disguise, which fail'd to please, alone through want of life, destroy'd by thinking on a guilty wife. the god of love, in pity to our swain, at last revok'd black care's corroding reign; for, doubtless, in his views he oft was cross'd, while such a lover to the world was lost. the hero of our tale, at length, we find was well rewarded: love again proved kind; for, musing as he walk'd alone one day, and pass'd a gall'ry, (held a secret way,) a voice in plaintive accents caught his ear, and from the neighb'ring closet came, 'twas clear: my dear curtade, my only hope below, in vain i love;--you colder, colder grow; while round no fair can boast so fine a face, and numbers wish they might supply thy place, whilst thou with some gay page prefer'st a bet, or game of dice with some low, vulgar set, to meeting me alone; and when just now to thee i sent, with rage thou knit'st thy brow, and dorimene, with ev'ry curse abus'd then played again, since better that amus'd, and left me here, as if not worth a thought, or thou didst scorn what i so fondly sought. astonishment, at once, our roman seiz'd; but who's the fair that thus her bosom eas'd? or, who's the gay adonis, form'd to bless? you'd try a day, and not the secret guess, the queen's the belle:--and, doubtless you will stare, the king's own dwarf the idol of her care! the roman saw a crevice in the wood, through which he took a peep from where he stood; to dorimene our lovers left the key, which she had dropt when lately forc'd to flee, and this joconde pick'd up, a lucky hit, since he could use it when he best thought fit. it seems, said he, i'm not alone in name, and since a prince so handsome is the same, although a valet has supplied my place, yet see, the queen prefers a dwarf's embrace. this thought consol'd so well,--his youthful rays returned, and e'en excelled his former days; and those who lately ridicul'd his charms, now anxious seem'd to revel in his arms 'twas who could have him,--even prudes grew kind;-- by many belles astolphus was resign'd; though still the king retain'd enough, 'twas seen;-- but now let us resume the dwarf and queen. our roman, having satisfied his eyes, at length withdrew, confounded by surprise. who follows courts, must oft with care conceal, and scarcely know what sight and ears reveal. yet, by joconde the king was lov'd so well, what now he'd seen he greatly wish'd to tell; but, since to princes full respect is due, and what concerns them, howsoever true, if thought displeasing, should not be dispos'd in terms direct, but obviously dispos'd, to catch the mind, joconde at ease detail'd, from days of yore to those he now bewail'd, the names of emp'rors and of kings, whose brows, by wily wives, were crown'd with leafless boughs! and who, without repining, view'd their lot, nor bad made worse, but thought things best forgot. e'en i, who now your majesty address, continued he, am sorry to confess, the very day i left my native earth, to wait upon a prince of royal birth, was forced t'acknowledge cuckoldom among the gods who rule the matrimonial throng, and sacrifice thereto with aching heart cornuted heads dire torments oft impart: the tale he then detail'd, that rais'd his spleen; and what within the closet he had seen; the king replied, i will not be so rude, to question what so clearly you have view'd; yet, since 'twere better full belief to gain, a glimpse of such a fact i should obtain, pray bring me thither; instantly our wight; astolphus led, where both his ears and sight full proof receiv'd, which struck the prince with awe; who stood amaz'd at what he heard and saw. but soon reflection's all-convincing pow'r induced the king vexation to devour; true courtier-like, who dire misfortunes braves, feels sprouting horns, yet smiles at fools and knaves: our wives, said he, a pretty trick have play'd, and shamefully the marriage bed betray'd; let us the compliment return, my friend, and round the country our amours extend; but, in our plan the better to succeed, our names we'll change; no servants we shall need;-- for your relation i desire to pass, so you'll true freedom use; then with a lass we more at ease shall feel, more pleasure gain; than if attended by my usual train. joconde with joy the king's proposal heard; on which the latter with his friend conferr'd; said he, 'twere surely right to have a book, in which to place the names of those we hook, the whole arrang'd according to their rank, and i'll engage no page remains a blank, but ere we leave the range of our design, e'en scrup'lous dames shall to our wish incline, our persons handsome, with engaging air, and sprightly, brilliant wit no trifling share,-- 'twere strange, possessing such engaging charms, they should not tumble freely in our arms. the, baggage ready, and the paper-book, our smart gallants the road together took, but 'twould be vain to number their amours; with beauties, cupid favoured them by scores; blessed, if only seen by either swain, and doubly bless'd who could attention gain: nor wife of alderman, nor wife of mayor, of justice, nor of governor was there, who did not anxiously desire her name might straight be entered in the book of fame! hearts, which before were thought as cold as ice, now warm'd at once and melted in a trice. some infidel, i fancy, in my ear would whisper-probabilities, i fear, are rather wanting to support the fact; however perfectly gallants may act, to gain a heart requires full many a day if more be requisite i cannot say; 'tis not my plan to dupe or young or old, but such to me, howe'er the tale is told, and ariosto never truth forsakes; yet, if at ev'ry step a writer takes, he's closely question'd as to time and place, he ne'er can end his work with easy grace. to those, from whom just credence i receive, their tales i promise fully to believe. at length, when our advent'rers round had play'd, and danc'd with ev'ry widow, wife, and maid, the full blown lily and the tender rose, astolphus said, though clearly i suppose, we can as many hearts securely link, as e'er we like, yet better now, i think, to stop a while in some delightful spot, and that before satiety we've got; for true it is, with love as with our meat; if we, variety of dishes eat, the doctors tell us inj'ry will ensue, and too much raking none can well pursue. let us some pleasing fair-one then engage, to serve us both:--enough she'll prove i'll wage. joconde at once replied, with all my heart, and i a lady know who'll take the part; she's beautiful; possesses store of wit; and is the wife of one above a cit. with such to meddle would be indiscreet, replied the king, more charms we often meet, beneath a chambermaid or laundress' dress, than any rich coquette can well possess. besides, with those, less form is oft requir'd, while dames of quality must be admir'd; their whims complied with, though suspicions rise; and ev'ry hour produces fresh surprise, but this sweet charmer of inferior birth a treasure proves; a source of bliss on earth. no trouble she to carry here nor there; no balls she visits, and requires no care; the conquest easy, we may talk or not; the only difficulty we have got, is how to find one, we may faithful view; so let us choose a girl, to love quite new. since these, replied the youth, your thoughts appear, what think you of our landlord's daughter here? that she's a perfect virgin i've no doubt, nor can we find a chaster round about; her very doll more innocent won't prove, than this sweet nymph design'd with us to move. the scheme our prince's approbation met; the very girl, said he, i wish'd to get; this night be our attack; and if her heart surrenders when our wishes we impart, but one perplexity will then remain; 'tis who her virgin favours shall obtain? the honour 's all a whim, and i, as king, at once assuredly should claim this thing: the rest 'tis very easy to arrange; as matters suit we presently can change. if ceremony 'twere, joconde replied, all cavil then we quickly could decide; precedence would no doubt with you remain: but this is quite another case 'tis plain; and equity demands that we agree, by lot to settle which the man shall be. the noble youths no arguments would spare, and each contended for the spoiler's care; howe'er joconde obtained the lucky hit, and first embrac'd this fancied dainty bit. the girl who was the noble rival's aim, that ev'ning to the room for something came; our heroes gave her instantly a chair, and lavished praises on her face and hair; a diamond ring soon sparkled in her eyes; its pleasing pow'rs at sight obtain'd the prize. the bargain made, she, in the dead of night, when silence reign'd and all was void of light, with careful steps their anxious wish obey'd, and 'tween them both, she presently was laid; 'twas paradise they thought, where all is nice, and our young spark believ'd he broke the ice. the folly i forgive him;--'tis in vain on this to reason--idle to complain; the wise have oft been dup'd it is confest, and solomon it seems among the rest. but gay joconde felt nothing of the kind, a secret pleasure glow'd within his mind; he thought astolphus wond'rous bliss had missed, and that himself alone the fair had kiss'd; a clod howe'er, who liv'd within the place, had, prior to the roman, her embrace. the soft amour extended through the night, the girl was pleas'd, and all proceeded right; the foll'wing night, the next, 'twas still the same; young clod at length her coldness 'gan to blame; and as he felt suspicious of the act, he watch'd her steps and verified the fact: a quarrel instantly between them rose; howe'er the fair, his anger to compose, and favour not to lose, on honour vow'd, that when the sparks were gone, and time allow'd, she would oblige his craving, fierce desire;-- to which the village lad replied with ire:-- pray what care i for any tavern guest, of either sex; to you i now protest, if i be not indulg'd this very night, i'll publish your amours in mere despite. how can we manage it, replied the belle, i'm quite distressed--indeed the truth to tell, i've promis'd them this night to come again, and if i fail, no doubt can then remain, but i shall lose the ring, their pledg'd reward, which would, you know for me, be very hard. to you i wish the ring, replied young clod, but do they sleep in bed, or only nod? tell me, pray; oh, said she, they sleep most sound; but then between them plac'd shall i be found, and while the one amidst love's frolicks sports, the other quiet lies, or morpheus courts. on hearing this the rustick lad proposed, to visit her when others' eyes were closed. oh! never risk it, quickly she replied; 'twere folly to attempt it by their side. he answer'd, never fear, but only leave the door ajar, and me they'll not perceive. the door she left exactly as he said; the spark arriv'd, and then approach'd the bed, ('twas near the foot,) then 'tween the sheets he slid, but god knows how he lay, or what he did. astolphus and joconde ne'er smelt a rat, nor ever dreamt of what their girl was at, at length when each had turn'd and op'd his eyes, continual movement fill'd him with surprise. the monarch softly said:--why how is this? my friend has eaten something, for in bliss, he revels on, and truly much i fear, his health will show, it may be bought too dear. this very sentiment joconde bethought; but clod a breathing moment having caught, resum'd his fun, and that so oft would seek: he gratified his wishes for a week; then watching carefully, he found once more; our noble heroes had begun to snore, on which he slyly took himself away, the road he came, and ere 'twas break of day; the girl soon follow'd, since she justly fear'd, still more fatigues:--so off she quickly steer'd, at length when both the nobles were awake; astolphus said, my friend you rest should take, 'twere better till to-morrow keep in bed, since sleep, with such fatigues, of course has fled: you talk at random, cried the roman youth; more rest i fancy you require in truth; you've led a pretty life throughout the night; i? said the king; why i was weary quite, so long i waited; you no respite gave, but wholly seem'd our little nymph t' enslave; at length to try if i from rage could keep, i turn'd my back once more, and went to sleep. if you had willingly the belle resign'd, i was, my friend, to take a turn inclin'd; that had sufficed for me, since i, like you, perpetual motion never can pursue. your raillery, the roman youth replied, quite disconcerted, pray now lay aside, and talk of something else; you've fully shown, that i'm your vassal, and since you are grown so fond that you to keep the girl desire, e'en wholly to yourself, why i'll retire; do with her what you please, and we shall see, how long this furor will with you agree. it may, replied the king, for ever last, if ev'ry night like this, i'm doom'd to fast. sire, said joconde, no longer let us thus, in terms of playful raillery discuss; since such your pleasure, send me from your view; on this the youthful monarch angry grew, and many words between the friends arose; the presence of the nymph astolphus chose; to her they said, between us judge, sweet fair, and every thing was stated then with care. the girl with blushing cheeks before them kneel'd, and the mysterious tale at once reveal'd. our heroes laugh'd; the treach'ry vile excus'd; and gave the ring, which much delight diffus'd; together with a handsome sum of gold, which soon a husband in her train enroll'd, who, for a maid, the pretty fair-one took; and then our heroes wand'ring pranks forsook, with laurels cover'd, which in future times, will make them famous through the western climes; more glorious since, they only cost, we find, those sweet attentions pleasing to the mind. so many conquests proud of having made, and over full the book of--those who'd play'd; said gay astolphus we will now, my friend, return the shortest road and poaching end; if false our mates, yet we'll console ourselves, that many others have inconstant elves. perhaps, in things a change will be one day, and only tender flames love's torch display; but now it seems some evil star presides, and hymen's flock the devil surely rides. besides, vile fiends the universe pervade, whose constant aim is mortals to degrade, and cheat us to our noses if they can, (hell's imps in human shape, disgrace to man!) perhaps these wretches have bewitch'd our wives, and made us fancy errors in their lives. then let us like good citizens, our days in future pass amidst domestick ways; our absence may indeed restore their hearts, for jealousy oft virtuous truths imparts. in this astolphus certainly believ'd; the friends return'd, and kindly were receiv'd; a little scolding first assail'd the ear; but blissful kisses banish'd ev'ry fear. to balls and banquets all themselves resigned; of dwarf or valet nothing more we find; each with his wife contentedly remained:-- 'tis thus alone true happiness is gained. etext editor's bookmarks: criticism never stops short nor ever wants for subjects in the midst of society, he was absent from it regarded almost as an imbecile by the crowd the less of such misfortunes said is best the promises of kings are airy dreams who only make friends in order to gain voices in their favour who would wish to reduce boccaccio to the same modesty as virgil wife beautiful, witty and chaste woman, who drove him to despair this ebook was produced by david widger [note: there is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the file for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making an entire meal of them. d.w.] the tales and novels of j. de la fontaine volume . contains: the old man's calendar the avaricious wife and tricking galant the jealous husband the gascon unpunished] the old man's calendar oft have i seen in wedlock with surprise, that most forgot from which true bliss would rise when marriage for a daughter is designed, the parents solely riches seem to mind; all other boons are left to heav'n above, and sweet sixteen must sixty learn to love! yet still in other things they nicer seem, their chariot-horses and their oxen-team are truly matched;--in height exact are these, while those each shade alike must have to please; without the choice 'twere wonderful to find, or coach or wagon travel to their mind. the marriage journey full of cares appears, when couples match in neither souls nor years! an instance of the kind i'll now detail: the feeling bosom will such lots bewail! quinzica, (richard), as the story goes, indulged his wife at balls, and feasts, and shows, expecting other duties she'd forget, in which howe'er he disappointment met. a judge in pisa, richard was, it seems, in law most learned: wily in his schemes; but silver beard and locks too clearly told, he ought to have a wife of diff'rent mould; though he had taken one of noble birth, quite young, most beautiful, and formed for mirth, bartholomea galandi her name; the lady's parents were of rank and fame; our judge herein had little wisdom shown, and sneering friends around were often known to say, his children ne'er could fathers lack: at giving counsel some have got a knack, who, were they but at home to turn their eyes, might find, perhaps, they're not so over-wise. quinzica, then perceiving that his pow'rs fell short of what a bird like his devours, t'excuse himself and satisfy his dear, pretended that, no day within the year, to hymen, as a saint, was e'er assigned, in calendar, or book of any kind, when full attention to the god was paid:-- to aged sires a nice convenient aid; but this the sex by no means fancy right; few days to pleasure could his heart invite at times, the week entire he'd have a fast; at others, say the day 'mong saints was classed, though no one ever heard its holy name;-- fast ev'ry friday--saturday the same, since sunday followed, consecrated day; then monday came:--still he'd abstain from play; each morning find excuse, but solemn feasts were days most sacred held by all the priests; on abstinence, then, richard lectures read, and long before the time, was always led by sense of right, from dainties to refrain: a period afterward would also gain; the like observed before and after lent; and ev'ry feast had got the same extent; these times were gracious for our aged man; and never pass them was his constant plan. of patron saints he always had a list; th' evangelists, apostles, none he miss'd; and that his scruples might have constant food; some days malign, he said, were understood; then foggy weather;--dog-days' fervent heat: to seek excuses he was most complete, and ne'er asham'd but manag'd things so well, four times a year, by special grace, they tell, our sage regal'd his youthful blooming wife, a little with the sweets of marriage life. with this exception he was truly kind, fine dresses, jewels, all to please her mind; but these are bawbles which alone controul those belles, like dolls, mere bodies void of soul. bartholomea was of diff'rent clay; her only pleasure (as our hist'ries say), to go in summer to the neighb'ring coast, where her good spouse a charming house could boast, in which they took their lodging once a week; at times they pleasure on the waves would seek, as fishing with the lady would agree, and she was wond'rous partial to the sea, though far to sail they always would refuse. one day it happened better to amuse, our couple diff'rent fishing vessels took, and skimm'd the wave to try who most could hook, of fish and pleasure; and they laid a bet, the greatest number which of them should get. on board they had a man or two at most. and each the best adventure hop'd to boast. a certain pirate soon observ'd the ship, in which this charming lady made the trip, and presently attack'd and seiz'd the same; but richard's bark to shore in safety came; so near the land, or else he would not brave, to any great extent, the stormy wave, or that the robber thought if both he took, he could not decently for favours look, and he preferr'd those joys the fair bestow, to all the riches which to mortals flow. although a pirate, he had always shown much honour in his acts, as well was known; but cupid's frolicks were his heart's delight: none truly brave can ever beauty slight; a sailor's always bold and kind and free, good lib'ral fellows, such they'll ever be; 'mong saints indeed 'twere vain their names to seek! the man was good howe'er of whom we speak; his usual name was pagamin montegue; for hours the lady's screams were heard a league, while he each minute anxiously would seize, to cheer her spirits and her heart to please; t'attain his wish he ev'ry art combined; at length the lovely captive all resigned. 'twas cupid conquer'd, cupid with his dart; a thousand times more pirate in his art, than pagamin; on bleeding hearts he preys, but little quarter gives, nor grace displays: to pay her ransom she'd enough of gold; for this her spouse was truly never cold; no fast nor festival therein appear'd, and her captivity he greatly fear'd. this calendar o'erspread with rubrick days; she soon forgot and learn'd the pirate's ways; the matrimonial zone aside was thrown, and only mentioned where the fact was known: our lawyer would his fingers sooner burn; than have his wife but virtuous home return; by means of gold he entertain'd no doubt, her restoration might be brought about. a passport from the pirate he obtain'd, then waited on him and his wish explain'd; to pay he offer'd what soe'er he'd ask; his terms accept, though hard perhaps the task; the robber answer'd, if my name around, be not for honourable acts renown'd, 'tis quite unjust:--your partner i'll restore in health, without a ransom:--would you more? a friendship so respect'd, heav'n forefend! should ever, by my conduct, have an end. the fair, whom you so ardently admire, shall to your arms return as you desire, such pleasure to a friend i would not sell; convince me that she's your's, and all is well; for if another i to you should give, (and many that i've taken with me live,) i surely should incur a heavy blame; i lately captur'd one, a charming dame, with auburn locks, a little fat, tall, young; if she declare she does to you belong, when you she's seen, i will the belle concede; you'll take her instantly; i'll not impede. the sage replied, your conduct's truly wise; such wond'rous kindness fills me with surprise; but since 'tis said that every trade must live, the sum just mention:--i'll the ransom give; no compliment i wish, my purse behold you know the money presently is told; consider me a stranger now i pray; with you i'd equal probity display, and so will act, i swear, as you shall see; there 's not a doubt the fair will go with me; my word for this i would not have you take:-- you'll see how happy 'twill the lady make to find me here; to my embrace she'll fly; my only fears--that she of joy will die. to them the charmer now was instant brought, who eyed her husband as beneath a thought; received him coldly, just as if he'd been a stranger from peru, she ne'er had seen. look, said quinzica, she's ashamed 'tis plain so many lookers on her love restrain; but be assured, if we were left alone, around my neck her arms would soon be thrown. if this, replied the pirate, you believe, attend her toilet:--naught can then deceive. away they went, and closely shut the door; when richard said, thou darling of my store, how can'st thou thus behave? my pretty dove, 'tis thy quinzica, come to seek his love, in all the same, except about his wife; dost in this face a change observe my life? 'tis grieving for thy loss that makes me ill; did ever i in aught deny thy will? in dress or play could any thee exceed? and had'st thou not whatever thou might'st need? to please thee, oft i made myself a slave; such thou art now; but thee again i crave. then what dost think about thy honour, dear?-- said she, with ire, i neither know nor fear; is this a time to guard it, do you say? what pain was shown by any one, i pray; when i was forc'd to wed a man like you, old, impotent, and hateful to the view, while i was young and blooming as the morn, deserving truly, something less forlorn, and seemingly intended to possess what hymen best in store has got to bless; for i was thought by all the world around, most worthy ev'ry bliss in wedlock found. yet things took quite another turn with me in tune my husband never proved to be, except a feast or two throughout the year; from pagamin i met a diff'rent cheer; another lesson presently he taught; the life's sweet pleasures more the pirate brought, in two short days, than e'er i had from you in those four years that only you i knew. pray leave me husband:--let me have my will insist not on my living with you still; no calendars with pagamin are seen-- far better treated with the man i've been. my other friends and you much worse deserved: the spouse, for taking me when quite unnerved, and they, for giving preference base to gold, to those pure joys--far better thought than told. but pagamin in ev'ry way can please; and though no code he owns, yet all is ease; himself will tell you what has passed this morn, his actions would a sov'reign prince adorn. such information may excite surprise, but now the truth, 'twere useless to disguise, nothing will gain belief, we've no one near to witness our discourse:--adieu, my dear, to all your festivals--i'm flesh and blood:-- gems, dresses, ornaments, do little good; you know full well, betwixt the head and heel, though little's said, yet much we often feel. on this she stopt, and richard dropt his chin, rejoiced to 'scape from such unwelcome din. bartholomea, pleased with what had passed; no disposition showed to hold him fast; the downcast husband felt such poignant grief, with ills where age can scarcely hope relief, that soon he left this busy stage of life, and pagamin the widow took to wife. the deed was just, for neither of the two e'er felt what oft in richard rose to view; from feeling proof arose their mutual choice; and 'tween them ne'er was heard the jarring voice. behold a lesson for the aged man; who thinks, when old, to act as he began; but, if the sage a yielding dotard seems, his work is done by those the wife esteems; complaints are never heard; no thrilling fears; and ev'ry one around at ease appears. the avaricious wife and tricking gallant who knows the world will never feel surprise, when men are duped by artful women's eves; though death his weapon freely will unfold; love's pranks, we find, are ever ruled by gold. to vain coquettes i doubtless here allude; but spite of arts with which they're oft endued; i hope to show (our honour to maintain,) we can, among a hundred of the train, catch one at least, and play some cunning trick:-- for instance, take blithe gulphar's wily nick, who gained (old soldier-like) his ardent aim, and gratis got an avaricious dame. look well at this, ye heroes of the sword, howe'er with wily freaks your heads be stored, beyond a doubt, at court i now could find, a host of lovers of the gulphar kind. to gasperin's so often went our wight, the wife at length became his sole delight, whose youth and beauty were by all confessed; but, 'midst these charms, such av'rice she possessed, the warmest love was checked--a thing not rare, in modern times at least, among the fair. 'tis true, as i've already said, with such sighs naught avail, and promises not much; without a purse, who wishes should express, would vainly hope to gain a soft caress. the god of love no other charm employs, then cards, and dress, and pleasure's cheering joys; from whose gay shops more cuckolds we behold, than heroes sallied from troy's horse of old. but to our lady's humour let's adhere; sighs passed for naught: they entered not her ear; 'twas speaking only would the charmer please, the reader, without doubt, my meaning sees; gay gulphar plainly spoke, and named a sum a hundred pounds, she listened:--was o'ercome. our wight the cash by gasperin was lent; and then the husband to the country went, without suspecting that his loving mate, designed with horns to ornament his pate. the money artful gulphar gave the dame, while friends were round who could observe the same; here, said the spark, a hundred pounds receive, 'tis for your spouse:--the cash with you i leave. the lady fancied what the swain had said, was policy, and to concealment led. next morn our belle regaled the arch gallant, fulfilled his promise:--and his eager want. day after day he followed up the game; for cash he took, and int'rest on the same; good payers get, we always may conclude, full measure served, whatever is pursued. when gasperin returned, our crafty wight, before the wife addressed her spouse at sight; said he the cash i've to your lady paid, not having (as i feared) required its aid; to save mistakes, pray cross it in your book; the lady, thunderstruck, with terror shook; allowed the payment; 'twas a case too clear; in truth for character she 'gan to fear. but most howe'er she grudged the surplus joy, bestowed on such a vile, deceitful boy. the loss was doubtless great in ev'ry view around the town the wicked gulphar flew; in all the streets, at every house to tell, how nicely he had trick'd the greedy belle. to blame him useless 'twere you must allow; the french such frolicks readily avow. the jealous husband a certain husband who, from jealous fear, with one eye slept while t'other watched his dear, deprived his wife of every social joy, (friends oft the jealous character annoy,) and made a fine collection in a book, of tricks with which the sex their wishes hook. strange fool! as if their wiles, to speak the truth, were not a hydra, both in age and youth. his wife howe'er engaged his constant cares; he counted e'en the number of her hairs; and kept a hag who followed every hour, where'er she went, each motion to devour; duenna like, true semblance of a shade, that never quits, yet moves as if afraid. this arch collection, like a prayer-book bound; was in the blockhead's pocket always found, the form religious of the work, he thought, would prove a charm 'gainst vice whenever sought! one holy day, it happened that our dame, as from the neighb'ring church she homeward came; and passed a house, some wight, concealed from view; a basket full of filth upon her threw. with anxious care apologies were made; the lady, frightened by the frolick played, quite unsuspicious to the mansion went; her aged friend for other clothes she sent, who hurried home, and ent'ring out of breath; informed old hunks--what pained him more than death zounds! cried the latter, vainly i may look to find a case like this within my book; a dupe i'm made, and nothing can be worse:-- hell seize the work--'tis thoroughly a curse! not wrong he proved, for, truly to confess; this throwing dirt upon the lady's dress was done to get the hag, with argus' eyes removed a certain distance from the prize. the gay gallant, who watched the lucky hour, felt doubly blessed to have her in his power. how vain our schemes to guard the wily sex! oft plots we find, that ev'ry sense perplex. go, jealous husbands, books of cases burn; caresses lavish, and you'll find return. the gascon punished a gascon (being heard one day to swear, that he'd possess'd a certain lovely fair,) was played a wily trick, and nicely served; 'twas clear, from truth he shamefully had swerved: but those who scandal propagate below, are prophets thought, and ev'ry action know; while good, if spoken, scarcely is believed, and must be viewed, or not for truth received. the dame, indeed, the gascon only jeered, and e'er denied herself when he appeared; but when she met the wight, who sought to shine; and called her angel, beauteous and divine, she fled and hastened to a female friend, where she could laugh, and at her ease unbend. near phillis, (our fair fugitive) there dwelled one eurilas, his nearest neighbour held; his wife was cloris; 'twas with her our dove took shelter from the gascon's forward love, whose name was dorilas; and damon young, (the gascon's friend) on whom gay cloris hung. sweet phillis, by her manner, you might see, from sly amours and dark intrigues was free; the value to possess her no one knew, though all admired the lovely belle at view. just twenty years she counted at the time, and now a widow was, though in her prime, (her spouse, an aged dotard, worth a plum:-- of those whose loss to mourn no tears e'er come.) our seraph fair, such loveliness possessed, in num'rous ways a gascon could have blessed; above, below, appeared angelic charms; 'twas paradise, 'twas heav'n, within her arms! the gascon was--a gascon;--would you more? who knows a gascon knows at least a score. i need not say what solemn vows he made; alike with normans gascons are portrayed; their oaths, indeed, won't pass for gospel truth; but we believe that dorilas (the youth) loved phillis to his soul, our lady fair, yet he would fain be thought successful there. one day, said phillis, with unusual glee, pretending with the gascon to be free:-- a favour do me:--nothing very great; assist to dupe one jealous of his mate; you'll find it very easy to be done, and doubtless 'twill produce a deal of fun. 'tis our request (the plot you'll say is deep,) that you this night with cloris's husband sleep some disagreement with her gay gallant requires, that she a night at least should grant, to settle diff'rences; now we desire, that you'll to bed with eurilas retire, there's not a doubt he'll think his cloris near; he never touches her:--so nothing fear; for whether jealousy, or other pains, he constantly from intercourse abstains, snores through the night, and, if a cap he sees, believes his wife in bed, and feels at ease. we'll properly equip you as a belle, and i will certainly reward you well. to gain but phillis's smiles, the gascon said, he'd with the very devil go to bed. the night arrived, our wight the chamber traced; the lights extinguished; eurilas, too, placed; the gascon 'gan to tremble in a trice, and soon with terror grew as cold as ice; durst neither spit nor cough; still less encroach; and seemed to shrink, least t'other should approach; crept near the edge; would scarcely room afford, and could have passed the scabbard of a sword. oft in the night his bed-fellow turned round; at length a finger on his nose he found, which dorilas exceedingly distressed; but more inquietude was in his breast, for fear the husband amorous should grow, from which incalculable ills might flow. our gascon ev'ry minute knew alarm; 'twas now a leg stretched out, and then an arm; he even thought he felt the husband's beard; but presently arrived what more he feared. a bell, conveniently, was near the bed, which eurilas to ring was often led; at this the gascon swooned, so great his fear, and swore, for ever he'd renounce his dear. but no one coming, eurilas, once more, resumed his place, and 'gan again to snore. at length, before the sun his head had reared; the door was opened, and a torch appeared. misfortune then he fancied full in sight; more pleased he'd been to rise without a light, and clearly thought 'twas over with him now; the flame approached;--the drops ran o'er his brow; with terror he for pardon humbly prayed:-- you have it, cried a fair: be not dismayed; 'twas phillis spoke, who eurilas's place had filled, throughout the night, with wily grace, and now to damon and his cloris flew, with ridicule the gascon to pursue; recounted all the terrors and affright, which dorilas had felt throughout the night. to mortify still more the silly swain, and fill his soul with ev'ry poignant pain, she gave a glimpse of beauties to his view, and from his presence instantly withdrew. etext editor's bookmarks: caresses lavish, and you'll find return while good, if spoken, scarcely is believed this ebook was produced by david widger [note: there is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the file for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making an entire meal of them. d.w.] the tales and novels of j. de la fontaine contains: preface to the second book friar philips geese richard minutolo the author's preface to the second book of these tales these are the last works of this style that will come from the pen of the author, and consequently this is the last opportunity he has of vindicating the boldness and privilege which he has assumed. we make no mention of villainous rhymes, of lines that run into the next, of two vowels without elision, nor, in general, of such kinds of carelessness as he would not allow himself in another style of poetry, but which are part and parcel, so to say, of this style. too anxious a care in avoiding such would force a tale-writer into a labyrinth of shifts, into narratives as dull as they are grand, into straits that are utterly useless, and would make him disregard the pleasure of the heart in order to labour for the gratification of the ear. we must leave studied narrative for lofty subjects, and not compose an epic poem of the adventures of renaud d'ast. suppose the author, who has put these tales into rhyme, had brought to bear on them all the care and preciseness required of him; not only would this care be observed, especially as it is unnecessary, but it would also transgress the precept lain down by ouintilian, still the author would not have attained the main object, which is to interest the reader, to charm him, to rivet his attention in spite of himself,--in a word, to please him. as everybody knows, the secret of pleasing the reader is not always based on regulation, nor even on symmetry; there is need of smartness and tastefulness, if we would strike home. how many of those perfect types of beauty do we see which never strike home, and of which nobody feels enamoured! we do not wish to rob modern authors of the praise that is due to them. nicely turned lines, fine language, accuracy, elegance of rhyme are accomplishments in a poet. however that may be, let us consider of our own epigrams wherein all these qualities are combined, perhaps we shall find in them far less point, nay, i would venture to add, far less charm than in those of marot or saint-gelais, although almost all the works of the latter poets are full of the same faults as are attributed to us. we will be told that these were not faults in their day, whereas they are very great faults in ours. to this we answer by a similar kind of argument, by saying, as we have already said, that these would undoubtedly be faults in another style of poetry, but not in this. the late m. de voiture is a proof in point. we need only read the works in which he brings to life again the character of marot. for our author does not lay claim to praise for himself, nor to rounds of applause from the public for having put a few tales into rhyme. without doubt he has entered on quite a new path, and has pursued it to the utmost of his power, choosing now one road, now another, and always treading with surer step when he has followed the manner of our old poets "quorum in hae re imitari negligentiam exoptat potius quam istorum diligentiam." but while saying that we wished to waive this question, we have unconsciously involved ourselves in its discussion. perhaps this has not been without advantage; for there is nothing that resembles faults more than these licenses. let us now consider the liberty which the author has assumed in cutting into the property of others as well as his own, without making exception even to the best known stories, none of which he scruples to tamper with. he curtails, enlarges, and alters incidents and details, at times the main issue and the sequel; in short, the story is no longer the same; it is, in point of fact, quite a new tale; its original author would find it no small difficulty to recognise in it his own work. "non sic decet contaminari fabulas," critics will say. why should they not? they twitted terence in just the same way; but terence sneered at them, and claimed a right to treat the matter as he did. he has mingled his own ideas with the subjects he drew from menander, just as sophocles and euripides mingled theirs with the subjects they drew from former writers, sparing neither history nor romance, where "decorum" and the rules of the drama were at issue. shall this privilege cease with respect to fictitious stories? must we in future have more scrupulous or religious regard, if we may be allowed the expression, for falsehood than the ancients had for truth? what people call a good tale never passes from hand to hand without receiving some fresh touch of embellishment. how comes it then, we may be asked, that in many passages the author curtails instead of enlarging on the original? on that point we are agreed: the author does so in order to avoid lengthiness and ambiguity,--two faults which are inadmissible in such matters, especially the latter. for if lucidity is to be commended in all literary works, we may say that it is especially necessary in narratives, where one thing is, as a rule, the sequel and the result of another; where the less important sometimes lays the basis of the more important; so that, once the thread becomes broken, the reader cannot gather it up again. besides, as narratives in verse are very awkward, the author must clog himself with details as little as possible; by means of this you relieve not only yourself, but also the reader, for whom an author should not fail to prepare pleasure unalloyed. whenever the author has altered a few particulars and even a few catastrophes, he has been forced to do so by the cause of that catastrophe and the urgency of giving it a happy termination. he has fancied that in tales of this kind everyone ought to be satisfied with the end: it pleases the reader at any rate, if the author has not given the characters too distasteful a rendering. but he must not go so far as that, if possible, nor make the reader laugh and cry in the same tale. this medley shocks horace above all things; his wish is not that our works should border on the grotesque, and that we should draw a picture half woman half fish. these are the general motives the author has had in view. we might still quote special motives and vindicate each point; but we must needs leave something to the capacity and leniency of our readers. they will be satisfied, then, with the motives we have mentioned. we would have stated them more clearly and have set more by them, had the general compass of a preface so allowed. friar philip's geese if these gay tales give pleasure to the fair, the honour's great conferred, i'm well aware; yet, why suppose the sex my pages shun? enough, if they condemn where follies run; laugh in their sleeve at tricks they disapprove, and, false or true, a muscle never move. a playful jest can scarcely give offence: who knows too much, oft shows a want of sense. from flatt'ry oft more dire effects arise, enflame the heart and take it by surprise; ye beauteous belles, beware each sighing swain, discard his vows:--my book with care retain; your safety then i'll guarantee at ease.-- but why dismiss?--their wishes are to please: and, truly, no necessity appears for solitude:--consider well your years. i have, and feel convinced they do you wrong, who think no virtue can to such belong; white crows and phoenixes do not abound; but lucky lovers still are sometimes found; and though, as these famed birds, not quite so rare, the numbers are not great that favours share; i own my works a diff'rent sense express, but these are tales:--mere tales in easy dress. to beauty's wiles, in ev'ry class, i've bowed; fawned, flattered, sighed, e'en constancy have vowed what gained? you ask--but little i admit; howe'er we aim, too oft we fail to hit. my latter days i'll now devote with care, to guard the sex from ev'ry latent snare. tales i'll detail, and these relate at ease: narrations clear and neat will always please; like me, to this attention criticks pay; then sleep, on either side, from night till day. if awkward, vulgar phrase intervene, or rhymes imperfect o'er the page be seen, condemn at will; but stratagems and art, pass, shut your eyes, who'd heed the idle part? some mothers, husbands, may perhaps be led, to pull my locks for stories white or red; so matters stand: a fine affair, no doubt, and what i've failed to do--my book makes out. the fair my pages safely may pursue, and this apology they'll not refuse. what recompense can i presume to make? a tale i'll give, where female charms partake, and prove resistless whatsoe'er assail: blessed beauty, nature ever should prevail. had fate decreed our youth, at early morn, to view the angel features you adorn, the captivating pow'rs aurora bless, or airy spring bedecked in beauteous dress, and all the azure canopy on high had vanished like a dream, once you were nigh. and when his eyes at length your charms beheld, his glowing breast with softest passion swelled; superior lustre beamed at ev'ry view; no pleasures pleased: his soul was fixed on you. crowns, jewels, palaces, appeared as naught. 'twas solely beauteous woman now he sought. a wood, from earliest years, his home had been, and birds the only company he'd seen, whose notes harmonious often lulled his care, beguiled his hours, and saved him from despair; delightful sounds! from nightingale and dove unknown their tongue, yet indicant of love. this savage, solitary, rustick school, the father chose his infancy to rule. the mother's recent death induced the sire, to place the son where only beasts retire; and long the forest habitants alone were all his youthful sight had ever known. two reasons, good or bad, the father led to fly the world:--all intercourse to dread since fate had torn his lovely spouse from hence; misanthropy and fear o'ercame each sense; of the world grown tired, he hated all around:-- too oft in solitude is sorrow found. his partner's death produced distaste of life, and made him fear to seek another wife. a hermit's gloomy, mossy cell he took, and wished his child might thither solely look. among the poor his little wealth he threw, and with his infant son alone withdrew; the forest's dreary wilds concealed his cell; there philip (such his name) resolved to dwell. by holy motives led, and not chagrin, the hermit never spoke of what he'd seen; but, from the youth's discernment, strove to hide, whate'er regarded love, and much beside, the softer sex, with all their magick charms, that fill the feeling bosom with alarms. as years advanced, the boy with care he taught; what suited best his age before him brought; at five he showed him animals and flow'rs, the birds of air, the beasts, their sev'ral pow'rs; and now and then of hell he gave a hint, old satan's wrath, and what might awe imprint, how formed, and doomed to infamy below; in childhood fear 's the lesson first we know! the years had passed away, when philip tried, in matters more profound his son to guide; he spoke of paradise and heav'n above; but not a word of woman,--nor of love. fifteen arrived, the sire with anxious care, of nature's works declaimed,--but not the fair: an age, when those, for solitude designed, should be to scenes of seriousness confined, nor joys of youth, nor soft ideas praised the flame soon spreads when cupid's torch is raised. at length, when twenty summers time had run, the father to the city brought his son; with years weighed down, the hermit scarcely knew his daily course of duty to pursue; and when death's venomed shaft should on him fall; on whom could then his boy for succour call? how life support, unknowing and unknown? wolves, foxes, bears, ne'er charity have shown; and all the sire could give his darling care, a staff and wallet, he was well aware fine patrimony, truly, for a child! to which his mind was no way reconciled. bread few, 'twas clear, the hermit would deny, and rich he might have been you may rely; when he drew near, the children quickly cried here's father philip--haste, the alms provide; and many pious men his friends were found, but not one female devotee around: none would he hear; the fair he always fled their smiles and wiles the friar kept in dread. our hermit, when he thought his darling youth; well fixed in duty and religious truth, conveyed him 'mong his pious friends, to learn how food to beg, and other ways discern. in tears he viewed his son the forest quit, and fain would have him for the world unfit. the city's palaces and lofty spires, our rustick's bosom filled with new desires. the prince's residence great splendour showed, and lively pleasure on the youth bestowed. what's here? said he; the court, his friends replied:-- what there?--the mansions where the great reside:-- and these?--fine statues, noble works of art: all gave delight and gratitude his heart. but when the beauteous fair first caught his view, to ev'ry other sight he bade adieu; the palace, court, or mansions he admired, no longer proved the objects he desired; another cause of admiration rose, his breast pervaded, and disturbed repose. what's this, he cried, so elegantly neat? o tell me, father; make my joy complete! what gave the son such exquisite delight, the parent filled with agonizing fright. to answer, howsoe'er he'd no excuse, so told the youth--a bird they call a goose. o beauteous bird, exclaimed th' enraptured boy, sing, sound thy voice, 'twill fill my soul with joy; to thee i'd anxiously be better known; o father, let me have one for my own! a thousand times i fondly ask the boon; let's take it to the woods: 'tis not too soon; young as it is, i'll feed it morn and night, and always make it my supreme delight. richard minutolo in ev'ry age, at naples, we are told, intrigue and gallantry reign uncontrolled; with beauteous objects in abundance blessed. no country round so many has possessed; such fascinating charms the fair disclose, that irresistibly soft passion flows. 'mong these a belle, enchanting to behold, was loved by one, of birth and store of gold; minutolo (and richard) was his name, in cupid's train a youth of brilliant fame: 'tween rome and paris none was more gallant, and num'rous hearts were for him known to pant. catella (thus was called our lady fair,) so long, howe'er, resisted richard's snare, that prayers, and vows, and promises were vain; a favour minutolo could not gain. at length, our hero weary, coldness showed, and dropt attendance, since no kindness flowed; pretended to be cured:--another sought, and feigned her charms his tender heart had caught: catella laughed, but jealousy was nigh; 'twas for her friend that now he heaved the sigh. these dames together met, and richard too, the gay gallant a glowing picture drew, of certain husbands, lovers, prudes, and wives; who led in secret most lascivious lives. though none he named, catella was amazed; his hints suspicions of her husband raised; and such her agitation and affright, that, anxious to procure more certain light, in haste she took minutolo aside, and begged the names he would not from her hide, with all particulars, from first to last:-- her ardent wish to know whate'er had passed. so long your reign, said richard, o'er my mind, deny i could not, howsoe'er inclined; with mrs. simon often is your spouse; her character no doubt your spleen will rouse; i've no design, observe to give offence, but, when i see your int'rest in suspense, i cannot silent keep; though, were i still a slave, devoted wholly to your will, as late i moved, i would not drop a word mistrust of lovers may not be absurd; besides, you'd fancy other motives led to tell you of your husband what was said; but heav'n be praised, of you i nothing want; my object's plain--no more the fond gallant. i've lately certain information had, your spouse (i scarcely thought the man so bad,) has with the lady an appointment made; at jack's nice bagnio he will meet the jade. now clearly jack's not rich, and there's no doubt; a hundred ducats give, and--all will out; let him but have a handsome sum in view, and any thing you wish, be sure he'll do; you then can manage ev'ry way so well, that, at the place assigned to meet his belle, you'll take this truant husband by surprise;-- permit me in this nice affair to advise. the lady has agreed, you will remark, that in a room where ev'ry part is dark, (perhaps to 'scape the keeper's prying sight, or shame directs exclusion of the light,) she will receive your gay inconstant spouse; now, take her place; the case deceit allows; make jack your friend; nor haggle at the price; a hundred ducats give, is my advice; he'll place you in the room where darkness reigns; think not too fast, nor suffer heavy chains; do what you wish, and utter not a word; to speak, assuredly would be absurd; 'twould spoil the whole; destroy the project quite; attend, and see if all things be not right. the project pleased catella to the soul; her wrath, no longer able to controul, she richard stopt; enough, enough, she cried; i fully understand:--leave me to guide; i'll play the fellow and his wanton lass a pretty trick-shall all their art surpass, unless the string gives way and spoils my scheme; what, take me for a nincompoop?--they dream. this said, she sought excuse to get away, and went in quest of jack without delay. the keeper, howsoe'er, a hint had got; minutolo had schooled him for the plot; oft cash does wonders, and, if such the case in france or britain, when conferred a grace, the bribe is taken, and the truth abused, in italy it will not be refused; there this sole quiver cupid useful finds,-- a purse well stored--all binds, gunlocks, or blinds: jack took the pelf from richard and the dame; had satan offered--'twould have been the same. in short, minutolo had full success, all came about, and marked the spark's address. the lady had at first some warm dispute to many questions jack was even mute; but when he saw the golden charms unmasked, far more he promised than catella asked. the time of rendezvous arrived, our spark to jack's repaired, and found the room quite dark; so well arranged, no crevice could he find, through which the light might hurt what he designed. not long he waited, ere our jealous dame, who longed to find her faithless husband, came, most thoroughly prepared his ears to greet. jack brought the couple presently to meet. the lady found, howe'er, not what she sought: no guilty spouse, nor mrs. simon caught; but wily richard, who, without alarms, in silence took catella in his arms. what further passed between the easy pair, think what you will, i mean not to declare; the lover certainly received delight the lady showed no terror nor affright; on neither side a syllable was dropt with care minutolo his laughter stopt; though difficult, our spark succeeded well; no words of mine can richard's pleasure tell. his fav'rite beauteous belle he now possessed, and triumphed where so oft he'd been repressed, yet fondly hoped her pardon he should get, since they together had so gaily met. at length, the fair could no longer contain: vile wretch, she cried, i've borne too much 'tis plain; i'm not the fav'rite whom thou had'st in view: to tear thy eyes out justly were thy due, 'tis this, indeed, that makes thee silent keep, each morn feign sickness, and pretend to sleep, thyself reserving doubtless for amours:-- speak, villain! say, of charms have i less stores? or what has mrs. simon more than i? a wanton wench, in tricks so wondrous sly! where my love less? though truly now i hate; would that i'd seen thee hung, thou wretch ingrate! minutolo, while thus catella spoke, caressed her much, but silence never broke; a kiss e'en tried to gain, without success; she struggled, and refused to acquiesce; begone! said she, nor treat me like a child; stand off!--away!--thy taction is defiled; my tears express an injured woman's grief; no more thy wife i'll be, but seek relief; return my fortune--go:--thy mistress seek; to be so constant:--how was i so weak? it surely would be nothing more than right, were richard i to see this very night, who adoration constantly has paid:-- you much deserve to be a cuckold made; i'm half inclined, i vow, to do the worst. at this our arch gallant with laughter burst. what impudence!--you mock me too? she cried let's see, with blushes if his face be dyed? when from his arms she sprang, a window sought; the shutters ope'd, and then a view she caught; minutolo, her lover! * * * what surprise! pale, faint, she instant grew, and closed her eyes: who would have thought, said she, thou wert so base? i'm lost! * * * for ever sunk in dire disgrace! who'll, know it? richard earnestly replied; in jack's concealment we may both confide; excuse the trick i've played and ne'er repine; address, force, treachery, in love combine; all are permitted when intrigue 's the word; to hold the contrary were quite absurd. till stratagem was used i naught could gain, but looks and darts from eyes, for all my pain. i've paid myself;--would you have done it?--no; 'tis all as might be wished;--come, smiles bestow; i'm satisfied, the fault was not with you. in this, to make you wretched, naught i view; why sigh and groan?--what numbers could i name, who would be happy to be served the same. his reas'ning yet could not the belle appease; she wept, and sought by tears her mind to ease; affliction highly added to her charms; minutolo still gave her new alarms; he took her hand, which she at once withdrew: away, she cried; no longer me pursue; be satisfied; you surely don't desire that i assistance from the house require, or rouse the neighbours with my plaintive cries i'll ev'ry thing declare without disguise. such folly don't commit, replied the spark; your wisest plan is nothing to remark: the world at present is become so vile, if you the truth divulge, they'll only smile; not one a word of treachery would believe, but think you came--and money to receive: suppose, besides, it reached your husband's ears; th' effect has reason to excite your fears; 'twould give displeasure and occasion strife: would you in duels wish to risk his life? whatever makes you with him disagree, at all events, i'm full as bad as he. these reasons with catella greatly weighed since things, continued he, are thus displayed; and cannot be repaired, console your mind; a perfect being never was designed. if, howsoe'er you will * * * but say no more; such thoughts for ever banish, i implore. 'mid all my perseverance, zeal, and art, i nothing got but frowns that pierced the heart: 'twill now on you depend if pleasure prove this day imperfect, ere from hence we move. what more remains to do? the worst is past; 'tis step the first that costs, however classed. so well minutolo preferred his suit, the lady with him more would not dispute, with downcast eyes she listened to his prayer, and looked disposed to tranquilize his care; from easy freedom soon he 'gan to soar; a smile received:--a kiss bestowed and more: at length, the lady passed resistance by, and all conceded, e'en without a sigh. our hero felt a thousand times more blessed than when he first the beauteous fair caressed; for when a flame reciprocal is raised, the bliss redoubles, and by all is praised. thus richard pleasantly employed his time, contented lived, concentring joys sublime. a sample, now, we have given of his pow'rs, and who would wish for more delightful hours? o grant, kind heav'n! that i the like may meet, and ever prove so wary and discreet. etext editor's bookmarks: in childhood fear 's the lesson first we know! who knows too much, oft shows a want of sense this ebook was produced by david widger [note: there is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the file for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making an entire meal of them. d.w.] the tales and novels of j. de la fontaine volume . contains: the falcon the little dog the falcon i recollect, that lately much i blamed, the sort of lover, avaricious named; and if in opposites we reason see, the liberal in paradise should be. the rule is just and, with the warmest zeal, to prove the fact i to the church appeal. in florence once there dwelled a gentle youth, who loved a certain beauteous belle with truth; o'er all his actions she had full controul;-- to please he would have sold his very soul. if she amusements wished, he'd lavish gold, convinced in love or war you should be bold; the cash ne'er spare:--invincible its pow'rs, o'erturning walls or doors where'er it show'rs. the precious ore can every thing o'ercome; 'twill silence barking curs: make servants dumb; and these can render eloquent at will:-- excel e'en tully in persuasive skill; in short he'd leave no quarter unsubdued, unless therein the fair he could include. she stood th' attack howe'er, and frederick failed; his force was vain whenever he assailed; without the least return his wealth he spent: lands, houses, manors of immense extent, were ev'ry now and then to auction brought; to gratify his love was all he thought. the rank of 'squire till lately he had claimed; now scarcely was he even mister named; of wealth by cupid's stratagems bereft, a single farm was all the man had left; friends very few, and such as god alone, could tell if friendship they might not disown; the best were led their pity to express; 'twas all he got: it could not well be less; to lend without security was wrong, and former favours they'd forgotten long; with all that frederick could or say or do, his liberal conduct soon was lost to view. with clytia he no longer was received, than while he was a man of wealth believed; balls, concerts, op'ras, tournaments, and plays, expensive dresses, all engaging ways, were used to captivate this lady fair, while scarcely one around but in despair, wife, widow, maid, his fond affection sought; to gain him, ev'ry wily art was brought; but all in vain:--by passion overpow'red, the belle, whose conduct others would have soured, to him appeared a goddess full of charms, superior e'en to helen, in his arms; from whence we may conclude, the beauteous dame was always deaf to fred'rick's ardent flame. enamoured of the belle, his lands he sold; the family estates were turned to gold; and many who the purchases had made, with pelf accumulated by their trade, assumed the airs of men of noble birth:-- fair subjects oft for ridicule and mirth! rich clytia was, and her good spouse, 'tis said, had lands which far and wide around were spread; no cash nor presents she would ever take, yet suffered frederick splendid treats to make, without designing recompense to grant, or being more than merely complaisant. already, if my mem'ry do not fail, i've said, the youth's estates were put to sale, to pay for feasts the fair to entertain, and what he'd left was only one domain, a petty farm to which he now retired; ashamed to show where once so much admired, and wretched too, a prey to lorn despair, unable to obtain by splendid care, a beauty he'd pursued six years and more, and should for ever fervently adore. his want of merit was the cause he thought, that she could never to his wish be brought, while from him not a syllable was heard, against the lovely belle his soul preferred. 'mid poverty oft fred'rick sighed and wept; a toothless hag--his only servant kept; his kitchen cold; (where commonly he dwelled;) a pretty decent horse his stable held; a falcon too; and round about the grange, our quondam 'squire repeatedly would range, where oft, to melancholy, he was led, to sacrifice the game which near him fed; by clytia's cruelty the gun was seized, and feathered victims black chagrin appeased. 'twas thus the lover whiled his hours away; his heart-felt torments nothing could allay; blessed if with fortune love he'd also lost, which constantly his earthly comforts crossed; but this lorn passion preyed upon his mind:-- where'er he rode, black care would mount behind. death took at length the husband of the fair; an only son appointed was his heir, a sickly child, whose life, 'twas pretty plain, could scarcely last till spring returned again, which made the husband, by his will, decree, his wife the infant's successor should be, in case the babe at early years should die, who soon grew worse and raised the widow's sigh. too much affection parents ne'er can show:-- a mother's feelings none but mothers know. fair clytia round her child with anxious care, watched day and night, and no expense would spare; inquired if this or that would please his taste; what he desired should be procured with haste; but nothing would he have that she proposed; an ardent wish howe'er the boy disclosed, for fred'rick's falcon, and most anxious grew:-- tear followed tear, and nothing else would do. when once a child has got a whim in brain, no peace, no rest, till he the boon obtain. we should observe our belle, near fred'rick's cot, a handsome house and many lands had got; 'twas there the lovely babe had lately heard, most wondrous stories of the bird averred; no partridge e'er escaped its rapid wing:-- on every morn down numbers it would bring; no money for it would its owner take; much grieved was clytia such request to make. the man, for her, of wealth had been bereft; how ask the only treasure he had left? and him if she were led to importune, could she expect that he'd accord the boon? alas! ungratefully she oft repaid, his liberal treats, his concerts, serenade, and haughtily behaved from first to last: how be so bold, (reflecting on the past,) to see the man that she so ill had used? and ask a favour?--could she be excused? but then her child!--perhaps his life 'twould save; naught would he take; the falcon she must crave. that her sweet babe might be induced to eat, so meant the bird of fred'rick to intreat; her boy was heard continually to cry, unless he had the falcon, he should die. these reasons strongly with the mother weighed; her visit to the 'squire was not delayed; with fond affection for her darling heir, one morn, alone she sought the lorn repair. to fred'rick's eye an angel she appeared; but shame he felt, that she, his soul revered, should find him poor:--no servants to attend, nor means to give a dinner to a friend. the poverty in which he now was viewed, distressed his mind and all his griefs renewed. why come? said he; what led you thus to trace, an humble slave of your celestial face? a villager, a wretched being here; too great the honour doubtless must appear; 'twas somewhere else you surely meant to go? the lady in a moment answered no. cried he, i've neither cook nor kettle left; then how can i receive you, thus bereft? but you have bread, said clytia:--that will do;-- the lover quickly to the poultry flew, in search of eggs; some bacon too he found; but nothing else, except the hawk renowned, which caught his eye, and instantly was seized, slain, plucked, and made a fricassee that pleased. meanwhile the house-keeper for linen sought; knives, forks, plates, spoons, cups, glass and chairs she brought; the fricassee was served, the dame partook, and on the dish with pleasure seemed to look. the dinner o'er, the widow then resolved, to ask the boon which in her mind resolved. she thus begun:--good sir, you'll think me mad, to come and to your breast fresh trouble add; i've much to ask, and you will feel surprise, that one, for whom your love could ne'er suffice, should now request your celebrated bird; can i expect the grant?--the thought 's absurd but pardon pray a mother's anxious fear; 'tis for my child:--his life to me is dear. the falcon solely can the infant save; yet since to you i nothing ever gave, for all your kindness oft on me bestowed; your fortune wasted:--e'en your nice abode, alas! disposed of, large supplies to raise, to entertain and please in various ways: i cannot hope this falcon to obtain; for sure i am the expectation's vane; no, rather perish child and mother too; than such uneasiness should you pursue: allow howe'er this parent, i beseech, who loves her offspring 'yond the pow'r of speech, or language to express, her only boy, sole hope, sole comfort, all her earthly joy, true mother like, to seek her child's relief, and in your breast deposit now her grief. affection's pow'r none better know than you,-- how few to love were ever half so true! from such a bosom i may pardon crave soft pity's ever with the good and brave! alas! the wretched lover straight replied, the bird was all i could for you provide; 'twas served for dinner.--dead?--exclaimed the dame, while trembling terror overspread her frame. no jest, said he, and from the soul i wish, my heart, instead of that, had been the dish; but doomed alas! am i by fate, 'tis clear, to find no grace with her my soul holds dear: i'd nothing left; and when i saw the bird, to kill it instantly the thought occurred; those naught we grudge nor spare to entertain, who o'er our feeling bosoms sov'reign reign: all i can do is speedily to get, another falcon: easily they're met; and by to-morrow i'll the bird procure. no, fred'rick, she replied, i now conjure you'll think no more about it; what you've done is all that fondness could have shown a son; and whether fate has doomed the child to die, or with my prayers the pow'rs above comply; for you my gratitude will never end-- pray let us hope to see you as a friend. then clytia took her leave, and gave her hand; a proof his love no more she would withstand. he kissed and bathed her fingers with his tears; the second day grim death confirmed their fears: the mourning lasted long and mother's grief; but days and months at length bestowed relief; no wretchedness so great, we may depend, but what, to time's all-conqu'ring sithe will bend: two famed physicians managed with such care; that they recovered her from wild despair, and tears gave place to cheerfulness and joy:- the one was time the other venus' boy. her hand fair clytia on the youth bestowed, as much from love as what to him she owed. let not this instance howsoe'r mislead; 'twere wrong with hope our fond desires to feed, and waste our substance thus:--not all the fair, possess of gratitude a decent share. with this exception they appear divine; in lovely woman angel-charms combine; the whole indeed i do not here include; alas; too many act the jilt and prude. when kind, they're ev'ry blessing found below: when otherwise a curse we often know. the little dog the key, which opes the chest of hoarded gold. unlocks the heart that favours would withhold. to this the god of love has oft recourse, when arrows fail to reach the secret source, and i'll maintain he's right, for, 'mong mankind, nice presents ev'ry where we pleasing find; kings, princes, potentates, receive the same, and when a lady thinks she's not to blame, to do what custom tolerates around; when venus' acts are only themis' found, i'll nothing 'gainst her say; more faults than one, besides the present, have their course begun. a mantuan judge espoused a beauteous fair: her name was argia:--anselm was her care, an aged dotard, trembling with alarms, while she was young, and blessed with seraph charms. but, not content with such a pleasing prize, his jealousy appeared without disguise, which greater admiration round her drew, who doubtless merited, in ev'ry view, attention from the first in rank or place so elegant her form, so fine her face. 'twould endless prove, and nothing would avail, each lover's pain minutely to detail: their arts and wiles; enough 'twill be no doubt, to say the lady's heart was found so stout, she let them sigh their precious hours away, and scarcely seemed emotion to betray. while at the judge's, cupid was employed, some weighty things the mantuan state annoyed, of such importance, that the rulers meant, an embassy should to the pope be sent. as anselm was a judge of high degree, no one so well embassador could be. 'twas with reluctance he agreed to go, and be at rome their mighty plenipo'; the business would be long, and he must dwell six months or more abroad, he could not tell. though great the honour, he should leave his dove, which would be painful to connubial love. long embassies and journeys far from home oft cuckoldom around induce to roam. the husband, full of fears about his wife; exclaimed--my ever--darling, precious life, i must away; adieu, be faithful pray, to one whose heart from you can never stray but swear to me, my duck, (for, truth to tell, i've reason to be jealous of my belle,) now swear these sparks, whose ardour i perceive, have sighed without success, and i'll believe. but still your honour better to secure, from slander's tongue, and virtue to ensure, i'd have you to our country-house repair; the city quit:--these sly gallants beware; their presents too, accurst invention found, with danger fraught, and ever much renowned; for always in the world, where lovers move, these gifts the parent of assentment prove. 'gainst those declare at once; nor lend an ear to flattery, their cunning sister-peer. if they approach, shut straight both ears and eyes; for nothing you shall want that wealth supplies; my store you may command; the key behold, where i've deposited my notes and gold. receive my rents; expend whate'er you please; i'll look for no accounts; live quite at ease; i shall be satisfied with what you do, if naught therein to raise a blush i view; you've full permission to amuse your mind; your love, howe'er, for me alone's designed; that, recollect, must be for my return, for which our bosoms will with ardour burn. the good man's bounty seemingly was sweet; all pleasures, one excepted, she might greet; but that, alas! by bosoms unpossessed, no happiness arises from the rest: his lady promised ev'ry thing required:-- deaf, blind, and cruel,--whosoe'er admired; and not a present would her hand receive at his return, he fully might believe, she would be found the same as when he went, without gallant, or aught to discontent. her husband gone, she presently retired where anselm had so earnestly desired; the lovers came, but they were soon dismissed, and told, from visits they must all desist; their assiduities were irksome grown, and she was weary of their lovesick tone. save one, they all were odious to the fair; a handsome youth, with smart engaging air; but whose attentions to the belle were vain; in spite of arts, his aim he could not gain; his name was atis, known to love and arms, who grudged no pains, could he possess her charms. each wile he tried, and if he'd kept to sighs, no doubt the source is one that never dries; but often diff'rent with expense 'tis found; his wealth was wasted rapidly around he wretched grew; at length for debt he fled, and sought a desert to conceal his head. as on the road he moved, a clown he met, who with his stick an adder tried to get, from out a thicket, where it hissing lay, and hoped to drive the countryman away: our knight his object asked; the clown replied, to slay the reptile anxiously i tried; wherever met, an adder i would kill: the race should be extinct if i'd my will. why would'st thou, friend, said atis, these destroy? god meant that all should freely life enjoy. the youthful knight for reptiles had, we find, less dread than what prevails with human kind; he bore them in his arms:--they marked his birth; from noble cadmus sprung, who, when on earth, at last, to serpent was in age transformed; the adder's bush the clown no longer stormed; no more the spotted reptile sought to stay, but seized the time, and quickly crept away. at length our lover to a wood retired; to live concealed was what the youth desired; lorn silence reigned, except from birds that sang, and dells that oft with sweetest echo rang. there happiness and frightful mis'ry lay, quite undistinguished: classed with beasts of prey; that growling prowled in search of food around: there atis consolation never found. love thither followed, and, however viewed, 'twas vain to hope his passion to elude; retirement fed the tender, ardent flame, and irksome ev'ry minute soon became. let us return, cried he, since such our fate: 'tis better, atis, bear her frowns and hate, than of her beauteous features lose the view; ye nightingales and streams, ye woods adieu! when far from her i neither see nor hear: 'tis she alone my senses still revere; a slave i am, who fled her dire disdain; yet seek once more to wear the cruel chain. as near some noble walls our knight arrived, which fairy-hands to raise had once contrived, his eyes beheld, at peep of early morn, when bright aurora's beams the earth adorn, a beauteous nymph in royal robes attired, of noble mien, and formed to be admired, who t'ward him drew, with pleasing, gracious air, while he was wrapped in thought, a prey to care. said she, i'd have you, atis, happy be; 'tis in my pow'r, and this i hope to see; a fairy greet me, manto is my name:-- your friend, and one you've served unknown:--the same my fame you've heard, no doubt; from me proceeds the mantuan town, renowned for ancient deeds; in days of yore i these foundations laid, which in duration, equal i have made, to those of memphis, where the nile's proud course majestically flows from hidden source. the cruel parcae are to us unknown; we wond'rous magick pow'rs have often shown; but wretched, spite of this, appears our lot death never comes, though various ills we've got, for we to human maladies are prone, and suffer greatly oft, i freely own. once, in each week to serpents we are changed; do you remember how you here arranged, to save an adder from a clown's attack? 'twas i, the furious rustick wished to hack, when you assisted me to get away; for recompense, my friend, without delay, i'll you procure the kindness of the fair, who makes you love and drives you to despair: we'll go and see her:--be assured from me, before two days are passed, as i foresee, you'll gain, by presents, argia and the rest, who round her watch, and are the suitor's pest. grudge no expense, be gen'rous, and be bold, your handfuls scatter, lavish be of gold. assured you shall not want the precious ore; for i command the whole of plutus' store, preserved, to please me, in the shades below; this charmer soon our magick pow'r shall know. the better to approach the cruel belle, and to your suit her prompt consent compel, myself transformed you'll presently perceive; and, as a little dog, i'll much achieve, around and round i'll gambol o'er the lawn, and ev'ry way attempt to please and fawn, while you, a pilgrim, shall the bag-pipe play; come, bring me to the dame without delay. no sooner said, the lover quickly changed, together with the fairy, as arranged; a pilgrim he, like orpheus, piped and sang; while manto, as a dog, skipt, jumped, and sprang. they thus proceeded to the beauteous dame; soon valets, maids, and others round them came; the dog and pilgrim gave extreme delight and all were quite diverted at the sight. the lady heard the noise, and sent her maid, to learn the reason why they romped and played: she soon returned and told the lovely belle, a spaniel danced, and even spoke so well, it ev'ry thing could fully understand, and showed obedience to the least command. 'twere better come herself and take a view: the things were wond'rous that the dog could do. the dame at any price the dog would buy, in case the master should the boon deny. to give the dog our pilgrim was desired; but though he would not grant the thing required; he whispered to the maid the price he'd take, and some proposals was induced to make. said he, 'tis true, the creature 's not for sale; nor would i give it: prayers will ne'er prevail; whate'er i chance to want from day to day, it furnishes without the least delay. to have my wish, three words alone i use, its paw i squeeze, and whatsoe'er i choose, of gold, or jewels, fall upon the ground; search all the world, there's nothing like it found. your lady's rich, and money does not want; howe'er, my little dog to her i'll grant if she'll a night permit me in her bed, the treasure shall at once to her be led. the maid at this proposal felt surprise; her mistress truly! less might well suffice; a paltry knave! cried she, it makes me laugh; what! take within her bed a pilgrim's staff! were such a circumstance abroad to get, my lady would with ridicule be met; the dog and master, probably, were last beneath a hedge, or on a dunghill cast; a house like this they'll never see agen;-- but then the master is the pride of men, and that in love is ev'ry thing we find much wealth and beauty please all womankind! his features and his mien the knight had changed; each air and look for conquest were arranged. the maid exclaimed: when such a lover sues, how can a woman any thing refuse? besides the pilgrim has a dog, 'tis plain, not all the wealth of china could obtain. yet to possess my lady for a night, would to the master be supreme delight: i should have mentioned, that our cunning spark; the dog would whisper (feigning some remark,) on which ten ducats tumbled at his feet; these atis gave the maid, (o deed discreet;) then fell a diamond: this our wily wight took up, and smiling at the precious sight, said he, what now i hold i beg you'll bear, to her you serve, so worthy of your care; present my compliments, and to her say, i'm her devoted servant from to-day. thu female quickly to her mistress went; our charming little dog to represent: the various pow'rs displayed, and wonders done; yet scarcely had she on the knight begun, and mentioned what he wished her to unfold, but argia could her rage no longer hold; a fellow! to presume, cried she, to speak of me with freedom!--i am not so weak, to listen to such infamy, not i a pilgrim too!--no, you may well rely, e'en were he atis, it would be the same, to whom i now my cruel conduct blame: such things he never would to me propose; not e'en a monarch would the like disclose; i'm 'bove temptation, presents would not do:-- not plutus' stores, if offered to my view; a paltry pilgrim to presume indeed, to think that i would such a blackguard heed, ambassadress my rank! and to admit a fellow, only for the gallows fit! this pilgrim, cried the maid, has got the means not only belles to get, but even queens; or beauteous goddesses he could obtain:-- he's worth a thousand atis's 'tis plain. bur, said the wife, my husband made me vow. what? cried the maid, you'd not bedeck his brow! a pretty promise truly:--can you think, you less from this, than from the first, should shrink? who'll know the fact, or publish it around? consider well, how many might be found, who, were they marked with spot upon the nose, when things had taken place that we suppose, would not their heads so very lofty place, i'm well assured, but feel their own disgrace. for such a thing, are we the worse a hair? no, no, good lady, who presumes to swear, he can discern the lips which have been pressed, by those that never have the fact confessed, must be possessed of penetrating eyes, which pierce the sable veil of dark disguise. this favour, whether you accord or not, 'twill not a whit be less nor more a blot. for whom, i pray, love's treasures would you hoard? for one, who never will a treat afford, or what is much the same, has not the pow'r? all he may want you'll give him in an hour, at his return; he's very weak and old, and, doubtless, ev'ry way is icy cold! the cunning girl such rhetorick displayed, that all she said, her mistress, having weighed, began to doubt alone, and not deny the spaniel's art, and pilgrim's piercing eye: to her the master and his dog were led, to satisfy her mind while still in bed; for bright aurora, from the wat'ry deep, not more reluctantly arose from sleep. our spark approached the dame with easy air, which seemed the man of fashion to declare; his compliments were made with ev'ry grace, that minds most difficult could wish to trace. the fair was charmed, and with him quite content; you do not look, said she, like one who meant saint james of compostella soon to see, though, doubtless, oft to saints you bend the knee. to entertain the smiling beauteous dame, the dog, by various tricks, confirmed his flame, to please the maid and mistress he'd in view: too much for these of course he could not do; though, for the husband, he would never move, the little fav'rite sought again to prove his wond'rous worth, and scattered o'er the ground, with sudden shake, among the servants round, nice pearls, which they on strings arranged with care; and these the pilgrim offered to the fair: gallantly fastened them around her arms, admired their whiteness and extolled her charms: so well he managed, 'twas at length agreed, in what his heart desired he should succeed; the dog was bought: the belle bestowed a kiss, as earnest of the promised future bliss. the night arrived, when atis fondly pressed, within his arms, the lady thus caressed; himself he suddenly became again, on which she scarcely could her joy contain:-- th' ambassador she more respect should show, than favours on a pilgrim to bestow. the fair and spark so much admired the night; that others followed equal in delight; each felt the same, for where's the perfect shade; that can conceal when joys like these pervade? expression strongly marks the youthful face, and all that are not blind the truth can trace. some months had passed, when anselm was dismissed; of gifts and pardons, long appeared his list; a load of honours from the pope he got:-- the church will these most lib'rally allot. from his vicegerent quickly he received a good account, and friends his fears relieved; the servants never dropt a single word of what had passed, but all to please concurred. the judge, both maid and servants, questioned much; but not a hint he got, their care was such. yet, as it often happens 'mong the fair, the devil entered on a sudden there; such quarrels 'tween the maid and mistress rose, the former vowed she would the tale disclose. revenge induced her ev'ry thing to tell, though she were implicated with the belle. so great the husband's rage, no words can speak: his fury somewhere he of course would wreak; but, since to paint it clearly would be vain-- you'll by the sequel judge his poignant pain. a servant anselm ordered to convey his wife a note, who was, without delay, to come to town her honoured spouse to see; extremely ill (for such he feigned to be.) as yet the lady in the country stayed; her husband to and fro' his visits paid. said he, remember, when upon the road, conducting argia from her lone abode, you must contrive her men to get away, and with her none but you presume to stay.-- a jade! she horns has planted on my brow: her death shall be the consequence i vow. with force a poinard in her bosom thrust; watch well th' occasion:--die, i say, she must, the deed performed, escape; here's for you aid; the money take:--pursuit you can evade; as i request, proceed; then trust to me:-- you naught shall want wherever you may be. to seek fair argia instantly he went; she, by her dog, was warned of his intent. how these can warn? if asked, i shall reply, they grumble, bark, complain, or fawn, or sigh; pull petticoat or gown, and snarl at all, who happen in their way just then to fall; but few so dull as not to comprehend; howe'er, this fav'rite whispered to his friend, the dangers that awaited her around; but go, said he, protection you have found; confide in me:--i'll ev'ry ill prevent, for which the rascal hither has been sent. as on they moved, a wood was in the way, where robbers often waited for their prey; the villain whom the husband had employed, sent forward those whose company annoyed, and would prevent his execrable plan; the last of horrid crimes.--disgrace to man! no sooner had the wretch his orders told, but argia vanished--none could her behold; the beauteous belle was quickly lost to view: a cloud, the fairy manto o'er her threw. this circumstance astonished much the wretch, who ran to give our doating spouse a sketch of what had passed so strange upon the way; old anselm thither went without delay, when, marvellous to think! with great surprise, he saw a palace of extensive size, erected where, an hour or two before, a hovel was not seen, nor e'en a door. the husband stood aghast!--admired the place, not built for man, e'en gods 'twould not disgrace. the rooms were gilt; the decorations fine; the gardens and the pleasure-grounds divine; such rich magnificence was never seen; superb the whole, a charming blessed demesne. the entrance ev'ry way was open found; but not a person could be viewed around, except a negro, hideous to behold, who much resembled aesop, famed of old. our judge the negro for a porter took, who was the house to clean and overlook; and taking him for such, the black addressed, with full belief the title was the best, and that he greatly honoured him, 'twas plain (of ev'ry colour men are proud and vain:) said he, my friend, what god this palace owns? too much it seems for those of earthly thrones; no king, of consequence enough could be; the palace, cried the black, belongs to me. the judge was instantly upon his knees, the negro's pardon asked, and sought to please; i trust, said he, my lord, you'll overlook the fault i made: my ignorance mistook. the universe has not so nice a spot; the world so beautiful a palace got! dost wish me, said the black, the house to give, for thee and thine therein at ease to live? on one condition thou shalt have the place for thee i seriously intend the grace, if thou 'lt on me a day or two attend, as page of honour:--dost thou comprehend? the custom know'st thou--better i'll expound; a cup-bearer with jupiter is found, thou'st heard no doubt. anselm what, ganymede? negro the same; and i'm that jupiter of mighty fame; the chief supreme who rules above the skies; be thou the lad with fascinating eyes, though not so handsome, nor in truth so young. anselm you jest, my lord; to youth i don't belong; 'tis very clear;--my judge's dress--my age! negro i jest? thou dream'st. anselm my lord? negro you won't engage? just as you will:--'tis all the same you'll find. anselm my lord!. . . . the learned judge himself resigned, the black's mysterious wishes to obey;-- alas! curst presents, how they always weigh! a page the magistrate was quickly seen, in dress, in look, in age, in air, in mien; his hat became a cap; his beard alone remained unchanged; the rest had wholly flown. thus metamorphosed to a pretty boy, the judge proceeded in the black's employ. within a corner hidden, argia lay, and heard what anselm had been led to say. the moor howe'er was manto, most renowned, transformed, as oft the fairy we have found; she built the charming palace by her art,-- now youthful features would to age impart. at length, as anselm through a passage came, he suddenly beheld his beauteous dame. what! learned anselm do i see, said she, in this disguise?--it surely cannot be; my eyes deceive me:--anselm, grave and wise; give such a lesson? i am all surprise. 'tis doubtless he: oh, oh! our bald-pate sire; ambassador and judge, we must admire, to see your honour thus in masquerade:-- at your age, truly, suffer to be made a--modesty denies my tongue its powr's what!--you condemn to death for freaks like ours? you, whom i've found *** you understand--for shame your crimes are such as all must blush to name. though i may have a negro for gallant, and erred when atis for me seemed to pant, his merit and the black's superior rank, must lessen, if not quite excuse my prank. howe'er, old boy, you presently shall see, if any belle solicited should be, to grant indulgencies, with presents sweet, she will not straight capitulation beat; at least, if they be such as i have viewed:-- moor, change to dog; immediately ensued the metamorphose that the fair required, the black'moor was again a dog admired. dance, fav'rite; instantly he skipped and played; and to the judge his pretty paw conveyed. spaniel, scatter gold; presently there fell large sums of money, as the sound could tell. such strong temptation who can e'er evade? the dog a present to your wife was made. then show me, if you can, upon the earth, a queen, a princess, of the highest birth, who would not virtue presently concede, if such excuses for it she could plead; particularly if the giver proved a handsome lad that elegantly moved. i, truly, for the spaniel was exchanged; what you'd too much of, freely i arranged, to grant away, this jewel to obtain my value 's nothing great, you think, 'tis plain; and, surely, you'd have thought me very wrong, when such a prize i met, to haggle long. 'twas he this palace raised; but i have done; remember, since you've yet a course to run, take care again how you command my death; in spite of your designs i draw my breath. though none but atis with me had success, i now desire, he may lucretia bless, and wish her to surrender up her charms, (just like myself) to his extended arms. if you approve, our peace at once is made: if not--while i've this dog i'm not afraid, but you defy: i dread not swords nor bowl; the little dog can warn me of the whole; the jealous he confounds; be that no more; such folly hence determine to give o'er. if you, to put restraints on women choose, you'll sooner far their fond affections lose. the whole our judge conceded;--could he less? the secret of his recent change of dress was promised to be kept: and that unknown, e'en cuckoldom again might there have flown. our couple mutual compensation made, then bade adieu to hill, and dale, and glade. some critick asks the handsome palace' fate; i answer:--that, my friend, i shan't relate; it disappeared, no matter how nor when. why put such questions?--strict is not my pen. the little dog, pray what of that became? to serve the lover was his constant aim. and how was that?--you're troublesome my friend: the dog perhaps would more assistance lend; on new intrigues his master might be bent; with single conquest who was e'er content? the fav'rite spaniel oft was missing found; but when the little rogue had gone his round, he'd then return, as if from work relieved, to her who first his services received. his fondness into fervent friendship grew; as such gay atis visited anew; he often came, but argia was sincere, and firmly to her vow would now adhere: old anselm too, had sworn, by heav'n above; no more to be suspicious of his love; and, if he ever page became again, to suffer punishment's severest pain. etext editor's bookmarks: twere wrong with hope our fond desires to feed this ebook was produced by david widger [note: there is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the file for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making an entire meal of them. d.w.] the tales and novels of j. de la fontaine volume . the magick cup the worst of ills, with jealousy compared, are trifling torments ev'ry where declared. imagine, to yourself a silly fool, to dark suspicion grown an easy tool; no soft repose he finds, by night or day; but rings his ear, he's wretched ev'ry way! continually he dreams his forehead sprouts; the truth of reveries he never doubts. but this i would not fully guaranty, for he who dreams, 'tis said, asleep should be; and those who've caught, from time to time, a peep, pretend to say--the jealous never sleep. a man who has suspicions soon will rouse; but buz a fly around his precious spouse, at once he fancies cuckoldom is brought, and nothing can eradicate the thought; in spite of reason he must have a place, and numbered be, among the horned race; a cuckold to himself he freely owns, though otherwise perhaps in flesh and bones. good folks, of cuckoldom, pray what's the harm, to give, from time to time, such dire alarm? what injury 's received, and what 's the wrong, at which so many sneer and loll their tongue? while unacquainted with the fact, 'tis naught; if known:--e'en then 'tis scarcely worth a thought. you think, however, 'tis a serious grief; then try to doubt it, which may bring relief, and don't resemble him who took a sup, from out the celebrated magick cup. be warned by others' ills; the tale i'll tell; perhaps your irksomeness it may dispel. but first, by reason let me prove, i pray, that evil such as this, and which you say, oft weighs you down with soul-corroding care; is only in the mind:--mere spright of air: your hat upon your head for instance place, less gently rather than's your usual case; pray, don't it presently at ease remain? and from it do you aught amiss retain? not e'en a spot; there's nothing half so clear; the features, too, they as before appear? no difference assuredly you see? then how can cuckoldom an evil be? such my conclusion, spite of fools or brutes, with whose ideas reason never suits. yes, yes, but honour has, you know, a claim: who e'er denied it?--never 'twas my aim. but what of honour?--nothing else is heard; at rome a different conduct is preferred; the cuckold there, who takes the thing to heart, is thought a fool, and acts a blockhead's part; while he, who laughs, is always well received and honest fellow through the town believed. were this misfortune viewed with proper eyes, such ills from cuckoldom would ne'er arise. that advantageous 'tis, we now will prove: folks laugh; your wife a pliant glove shall move; but, if you've twenty favourites around, a single syllable will ne'er resound. whene'er you speak, each word has double force; at table, you've precedency of course, and oft will get the very nicest parts; well pleased who serves you!--all the household smarts no means neglect your favour to obtain; you've full command; resistance would be vain. whence this conclusion must directly spring: to be a cuckold is a useful thing. at cards, should adverse fortune you pursue; to take revenge is ever thought your due; and your opponent often will revoke, that you for better luck may have a cloak: if you've a friend o'er head and ears in debt: at once, to help him numbers you can get. you fancy these your rind regales and cheers she's better for it; more beautiful appears; the spartan king, in helen found new charms, when he'd recovered her from paris' arms. your wife the same; to make her, in your eye, more beautiful 's the aim you may rely; for, if unkind, she would a hag be thought, incapable soft love scenes to be taught. these reasons make me to my thesis cling,-- to be a cuckold is a useful thing. if much too long this introduction seem, the obvious cause is clearly in the theme, and should not certainly be hurried o'er, but now for something from th' historick store. a certain man, no matter for his name, his country, rank, nor residence nor fame, through fear of accidents had firmly sworn, the marriage chain should ne'er by him be worn; no tie but friendship, from the sex he'd crave: if wrong or right, the question we will wave. be this as 't will, since hymen could not find our wight to bear the wedded knot inclined, the god of love, to manage for him tried, and what he wished, from time to time supplied; a lively fair he got, who charms displayed, and made him father to a little maid; then died, and left the spark dissolved in tears: not such as flow for wives, (as oft appears) when mourning 's nothing more than change of dress: his anguish spoke the soul in great distress. the daughter grew in years, improved in mien, and soon the woman in her air was seen; time rolls apace, and once she's ridded of her bib, then alters daily, and her tongue gets glib, each year still taller, till she's found at length; a perfect belle in look, in age, in strength. his forward child, the father justly feared, would cheat the priest of fees so much revered; the lawyer too, and god of marriage-joys; sad fault, that future prospects oft destroys: to trust her virtue was not quite so sure; he chose a convent, to be more secure, where this young charmer learned to pray and sew; no wicked books, unfit for girls to know, corruption's page the senses to beguile dan cupid never writes in convent style: of nothing would she talk but holy-writ; on which she could herself so well acquit, that oft the gravest teachers were confused; to praise her beauty, scarcely was excused; no flatt'ry pleasure gave, and she'd reply: good sister stay!--consider, we must die; each feature perishes:--'tis naught but clay; and soon will worms upon our bodies prey: superior needle-work our fair could do; the spindle turn at ease:--embroider too; minerva's skill, or clotho's, could impart; in tapestry she'd gained arachne's art; and other talents, too, the daughter showed; her sense, wealth, beauty, soon were spread abroad: but most her wealth a marked attention drew; the belle had been immured with prudent view, to keep her safely till a spouse was found, who with sufficient riches should abound. from convents, heiresses are often led directly to the altar to be wed. some time the father had the girl declared his lawful child, who all his fondness shared. as soon as she was free from convent walls, her taste at once was changed from books to balls; around calista (such was named our fair) a host of lovers showed attentive care; cits, courtiers, officers, the beau, the sage, adventurers of ev'ry rank and age. from these calista presently made choice, of one for whom her father gave his voice; a handsome lad, and thought good humoured too few otherwise appear when first they woo. her fortune ample was; the dow'r the same; the belle an only child; the like her flame. but better still, our couple's chief delight, was mutual love and pleasure to excite. two years in paradise thus passed the pair, when bliss was changed to hell's worst cank'ring care; a fit of jealousy the husband grieved, and, strange to tell, he all at once believed, a lover with success his wife addressed, when, but for him, the suit had ne'er been pressed; for though the spark, the charming fair to gain, would ev'ry wily method try, 'twas plain, yet had the husband never terrors shown, the lover, in despair, had quickly flown. what should a husband do whose wife is sought, with anxious fondness by another? naught. 'tis this that leads me ever to advise, to sleep at ease whichever side he lies. in case she lends the spark a willing ear, 'twill not be better if you interfere: she'll seek more opportunities you'll find; but if to pay attention she's inclined, you'll raise the inclination in her brain, and then the danger will begin again. where'er suspicion dwells you may be sure, to cuckoldom 'twill prove a place secure. but damon (such the husband's name), 'tis clear, thought otherwise, as we shall make appear. he merits pity, and should be excused, since he, by bad advice, was much abused; when had he trusted to himself to guide, he'd acted wisely,'--hear and you'll decide. the enchantress neria flourished in those days; e'en circe, she excelled in satan's ways; the storms she made obedient to her will, and regulated with superior skill; in chains the destinies she kept around; the gentle zephyrs were her sages found; the winds, her lacqueys, flew with rapid course; alert, but obstinate, with pow'rful force. with all her art th' enchantress could not find, a charm to guard her 'gainst the urchin blind; though she'd the pow'r to stop the star of day, she burned to gain a being formed of clay. if merely a salute her wish had been, she might have had it, easily was seen; but bliss unbounded clearly was her view, and this with anxious ardour she'd pursue. though charms she had, still damon would remain, to her who had his heart a faithful swain: in vain she sought the genial soft caress: to neria naught but friendship he'd express. like damon, husbands nowhere now are found, and i'm not certain, such were e'er on ground. i rather fancy, hist'ry is not here, what we would wish, since truth it don't revere, i nothing in the hippogriff perceive, or lance enchanted, but we may believe; yet this i must confess has raised surprise, howe'er, to pass it will perhaps suffice; i've many passed the same,--in ancient days; men different were from us: had other ways; unlike the present manners, we'll suppose; or history would other facts disclose. the am'rous neria to obtain her end, made use of philters, and would e'en descend; to ev'ry wily look and secret art, that could to him she loved her flame impart. our swain his marriage vow to this opposed; at which th' enchantress much surprise disclosed. you doubtless fancy, she exclaimed one day, that your fidelity must worth display; but i should like to know if equal care, calista takes to act upon the square. suppose your wife had got a smart gallant, would you refuse as much a fair to grant? and if calista, careless of your fame, should carry to extremes a guilty flame, would you but half way go? i truly thought, by sturdy hymen thus you'd not be caught. domestick joys should be to cits confined; for none but such were scenes like those designed. but as to you:--decline love's choice pursuit! no anxious wish to taste forbidden fruit? though such you banish from your thoughts i see, a friend thereto i fain would have you be. come make the trial: you'll calista find, quite new again when to her arms resigned. but let me tell you, though your wife be chaste, erastus to your mansion oft is traced. and do you think, cried damon with an air, erastus visits as a lover there? too much he seems, my friend, to act a part, that proves the villain both in head and heart. said neria, mortified at this reply, though he's a friend on whom you may rely, calista beauty has; much worth the man, with smart address to execute his plan; and when we meet accomplishments so rare; few women but will tumble in the snare. this conversation was by damon felt, a wife, brisk, young, and formed 'mid joys to melt; a man well versed in cupid's wily way; no courtier bolder of the present day; well made and handsome, with attractive mind; wo what might happen was the husband blind? whoever trusts implicitly to friends, too oft will find, on shadows he depends. pray where's the devotee, who could withstand, the tempting glimpse of charms that all command; which first invite by halves: then bolder grow, till fascination spreads, and bosoms glow? our damon fancied this already done, or, at the best, might be too soon begun: on these foundations gloomy views arose, chimeras dire, destructive of repose. th' enchantress presently a hint received, that those suspicions much the husband grieved; and better to succeed and make him fret, she told him of a thing, 'mong witches met, 'twas metamorphose-water (such the name) with this could damon take erastus' frame; his gait, his look, his carriage, air and voice thus changed, he easily could mark her choice, each step observe:--enough, he asked no more, erastus' shape the husband quickly bore; his easy manner, and appearance caught: with captivating smiles his wife he sought. and thus addressed the fair with ev'ry grace:-- how blithe that look! enchanting is your face; your beauty's always great, i needs must say, but never more delightful than to-day. calista saw the flatt'ring lover's scheme; and turned to ridicule the wily theme. his manner damon changed, from gay to grave: now sighs, then tears; but nothing could enslave; the lady, virtue firmly would maintain; at length, the husband, seeing all was vain, proposed a bribe, and offered such a sum, her anger dropt: the belle was overcome. the price was very large, it might excuse, though she at first was prompted to refuse; at last, howe'er her chastity gave way: to gold's allurements few will offer nay! the cash, resistance had so fully laid, surrender would at any time be made. the precious ore has universal charms, enchains the will, or sets the world in arms! though elegant your form, and smart your dress, your air, your language, ev'ry warmth express yet, if a banker, or a financier, with handsome presents happen to appear, at once is blessed the wealthy paramour, while you a year may languish at the door. this heart, inflexible, it seems, gave ground, to money's pow'rful, all-subduing sound; the rock now disappeared--and, in its stead, a lamb was found, quite easy to be led, who, as a proof, resistance she would wave, a kiss, by way of earnest freely gave. no further would the husband push the dame, nor be himself a witness of his shame, but straight resumed his form, and to his wife, cried, o calista! once my soul and life calista, whom i fondly cherished long; calista, whose affection was so strong; is gold more dear than hearts in union twined? to wash thy guilt, thy blood should be assigned. but still i love thee, spite of evil thought; my death will pay the ills thou'st on me brought. the metamorphosis our dame surprised; to give relief her tears but just sufficed; she scarcely spoke; the husband, days remained, reflecting on the circumstance that pained. himself a cuckold could he ever make, by mere design a liberty to take? but, horned or not? the question seemed to be, when neria told him, if from doubts not free, drink from the cup:--with so much art 'tis made, that, whose'er of cuckoldom 's afraid, let him but put it to his eager lips if he's a cuckold, out the liquor slips; he naught can swallow; and the whole is thrown about his face or clothes, as oft 's been shown. but should, from out his brow, no horns yet pop-- he drinks the whole, nor spills a single drop. the doubt to solve, our husband took a sup, from this famed, formidably, magick cup; nor did he any of the liquor waste:-- well, i am safe, said he, my wife is chaste, though on myself it wholly could depend; but from it what have i to apprehend? make room, good folks, who leafless branches wear; if you desire those honours i should share. thus damon spoke, and to his precious wife a curious sermon preached, it seems, on life. if cuckoldom, my friends, such torments give; 'tis better far 'mong savages to live! lest worse should happen, damon settled spies, who, o'er his lady watched with argus' eyes. she turned coquette; restraints the fair awake, and only prompt more liberties to take. the silly husband secrets tried to know, and rather seemed to seek the wily foe, which fear has often rendered fatal round, when otherwise the ill had ne'er been found. four times an hour his lips to sip he placed; and clearly, for a week was not disgraced. howe'er, no further went his ease of mind; oh, fatal science! fatally designed! with fury damon threw the cup away, and, in his rage, himself inclined to slay. his wife he straight shut up within a tower, where, morn and night, he showed a husband's pow'r, reproach bestowed: while she bewailed her lot, 'twere better far, if he'd concealed the blot; for now, from mouth to mouth, and ear to ear, it echoed, and re-echoed far and near. meanwhile calista led a wretched life; no gold nor jewels damon left his wife, which made the jailer faithful, since 'twere vain to hope, unbribed, this cerberus to gain. at length, the wife a lucky moment sought, when damon seemed by soft caresses caught. said she, i've guilty been, i freely own; but though my crime is great, i'm not alone; alas! how few escape from like mishap; 'mong hymen's band so common is the trap; and though at you the immaculate may smile, what use to fret and all the sex revile? well i'll console myself, and pardon you, cried damon, when sufficient i can view, of ornamented foreheads, just like mine, to form among themselves a royal line; 'tis only to employ the magick cup, from which i learned your secrets by a sup. his plan to execute, the husband went, and ev'ry passenger was thither sent, where damon entertained, with sumptuous fare; and, at the end, proposed the magick snare: said he, my wife played truant to my bed; wish you to know if your's be e'er misled? 'tis right how things go on at home to trace, and if upon the cup your lips you place, in case your wife be chaste, there'll naught go wrong; but, if to vulcan's troop you should belong, and prove an antlered brother, you will spill the liquor ev'ry way, in spite of skill. to all the men, that damon could collect, the cup he offered, and they tried th' effect; but few escaped, at which they laughed or cried, as feelings led, or cuckoldom they spied, whose surly countenance the wags believed, in many houses near, might be perceived. already damon had sufficient found, to form a regiment and march around; at times they threatened governors to hang, unless they would surrender to their gang; but few they wanted to complete the force, and soon a royal army made of course. from day to day their numbers would augment, without the beat of drum, to great extent; their rank was always fixed by length of horn: foot soldiers those, whose branches short were borne; dragoons, lieutenants, captains, some became, and even colonels, those of greater fame. the portion spilled by each from out the vase was taken for the length, and fixed the place. a wight, who in an instant spilled the whole, was made a gen'ral: not commander sole, for many followed of the same degree, and 'twas determined they should equals be. the rank and file now nearly found complete, and full enough an enemy to beat, young reynold, nephew of famed charlemain, by chance came by: the spark they tried to gain, and, after treating him with sumptuous cheer, at length the magick cup mas made appear; but no way reynold could be led to drink: my wife, cried he, i truly faithful think, and that's enough; the cup can nothing more; should i, who sleep with two eyes, sleep with four? i feel at ease, thank heav'n, and have no dread, then why to seek new cares should i be led? perhaps, if i the cup should hold awry, the liquor out might on a sudden fly; i'm sometimes awkward, and in case the cup should fancy me another, who would sup, the error, doubtless, might unpleasant be: to any thing but this i will agree, to give you pleasure, damon, so adieu; then reynold from the antlered corps withdrew. said damon, gentlemen, 'tis pretty clear, so wise as reynold, none of us appear; but let's console ourselves;--'tis very plain, the same are others:--to repine were vain. at length, such numbers on their rolls they bore; calista liberty obtained once more, as promised formerly, and then her charms again were taken to her spouse's arms. let reynold's conduct, husbands, be your line; who damon's follows surely will repine. perhaps the first should have been made the chief; though, doubtless, that is matter of belief. no mortal can from danger feel secure; to be exempt from spilling, who is sure? nor roland, reynold, nor famed charlemain, but what had acted wrong to risk the stain. etext editor's bookmarks: fools or brutes, with whose ideas reason never suits he, who laughs, is always well received when mourning 's nothing more than change of dress this ebook was produced by david widger [note: there is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the file for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making an entire meal of them. d.w.] the tales and novels of j. de la fontaine volume . contains: the countryman who sought his calf hans carvel's ring the hermit the convent gardener of lamporechio the countryman who sought his calf a countryman, one day, his calf had lost, and, seeking it, a neighbouring forest crossed; the tallest tree that in the district grew, he climbed to get a more extensive view. just then a lady with her lover came; the place was pleasing, both to spark and dame; their mutual wishes, looks and eyes expressed, and on the grass the lady was caressed. at sights of charms, enchanting to the eyes, the gay gallant exclaimed, with fond surprise:-- ye gods, what striking beauties now i see! no objects named; but spoke with anxious glee. the clod, who, on the tree had mounted high, and heard at ease the conversation nigh, now cried:--good man! who see with such delight; pray tell me if my calf be in your sight? hans carvel's ring hans carvel took, when weak and late in life; a girl, with youth and beauteous charms to wife; and with her, num'rous troubles, cares and fears; for, scarcely one without the rest appears. bab (such her name, and daughter of a knight) was airy, buxom: formed for am'rous fight. hans, holding jeers and cuckoldom in dread, would have his precious rib with caution tread, and nothing but the bible e'er peruse; all other books he daily would abuse; blamed secret visits; frowned at loose attire; and censured ev'ry thing gallants admire. the dame, howe'er, was deaf to all he said; no preaching pleased but what to pleasure led, which made the aged husband hold his tongue. and wish for death, since all round went wrong. some easy moments he perhaps might get; a full detail in hist'ry's page is met. one night, when company he'd had to dine, and pretty well was fill'd with gen'rous wine, hans dreamed, as near his wife he snoring lay, the devil came his compliments to pay, and having on his finger put a ring, said he, friend hans, i know thou feel'st a sting; thy trouble 's great: i pity much thy case; let but this ring, howe'er, thy finger grace, and while 'tis there i'll answer with my head, that ne'er shall happen which is now thy dread: hans, quite delighted, forced his finger through; you drunken beast, cried bab, what would you do? to love's devoirs quite lost, you take no care, and now have thrust your finger god knows where! the hermit when venus and hypocrisy combine, oft pranks are played that show a deep design; men are but men, and friars full as weak: i'm not by envy moved these truths to speak. have you a sister, daughter, pretty wife? beware the monks as you would guard your life; if in their snares a simple belle be caught: the trap succeeds: to ruin she is brought. to show that monks are knaves in virtue's mask; pray read my tale:--no other proof i ask. a hermit, full of youth, was thought around, a saint, and worthy of the legend found. the holy man a knotted cincture wore; but, 'neath his garb:--heart-rotten to the core. a chaplet from his twisted girdle hung, of size extreme, and regularly strung, on t'other side was worn a little bell; the hypocrite in all, he acted well; and if a female near his cell appeared, he'd keep within as if the sex he feared, with downcast eyes and looks of woe complete, you'd ne'er suppose that butter he could eat. not far from where the hermit's cell was placed, within a village dwelled a widow chaste; her residence was at the further end and all her store--a daughter as a friend, who candour, youth, and charms supreme possessed; and still a virgin lived, howe'er distressed. though if the real truth perhaps we name, 'twas more simplicity than virtuous aim; not much of industry, but honest heart; no wealth, nor lovers, who might hope impart. in adam's days, when all with clothes were born, she doubtless might like finery have worn; a house was furnished then without expense; for sheets or mattresses you'd no pretence; not e'en a bed was necessary thought no blankets, pillowbiers, nor quilts were bought. those times are o'er; then hymen came alone; but now a lawyer in his train is shown. our anchorite, in begging through the place; this girl beheld,--but not with eyes of grace. said he, she'll do, and, if thou manag'st right, lucius, at times, with her to pass the night. no time he lost, his wishes to secure: the means, we may suppose, not over pure. quite near the open fields they lived, i've said; an humble, boarded cottage o'er their head. one charming night--no, i mistake 'tis plain, our hermit, favoured much by wind and rain, pierced in the boarding, where by time 'twas worn; a hole through which he introduced a horn; and loudly bawled:--attend to what i say, ye women, my commands at once obey. this voice spread terror through the little cot; both hid their heads and trembled for their lot; but still our monk his horn would sound aloud awake! cried he; your favour god has vowed; my faithful servant, lucius, haste to seek; at early dawn go find this hermit meek to no one say a word: 'tis heav'n ordains; fear nothing, lucius ever blessed remains; i'll show the way myself: your daughter place, good widow, with this holy man of grace; and from their intercourse a pope shall spring, who back to virtue christendom will bring. he spoke to them so very loud and clear, they heard, though 'neath the clothes half dead with fear. some time howe'er the females lay in dread; at length the daughter ventured out her head, and, pulling hastily her parent's arm, said she, dear mother, (not suspecting harm) good heav'ns! must i obey and thither go? what would the holy man on me bestow? i know not what to say nor how to act; now cousin anne would with him be exact, and better recollect his sage advice:-- fool! said the mother, never be so nice; go, nothing fear, and do whate'er's desired; much understanding will not be required; the first or second time thou'lt get thy cue, and cousin anne will less know what to do. indeed? the girl replied; well, let's away, and we'll return to bed without delay. but softly, cried the mother with a smile; not quite so fast, for satan may beguile; and if 'twere so, hast taken proper care? i think he spoke like one who would ensnare. to be precipitate, in such a case, perhaps might lead at once to dire disgrace. if thou wert terrified and did'st not hear, myself i'm sure was quite o'ercome with fear. no, no, rejoined the daughter, i am right: i clearly heard, dear mother, spite of fright. well then, replied the widow, let us pray, that we by satan be not led astray. at length they both arose when morning came, and through the day the converse was the same. at night howe'er the horn was heard once more, and terrified the females as before. thou unbelieving woman, cried the voice, for certain purposes of god the choice; no more delay, but to the hermit fly, or 'tis decreed that thou shalt quickly die. now, mother, said the girl, i told you well; come, let us hasten to the hermit's cell; so much i dread your death, i'll nothing shun; and if 'tis requisite, i'll even run. away then, cried the mother, let us go; some pains to dress, the daughter would bestow, without reflecting what might be her fare:-- to please is ev'ry blooming lass's care. our monk was on the watch you may suppose; a hole he made that would a glimpse disclose; by which, when near his cell the females drew, they might, with whip in hand the hermit view, who, like a culprit punished for his crimes, received the lash, and that so many times, it sounded like the discipline of schools, and made more noise than flogging fifty fools. when first our pilgrims knocked, he would not hear; and, for the moment, whipping would appear; the holy lash severely he applied, which, through the hole, with pain our females spied; at length the door he ope'd, but from his eyes no satisfaction beamed: he showed surprise. with trembling knees and blushes o'er the face, the widow now explained the mystick case. six steps behind, the beauteous daughter stood, and waited the decree she thought so good. the hypocrite howe'er the hermit played, and sent these humble pilgrims back dismayed. said he, the evil spirit much i dread; no female to my cell should e'er be led; excuse me then: such acts would sorrow bring; from me the holy father ne'er spring. what ne'er from you? the widow straight replied: and why should not the blessing, pray, be tried? no other answer howsoe'er she got; so back they trudged once more to gain their cot. ah! mother, said the girl, 'tis my belief, our many heavy sins have caused thus grief. when night arrived and they in sleep were lost, again the hermit's horn the woodwork crossed; return, return, cried he with horrid tone; to-morrow you'll have due attention shown; i've changed the hermit's cold fastidious mind, and when you come, he'll act as i've designed. the couple left their bed at break of day, and to the cell repaired without delay our tale to shorten, lucius kind appeared to rigid rules no longer he adhered. the mother with him let her girl remain, and hastened to her humble roof again. the belle complying looked:--he took her arm, and soon familiar grew with ev'ry charm. o hypocrites! how oft your wily art deceives the world and causes poignant smart. at matins they so very often met, some awkward indications caused regret. the fair at length her apron-string perceived grew daily shorter, which her bosom grieved; but nothing to the hermit she'd unfold, nor e'en those feelings to her mother told; she dreaded lest she should be sent away, and be deprived at once of cupid's play. you'll tell me whence so much discernment came? from this same play:--the tree of art by name. for sev'n long months the nymph her visits paid; her inexperience doubtless wanted aid. but when the mother saw her daughter's case, she made her thank the monk, and leave the place. the hermit blessed the lord for what was done; a pleasant course his humble slave had run. he told the mother and her daughter fair, the child, by god's permission, gifts would share. howe'er, be careful, said the wily wight, that with your infant ev'ry thing goes right; to you, from thence, great happiness will spring: you'll reign the parent of what's more than king; your relatives to noble rank will rise: some will be princes; others lords comprise; your nephews cardinals; your cousins too will dukes become, if they the truth pursue; and places, castles, palaces, there'll be, for you and them of every high degree; you'll nothing want: eternal is the source, like waters flowing in the river's course. this long prediction o'er: with features grave, his benediction to them both he gave. when home returned, the girl, each day and night, amused her mind with prospects of delight; by fancy's aid she saw the future pope, and all prepared to greet her fondest hope; but what arrived the whole at once o'erthrew hats, dukedoms, castles, vanished from the view: the promised elevation of the name dissolved to air:-a little female came! the convent gardener of lamporechio when cupid with his dart, would hearts assail, the rampart most secure is not the veil; a husband better will the fair protect, than walls or lattices, i much suspect. those parents, who in nunneries have got their daughters (whether willingly or not), most clearly in a glaring error prove, to fancy god will round their actions move; 'tis an abuse of what we hold divine; the devil with them surely must combine. besides, 'twere folly to suppose that vice ne'er entered convent walls, and nuns were ice. a very diff'rent sentiment i hold: girls, who in publick move, however bold, have greater terrors lest they get a stain; for, honour lost, they never fame regain. few enemies their modesty attack; the others have but one their minds to rack. temptation, daughter of the drowsy dame, that hates to move, and idleness we name, is ever practising each wily art, to spread her snares around the throbbing heart; and fond desire, the child of lorn constraint, is anxious to the soul soft scenes to paint. if i've a worthy daughter made a nun, is that a reason she's a saint?--mere fun! avaunt such folly!--three in four you'll find, of those who wear the veil--have changed their mind; their fingers bite, and often do much worse: those convent vows, full soon, become a curse; such things at least have sometimes reached my ear (for doubtless i must speak from others here); of his boccace a merry tale has told, which into rhyme i've put, as you'll behold. within a nunnery, in days of yore, a good old man supplied the garden-store; the nuns, in general, were smart and gay, and kept their tongues in motion through the day. religious duties they regarded less, than for the palour* to be nice in dress arranging ev'ry article to please, that each might captivate and charm at ease; the changes constantly they rang around, and made the convent-walls with din resound. eight sisters and an abbess held the place, and strange to say--there discord you might trace. all nine had youth, and many beauty too: young friars round the place were oft in view, who reckoned ev'ry step they took so well, that always in the proper road they fell. th' aged gard'ner, of whom ere now we spoke, was oft bewildered, they would so provoke; capricious, whimsical, from day to day, each would command and try to have her way; and as they ne'er agreed among themselves, he suffered more than if with fifty elves; when one was pleased, another soon complained: at length to quit the nuns he was constrained. he left them, poor and wretched as he came; no cross, pile, money:--e'en his coat the same. a youth of lamporechio, gay and bold, one day this gard'ner met as i am told; and after conversation 'bout the place, said, he should like nun's service to embrace, and that he wished sincerely to be hired: he'd gratis do whatever was required. 'twas clear indeed his object was not pelf; he thought however he might reward himself; and as the sisters were not over wise, a nun he now and then might make his prize; proceed from one to more with like address, till with the whole he'd had complete success. said nuto (such we find the gard'ner's name), believe me, friend, you will be much to blame; some other service seek, i recommend; these convent-dames will ne'er their whimseys end. i'd rather live without or soup or bread, than work for them, however nicely fed. strange creatures are these nuns, upon my word; their ways ridiculous and e'en absurd; who, with the sisterhood, has never been, has clearly yet, not perfect torment seen, such service, prithee, never try to gain; to do what they require i know is vain; one will have soft, and t'other asks for hard: thou'lt be a fool such ninnies to regard; no work thou'lt do, whatever be the want: this cabbages,--that carrots tells thee plant: said t'other, fain i'd bring it to the test; i'm but a simpleton, it is confessed; yet still a month in place, and thou wilt see; how well i with the convent-dames agree. the reason is, my life is in its prime, while thou art sunk in years and worn by time, i'm proper for their work, and only ask, to be admitted to the drudging task. well, said the former, if resolved to try, to their factotum instantly apply; come; let's away. lead on, the other cried; i've got a thought, which i'll to you confide:-- i'll seem an idiot, and quite dumb appear.-- in that, said nuto, only persevere, and then perhaps the confessor thou'lt find, with their factotum carelessly inclined; no fears nor dark suspicions of a mute: thou'lt ev'ry way, my friend, their wishes suit. the place, as was expected, soon he got; and half the grounds to trench, at once his lot: he acted well the nincompoop and fool, yet still was steady to the garden tool; the nuns continually would flock around, and much amusement in his anticks found. one day, as sleeping lay our sprightly wight, or feigning sleep, no matter which is right, (boccace pretends the latter was the fact) two nuns (perhaps not two the most exact,) observing him extended on the sward, while summer's heat from air so much debarred; that few would venture from the convent-roof, lest, 'gainst the sun, their cheeks should not be proof: said one, approaching him, let's take this fool, and place him in the garden-house to cool. the lad was handsome, with engaging mien: the nun admired the features she had seen, and cupid raised a wish to be at ease, where she, without restraint, herself might please. what would you, cried the other, with him do? you'll see, rejoined the first, if we pursue; just what might be expected from the place; christ! said the second (with a cross of grace), you would not surely do what is forbid? suppose increase? it never could be hid; besides, should we be seen, 'twill be the cause, of dire disgrace to break such sacred laws. we shall not be observed, the first replied; these ills thy fancy forms: haste, let's decide, and seize the moment while 'tis in our reach, without regard to what old dotards teach, or what may happen at a future hour; here's no one near: 'tis fully in our pow'r; the time and place so thoroughly agree, 'twill be impossible our freaks to see; but 'twill be right that one should watch with care; while t'other with the lad seeks joys to share, and irksome gloom endeavours to dispel: he's dumb, you know, and tales can never tell. the other answered, since 'tis your desire, i'll acquiesce and do what you require; you'll take him first: i see it is your aim; and since it will oblige, i'll wave my claim; go, pleasure seek, and satisfy each wish: you're always anxious for a fav'rite dish; 'tis only to oblige that i comply. that, said the other, clearly i descry; i'm well persuaded, thou art always kind; but still i think thou would'st not be inclined; in such a scene to take the leading part, thy bashfulness would counteract thy heart. some time the squeamish sister watched the spot; at length the other, who'd her wishes got, the station took; the lab'rer tried to please the second as the first, but less at ease; so many favours fell not to her share, and only treble comfort proved her fare. the garden-path, and summer-house as well, were well remembered by each wanton belle; no need of guides; and soon our spark contrived; with sister agnes also to be hived a press-house at the convent end he chose, in which he showed her how soft pleasure flows; nor claudia nor angelica would miss the dormitory that, and cellar this; in short the garret and the vaulted cave knew fully how the sisters could behave; not one but what he first or last regaled e'en with the rigid abbess he prevailed, to take a dance, and as the dame required her treble share of what was most admired, the other nuns were oft obliged to fast, while with the convent-head his time was passed. to no restoratives our wight would run; though these do little, where much work is done: so oft the lad was pressed for cheering play, that with the abbess, when engaged one day, he said, where'er i go, 'tis common talk, with only sev'n an able bird should walk, yet constantly i've got no less than nine:-- the abbess cried,--a miracle divine! here nuns, pray haste, and quickly come around; we've fasted with success:--his tongue is found. the eight encircled him with great surprise; no longer dumb.--they viewed with eager eyes: a consultation instantly was had, when 'twas agreed to honour well the lad, and try to make him secrecy observe; but if dismissed, from silence he might swerve. the active youth, well fed, well paid, thus blessed, did all he could,--and others did the rest. he for the nuns procured a little lot, that afterward two little friars got, and in the sequel fathers soon became; the sisters mothers too, in spite of shame; but never name more justly was applied: in vain their mysteries they strove to hide. * the parlour in a convent is the room where the nuns are permitted to speak to their friends through a lattice. etext editor's bookmarks: a pretty wife? beware the monks as you would guard your life monks are knaves in virtue's mask this ebook was produced by david widger <widger@cecomet.net> [note: there is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the file for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making an entire meal of them. d.w.] the tales and novels of j. de la fontaine volume . contains: belphegor the little bell the glutton] 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 hell; reviewed his subjects, as our hist'ries tell; the diff'rent ranks, confounded as they stood, kings, nobles, females, and plebeian blood, such grief expressed, and made such horrid cries, as almost stunned, and filled him with surprise. the monarch, as he passed, 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 space; between the realms of darkness and our race. to pass 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 noble mansion hired, and furnished it with ev'ry thing desired; as signor roderick he designed to pass; his equipage was large of ev'ry class; expense anticipating day by day, what, in ten years, he had to throw away. his noble 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. who lib'rally with presents smoothes the road, will meet no obstacles to love's abode. in ev'ry situation they are sweet, i've often said, and now the same repeat: the primum mobile of human kind, are gold and silver, through the world we find. our envoy kept two books, in which he wrote the names of all the married pairs of note; but that assigned to couples satisfied, he scarcely for it could a name provide, which made the demon almost blush to see, how few, alas! in wedlock's chains agree; while presently the other, which contained th' unhappy--not a leaf in blank remained. no other choice belphegor now had got, than--try himself the hymeneal knot. in florence he beheld a certain fair, with charming face and smart engaging air; of noble birth, but puffed with empty pride; some marks of virtue, though not much beside. for roderick was asked this lofty dame; the father said honesta* (such her name) had many eligible offers found; but, 'mong the num'rous band that hovered round, perhaps his daughter, rod'rick's suit might take, though he should wish for time the choice to make. this approbation met, and rod'rick 'gan to use his arts and execute his plan. the entertainments, balls, and serenades, plays, concerts, presents, feasts, and masquerades, much lessened what the demon with him brought; he nothing grudged:--whate'er was wished he bought. the dame believed high honour she bestowed, when she attention to his offer showed; and, after prayers, entreaties, and the rest, to be his wife she full assent expressed. but first a pettifogger to him came, of whom (aside) belphegor made a game; what! said the demon, is a lady gained just like a house?--these scoundrels have obtained such pow'r and sway, without them nothing's done; but hell will get them when their course is run. he reasoned properly; when faith's no more, true honesty is forced to leave the door; when men with confidence no longer view their fellow-mortals,--happiness adieu! the very means we use t' escape the snare, oft deeper plunge us in the gulph of care; avoid attorneys, if you comfort crave who knows a pettifogger, knows a knave; their contracts, filled with ifs and fors, appear the gate through which strife found admittance here. in vain we hope again the earth 'twill leave still strife remains, and we ourselves deceive: in spite of solemn forms and laws we see, that love and hymen often disagree. the heart alone can tranquilize the mind; in mutual passion ev'ry bliss we find. how diff'rent things in other states appear! with friends--'tis who can be the most sincere; with lovers--all is sweetness, balm of life; while all is irksomeness with man and wife. we daily see from duty springs disgust, and pleasure likes true liberty to trust. are happy marriages for ever flown? on full consideration i will own, that when each other's follies couples bear; they then deserve the name of happy pair. enough of this:--no sooner had our wight the belle possessed, and passed the month's delight; but he perceived what marriage must be here, with such a demon in our nether sphere. for ever jars and discords rang around; of follies, ev'ry class our couple found; honesta often times such noise would make, her screams and cries the neighbours kept awake, who, running thither, by the wife were told:-- some paltry tradesman's daughter, coarse and bold, he should have had:--not one of rank like me; to treat me thus, what villain he must be! a wife so virtuous, could he e'er deserve! my scruples are too great, or i should swerve; indeed, without dispute, 'twould serve him right:-- we are not sure she nothing did in spite; these prudes can make us credit what they please: few ponder long when they can dupe with ease. this wife and husband, as our hist'ries say, each moment squabbled through the passing day; their disagreements often would arise about a petticoat, cards, tables, pies, gowns, chairs, dice, summer-houses, in a word, things most ridiculous and quite absurd. well might this spouse regret his hell profound, when he considered what he'd met on ground. to make our demon's wretchedness complete, honesta's relatives, from ev'ry street, he seemed to marry, since he daily fed the father, mother, sister (fit to wed,) and little brother, whom he sent to school; while miss he portioned to a wealthy fool. his utter ruin, howsoe'er, arose from his attorney-steward that he chose. what's that? you ask--a wily sneaking knave, who, while his master spends, contrives to save; till, in the end, grown rich, the lands he buys, which his good lord is forced to sacrifice. if, in the course of time, the master take the place of steward, and his fortune make, 'twould only to their proper rank restore, those who become just what they were before. poor rod'rick now no other hope had got, than what the chance of traffick might allot; illusion vain, or doubtful at the best:-- though some grow rich, yet all are not so blessed. 'twas said our husband never would succeed; and truly, such it seemed to be decreed. his agents (similar to those we see in modern days) were with his treasure free; his ships were wrecked; his commerce came to naught; deceived by knaves, of whom he well had thought; obliged to borrow money, which to pay, he was unable at th' appointed day, he fled, and with a farmer shelter took, where he might hope the bailiffs would not look. he told to matthew, (such the farmer's name,) his situation, character, and fame: by duns assailed, and harassed by a wife, who proved the very torment of his life, he knew no place of safety to obtain, like ent'ring other bodies, where 'twas plain, he might escape the catchpole's prowling eye, honesta's wrath, and all her rage defy. from these he promised he would thrice retire; whenever matthew should the same desire: thrice, but no more, t'oblige this worthy man, who shelter gave when from the fiends he ran. the ambassador commenced his form to change:-- from human frame to frame he 'gan to range; but what became his own fantastick state, our books are silent, nor the facts relate. an only daughter was the first he seized, whose charms corporeal much our demon pleased; but matthew, for a handsome sum of gold, obliged him, at a word, to quit his hold. this passed at naples--next to rome he came, where, with another fair, he did the same; but still the farmer banished him again, so well he could the devil's will restrain; another weighty purse to him was paid thrice matthew drove him out from belle and maid. the king of naples had a daughter fair, admired, adored:--her parents' darling care; in wedlock oft by many princes sought; within her form, the wily demon thought he might be sheltered from honesta's rage; and none to drive him thence would dare engage. naught else was talked of, in or out of town, but devils driven by the cunning clown; large sums were offered, if, by any art, he'd make the demon from the fair depart. afflicted much was matthew, now to lose the gold thus tendered, but he could not choose, for since belphegor had obliged him thrice, he durst not hope the demon to entice; poor man was he, a sinner, who, by chance, (he knew not how, it surely was romance,) had some few devils, truly, driven out: most worthy of contempt without a doubt. but all in vain:--the man they took by force; proceed he must, or hanged he'd be of course. the demon was before our farmer placed; the sight was by the prince in person graced; the wond'rous contest numbers ran to see, and all the world spectators fain would be. if vanquished by the devil:--he must swing; if vanquisher:--'twould thousands to him bring: the gallows was, no doubt, a horrid view; yet, at the purse, his glances often flew; the evil spirit laughed within his sleeve, to see the farmer tremble, fret, and grieve. he pleaded that the wight he'd thrice obeyed; the demon was by matthew often prayed; but all in vain,--the more he terror showed, the more belphegor ridicule bestowed. at length the clown was driven to declare, the fiend he was unable to ensnare; away they matthew to the gallows led; but as he went, it entered in his head, and, in a sort of whisper he averred (as was in fact the case) a drum he heard. the demon, with surprise, to matthew cried; what noise is that? honesta, he replied, who you demands, and every where pursues, the spouse who treats her with such vile abuse. these words were thunder to belphegor's ears, who instantly took flight, so great his fears; to hell's abyss he fled without delay, to tell adventures through the realms of day. sire, said the demon, it is clearly true, damnation does the marriage knot pursue. your highness often hither sees arrive, not squads, but regiments, who, when alive, by hymen were indissolubly tied:-- in person i the fact have fully tried. th' institution, perhaps, most just could be: past ages far more happiness might see; but ev'ry thing, with time, corruption shows; no jewel in your crown more lustre throws. belphegor's tale by satan was believed; reward he got: the term, which-sorely grieved, was now reduced; indeed, what had he done, that should prevent it?--if away he'd run, who would not do the same who weds a shrew? sure worse below the devil never knew! a brawling woman's tongue, what saint can bear? e'en job, honesta would have taught despair. what is the inference? you ask:--i'll tell;-- live single, if you know you are well; but if old hymen o'er your senses reign, beware honestas, or you'll rue the chain. * by this character la fontaine is supposed to have meant his own wife. the little bell how weak is man! how changeable his mind! his promises are naught, too oft we find; i vowed (i hope in tolerable verse,) again no idle story to rehearse. and whence this promise?--not two days ago; i'm quite confounded; better i should know: a rhymer hear then, who himself can boast, quite steady for--a minute at the most. the pow'rs above could prudence ne'er design; for those who fondly court the sisters nine. some means to please they've got, you will confess; but none with certainty the charm possess. if, howsoever, i were doomed to find such lines as fully would content the mind: though i should fail in matter, still in art; i might contrive some pleasure to impart. let's see what we are able to obtain:-- a bachelor resided in touraine. a sprightly youth, who oft the maids beset, and liked to prattle to the girls he met, with sparkling eyes, white teeth, and easy air, plain russet petticoat and flowing hair, beside a rivulet, while io round, with little bell that gave a tinkling sound, on herbs her palate gratified at will, and gazed and played, and fondly took her fill. among the rustic nymphs our spark perceived a charming girl, for whom his bosom heaved; too young, however, to feel the poignant smart, by cupid oft inflicted on the heart. i will not say thirteen's an age unfit the contrary most fully i admit; the law supposes (such its prudent fears) maturity at still more early years; but this apparently refers to towns, while love was born for groves, and lawns, and downs. the youth exerted ev'ry art to please; but all in vain: he only seemed to teaze: whate'er he said, however nicely graced, ill-humour, inexperience, or distaste, induced the belle, unlearned in cupid's book; to treat his passion with a froward look. believing ev'ry artifice in love was tolerated by the pow'rs above, one eve he turned a heifer from the rest; conducted by the girl his thoughts possessed; the others left, not counted by the fair, (youth seldom shows the necessary care,) with easy, loit'ring steps the cottage sought, where ev'ry night they usually were brought. her mother, more experienced than the maid, observed, that from the cattle one had strayed; the girl was scolded much, and sent to find the heifer indiscreetly left behind. fair isabella gave a vent to tears; invoked sweet echo to disperse her fears: solicited with fervent, piercing cry, to tell her where lorn io she might spy, whose little bell the spark deprived of sound; when he withdrew her from the herd around. the lover now the tinkling metal shook; the path that t'wards it led the charmer took. the well known note was pleasing to her ear; without suspecting treachery was near, she followed to a wood, both deep and large, in hopes at least she might regain her charge. guess her surprise, good reader, when she heard, a lover's voice, who would not be deterred. said he, fair maid whene'er the heart's on fire, 'tis all permitted that can quench desire. on this, with piercing cries she rent the air; but no one came:--she sunk to dire despair. ye beauteous dames avoid the sylvan shade; dread dangers solitary woods pervade. the glutton a sturgeon, once, a glutton famed was led to have for supper--all, except the head. with wond'rous glee he feasted on the fish; and quickly swallowed down the royal dish. o'ercharged, howe'er, his stomach soon gave way; and doctors were required without delay. the danger imminent, his friends desired he'd settle ev'ry thing affairs required. said he, in that respect i'm quite prepared; and, since my time so little is declared, with diligence, i earnestly request, the sturgeon's head you'll get me nicely dressed. etext editor's bookmarks: avoid attorneys, if you comfort crave few ponder long when they can dupe with ease he who loves would fain be loved as well this ebook was produced by david widger [note: there is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the file for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making an entire meal of them. d.w.] the tales and novels of j. de la fontaine volume . contains: belphegor the little bell the glutton] 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 hell; reviewed his subjects, as our hist'ries tell; the diff'rent ranks, confounded as they stood, kings, nobles, females, and plebeian blood, such grief expressed, and made such horrid cries, as almost stunned, and filled him with surprise. the monarch, as he passed, 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 space; between the realms of darkness and our race. to pass 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 noble mansion hired, and furnished it with ev'ry thing desired; as signor roderick he designed to pass; his equipage was large of ev'ry class; expense anticipating day by day, what, in ten years, he had to throw away. his noble 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. who lib'rally with presents smoothes the road, will meet no obstacles to love's abode. in ev'ry situation they are sweet, i've often said, and now the same repeat: the primum mobile of human kind, are gold and silver, through the world we find. our envoy kept two books, in which he wrote the names of all the married pairs of note; but that assigned to couples satisfied, he scarcely for it could a name provide, which made the demon almost blush to see, how few, alas! in wedlock's chains agree; while presently the other, which contained th' unhappy--not a leaf in blank remained. no other choice belphegor now had got, than--try himself the hymeneal knot. in florence he beheld a certain fair, with charming face and smart engaging air; of noble birth, but puffed with empty pride; some marks of virtue, though not much beside. for roderick was asked this lofty dame; the father said honesta* (such her name) had many eligible offers found; but, 'mong the num'rous band that hovered round, perhaps his daughter, rod'rick's suit might take, though he should wish for time the choice to make. this approbation met, and rod'rick 'gan to use his arts and execute his plan. the entertainments, balls, and serenades, plays, concerts, presents, feasts, and masquerades, much lessened what the demon with him brought; he nothing grudged:--whate'er was wished he bought. the dame believed high honour she bestowed, when she attention to his offer showed; and, after prayers, entreaties, and the rest, to be his wife she full assent expressed. but first a pettifogger to him came, of whom (aside) belphegor made a game; what! said the demon, is a lady gained just like a house?--these scoundrels have obtained such pow'r and sway, without them nothing's done; but hell will get them when their course is run. he reasoned properly; when faith's no more, true honesty is forced to leave the door; when men with confidence no longer view their fellow-mortals,--happiness adieu! the very means we use t' escape the snare, oft deeper plunge us in the gulph of care; avoid attorneys, if you comfort crave who knows a pettifogger, knows a knave; their contracts, filled with ifs and fors, appear the gate through which strife found admittance here. in vain we hope again the earth 'twill leave still strife remains, and we ourselves deceive: in spite of solemn forms and laws we see, that love and hymen often disagree. the heart alone can tranquilize the mind; in mutual passion ev'ry bliss we find. how diff'rent things in other states appear! with friends--'tis who can be the most sincere; with lovers--all is sweetness, balm of life; while all is irksomeness with man and wife. we daily see from duty springs disgust, and pleasure likes true liberty to trust. are happy marriages for ever flown? on full consideration i will own, that when each other's follies couples bear; they then deserve the name of happy pair. enough of this:--no sooner had our wight the belle possessed, and passed the month's delight; but he perceived what marriage must be here, with such a demon in our nether sphere. for ever jars and discords rang around; of follies, ev'ry class our couple found; honesta often times such noise would make, her screams and cries the neighbours kept awake, who, running thither, by the wife were told:-- some paltry tradesman's daughter, coarse and bold, he should have had:--not one of rank like me; to treat me thus, what villain he must be! a wife so virtuous, could he e'er deserve! my scruples are too great, or i should swerve; indeed, without dispute, 'twould serve him right:-- we are not sure she nothing did in spite; these prudes can make us credit what they please: few ponder long when they can dupe with ease. this wife and husband, as our hist'ries say, each moment squabbled through the passing day; their disagreements often would arise about a petticoat, cards, tables, pies, gowns, chairs, dice, summer-houses, in a word, things most ridiculous and quite absurd. well might this spouse regret his hell profound, when he considered what he'd met on ground. to make our demon's wretchedness complete, honesta's relatives, from ev'ry street, he seemed to marry, since he daily fed the father, mother, sister (fit to wed,) and little brother, whom he sent to school; while miss he portioned to a wealthy fool. his utter ruin, howsoe'er, arose from his attorney-steward that he chose. what's that? you ask--a wily sneaking knave, who, while his master spends, contrives to save; till, in the end, grown rich, the lands he buys, which his good lord is forced to sacrifice. if, in the course of time, the master take the place of steward, and his fortune make, 'twould only to their proper rank restore, those who become just what they were before. poor rod'rick now no other hope had got, than what the chance of traffick might allot; illusion vain, or doubtful at the best:-- though some grow rich, yet all are not so blessed. 'twas said our husband never would succeed; and truly, such it seemed to be decreed. his agents (similar to those we see in modern days) were with his treasure free; his ships were wrecked; his commerce came to naught; deceived by knaves, of whom he well had thought; obliged to borrow money, which to pay, he was unable at th' appointed day, he fled, and with a farmer shelter took, where he might hope the bailiffs would not look. he told to matthew, (such the farmer's name,) his situation, character, and fame: by duns assailed, and harassed by a wife, who proved the very torment of his life, he knew no place of safety to obtain, like ent'ring other bodies, where 'twas plain, he might escape the catchpole's prowling eye, honesta's wrath, and all her rage defy. from these he promised he would thrice retire; whenever matthew should the same desire: thrice, but no more, t'oblige this worthy man, who shelter gave when from the fiends he ran. the ambassador commenced his form to change:-- from human frame to frame he 'gan to range; but what became his own fantastick state, our books are silent, nor the facts relate. an only daughter was the first he seized, whose charms corporeal much our demon pleased; but matthew, for a handsome sum of gold, obliged him, at a word, to quit his hold. this passed at naples--next to rome he came, where, with another fair, he did the same; but still the farmer banished him again, so well he could the devil's will restrain; another weighty purse to him was paid thrice matthew drove him out from belle and maid. the king of naples had a daughter fair, admired, adored:--her parents' darling care; in wedlock oft by many princes sought; within her form, the wily demon thought he might be sheltered from honesta's rage; and none to drive him thence would dare engage. naught else was talked of, in or out of town, but devils driven by the cunning clown; large sums were offered, if, by any art, he'd make the demon from the fair depart. afflicted much was matthew, now to lose the gold thus tendered, but he could not choose, for since belphegor had obliged him thrice, he durst not hope the demon to entice; poor man was he, a sinner, who, by chance, (he knew not how, it surely was romance,) had some few devils, truly, driven out: most worthy of contempt without a doubt. but all in vain:--the man they took by force; proceed he must, or hanged he'd be of course. the demon was before our farmer placed; the sight was by the prince in person graced; the wond'rous contest numbers ran to see, and all the world spectators fain would be. if vanquished by the devil:--he must swing; if vanquisher:--'twould thousands to him bring: the gallows was, no doubt, a horrid view; yet, at the purse, his glances often flew; the evil spirit laughed within his sleeve, to see the farmer tremble, fret, and grieve. he pleaded that the wight he'd thrice obeyed; the demon was by matthew often prayed; but all in vain,--the more he terror showed, the more belphegor ridicule bestowed. at length the clown was driven to declare, the fiend he was unable to ensnare; away they matthew to the gallows led; but as he went, it entered in his head, and, in a sort of whisper he averred (as was in fact the case) a drum he heard. the demon, with surprise, to matthew cried; what noise is that? honesta, he replied, who you demands, and every where pursues, the spouse who treats her with such vile abuse. these words were thunder to belphegor's ears, who instantly took flight, so great his fears; to hell's abyss he fled without delay, to tell adventures through the realms of day. sire, said the demon, it is clearly true, damnation does the marriage knot pursue. your highness often hither sees arrive, not squads, but regiments, who, when alive, by hymen were indissolubly tied:-- in person i the fact have fully tried. th' institution, perhaps, most just could be: past ages far more happiness might see; but ev'ry thing, with time, corruption shows; no jewel in your crown more lustre throws. belphegor's tale by satan was believed; reward he got: the term, which-sorely grieved, was now reduced; indeed, what had he done, that should prevent it?--if away he'd run, who would not do the same who weds a shrew? sure worse below the devil never knew! a brawling woman's tongue, what saint can bear? e'en job, honesta would have taught despair. what is the inference? you ask:--i'll tell;-- live single, if you know you are well; but if old hymen o'er your senses reign, beware honestas, or you'll rue the chain. * by this character la fontaine is supposed to have meant his own wife. the little bell how weak is man! how changeable his mind! his promises are naught, too oft we find; i vowed (i hope in tolerable verse,) again no idle story to rehearse. and whence this promise?--not two days ago; i'm quite confounded; better i should know: a rhymer hear then, who himself can boast, quite steady for--a minute at the most. the pow'rs above could prudence ne'er design; for those who fondly court the sisters nine. some means to please they've got, you will confess; but none with certainty the charm possess. if, howsoever, i were doomed to find such lines as fully would content the mind: though i should fail in matter, still in art; i might contrive some pleasure to impart. let's see what we are able to obtain:-- a bachelor resided in touraine. a sprightly youth, who oft the maids beset, and liked to prattle to the girls he met, with sparkling eyes, white teeth, and easy air, plain russet petticoat and flowing hair, beside a rivulet, while io round, with little bell that gave a tinkling sound, on herbs her palate gratified at will, and gazed and played, and fondly took her fill. among the rustic nymphs our spark perceived a charming girl, for whom his bosom heaved; too young, however, to feel the poignant smart, by cupid oft inflicted on the heart. i will not say thirteen's an age unfit the contrary most fully i admit; the law supposes (such its prudent fears) maturity at still more early years; but this apparently refers to towns, while love was born for groves, and lawns, and downs. the youth exerted ev'ry art to please; but all in vain: he only seemed to teaze: whate'er he said, however nicely graced, ill-humour, inexperience, or distaste, induced the belle, unlearned in cupid's book; to treat his passion with a froward look. believing ev'ry artifice in love was tolerated by the pow'rs above, one eve he turned a heifer from the rest; conducted by the girl his thoughts possessed; the others left, not counted by the fair, (youth seldom shows the necessary care,) with easy, loit'ring steps the cottage sought, where ev'ry night they usually were brought. her mother, more experienced than the maid, observed, that from the cattle one had strayed; the girl was scolded much, and sent to find the heifer indiscreetly left behind. fair isabella gave a vent to tears; invoked sweet echo to disperse her fears: solicited with fervent, piercing cry, to tell her where lorn io she might spy, whose little bell the spark deprived of sound; when he withdrew her from the herd around. the lover now the tinkling metal shook; the path that t'wards it led the charmer took. the well known note was pleasing to her ear; without suspecting treachery was near, she followed to a wood, both deep and large, in hopes at least she might regain her charge. guess her surprise, good reader, when she heard, a lover's voice, who would not be deterred. said he, fair maid whene'er the heart's on fire, 'tis all permitted that can quench desire. on this, with piercing cries she rent the air; but no one came:--she sunk to dire despair. ye beauteous dames avoid the sylvan shade; dread dangers solitary woods pervade. the glutton a sturgeon, once, a glutton famed was led to have for supper--all, except the head. with wond'rous glee he feasted on the fish; and quickly swallowed down the royal dish. o'ercharged, howe'er, his stomach soon gave way; and doctors were required without delay. the danger imminent, his friends desired he'd settle ev'ry thing affairs required. said he, in that respect i'm quite prepared; and, since my time so little is declared, with diligence, i earnestly request, the sturgeon's head you'll get me nicely dressed. etext editor's bookmarks: avoid attorneys, if you comfort crave few ponder long when they can dupe with ease he who loves would fain be loved as well this ebook was produced by david widger the tales and novels of j. de la fontaine volume . contains: the monks of catalonia the cradle the monks of catalonia to you, my friends, allow me to detail, the feats of monks in catalonia's vale, where oft the holy fathers pow'rs displayed, and showed such charity to wife and maid, that o'er their minds sweet fascination reigned, and made them think, they paradise had gained. such characters oft preciously advise, and youthful easy female minds surprise, the beauteous fair encircle with their net, and, of the feeling heart, possession get: work in the holy vineyard, you may guess, and, as our tale will show, with full success. in times of old, when learning 'mong the fair, enough to read the testament, was rare, (times howsoe'er thought difficult to quote,) a swarm of monks of gormandizing note, arrived and fixed themselves within a town, for young and beauteous belles of great renown, while, of gallants, there seemed but very few, though num'rous aged husbands you might view. a noble chapel soon the fathers raised, to which the females ran and highly praised, surveyed it o'er and confidently thought, 'twas there, of course, salvation should be sought. and when their faith had thoroughly been proved, to gain their point the monks the veil removed.-- good father andrew scorned to use finesse, and in discourse the sex would thus address. if any thing prevent your sov'reign bliss, and paradise incautiously you miss, most certainly the evil will arise, from keeping for your husbands large supplies, of what a surplus you have clearly got, and more than requisite to them allot, without bestowing on your trusty friends, the saving that to no one blessings lends. perhaps you'll tell me, marriage boons we shun; 'tis true, and heav'n be praised enough is done, without those duties to require our share you know from direful sin we guard the fair. ingratitude 's declared the height of crimes, and god pronounced it such in early times; for this eternally was satan curst; howe'er you err, be careful of the worst. return to heav'n your thanks for bounteous care, and then to us a tithe of surplus spare, which costs you nothing worth a moment's thought; and marks the zeal with which our faith is taught, a claim legitimate our order opes, bestowed, for holy offices, by popes, no charitable gift, but lawful right: priests well supported are a glorious sight. four times a year, exactly to a day, each wife this tithe should personally pay our holy saint requires that you submit: 'tis founded on decrees of holy writ. all nature carefully the law reveres, that gratitude and fealty endears. now marriage works we rank as an estate, and tithe is due for that at any rate. we'll take it patiently, whate'er the toil: nor be o'er nice about the justful spoil. our order have not, you must surely know, by many comforts, what we wish below. 'tis right, however, that i now suggest, whatever passes must not be expressed; but naught to husbands, parents, friends, reveal; from ev'ry one the mysterious conceal. three words th' apostle taught: be these your care; faith, charity, and prudence learn to share. the holy father, by his fine discourse, delivered with the most impressive force, gave wonderous satisfaction and surprise, and passed with all for solomon the wise; few slept while andrew preached, and ev'ry wife, his precepts guarded as she would her life; and these not solely treasured in the mind, but showed to practise them the heart inclined, each hastened tithe to bring without delay, and quarrelled who should be the first to pay; loud murmurs rang, and many city dames, were forced to keep till morn the friar's claims, and holy church, not knowing what to do, such numbers seemed to be in paying cue, at length was forced, without restraint, to say, the lord commands that, till a future day, you give us time to breathe:--so large the lot, to serve for present we enough have got; too much the whole at once, but by degrees, your tithe we'll take and all contrive to please. with us arrange the hour you would be here, and some to-day:--to-morrow more we'll cheer; the whole in order, and you'll clearly see, that softly with fairly best agree. the sex inclined to follow this advice; about receipts however they were not nice; the entertainment greatly was admired, and pure devotion all their bosoms fired, a glass of cordial some apart received; good cheer was given, may be well believed; ten youthful dames brisk friar fripart took, gay, airy, and engaging ev'ry look, who paid with pleasure all the monk could wish; some had fifteen:--some twelve to taste their dish; good friar rock had twenty for his share, and gave such satisfaction to the fair, that some, to show they never grudged the price, and proved their punctuality,--paid twice. so much indeed, that satiated with ways, that six long months engaged their nights and days: they gladly credit would have given now, but found the ladies would not this allow, believing it most positively wrong, to keep whate'er might to the church belong. no tithe arrears were any where around, so zealous were the dames in duty found, they often in advance paid holy dues, how pure the monks!--how just the ladies views! the friars used despatch alone with those, that for their fascinating charms they chose, and sent the sempiternals to bestow, the tribute they had brought on those below, for in the refuse tithes that were their lot, the laicks oft pleasant pickings got. in short 'twas difficult to say, what charity was shown from day to day. it happened that one night a married dame, desirous to convey the monks their claim, and walking with her spouse just by the spot, where dwelled the arch contrivers of the plot, good heavens! said she, i well remember now, i've business with a friar here, i vow; 'twill presently be done if you'll but wait; religious duties we must ne'er abate. what duties? cried the husband with surprise; you're surely mad:--'tis midnight i surmise; confess yourself to-morrow if required; the holy fathers are to bed retired. that makes no difference, the lady cried.-- i think it does, the husband straight replied, and thither i'll not let you go to-night:-- what heinous sins so terribly affright, that in such haste the mind you wish to ease? to-morrow morn repair whene'er you please: you do me wrong, rejoined the charming fair; i neither want confession nor a prayer, but anxiously desire what is due to pay; for if incautiously i should delay, long time 'would be ere i the monk should see, with other matters he'll so busy be. but what can you the holy fathers owe? to which the lady said:--what don't you know? a tithe, my dear, the friars always claim.-- what tithe? cried he; it surely has a name. not know! astonishingly, replied the wife.-- to which the husband answered:--on my life, that women friars pay is very strange; will you particulars with me arrange? how cunningly, said she, you seem to act; why clearly you're acquainted with the fact? 'tis hymeneal works:--what works? cried he-- lord! said the dame, assuredly you see, why i had paid an hour ago or more and you've prevented me when at the door; i'm sure, of those who owe, i'm not the worst, for i, in paying, always was the first. the husband quite astonished now appeared; at once a hundred diff'rent ills he feared; but questioning his wife howe'er, he found, that many other dames who lived around, like her; in paying tithes, the monks obeyed, which consolation to his breast conveyed. poor innocent! she nothing wished to hide; said she, not one but tithe they make provide; good friar aubrey takes your sister's dues; to father fabry mrs. b's accrues; the mayoress friar william likes to greet, a monk more handsome scarcely you will meet; and i to friar gerard always go; i wished this night to pay him all i owe. alas! when tongues unbridled drop disguise, what direful ills, what discords oft arise! the cunning husband having thus obtained, particulars of what the fathers gained, at first designed in secret to disclose, those scenes of fraud and matrimonial woes: the mayor and citizens should know, he thought; what dues were paid: what tithes the friars sought; but since 'twas rather difficult to place, full credence, at the first, in such a case, he judged it best to make the fellow speak, to whom his wife had shown herself so weak. for father gerard in the morn he sent, who, unsuspecting, to the husband went, when, in the presence of the injured wife, he drew his sword and swore he'd take his life, unless the mystery he would disclose, which he reluctantly through terror chose. then having bound the friar hand and foot, and in another room his lady put, he sallied forth his hapless lot to tell, and to the mayor exposed the wily spell; the corporation next; then up and down, the secret he divulged throughout the town. a cry for vengeance presently was heard; the whole at once to slaughter, some preferred while others would the place with fire surround, and burn the house with those within it found. some wished to drown them, bound within their dress; with various other projects you may guess; but all agreed that death should be their lot, and those for burning had most voices got. without delay they to the convent flew; but when the holy mansion came in view, respect, the place of execution changed; a citizen his barn for this arranged; the crafty crew together were confined, and in the blaze their wretched lives resigned, while round the husbands danced at sound of drum, and burnt whatever to their hands had come; naught 'scaped their fury, monks of all degrees, robes, mantles, capuchins, and mock decrees: all perished properly within the flames; but nothing more i find about the dames; and friar gerard, in another place, had met apart his merited disgrace. the cradle near rome, of yore, close to the florence road, was seen a humble innkeeper's abode; small sums were charged; few guests the night would stay; and these could seldom much afford to pay. a pleasing active partner had the host her age not much 'bove thirty at the most; two children she her loving husband bore; the boy was one year old: the daughter more; just fifteen summers o'er her form had smiled; in person charming, and in temper mild. it happened that pinucio, young and gay, a youth of family, oft passed the way, admired the girl, and thought she might be gained, attentions showed, and like return obtained; the mistress was not deaf, nor lover mute; pinucio seemed the lady's taste to suit, of pleasing person and engaging air; and 'mong the equals of our youthful fair, as yet, not one a pref'rence had received; nor had she e'er in golden dreams believed; but, spite of tender years, her mind was high, and village lads she would not let come nigh. colutta, (such her name,) though much admired; and many in the place her hand desired, rejected some, and others would not take, and this most clearly for pinucio's sake. long conversations she could rarely get, and various obstacles the lovers met; no interviews where they might be at ease, but ev'ry thing conspired to fret and teaze. o parents, husbands! be advised by me; constraint with wives or children won't agree; 'tis then the god of love exerts his art, to find admittance to the throbbing heart. pinucio and a friend, one stormy night, the landlord's reached and would in haste alight; they asked for beds, but were too late they found: you know, sir, cried the host, we don't abound; and now the very garrets we have let: you'd better elsewhere try your wish to get, and spite of weather, further on pursue at best, our lodging is unfit for you. have you no truckle bed? the lover cried; no corner left?--we fain would here abide: why, truly, said the host, we always keep two beds within the chamber where we sleep; my wife and i, of course, take one of these; together lie in t'other if you please. the spark replied, this we will gladly do; come, supper get; that o'er, the friends withdrew: pinucio, by coletta's sage advice, in looking o'er the room was very nice; with eagle-eyes particulars he traced, then 'tween the clothes himself and friend he placed. a camp-bed for the girl was on the floor; the landlord's, 'gainst the wall and next the door; another opposite the last was set, and this, to guests, at certain times was let; and 'tween the two, but near the parents' best, a cradle for the child to rest its head, from which a pleasant accident arrived, that our gallant's young friend of rest deprived. when midnight came, and this gay spark supposed the host and hostess' eyes in sleep were closed, convinced the time appointed was at hand, to put in execution what was planned, he to the camp-bed silently repaired, and found the belle by morpheus not insnared; coletta taught a play that mortals find fatigues the body more than plagues the mind: a truce succeeded, but 'twas quickly o'er: those rest not long who pilfer cupid's store. again, when to the room the hostess came, and found the cradle rested not the same, good heav'ns! cried she, it joins my husband's head: and, but for that, i truly had been led to lay myself unthinkingly beside the strangers whom with lodging we provide; but, god be praised, this cradle shows the place where my good husband's pillow i must trace. this said, she with the friend was quickly laid, without suspecting what mistake she'd made. between the lovers all was blithe and gay, when suddenly the friend, though far from day, was forced to rise ('twas plain a pressing case,) and move the infant's cradle from its place, to ope the door, and lest he noise might make, or any way by chance the child should wake, he set it carefully beside his bed, and (softly treading) to the garden sped. on his return he passed the cradle by; to place it as before he would not try, but went to sleep; when presently a sound, from something that had tumbled, rang around, awoke his wife, who ran below, that what had happened she might clearly know. no fool in such adventures was our wight: the opportunity he would not slight, but played the husband well: no, no, i'm wrong; he played it ill:--too oft, too much, too long; for whosoe'er would wish to do it well, should softly go:--the gentle most excel. in truth, the wife was quite surprised to find her spouse so much to frolicking inclined; said she, what ails the man, he's grown so gay? a lad of twenty's not more fond of play. well! let's enjoy the moments while we can; god's will be done, since life is but a span! the words were scarcely said, when our gallant renewed his fun, and nothing seemed to want; indeed, the hostess still her charms possessed, and, on occasion, well might be caressed. meanwhile coletta, dreading a surprise, prevailed upon her paramour to rise; 'twas nearly break of day when he withdrew, but, groping to his place the way anew, pinucio, by the cradle too, was led to miss his friend's and take the landlord's bed. no sooner in than with an under voice, (intriguers oft too eagerly rejoice,) said he, my friend, i wish i could relate the pleasure i've received; my bliss is great; to you, i'm sorry, fortune proves so cold; like happiness i'd fain in you behold; coletta is a morsel for a king; inestimable girl!--to me she'll cling. i've many seen, but such a charming fair, there's not another like her any where. with softest skin, delightful form and mien; her ev'ry act resembles beauty's queen; in short, before we'd ended with our fun, six posts (without a fiction) we had run. the host was struck with what the spark averred, and muttered something indistinctly heard. the hostess whispered him she thought her spouse:-- again, my dear, such sparks let's never house; pray don't you hear how they together chat?-- just then the husband raised himself and sat; is this your plan? said he with mighty rage; was it for this you would my house engage? you understand me, but i'll seek redress; think you so very cheap to have success? what, would you ruin families at will, and with our daughters take at ease your fill? away, i say! my house this moment quit; and as for you, abominable chit, i'll have your life: this hour you breathe your last; such creatures only can with beasts be classed. pinucio heard the lecture with dismay, at once was mute, and grew as cold as clay; a moment's silence through the room prevailed; coletta trembled, and her lot bewailed. the hostess now, on ev'ry side perceived her peril great, and for the error grieved. the friend, howe'er, the cradle called to mind, which caused the many ills we've seen combined, and instantly he cried:--pinucio! strange you thus allow yourself about to range; did i not tell you when the wine you took, 'twould make many sad misfortunes hook? whene'er you freely drink, 'tis known fall well, your sleep's disturbed, you walk, and nonsense tell. come, come to bed: the morning soon will peep; pinucio took the hint, pretended sleep, and carried on so artfully the wile, the husband no suspicion had of guile. the stratagem our hostess likewise tried, and to her daughter's bed in silence hied, where she conceived her fortress was so strong, she presently began to use her tongue, and cried aloud:--impossible the fact; such things he could not with coletta act; i've with her been in bed throughout the night, and she, no more than i, has swerved from right; 'twere mighty pretty, truly, here to come; at this the host a little while was dumb; but in a lower tone at length replied i nought with your account i'm satisfied. the party rose; the titter circled round; and each sufficient reason for it found; the whole was secret, and whoe'er had gained, with care upon the subject mute remained. this ebook was produced by david widger the tales and novels of j. de la fontaine volume . st. julian's prayer to charms and philters, secret spells and prayers, how many round attribute all their cares! in these howe'er i never can believe, and laugh at follies that so much deceive. yet with the beauteous fair, 'tis very true, these words, as sacred virtues, oft they view; the spell and philter wonders work in love hearts melt with charms supposed from pow'rs above! my aim is now to have recourse to these, and give a story that i trust will please, in which saint julian's prayer, to reynold d'ast, produced a benefit, good fortune classed. had he neglected to repeat the charm, believed so thoroughly to guard from harm, he would have found his cash accounts not right, and passed assuredly a wretched night. one day, to william's castle as he moved. three men, whose looks he very much approved, and thought such honest fellows he had round, their like could nowhere be discovered round; without suspecting any thing was wrong, the three, with complaisance and fluent tongue, saluted him in humble servile style, and asked, (the minutes better to beguile,) if they might bear him company the way; the honour would be great, and no delay; besides, in travelling 'tis safer found, and far more pleasant, when the party's round; so many robbers through the province range, (continued they) 'tis wonderfully strange, the prince should not these villains more restrain; but there:--bad men will somewhere still remain. to their proposal reynold soon agreed, and they resolved together to proceed. when 'bout a league the travellers had moved, discussing freely, as they all approved, the conversation turned on spells and prayer, their pow'r o'er worms of earth, or birds of air; to charm the wolf, or guard from thunder's roar, and many wonderful achievements more; besides the cures a prayer would oft produce; to man and beast it proves of sov'reign use, far greater than from doctors e'er you'll view, who, with their latin, make so much ado. in turn, the three pretended knowledge great, and mystick facts affected to relate, while reynold silently attention paid to all the words the honest fellows said:-- possess you not, said one, some secret prayer to bring you aid, when dangers round you stare? to this our reynold seriously replied, myself, on secret spells, i do not pride; but still some words i have that i repeat, each morn i travel, that i may not meet a horrid lodging where i stop at night; 'tis called saint julian's prayer that i recite, and truly i have found, that when i fail to say this prayer, i've reason to bewail. but rarely i neglect so good a thing, that ills averts, and may such blessings bring. and have you clearly said it, sir, to day? cried one of those he met upon his way. yes, reynold answered. well, replied the wight; i'll wage, i'm better lodged than you to-night. 'twas very cold, and darkness 'gan to peep; the place was distant yet, where they might sleep. perhaps, said reynold, 'tis your usual care, in travelling, to say, like me, this prayer. not so, the other cried, to you i vow, invoking saints is not my practice now; but should i lose, thenceforth i'll them address.-- said reynold, readily i acquiesce; my life i'd venture, should you to an inn, for, in the town, i've neither friend nor kin, and, if you like, we'll this exception make. the other answered: well, the bet i'll take; your horse and coat against my purse you wage, and, sure of gaining, readily engage. our wight might then have thoroughly perceived, his horse was lost--no chance to be relieved. beside a wood, as on the party moved, the one, who betting had so much approved, now changed his tone, and in a surly way, exclaimed:--alight--you'll find it time to pray; let me apprize you, distant is the place, and much you'll need saint julian's special grace. come off, i tell you:--instantly they took his purse, horse, clothes, and all their hands could hook e'en seized his boots, and said with subtle sneer, your feet, by walking, won't the worse appear; then sought a diff'rent road by rapid flight, and, presently the knaves were out of sight; while reynold still with stockings, drawers, and shirt, but wet to skin, and covered o'er with dirt: (the wind north-east in front--as cold as clay;) in doleful dumps proceeded on his way, and justly feared, that spite of faith and prayer, he now should meet, at night, with wretched fare. however, some pleasing hopes he still had yet, that, from his cloak-bag, he some clothes might get; for, we should note, a servant he had brought, who in the neighbourhood a farrier sought. to set a shoe upon his horse, and then should join his master on the road agen; but that, as we shall find, was not the case, and reynold's dire misfortune thence we trace. in fact, the fellow, worthless we'll suppose, had viewed from far what accidents arose, then turned aside, his safety to secure, and left his master dangers to endure; so steadily be kept upon the trot, to castle-william, ere 'twas night, he got, and took the inn which had the most renown; for fare and furniture within the town, there waited reynold's coming at his ease, with fire and cheer that could not fail to please. his master, up to neck in dirt and wet, had num'rous difficulties o'er to get; and when the snow, in flakes obscured the air, with piercing cold and winds, he felt despair; such ills he bore, that hanging might be thought a bed of roses rather to be sought. chance so arranges ev'ry thing around all good, or all that's bad is solely found; when favours flow the numbers are so great, that ev'ry wish upon us seems to wait; but, if disposed, misfortunes to bestow; no ills forgot: each poignant pang we know. in proof, attend my friends, this very night, the sad adventures that befell our wight, who, castle-william did not reach till late, when they, an hour or more, had shut the gate. at length our traveller approached the wall, and, somehow to the foot contrived to crawl; a roofed projection fortune led him near, that joined a house, and 'gan his heart to cheer. delighted with the change he now had got, he placed himself upon the sheltered spot; a lucky hit but seldom comes alone; some straw, by chance, was near the mansion thrown, which reynold 'neath the jutting penthouse placed there, god be praised, cried he, a bed i've traced. meanwhile, the storm from ev'ry quarter pressed; our traveller was soon to death distressed; with cold benumbed; by fell despair o'erspread; he trembled, groaned:--teeth chattered in his head; so loud his plaints, at length they reached the ear of one who dwelled within the mansion near: a servant girl; her mistress brisk and gay: a youthful widow, charming as the day; the governor she privately received: a noble marquis, who her cares relieved. oft interrupted when he sought the fair, and wished at ease her company to share; desirous too of passing quite unknown, a private door he presently was shown, that opened to the fields, and gave access: through this he visited with such address, that none within the town his commerce viewed, nor e'en a servant's eye his course pursued. surprise i feel, since pleasures of the mind, apparently were not for lords designed; more pleased they seem when made the talk around and soft amours divulged, delights are found. it happened that the night our job arrived, and, stretched on straw, misfortune just survived, the lady thought her fond gallant to see, and ev'ry moment hoped with him to be. the supper ready, and the room prepared, each rarity was served: no trouble spared; baths, perfumes, wines, most exquisite, in place, and ev'ry thing around displaying grace, with cupid's whole artillery in view, not his, who would with sighs alone pursue, but that kind god who always favour shows, the source of happiness, whence pleasure flows. meanwhile, however, while thus the lady sought. by ev'ry charm to please, a note was brought; a page conveyed it, by the marquis sent, to say his coming business would prevent. the disappointment doubtless was severe, but consolation certainly was near; it proved to reynold wonderfully kind, for scarcely had our traveller resigned, and groaned aloud, but, tender as her dame, in haste the confidential servant came, and to the widow said:--i hear below some poor unfortunate o'ercome with woe; 'tis piercing cold, and he perhaps will die some place, pray grant, where he to-night may lie. most readily, replied the courteous fair, we never use the garret:--lodge him there; some straw upon a couch will make a bed, on which the wand'rer may repose his head; shut well the door, but first provide some meat, and then permit him thither to retreat. without this timely help 'twas clear our wight had ne'er survived the horrors of the night; the door was ope'd, and reynold blessed the hand that gave relief, and stopt life's ebbing sand. his tale he told; got spirits, strength, and ease; in person tall, well made, and formed to please, he looked not like a novice in amour, though young, and seeking shelter at a door. his want of dress and miserable state raised shame indeed, and showed distress was great. though love be seen in nature's pure array, no dirt appears, however you survey. this servant girl now hastened to the fair, and ev'ry circumstance detailed with care. see, said the lady, if within the press there be not clothes to furnish him a dress; my husband, now no more, must some have left; yes, said the girl, you're not of them bereft, i recollect his wardrobe did abound; and presently a handsome suit she found. meanwhile the lady having learned the name of reynold d'ast, his quality and fame, (himself it seems particulars detailed, while all around his suff'rings keen bewailed,) her orders gave, the bath for her prepared should now receive the man her care had spared. unasked, the stranger this attention got, and well perfumed ere clothes they would allot. when dressed, he waited on the widow fair, and paid his compliments with graceful air. the supper (for the marquis first designed) at length was served with taste the most refined. our trav'ller glad, an appetite displayed; the lady carefully her guest surveyed, and anxious seemed to gratify his wish, by helping what appeared his favourite dish. already, perhaps, she felt a cupid's dart, and in her throbbing bosom knew the smart; or sympathy, or pity for his woes, might touch the spring whence softest passion flows. on ev'ry side assailed the youthful dame herself surrendered unto cupid's flame. should i give way, said she, who'll tell the tale? no risk is run if secrecy prevail. the marquis merits to be played the trick; he no excuse can have, unless he's sick. one sin against another i may weigh, and man for man will equally repay. so inexperienced reynold was not found, but that he saw how things were going round, and, that saint julian's prayer would yet succeed, to give him all the lodging he might need. the supper o'er, our couple left alone, what fairer field could truly have been shown? the belle now wore a smart becoming dress, designed, in ev'ry view, to prepossess. 'twas negligence, so requisite to please and fascinate, with airy, careless ease, according to the taste which i pursue, that made her charms so exquisite to view. no gaudy tinsel: all was flowing light; though not superb, yet pleasing to the sight; a neckerchief, where much should be concealed, was made so narrow,--beauties half revealed; beneath is shade--what words can ne'er express; and reynold saw enough the rest to guess. no more i say; the belle indeed was fair, possessed of youth and all engaging air; tall, nicely formed; each grace, that hearts could win; not much of fat, nor yet appeared too thin. emotion, at the view, who would not feel? to soft delight what bosom proves of steel? no marble bust, philosopher, nor stone, but similar sensation would have shown. the silence first was broken by the dame; who spoke so freely, reynold bolder came. he knew not well, howe'er, discourse to find; to help him out the widow was inclined; said she, you much remind me of a friend, whose ev'ry wish i sought with mine to blend my husband (rest his soul!) had just those eyes, that look, air, mouth:--the very height and size: you greatly honour me, the spark replied: your charms howe'er might well have been his pride; i ne'er beheld such soft engaging mien: on earth, like beauty never yet was seen. but, in extremes to be, appears my lot; just now i felt quite chilled:--at present hot; pray tell me which is best? the fair looked down, and humbly seemed to wave the proffered crown, that she might still more flattery receive address not small, if we'll our eyes believe. the swain now praised each charm within his view, and whatsoe'er his wishes could pursue; where hope was strong, and expectation high, she would not long be cruel and deny. to give the praise, your due, the lover cried, and note the beauties that my heart divide, 'twould take an age, and i've a single night, which surely might be passed with more delight. the widow smiled; enough it seems was said; and reynold shortened--what to nothing led. in war or love, time equally is dear; more happy than our spark none could appear; no point but what he gained; the smiling dame resistance only showed to raise the flame; nor more nor less; each belle like art has got, and practises at will, or maid or not. but truly, it was never my intent to count each favour she to reynold lent; particulars exact of ev'ry kiss, and all the preludes incident to bliss; both, doubtless, knew more ways than one to please; and sought, with anxious care, love's charms to seize. on recollection of the wretched state in which our traveller had moved of late, some favour was bestowed:--there, cried the dame, is something to repay the road you came; this for the cold; that fear; there thieves disgraced; so, one by one, the whole was soon effaced. in this way to be paid for ills we meet, who'd not be satisfied with boons so sweet? and we conclude, that reynold on the spot, love's am'rous recompense of pleasures got. now easy conversation was renewed; then mutual kisses; ev'ry sweet pursued. 'twas time for bed; howe'er, the widow fair determined that her own the spark should share; 'twas prudent, doubtless; like a lady wise; gallantly done: one room would well suffice. what further passed betwixt the pair that night; i cannot say, though we'll believe 'twas right; between the clothes when laid, and unrestrained, most clearly, reynold all his wishes gained. there he was recompensed for ev'ry grief; the lady too, received so much relief, that she desired his company again, but still these visits secrets should remain; 'twas requisite the governor to see; howe'er the dame delighted seemed to be, and not content with what she had bestowed, a purse well stored with gold to reynold showed: he took no more, indeed, than what would pay the bare expenses on his homeward way; then sought the street that to the tavern led, where still his lazy servant was in bed; the fellow mauled; then changed throughout his dress; since to the cloak-bag now he had access. his fortune to complete, that day they took the very wretches that he wished to hook. he to the judge repaired with ev'ry haste; in such a case you never time should waste; for, once the things are into court received, 'tis like the lion's den: naught e'er 's retrieved; their hands are closed, not 'gainst what may be brought but to secure what from their grasp is sought. who seeks redress by law, facts oft have shown, may bless his stars if he but keep his own. the trial o'er, a gallows treble-faced, was, for their swinging, in the market placed, one of the three harangued the mob around, (his speech was for the others also found) then, 'bout their necks the halters being tied, repentant and confessed the culprits died. who, after this, will doubt the pow'r of prayers? these silly knaves had banished all their cares; and when at ease they thought to skip and prance, were seized and quickly taught another dance. on t'other hand, where dire distress prevailed, and death, in various ways, our spark assailed, a beauty suddenly his senses charmed, who might a prelate's bosom have alarmed. so truly fortunate, indeed, his lot, again his money, baggage, horse he got; and, thank saint julian, howsoever tossed, he passed a, blissful night that nothing cost. this ebook was produced by david widger the tales and novels of j. de la fontaine volume . contains: the indiscreet confession the contract the quid pro quo, or the mistakes the indiscreet confessions famed paris ne'er within its walls had got, such magick charms as were aminta's lot, youth, beauty, temper, fortune, she possessed, and all that should a husband render blessed, the mother still retained her 'neath the wing; her father's riches well might lovers bring; whate'er his daughter wished, he would provide, amusements, jewels, dress, and much beside. blithe damon for her having felt the dart, the belle received the offer of his heart; so well he managed and expressed his flame. that soon her lord and master he became, by hymen's right divine, you may conceive, and nothing short of it you should believe. a year had passed, and still our charming pair, were always pleased, and blisses seemed to share; (the honeymoon appeared but just began) and hopes were entertained to have a son, when damon on the subject chanced to touch: in truth, said he, my soul is troubled much; there is a fact, my dear, to you i'll tell: i wish sincerely (since i love so well) that for another, i had never known such fond affection as to you i've shown; and none but you had entered in my breast, so worthy ev'ry way to be caressed. i have howe'er experienced other flame; the fault's acknowledged: i confess my shame. 'twas in a wood; the nymph was young and nice, and cupid only near to give advice; so well he managed:--or so ill, you'll say; a little girl i've living at this day. what, cried aminta, now to you i'll state; what happened once to be your spouse's fate; i was at home alone, to say the truth, when thither came by chance a sprightly youth. the lad was handsome, with engaging mien; i felt his worth:--my nature is serene; in short so many things were our employ, i've still upon my hands a little boy. these words no sooner had escaped the belle, than damon into jealous torments fell; with rage he left the room; and on his way, a large pack-saddle near his footsteps lay, which on his back he put, then cried aloud, i'm saddled! see; round quickly came a crowd; the father, mother, all the servants ran; the neighbours too; the husband then began to state the circumstance that gave him pain; and fully all the folly to explain. the reader must not fail to keep in mind; aminta's parents were both rich and kind, and having only her to be their heir, the aged couple let the youthful pair, with all their train, within the house reside, and tranquilly the moments seemed to glide. thu mother fondly to her daughter flew; the father followed, keeping her in view; the dame went in, but he remained without: to listen he designed beyond a doubt; the door was on the jar; the sage drew near; in short, to all they said, he lent an ear; the lady thus he heard reproach her child: you're clearly wrong; most silly may be styled; i've many simpletons and ninnies seen; but such as you before there ne'er has been: who'd have believed you indiscreet like this? who forced you to reveal what was amiss? what obligation to divulge the fact? more girls than one have failed to be exact; the devil's crafty; folks are wicked too; but that is no excuse, however true; in convents all of us should be immured, till perfectly by hymen's bands secured. e'en i who speak, alas! have troubles met; within my bosom oft i feel regret; three children ere my marriage i had got; have i your father told this secret blot? have we together been less happy found? the list'ner had no sooner heard the sound, but like a man distracted off he flew; the saddle's girth, which hazard near him threw; he took and fastened tightly 'bout his waist, then bawled around and round with anxious haste; i'm girth'd! d'ye see, completely taken in; the people stared, an 'gan to laugh and grin. though each was conscious, if the truth were known; the ridicule in turn might be his own. both husbands madly ran from cross to square, and with their foolish clamours rent the air; i'm saddled, hooted one; i'm girth'd, said this; the latter some perhaps will doubt, and hiss; such things however should not be disbelieved for instance, recollect (what's well received), when roland learned the pleasures and the charms; his rival, in the grot, had in his arms, with fist he gave his horse so hard a blow, it sunk at once to realms of poignant woe. might he not, training, round the hapless beast, from weight of saddle have its back released, and putting it upon his own, have cried, i'm saddled, i'm girth'd, and much beside; (no matter this or that, since each is good,) which echo would repeat from hill to wood? you see that truth may be discovered here; that's not enough; its object should appear; and that i'll show as further we proceed; your full attention i of course shall need. the happy damon clearly seems to me, as poor a thing as any we shall see; his confidence would soon have spoiled the whole, to leave a belle like this without control! her simplicity i much admire:-- confess herself to spouse, as if a friar! what silliness! imprudence is a word, which here to use would truly be absurd. to my discourse two heads alone remain; the marriage vow you always should maintain; its faith the pair should ever keep in view: the path of honour steadily pursue. if some mishap howe'er should chance to glide; and make you limp on one or t'other side, endeavour, of the fault, to make the best, and keep the secret locked within your breast; your own consideration never lose; untruth 'tis pardonable then to use. no doubt my pages nice advice supply; is't what i've followed?--no, you may rely! the contract the husband's dire mishap, and silly maid, in ev'ry age, have proved the fable's aid; the fertile subject never will be dry: 'tis inexhaustible, you may rely. no man's exempt from evils such as these:-- who thinks himself secure, but little sees. one laughs at sly intrigues who, ere 'tis long, may, in his turn, be sneered at by the throng: with such vicissitudes, to be cast down, appears rank nonsense worthy folly's crown. he, whose adventures i'm about to write, in his mischances,--found what gave delight. a certain citizen, with fortune large, when settled with a handsome wife in charge, not long attended for the marriage fruit: the lady soon put matters 'yond dispute; produced a girl at first, and then a boy, to fill th' expecting parent's breast with joy. the son, when grown of size, a tutor had, no pedant rude, with greek and latin mad, but young and smart, a master too of arts, particularly learned in what imparts, the gentle flame, the pleasing poignant pang, that ovid formerly so sweetly sang. some knowledge of good company he'd got; a charming voice and manner were his lot; and if we may disclose the mystick truth, 'twas cupid who preceptor made the youth. he with the brother solely took a place, that better he the sister's charms might trace; and under this disguise he fully gained what he desired, so well his part he feigned: an able master, or a lover true, to teach or sigh, whichever was in view, so thoroughly he could attention get, success alike in ev'ry thing he met. in little time the boy could construe well the odes of horace:--virgil's fable tell; and she whose beauty caught the tutor's eyes, a perfect mistress got of heaving sighs. so oft she practised what the master taught, her stomach feeble grew, whate'er was sought; and strange suspicions of the cause arose, which time at length was driven to disclose. most terribly the father raged and swore; our learned master, frightened, left the door, the lady wished to take the youth for life; the spark desired to make the girl his wife; both had the hymeneal knot in view, and mutual soft affection fondly knew. at present love is little more than name: in matrimony, gold's the only aim. the belle was rich, while he had nothing got; for him 'twas great:--for her a narrow lot. o dire corruption, age of wretched ways! what strange caprice such management displays! shall we permit this fatal pow'r to reign? base int'rest's impulse: hideous modern stain; the curse of ev'ry tender soft delight, that charms the soul and fascinates the sight. but truce to moral; let's our tale resume; the daughter scared; the father in a fume; what could be done the evil to repair, and hide the sad misfortune of the fair? what method seek?--they married her in haste; but not to him who had the belle debased, for reasons i've sufficiently detailed; to gain her hand a certain wight prevailed, who store of riches relished far above the charms of beauty, warmed with fondest love. save this the man might well enough be thought: in family and wealth just what was sought; but whether fool or not, i cannot trace, since he was unacquainted with the case; and if he'd known it, was the bargain bad? full twenty thousand pounds he with her had a sprightly youthful wife to ease his care, and with him ev'ry luxury to share. how many tempted by the golden ore, have taken wives whose slips they know before; and this good man the lady chaste believed, so truly well she managed and deceived. but when four months had passed, the fair-one showed. how very much she to her lessons owed; a little girl arrived: the husband stared cried he, what father of a child declared! the time's too short: four months! i'm taken in! a family should not so soon begin. away he to the lady's father flew, and of his shame a horrid picture drew; proposed to be divorced: much rage disclosed; the parent smiled and said, pray be composed; speak not so loud: we may be overheard, and privacy is much to be preferred. a son-in-law, like you, i once appeared, and similar misfortune justly feared; complaint i made, and mentioned a divorce; of heat and rage the ordinary course. the father of my wife, who's now no more, (heav'n guard his soul, the loss i oft deplore,) a prudent honest man as any round, to calm my mind, a nice specifick found; the pill was rather bitter, i admit; but gilding made it for the stomach fit, which he knew how to manage very well: no doctor in it him could e'er excel; to satisfy my scruples he displayed a contract (duly stamped and ably made), four thousand to secure, which he had got, on similar occasion for a blot; his lady's father gave it to efface domestick diff'rences and like disgrace: with this my spouse's fortune he increased; and instantly my dire complaining ceased. from family to family the deed should pass, 'twill often prove a useful meed; i kept it for the purpose:--do the same your daughter, married, may have equal blame. on this the son-in-law the bond received, and, with a bow, departed much relieved. may heav'n preserve from trouble those who find, at cheaper rate, to be consoled inclined. the quid pro quo; or the mistakes dame fortune often loves a laugh to raise, and, playing off her tricks and roguish ways, instead of giving us what we desire, mere quid pro quo permits us to acquire. i've found her gambols such from first to last, and judge the future by experience past. fair cloris and myself felt mutual flame; and, when a year had run, the sprightly dame prepared to grant me, if i may be plain, some slight concessions that would ease my pain. this was her aim; but whatsoe'er in view, 'tis opportunity we should pursue; the lover, who's discreet, will moments seize; and ev'ry effort then will tend to please. one eve i went this charming fair to see; the husband happened (luckily for me) to be abroad; but just as it was night the master came, not doubting all was right; no cloris howsoe'er was in the way; a servant girl, of disposition gay, well known to me, with pretty smiling face, 'tis said, was led to take her lady's place. the mistress' loss for once was thus repaid; the barter mutual:--wife against the maid. with many tales like this the books abound; but able hands are necessary found, to place the incidents, arrange the whole, that nothing may be forced nor feel control. the urchin blind, who sees enough to lay his num'rous snares, such tricks will often play. the cradle in boccace excels the most, as to myself i do not mean to boast, but fear, a thousand places, spite of toil, by him made excellent, my labours spoil. 'tis time howe'er with preface to have done, and show, by some new turn, or piece of fun, (while easy numbers from my pencil flow,) of fortune and of love the quid pro quo. in proof, we'll state what happened at marseilles: the story is so true, no doubt prevails. there clidamant, whose proper name my verse, prom high respect, refuses to rehearse, lived much at ease: not one a wife had got, throughout the realm, who was so nice a lot, her virtues, temper, and seraphick charms, should have secured the husband to her arms; but he was not to constancy inclined; the devil's crafty; snares has often twined around and round, with ev'ry subtle art, when love of novelty he would impart. the lady had a maid, whose form and size, height, easy manners, action, lips, and eyes, were thought to be so very like her own, that one from t'other scarcely could be known; the mistress was the prettiest of the two; but, in a mask where much escapes the view, 'twas very difficult a choice to make, and feel no doubts which better 'twere to take. the marseillesian husband, rather gay, with mistress alice was disposed to play; (for such was called the maid we just have named;) to show coquettish airs the latter aimed, and met his wishes with reproof severe; but to his plan the lover would adhere, and promised her at length a pretty sum: a hundred crowns, if to his room she'd come. to pay the girl with kindness such as this, in my opinion, was not much amiss. at that rate what should be the mistress' price? perhaps still less: she might not be so nice. but i mistake; the lady was so coy, no spark, whatever art he could employ, how cleverly soe'er he laid the snare, would have succeeded, spite of ev'ry care. nor presents nor attentions would have swayed; should i have mentioned presents as an aid? alas! no longer these are days of old! by love both nymph and shepherdess are sold; he sets the price of many beauties rare; this was a god;--now nothing but a mayor. o altered times! o customs how depraved! at first fair alice frowardly behaved; but in the sequel 'gan to change her way, and said, her mistress, as the foll'wing day, a certain remedy to take designed; that, in the morning then, if so inclined, they could at leisure in the cavern meet;-- the plan was pleasing: all appeared discreet. the servant, having to her mistress said, what projects were in view: what nets were spread; the females, 'tween themselves, a plot contrived, of quid pro quo, against the hour arrived. the husband of the trick was ne'er aware, so much the mistress had her servant's air; but if he had, what then? no harm of course; she might have lectured him with double force. next day but one, gay clidamant, whose joy appeared so great, 'twas free from all alloy, by hazard met a friend, to whom he told (most indiscreetly) what to him was sold; how cupid favoured what he most required, and freely granted all he had desired. though large the blessing, yet he grudged the cost; the sum gave pain: a hundred crowns were lost! the friend proposed they should at once decide, the charge and pleasure 'tween them to divide. our husband thought his purse not over strong, that saving fifty crowns would not be wrong. but then, on t'other hand, to lend the fair, in ev'ry view had got an awkward air; would she, as was proposed, consent to two? to keep things secret would their lips be true? or was it fair to sacrifice her charms, and lay her open thus to dire alarms? the friend this difficulty soon removed, and represented that the cavern proved so very dark, the girl would be deceived; with one more shrewd the trick might be achieved. sufficient howsoever it would be, if they by turns, and silent, could agree to meet the belle, and leave to love the rest, from whom they hoped assistance if distressed. such silence to observe no hurt could do, and alice would suppose, a prudent view retained the tongue, since walls have often ears, and, being mum, expressive was of fears. when thus the two gallants their plan had laid, and ev'ry promised pleasure fully weighed, they to the husband's mansion made their way, where yet the wife between the bed-clothes lay. the servant girl was near her mistress found; her dress was plain: no finery around; in short, 'twas such that, when the moment came; to fail the meeting could not be her aim. the friends disputed which the lead should take, and strong pretentions both appeared to make; the husband, honours home would not allow: such compliments were out of fashion now. to settle this, at length three dice they took; the friend was highest placed in fortune's book. the both together to the cavern flew, and for the servant soon impatient grew; but alice never came, and in her room the mistress, softly treading 'mid the gloom, the necessary signal gently gave, on which she entered presently the cave, and this so suddenly, no time was found to make remarks on change or errors round, or any diff'rence 'tween the friend and spouse; in short, before suspicions 'gan to rouse, or alteration lent the senses aid:-- to love, a sacrifice was fully made. the lucky wight more pleasure would have felt, if sensible he'd been with whom he dealt: the mistress rather more of beauty had, and quality of course must something add. this scene just ended, t'other actor came, whose prompt arrival much surprised the dame, for, as a husband, clidamant had ne'er such ardour shown, he seemed beyond his sphere. the lady to the girl imputed this, and thought, to hint it, would not be amiss. the entertainment o'er, away they went to quit the dark abode they were intent. the partner in amour repaired above; but when the husband saw his wedded love ascend the stairs, and she the friend perceived, we well may judge how bosoms beat and heaved. the master of the house conceived it best to keep the whole a secret in his breast. but to discover all, his lovely rib appeared disposed, though wives can often fib; the silliest of the throng (or high or low), most perfectly the science seem to know. some will pretend that alice, in her heart was sorry she had acted such a part, and not a better method sought to gain the money which had caused her master's pain; lamented much the case, and tried to please by ev'ry means that might his trouble ease. but this is merely with design to make the tale a more impressive feature take. two questions may agitate around; the one, if 'mong the brotherhood renowned, the husband, who thus felt disgraced, should (with the usual ornaments) be placed? but i no grounds for such conclusion see: both friend and wife were from suspicion free; of one another they had never thought, though in the mystick scene together brought. the other is:--should she, who was misused, have sought revenge for being so abused? though this sufficiently i have maintained, the lady inconsolable remained. heav'n guard the fair, who meet with ills like these, and nothing can their wounded minds appease: i many know howe'er, who would but laugh, and treat such accidents as light as chaff. but i have done: no more of that or this; may ev'ry belle receive her lot of bliss! this ebook was produced by david widger the tales and novels of j. de la fontaine volume . contains: the two friends the country justice alice sick the kiss returned sister jane an imitation of anacreon another imitation of anacreon the two friends axiochus, a handsome youth of old, and alcibiades, (both gay and bold,) so well agreed, they kept a beauteous belle, with whom by turns they equally would dwell. it happened, one of them so nicely played, the fav'rite lass produced a little maid, which both extolled, and each his own believed, though doubtless one or t'other was deceived. but when to riper years the bantling grew, and sought her mother's foot-steps to pursue, each friend desired to be her chosen swain, and neither would a parent's name retain. said one, why brother, she's your very shade; the features are the same-:-your looks pervade. oh no, the other cried, it cannot be her chin, mouth, nose, and eyes, with your's agree; but that as 'twill, let me her favours win, and for the pleasure i will risk the sin. the country justice two lawyers to their cause so well adhered, a country justice quite confused appeared, by them the facts were rendered so obscure with which the truth remained he was not sure. at length, completely tired, two straws he sought of diff'rent lengths, and to the parties brought. these in his hand he held:--the plaintiff drew (so fate decreed) the shortest of the two. on this the other homeward took his way, to boast how nicely he had gained the day. the bench complained: the magistrate replied don't blame i pray--'tis nothing new i've tried; courts often judge at hazard in the law, without deciding by the longest straw. alice sick sick, alice grown, and fearing dire event, some friend advised a servant should be sent her confessor to bring and ease her mind;-- yes, she replied, to see him i'm inclined; let father andrew instantly be sought:-- by him salvation usually i'm taught. a messenger was told, without delay, to take, with rapid steps, the convent way; he rang the bell--a monk enquired his name, and asked for what, or whom, the fellow came. i father andrew want, the wight replied, who's oft to alice confessor and guide: with andrew, cried the other, would you speak? if that's the case, he's far enough to seek; poor man! he's left us for the regions blessed, and has in paradise ten years confessed. the kiss returned as william walking with his wife was seen, a man of rank admired her lovely mien. who gave you such a charming fair? he cried, may i presume to kiss your beauteous bride? with all my heart, replied the humble swain, you're welcome, sir:--i beg you'll not refrain; she's at your service: take the boon, i pray; you'll not such offers meet with ev'ry day. the gentleman proceeded as desired; to get a kiss, alone he had aspired; so fervently howe'er he pressed her lip, that petronella blushed at ev'ry sip. seven days had scarcely run, when to his arms, the other took a wife with seraph charms; and william was allowed to have a kiss, that filled his soul with soft ecstatick bliss. cried he, i wish, (and truly i am grieved) that when the gentleman a kiss received, from her i love, he'd gone to greater height, and with my petronella passed the night. sister jane when sister jane, who had produced a child, in prayer and penance all her hours beguiled her sister-nuns around the lattice pressed; on which the abbess thus her flock addressed: live like our sister jane, and bid adieu to worldly cares:--have better things in view. yes, they replied, we sage like her shall be, when we with love have equally been free. an imitation of anacreon painter in paphos and cythera famed depict, i pray, the absent iris' face. thou hast not seen the lovely nymph i've named; the better for thy peace.--then will i trace for thy instruction her transcendent grace. begin with lily white and blushing rose, take then the loves and graces... but what good words, idle words? for beauty's goddess could by iris be replaced, nor one suppose the secret fraud--their grace so equal shows. thou at cythera couldst, at paphos too, of the same iris venus form anew. another imitation of anacreon prone, on my couch i calmly slept against my wont. a little child awoke me as he gently crept and beat my door. a tempest wild was raging-dark and cold the night. "have pity on my naked plight," he begged, "and ope thy door".--"thy name?" i asked admitting him.--"the same "anon i'll tell, but first must dry "my weary limbs, then let me try "my mois'ened bow."--despite my fear the hearth i lit, then drew me near my guest, and chafed his fingers cold. "why fear?" i thought. "let me be bold "no polyphemus he; what harm "in such a child?--then i'll be calm!" the playful boy drew out a dart, shook his fair locks, and to my heart his shaft he launch'd.--"love is my name," he thankless cried, "i hither came "to tame thee. in thine ardent pain "of cupid think and young climene."-- "ah! now i know thee, little scamp, "ungrateful, cruel boy! decamp!" cupid a saucy caper cut, skipped through the door, and as it shut, "my bow," he taunting cried, "is sound, "thy heart, poor comrade, feels the wound." this ebook was produced by david widger [note: there is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the file for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making an entire meal of them. d.w.] the tales and novels of j. de la fontaine volume . contains: the case of conscience the devil of pope-fig island feronde the case of conscience those who in fables deal, bestow at ease both names and titles, freely as they please. it costs them scarcely any thing, we find. and each is nymph or shepherdess designed; some e'en are goddesses, that move below, from whom celestial bliss of course must flow. this horace followed, with superior art:-- if, to the trav'ller's bed, with throbbing heart, the chambermaid approached, 'twas ilia found, or fair egeria, or some nymph renowned. god, in his goodness, made, one lovely day, apollo, who directs the lyrick lay, and gave him pow'rs to call and name at will, like father adam, with primordial skill. said he, go, names bestow that please the ear; in ev'ry word let sweetest sound appear. this ancient law then proves, by right divine, we oft are sponsors to the royal line. when pleasing tales and fables i endite, i, who in humble verse presume to write, may surely use this privilege of old, and, to my fancy, appellations mould. if i, instead of anne, should sylvia say, and master thomas (when the case i weigh) should change to adamas, the druid sage, must i a fine or punishment engage? no, surely not:--at present i shall choose anne and the parson for my tale to use. within her village, anne was thought the belle, and ev'ry other charmer to excel. as near a river once she chanced to stray, she saw a youth in nature's pure array, who bathed at ease within the gliding stream; the girl was brisk, and worthy of esteem, her eyes were pleased; the object gave delight; not one defect could be produced in sight; already, by the shepherdess adored, if with the belle to pleasing flights he'd soared, the god of love had all they wished concealed none better know what should not be revealed. anne nothing feared: the willows were her shade, which, like venetian blinds, a cov'ring made; her eyes, howe'er, across had easy view, and, o'er the youth, each beauty could pursue. she back four paces drew, at first, through shame; then, led by love, eight others forward came; but scruples still arose that ardour foiled, and nearly ey'ry thing had truly spoiled. anne had a conscience pure as holy fire; but how could she abstain from soft desire? if, in the bosom chance a flame should raise, is there a pow'r can then subdue the blaze? at first these inclinations she withstood; but doubting soon, how those of flesh and blood could sins commit by stepping in advance, she took her seat upon the green expanse, and there attentively the lad observed, with eyes that scarcely from him ever swerved. perhaps you've seen, from nature, drawings made? some eve, or adam, artists then persuade, in birth-attire to stand within their view, while they with care and taste each trait pursue; and, like our shepherdess, their stations take, a perfect semblance ev'ry way to make. anne in her mem'ry now his image placed; each line and feature thoroughly she traced, and even now the fair would there remain, if william (so was called this youthful swain) had not the water left; when she retired, though scarcely twenty steps from him admired, who, more alert than usual then appeared, and, by the belle, in silence was revered. when such sensations once were in the breast, love there we may believe would hardly rest. the favours anne reserved he thought his own, though expectations oft away have flown. the more of this i think, the less i know; perhaps one half our bliss to chance we owe! be this as 'twill, the conscientious anne would nothing venture to regale her man; howe'er, she stated what had raised her fear, and ev'ry thing that made her persevere. when easter came, new difficulties rose then, in confession, all she should disclose. anne, passing peccadillos in review, this case aside, as an intruder threw; but parson thomas made her all relate; and ev'ry circumstance most clearly state; that he, by knowing fully each defect, might punishment accordingly direct, in which no father-confessor should err, who absolution justly would confer. the parson much his penitent abused; said he, with sensual views to be amused, is such a sin, 'tis scarcely worse to steal; the sight is just the same as if you feel. howe'er, the punishment that he imposed was nothing great:--too slight to be disclosed; enough to say, that in the country round, the father-confessors, who there abound, as in our own, (perhaps in ev'ry part,) have devotees, who, when they ought to smart, a tribute pay, according to their lot, and thus indulgences are often got. this tribute to discharge the current year, much troubled anne, and filled her breast with fear, when william, fishing, chanced a pike to hook, and gave it to his dear at once to cook, who, quite delighted, hastened to the priest, and begged his rev'rence on the fish to feast. the parson with the present much was pleased; a tap upon the shoulder care appeased; and with a smile he to the bringer said this fish, with trifles on the table spread, will all complete; 'twas holyday we find, when other clergy with our rector dined. will you still more oblige, the parson cried, and let the fish at home by you be fried? then bring it here:--my servant's very new, and can't attempt to cook as well as you. anne hastened back; meanwhile the priests arrived, much noise, and rout of course, once these were hived; wines from the vault were brought without delay; each of the quality would something say. the dinner served; the dean at table placed; their conversation various points embraced; to state the whole would clearly endless be; in this no doubt the reader will agree. they changed and changed, and healths went round and round; no time for scandal while such cheer was found; the first and second course away were cleared, dessert served up, yet still no pike appeared. the dinner o'er without th' expected dish, or even a shadow of the promised fish. when william learned the present anne had made, his wish, to have it cancelled, with her weighed. the rector was surprised, you may suppose, and, soon as from the table all arose, he went to anne, and called her fool and knave, and, in his wrath, could scarcely secrets wave, but nearly her reproached the bathing scene; what, treat, said he, your priest like base and mean? anne archly answered, with expression neat:-- the sight is just the same as if you eat! the devil of pope-fig island by master francis clearly 'tis expressed: the folks of papimania are blessed; true sleep for them alone it seems was made with us the copy only has been laid; and by saint john, if heav'n my life will spare, i'll see this place where sleeping 's free from care. e'en better still i find, for naught they do: 'tis that employment always i pursue. just add thereto a little honest love, and i shall be as easy as a glove. on t'other hand an island may be seen, where all are hated, cursed, and full of spleen. we know them by the thinness of their face long sleep is quite excluded from their race. should you, good reader, any person meet, with rosy, smiling looks, and cheeks replete, the form not clumsy, you may safely say, a papimanian doubtless i survey. but if, on t'other side, you chance to view, a meagre figure, void of blooming hue, with stupid, heavy eye, and gloomy mien conclude at once a pope-figer, you've seen. pope-fig 's the name upon an isle bestowed, where once a fig the silly people showed, as like the pope, and due devotion paid:-- by folly, blocks have often gods been made! these islanders were punished for their crime; naught prospers, francis tells us, in their clime; to lucifer was giv'n the hateful spot, and there his country house he now has got. his underlings appear throughout the isle, rude, wretched, poor, mean, sordid, base, and vile; with tales, and horns, and claws, if we believe, what many say who ought not to deceive. one day it happened that a cunning clown was by an imp observed, without the town, to turn the earth, which seemed to be accurst, since ev'ry trench was painful as the first. this youthful devil was a titled lord; in manners simple:--naught to be abhorred; he might, so ignorant, be duped at ease; as yet he'd scarcely ventured to displease: said he, i'd have thee know, i was not born, like clods to labour, dig nor sow the corn; a devil thou in me beholdest here, of noble race: to toil i ne'er appear. thou know'st full well, these fields to us belong: the islanders, it seems, had acted wrong; and, for their crimes, the pope withdrew his cares; our subjects now you live, the law declares; and therefore, fellow, i've undoubted right, to take the produce of this field, at sight; but i am kind, and clearly will decide the year concluded, we'll the fruits divided. what crop, pray tell me, dost thou mean to sow? the clod replied, my lord, what best will grow i think is tousell; grain of hardy fame; the imp rejoined, i never heard its name; what is it. tousell, say'st thou?--i agree, if good return, 'twill be the same to me; work fellow, work; make haste, the ground prepare; to dig and delve should be the rabble's care; don't think that i will ever lend a hand, or give the slightest aid to till the land; i've told thee i'm a gentleman by birth, designed for ease: not doomed to turn the earth. howe'er i'll now the diff'rent parts allot, and thus divide the produce of the plot:-- what shall above the heritage arise, i'll leave to thee; 'twill very well suffice; but what is in the soil shall be my share; to this attend, see ev'ry thing is fair. this beardless corn when ripe, with joy was reaped, and then the stubble by the roots was heaped, to satisfy the lordly devil's claim, who thought the seed and root were just the same, and that the ear and stalk were useless parts, which nothing made if carried to the marts: the labourer his produce housed with care; the other to the market brought his ware, where ridicule and laughter he received; 'twas nothing worth, which much his bosom grieved. quite mortified, the devil quickly went; to seek our clod, and mark his discontent: the fellow had discreetly sold the corn, in straw, unthrashed, and off the money borne, which he, with ev'ry wily care, concealed; the imp was duped, and nothing was revealed. said he, thou rascal?--pretty tricks thou'st played; it seems that cheating is thy daily trade; but i'm a noble devil of the court, who tricking never knew, save by report. what grain dost mean to sow th' ensuing year? the labourer replied, i think it clear, instead of grain, 'twill better be to chop, and take a carrot, or a turnip crop; you then, my lord, will surely plenty find; and radishes, if you are so inclined. these carrots, radishes, and turnips too, said t'other, i am led to think will do; my part shall be what 'bove the soil is found: thine, fellow, what remains within the ground; no war with thee i'll have, unless constrained, and thou hast never yet of me complained. i now shall go and try to tempt a nun, for i'm disposed to have a little fun. the time arrived again to house the store; the labourer collected as before; leaves solely to his lordship were assigned, who sought for those a ready sale to find, but through the market ridicule was heard, and ev'ry one around his jest preferred:-- pray, mister devil, where d'ye grow these greens? how treasure up returns from your demesnes? enraged at what was said, he hurried back, and, on the clown, proposed to make attack, who, full of joy, was laughing with his wife, and tasting pleasantly the sweets of life. by all the pow'rs of hell, the demon cried, he shall the forfeit pay, i now decide; a pretty rascal truly, master phil: here, pleasures you expect at will, well, well, proceed; gallant it while allowed; for present i'll remit what i had vowed; a charming lady i'm engaged to meet; she's sometimes willing: then again discreet; but soon as i, in cuckold's row, have placed her ninny husband, i'll return in haste, and then so thoroughly i'll trim you o'er, such wily tricks you'll never practise more; we'll see who best can use his claws and nails, and from the fields obtain the richest sales. corn, carrots, radishes, or what you will:-- crop as you like, and show your utmost skill no stratagems howe'er with culture blend; i'll take my portion from the better end; within a week, remember, i'll be here, and recollect:--you've every thing to fear. amazed at what the lordly devil said, the clod could naught reply, so great his dread; but at the gasconade perretta smiled, who kept his house and weary hours beguiled, a sprightly clever lass, with prying eye, who, when a shepherdess, could more descry, than sheep or lambs she watched upon the plain, if other views or points she sought to gain. said she, weep not, i'll undertake at ease, to gull this novice-devil as i please; he's young and ignorant; has nothing seen; thee; from his rage, i thoroughly will skreen; my little finger, if i like can show more malice than his head and body know. the day arrived, our labourer, not brave, concealed himself, but not in vault nor cave; he plunged within a vase extremely large, where holy-water always was in charge; no demon would have thought to find him there, so well the clod had chosen his repair; in sacred stoles he muffled up his skin, and, 'bove the water, only kept his chin; there we will leave him, while the priests profound repeated vade retro round and round. perretta at the house remained to greet the lordly devil whom she hoped to cheat. he soon appeared; when with dishevelled hair, and flowing tears, as if o'erwhelmed with care, she sallied forth, and bitterly complained, how oft by phil she had been scratched and caned; said she, the wretch has used me very ill; of cruelty he has obtained his fill; for god's sake try, my lord, to get away: just now i heard the savage fellow say, he'd with his claws your lordship tear and slash: see, only see, my lord, he made this gash; on which she showed:--what you will guess, no doubt, and put the demon presently to rout, who crossed himself and trembled with affright: he'd never seen nor heard of such a sight, where scratch from claws or nails had so appeared; his fears prevailed, and off he quickly steered; perretta left, who, by her friends around, was complimented on her sense profound, that could so well the demon's snares defeat; the clergy too pronounced her plan discrete. feronde in eastern climes, by means considered new; the mount's old-man, with terrors would pursue; his large domains howe'er were not the cause, nor heaps of gold, that gave him such applause, but manners strange his subjects to persuade; in ev'ry wish, to serve him they were made. among his people boldest hearts he chose, and to their view would paradise disclose its blissful pleasures:--ev'ry soft delight, designed to gratify the sense and sight. so plausible this prophet's tale appeared, each word he dropt was thoroughly revered. whence this delusion?--drink deranged the mind; and, reason drowned, to madness they resigned. thus void of knowing clearly what they did, they soon were brought to act as they were bid; conveyed to places, charming to the eye, enchanting gardens 'neath an azure sky, with twining shrubs, meandring walks, and flow'rs, and num'rous grottos, porticoes and bow'rs. when they chanced to pass where all was gay, from wine's inebriating pow'rful sway, they wondered at the frolicking around, and fancied they were got on fairy ground, which mahomet pretended was assigned, for those to his doctrine were inclined. to tempt the men and girls to seek the scene, and skip and play and dance upon the green, to murm'ring streams, meandering along, and lutes' soft notes and nightingales' sweet song: no earthly pleasure but might there be viewed, the best of wines and choicest fruits accrued, to render sense bewildered at the sight, and sink inebriated with delight. then back they bore them motionless to sleep, and wake with wishes further joys to reap. from these enjoyments many fully thought, to such enchanting scenes they should be brought, in future times, eternal bliss to taste, if death and danger valiantly they faced, and tried the prophet mahomet to please, and ev'ry point to serve their prince would seize. the mount's old man, by means like these, could say; he'd men devoted to support his sway; upon the globe no empire more was feared, or king or potentate like him revered. these circumstances i've minutely told, to show, our tale was known in days of old. feronde, a rich, but awkward, vulgar clown, a ninny was believed throughout the town; he had the charge of revenues not slight, which he collected for a friar white. of these i've known as good as any black, when husbands some assistance seemed to lack, and had so much to do, they monks might need; or other friends, their work at home to speed. this friar for to-morrow never thought, but squandered ev'ry thing as soon as brought; no saint-apostle less of wealth retained; good cheer o'er ev'ry wish triumphant reigned, save now and then to have a little fun, (unknown to others) with a pretty nun. feronde had got a spouse of pleasing sight, related nearly to our friar white, whose predecessor, uncle, sponsor kind, now gone to realms of night, had her consigned, to be this silly blockhead's lawful wife, who thought her hand the honour of his life. 'tis said that bastard-daughters oft retain a disposition to the parent-train; and this, the saying, truly ne'er bellied, nor was her spouse so weak but he descried, things clearer than was requisite believed, and doubted much if he were not deceived. the wife would often to the prelate go, pretending business, proper he should know; a thousand circumstances she could find; 'twas then accounts: now sev'ral things combined; in short no day nor hour within the week, but something at the friar's she would seek. the holy father then was always prone, to send the servants off and be alone. howe'er the husband, doubting tricks were played; got troublesome; his wife would much upbraid when she returned, and often beat her too; in short,--he unaccommodating grew. the rural mind by nature jealous proves; suspicion shows of ev'ry thing that moves; unused to city ways, perverse appears, and, undismayed, to principle adheres: the friar found his situation hard; he loved his ease?--all trouble would discard; as priests in gen'ral anxiously desire; their plan howe'er i never can admire, and should not choose at once to take the town, but by the escalade obtain the crown; in love i mean; to war i don't allude: no silly bragging i would here intrude, nor be enrolled among the martial train: 'tis venus' court that i should like to gain. let t'other custom be the better way: it matters not; no longer i'll delay, but to my tale return, and fully state, how our receiver, who misused his mate; was put in purgatory to be cured, and, for a time, most thoroughly immured. by means of opiate powders, much renowned, the friar plunged him in a sleep profound. thought dead; the fun'ral obsequies achieved, he was surprised, and doubtless sorely grieved, when he awoke and saw where he was placed, with folks around, not much to suit his taste; for in the coffin he at large was left, and of the pow'r to move was not bereft, but might arise and walk about the tomb, which opened to another vaulted room, the gloomy, hollow mansion of the dead: fear quickly o'er his drooping spirits spread. what's here? cried he: is't sleep, or is it death; some charm or spell perhaps withdraws their breath. our wight then asked their names and business there; and why he was retained in such a snare? in what had he offended god or man?-- said one, console thyself:--past moments scan; when thou hast rested here a thousand years, thou'lt then ascend amid the heav'nly spheres; but first in holy purgatory learn, to cleanse thyself from sins that we discern; one day thy soul shall leave this loathsome place, and, pure as ice, repair to realms of grace. then this consoling angel gave a thwack, and ten or dozen stripes laid on his back:-- 'tis thy unruly, jealous mind, said he, displeases god, and dooms thee here to be. a mournful sigh the lorn receiver heaved, his aching shoulders rubbed, and sobbed and grieved; a thousand years, cried he, 'tis long indeed! my very soul with horror seems to bleed. we should observe, this angel was a wag, a novice-friar and a convent fag; like him the others round had parts to act, and were disguised in dresses quite exact. our penitent most humbly pardon sought; said he, if e'er to life again i'm brought, no jealousy, suspicion's hateful bane, shall ever enter my distracted brain. may i not have this grace, this wished for boon? some hopes they gave, but it could not be soon; in short a year he lay upon the floor: just food for life received, and nothing more, each day on bread and water he was fed, and o'er his back the cat-o'nine-tails spread: full twenty lashes were the number set, unless the friar should from heav'n first get permission to remit at times a part, for charity was glowing in his heart. we, must not doubt, he often offered prayers, to ease the culprit's sufferings and cares. the angel likewise made a long discourse; said he, those vile suspicions were the source, of all thy sorrow, wretchedness, and pain: think'st thou such thoughts the clergy entertain? a friar white!--too bad in ev'ry sense: ten strokes to one, if black, for such offence. repent, i say:--the other this desired, though scarcely he could tell what was required. meanwhile the prelate with the fav'rite dame, no time to lose, made ev'ry hour the same. the husband, with a sigh, was heard to say: i wonder what my wife's about to-day? about?--whate'er it be 'tis doubtless right; our friar, to console her, takes delight; thy business too is managed as before, and anxious care bestowed upon thy store. has she as usual matters that demand attendance at the cloister to be scanned?-- no doubt was the reply, for having now the whole affair upon her feeble brow, poor woman! be her wishes what they will, she more assistance wants thy loss to fill. discourse like this no pleasure gave the soul: to call him so seems best upon the whole, since he'd not pow'r like others here to feed:-- mere earthly shadow for a time decreed. a month was passed in fasting, pains, and prayer; some charity the friar made him share, and now and then remission would direct; the widow too he never would neglect, but, all the consolation in his pow'r, bestowed upon her ev'ry leisure hour, his tender cares unfruitful were not long; beyond his hopes the soil proved good and strong; in short our pater abbas justly feared, to make him father many signs appeared. since 'twere improper such a fact were known; when proofs perhaps too clearly might be shown, so many prayers were said and vigils kept, at length the soul from purgatory crept, so much reduced, and ev'ry way so thin but little more he seemed than bones and skin. a thing so strange filled numbers with surprise, who scarcely would believe their ears and eyes. the friar passed for saint:--feronde his fruit; none durst presume to doubt nor to dispute; a double miracle at once appeared the dead's return: the lady's state revered. with treble force te deum round was sung; sterility in marriage oft was rung, and near the convent many offered prayers, in hopes their fervent vows would gain them heirs. the humble spouse and wife we now shall leave let none, howe'er, suppose that we conceive, each husband merits, as our soul, the same, to cure the jealous fears his breast inflame. etext editor's bookmarks: perhaps one half our bliss to chance we owe the more of this i think, the less i know though expectations oft away have flown when husbands some assistance seemed to lack this ebook was produced by david widger [note: there is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the file for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making an entire meal of them. d.w.] the tales and novels of j. de la fontaine volume . contains: the mandrake the rhemese the mandrake florentine we now design to show;-- a greater blockhead ne'er appeared below; it seems a prudent woman he had wed, with beauty that might grace a monarch's bed; young, brisk, good-humoured, with engaging mien; none in the town, or round, the like was seen: her praises every voice inclined to sing, and judged her worthy of a mighty king; at least a better husband she deserved: an arrant fool he looked, and quite unnerved. this nicia calfucci (for such his name) was fully bent to have a father's fame, and thought his country honour he could do, could he contrive his lineage to pursue. no holy saint in paradise was blessed, but what this husband fervently addressed; from day to day, so oft he teazed for grace, they scarcely knew his off'rings where to place. no matron, quack, nor conjurer around, but what he tried their qualities profound; yet all in vain: in spite of charm or book, no father he, whatever pains he took. to florence then returned a youth from france; where he had studied,--more than complaisance: well trained as any from that polished court; to fortune's favours anxious to resort; gallant and seeking ev'ry fair to please; each house, road, alley, soon he knew at ease; the husbands, good or bad, their whims and years, with ev'ry thing that moved their hopes or fears; what sort of fuel best their females charmed; what spies were kept by those who felt alarmed; the if's, for's, to's, and ev'ry artful wile, that might in love a confidant beguile, or nurse, or father-confessor, or dog; when passion prompts, few obstacles can clog. the snares were spread, each stratagem was laid; and every thing arranged to furnish aid, when our gay spark determined to invest old nicia with the cuckold's branching crest. the plan no doubt was well conceived and bold; the lady to her friends appeared not cold; within her husband's house she seemed polite; but ne'er familiarly was seen invite, no further could a lover dare proceed; not one had hope the belle his flame would heed. our youth, calimachus, no sooner came, but he howe'er appeared to please the dame; his camp he pitched and entered on the siege of fair lucretia, faithful to her liege, who presently the haughty tigress played, and sent him, like the rest, away dismayed. he, scarcely knew what saint he could invoke; when nicia's folly served him for a cloak; however strange, no stratagem nor snare, but what the fool would willingly prepare with all his heart, and nothing fancy wrong; that might to others possibly belong. the lover and himself, as learned men, had conversations ev'ry now and then; for nicia was a doctor in the law: degree, to him, not worth a single straw; far better had he common prudence traced; and not his confidence so badly placed. one day he to calimachus complained, of want of heirs, and wished they could be gained: where lay the fault? he was a gay gallant; lucretia young with features to enchant. when i at paris was, replied our wight, there passed a clever man, a curious sight, his company with anxious care i sought, and was at length a hundred secrets taught; 'mong others how, at will, to get an heir:-- a certain thing, he often would declare; the great mogul had tried it on his queen, just two years since, the heir might then be seen; and many other princesses of fame, had added by it to their husband's name. 'twas very true; i've seen it fully proved: the remedy all obstacles removed; 'tis from the root of certain tree expressed; a juice most potent ev'ry where confessed, and mandrake called, which taken by a wife; more pow'r evinces o'er organick life, than from conventual grace was e'er derived, though in the cloister youthful friars hived. ten months from hence i'll you a father make; no longer time than that i ask to take; this period o'er, the child to church we'll bring,-- if true, said nicia, what a glorious thing! you'll do me services i can't express.-- don't doubt it, cried the spark of smart address: must i the fact so oft to you repeat? i've seen it with my eyes; 'tis most complete; you mean to jest, assuredly my friend; would you by doubts the great mogul offend? so handsomely this traveller he paid, no sign of discontent he e'er betrayed. 'tis excellent, the florentine replied; lucretia must be pleased to have it tried; what satisfaction! in her arms to view an infant that my lineage will renew. now, worthy friend, you god-father shall stand; this very day pray take the thing in hand. not quite so fast, rejoined our smart gallant, first know the plan, before consent you grant; there is an ill attends the whole affair; but what below, alas! is free from care; this juice, possessing virtues so divine, has also pow'rs that prove the most malign: whoe'er receives the patient's first embrace; too fatally the dire effects will trace; death oft succeeds the momentary joy; we scarcely good can find without alloy. your servant; sir, said nicia with surprise; no more of this: the name will me suffice; lucretia we will let remain at ease: what you propose can never truly please; if i must die by getting of a son, 'tis better far the benefit to shun; go find some other for your wondrous art; in fact i'm not inclined with life to part. how strange your conduct, cried the sprightly youth: extremes you seek, and overleap the truth; just now the fond desire to have a boy chased ev'ry care and filled your heart with joy; at present quite the contrary appears a moment changed your fondest hopes to fears; come, hear the rest; no longer waste your breath: kind nature all can cure, excepting death. what's necessary pray, that things succeed? some youthful clod for once should take the lead, and clear the way of ev'ry venom round then you with safety may commence to sound; no time you'll lose, but instantly begin and you'll most certainly your object win. this step is necessary to the end; some lad of little worth i recommend; but not ill made, nor savagely robust, to give your lady terror nor disgust. we know that, used to nicia's soft caress, lucretia would disrelish rude address; indeed 'tis possible in such event, her tender heart would never give consent; this led me to propose a man that's young; besides, the more he proves for action strong, the less of venom will behind remain, and i'll engage that ev'ry drop he'll drain. at first the husband disapproved the plan, the infamy, and danger which they ran perhaps the magistrate might have him sought, and he, of murder, guilty might be thought; the sudden death would mightily perplex; a fellow's creature's loss would sorely vex; lucretia, who'd withstood each tempter's charms, was now to be disgraced in rustick arms! calimachus, with eagerness replied; i would a man of consequence provide, or one, at all events, whose anxious aim would be, aloud the myst'ry, to proclaim! but fear and folly would contain the clown, or money at the worst would stop renown, your better half apparently resigned; the clod without intention of the kind; in short whate'er arrived, 'tis clear your case could not with cuckoldom be well in place. besides 'tis no way certain but our blade, by strength of nerves the poison may evade; and that's a double reason for the choice, since with more certainty we shall rejoice: the venom may evaporate in fume, and mandrake pleasing pow'rs at once assume; for when i spoke of death, i did not mean, that nothing from it would the person screen; to-morrow we the rustick lad must name; to-night the potion given your charming dame; i've some already with me, all prepared; let nothing of your project be declared: you should not seem to know what we've designed; ligurio you'll permit this clod to find; you can most thoroughly in him confide: discretion, secrecy, with him reside. one thing, however, nearly i'd forgot; a bandage for the eyes we should allot; and when well bound he nothing e'er can trace of whom, or what, the lady, or the place. the whole arrangement nicia much approved; but now 'twas time the lady should be moved. at first she thought it jest, then angry grew, and vowed the plan she never would pursue; her life she'd rather forfeit than her name: once known, for ever lost would be her fame besides the heinous sin and vile offence, god knew she rather would with all dispense; mere complaisance had led her to comply; would she admit a wretch with blearing eye, to incommode, and banish tranquil ease? who could conceive her formed a clod to please? can i, said she, the paths of honour quit, and in my bed a loathsome brute permit? or e'er regard the plan but with disdain? no, by saint john, i ever will maintain, nor beau, nor clown, nor king, nor lord, nor 'squire, save nicia, with me freely shall retire. the fair lucretia seemed so firmly bent, to father timothy at length they went, who preached the lady such a fine discourse, she ceded more through penitence than force. moreover she was promised that the lad should be nor clownish, nor in person bad; nor such as any way might give disgust, but one to whom she perfectly might trust. the wondrous draught was taken by the fair; next day our wight prepared his wily snare: himself bepowdered like a miller's man, with beard and whiskers to complete his plan; a better metamorphose ne'er was seen; ligurio, who had in the secret been, so thoroughly disguised the lover thought, at midnight him to nicia freely brought, with bandage o'er the eyes and hair disdained, not once the husband of deceit complained. beside the dame in silence slid our spark; in silence she attended in the dark, perfumed and nicely ev'ry way bedecked; for what? you ask, or whom did she expect; were all these pains a miller to receive?-- too much they cannot take, the sex believe; and whether kings or millers be their aim, the wish to please is ever found the same. 'tis double honour in a woman thought, when by her charms a torpid heart is caught; she, who in icy bosoms flame can raise, deserving doubtless is of treble praise. the spark disguised, his place no sooner took, but awkwardness he presently forsook; no more the miller, but the smart gallant: the lady found him kind and complaisant; such moments we'll suppose were well employed; though trembling fears not perfectly destroyed. she, to herself, remarked, 'tis very strange, this lad's demeanour should so quickly change; he's quite another character, 'tis clear; what pity that his end should be so near; alas! he merits not so hard a fate; i feel regret the lot should him await; and while soft pleasure seems his heart's delight; his soul is doomed from hence to take its flight. the husband who so fully gave consent, was led his partner's suff'rings to lament the spirit of a queen in truth she showed, when cuckoldom was on her spouse bestowed; in decoration, forced to acquiesce, she would not condescend to join caress. lucretia howsoe'er the lad approved; his winning manners much her favour moved. when he the subtle venom had subdued, he took her hand, and having fondly sued, said he, your pardon lady now i ask; be not displeased when i remove the mask; your rage restrain; a trick on you's been played; calimachus am i; be not dismayed; approve my sacrifice; the secret's known; your rigour would be useless now if shown; should i be doomed howe'er to breathe my last, i die content, rememb'ring what has passed; you have the means my life at will to take; more havock with me soft delight could make, than any poison that the draught possessed; mere folly, imposition, all the rest. till then lucretia had resistance made; to seem submissive she was still afraid; the lover was not hated by the belle, but bashfulness she could not well dispel, which, joined to simple manners mixed with fear, ungrateful made her, spite of self, appear. in silence wrapt, and scarcely drawing breath, by passion moved, and yet ashamed to death, not knowing how to act, so great her grief, from tears, her throbbing bosom sought relief. look, could she e'er her lover in the face? will he not think me covered with disgrace? said she, within herself;--what else believe? my wits were lost to let him thus deceive. o'ercome by sorrow, then she turned her head, and tried to hide herself within the bed, at furthest end, but vain alas her aim, the lover thither in a moment came: her only ground, remaining unsubdued, surrendered when the vanquisher pursued, who every thing submitted to his will, and tears no more her eyes were found to fill; shame took to flight, and scruples spread the wing; how happy those whom duping gain can bring! too soon aurora for our spark appeared; too soon for her so thoroughly revered; said he, the poison, that can life devour, requires repeated acts to crush its pow'r. the foll'wing days our youthful am'rous pair found opportunities for pleasing fare. the husband scarcely could himself contain, so anxiously he wished his aim to gain. the lover from the belle at length arose, and hastened to his house to seek repose; but scarcely had he placed himself in bed, when our good husband's footsteps thither led; he, to the spark, related with delight, how mandrake-juice succeeded in the night. said he, at first beside the bed i crept, and listened if the miller near her kept, or whether he to converse was inclined, and ev'ry way to act as was designed. i then my wife was anxious to address, and whispered that she should the youth caress; nor dread too much the spoiling of her charms: indeed 'twas all embarrassing alarms. don't think, said i, that either can deceive; i ev'ry thing shall hear, you may believe; know, nicia is a man, who well may say, he's trusted without measure ev'ry day. pray recollect my very life 's at stake, and do not many difficulties make. convince thereby how much your spouse you love; 'twill pleasure doubtless give the pow'rs above. but should the blockhead any how prove shy send instantly to me; i shall be nigh; i'm going now to rest; by no means fail; we'll soon contrive and ev'ry way prevail. but there was no necessity for this; 'tis pretty clear that nothing went amiss. in fact the rustick liked the business well, and seemed unwilling to resign the belle, i pity him, and much lament his lot; but--he must die and soon will be forgot: a fig for those who used to crack their jest; in nine months' time a child will be the test. the rhemese no city i to rheims would e'er prefer: of france the pride and honour i aver; the holy ampoule * and delicious wine, which ev'ry one regards as most divine, we'll set apart, and other objects take: the beauties round a paradise might make! i mean not tow'rs nor churches, gates, nor streets; but charming belles with soft enchanting sweets: such oft among the fair rhemese we view: kings might be proud those graces to pursue. one 'mong these belles had to the altar led, a painter, much esteemed, and who had bread. what more was requisite!--he lived at ease, and by his occupation sought to please. a happy woman all believed his wife; the husband's talents pleased her to the life: for gallantry howe'er he was renowned, and many am'rous dames, who dwelled around, would seek the artist with a double aim: so all our chronicles record his fame. but since much penetration 's not my boast, i just believe--what's requisite at most. whene'er the painter had in hand a fair, he'd jest his wife, and laugh with easy air; but hymen's rights proceeding as they ought, with jealous fears her breast was never fraught. she might indeed repay his tricks in kind, and gratify, in soft amours, her mind, except that she less confidence had shown, and was not led to him the truth to own. among the men attracted by her smiles, two neighbours, much delighted with her wiles; were often tempted, by her sprightly wit, to listen to her chat, and with her sit; for she had far the most engaging mien, of any charmer that around was seen. superior understanding she possessed; though fond of laughter, frolick, fun, and jest. she to her husband presently disclosed the love these cit-gallants to her proposed; both known for arrant blockheads through the town, and ever boasting of their own renown. to him she gave their various speeches, tones, each silly air: their tears, and sighs, and groans; they'd read, or rather heard, we may believe, that, when in love, with sighs fond bosoms heave. their utmost to succeed these coxcombs tried, and seemed convinced they should not be denied; a common cause they would the business hold, and what one knew the other must be told. whichever first a favour might obtain, should tell his happiness to t'other swain. ye fair 'tis thus they oft your kindness treat: the pleasure that he wished alone is sweet. love, is no more; of t'other, laid in earth, we've here no traces scarcely from the birth. you serve for sport and prey, to giddy youth, devoid of talents, principles, and truth. 'tis right they should suppose, still two are found; who take their course continually round. the first that in your pleasure grounds appears; i'd have you, on his wings, to use the shears. our lady then, her lovers to deceive, one day observed--you shall, my friends, this eve; drink wine with me:--my husband will away, and, what's delightful, till to-morrow stay; we shall ourselves be able to amuse, and laugh, and sing, and talk as we may choose. 'tis excellent, cried they: things well you frame; and at the promised hour, the heroes came. when introduced, and all supposing clear, a sudden knocking turned their joy to fear; the door was barred; she to the window flew; i think, said she, that's to the master due; and should it prove to be as i suspect:-- 'tis he, i vow:--fly, hide, he'll you detect; some accident, suspicion, or design, has brought him back to sleep, i now divine: our two gallants, when dangers round them pressed, a closet entered, mightily distressed; to get away 'twere folly to have tried; the husband came, the roast he quickly spied; with pigeons too, in diff'rent fashions cooked; why, hey! said he, as round about he looked: what guests have you that supper you prepare? the wife replied: two neighbours taste our fare: sweet alice, and good simonetta, mean to-night, at table with us to be seen; i'm quite rejoiced to think that you are here: the company will more complete appear; these dames will, by your presence, nothing lose; i'll run and hasten them: 'twill you amuse; the whole is ready; i'll at once away, and beg, in coming, they'll no more delay. the ladies named were wives of our gallants, so fond of contraband, and smuggled grants, who, vexed to be confined, still praised the dame, for skewing such address to 'scape from blame. she soon returned, and with her brought the fair, who, gaily singing, entered free from care. the painter them received with bow and kiss; to praise their beauty he was not remiss; their dress was charming; all he much admired; their presence frolick, fun, and jest inspired, which no way pleased the husbands in the cage, who saw the freaks with marks of bursting rage: the door half open gave a view complete, how freely he their wives was led to treat. things thus commenced, the supper next was served; from playful tricks the painter never swerved, but placed himself at table 'twist the two, and jest and frolicking would still pursue. to women, wine, and fun, said he, i drink; put round the toast; none from it e'er must shrink; the order was obeyed; the glass oft filled the party soon had all the liquor swilled: the wife just then, it seems, no servant kept; more wine to get, she to the cellar stept. but dreading ghosts, she simonetta prayed; to light her down, she was so much afraid. the painter was alone with alice left, a country belle, of beauty not bereft: slight, nicely made, with rather pretty face, she thought herself possessed of ev'ry grace, and, in a country town, she well might get the appellation of a gay coquette. the wily spark, perceiving no one near; soon ran from compliment to sweet and dear; her lips assailed;--the tucker drew aside, and stole a kiss that hurt her husband's pride, who all beheld; but spouses, that are sage, no trifles heed, nor peccadillos page; though, doubtless, when such meetings are possessed, the simple kiss gives room to dread the rest; for when the devil whispers in the ear of one that sleeps, he wakes at once to fear. the husband, howsoe'er, at length perceived still more concessions, which his bosom grieved; while on the neck a hand appeared to please, the other wandered equally at ease; be not offended, love! was often said; to frantick rage the sight her sposo led, who, beating in his hat, was on the move to sally forth, his wrath to let them prove, to thrash his wife, and force her spark to feel his nervous arm could quickly make him reel. be not so silly, whispered t'other wight; to stir up noise could ne'er be reckoned right; be quiet now: consider where we are; keep close, or else you'll all our pleasures mar; remember, written 'tis, by others do the same as you would like they should by you; 'tis proper in this place we should remain till all is hushed in sleep: then freedom gain; that's my opinion how we ought to act are you not half a cuckold now, in fact? fair alice has consented:-that's enough; the rest is mere compliance, nonsense, stuff! the husband seemed the reasons to approve; some slight attempts the lady made to move; no time for more. what then? you ask:--why, then-- the lady put her cap to rights agen; no mark appeared suspicion to awake, except her cheek a scarlet hue might take. mere trifle that; from talking it might spring; and other causes, doubtless, we could bring. one of the belles, howe'er, who went for wine, smiled, on returning, at the blushing sign: the painter's wife; but soon they filled each glass, and briskly round the bottle seemed to pass; they drank the host, the hostess, and the fair, who, 'mong the three, should first her wishes share. at length, a second time the bottle failed; the hostess' fear of ghosts again prevailed, and mistress alice now for escort went, though much she wished the other to have sent; with simonetta she was forced to change, and leave the painter at his ease to range. this dame at first appeared to be severe would leave the room, and feigned to be sincere; but when the painter seized her by the gown, she prudence showed, and feared he'd pull her down; her clothes might tear, which led her to remain: on this the husband scarcely could contain; he seemed resolved his hiding place to leave; but instantly the other pulled his sleeve; be easy friend, said he, it is but right, that equal favours we should have to-night, and cuckoldom should take you to his care, that we alike in ev'ry thing may fare. are we not brothers in adventure, pray? and such our solemn promises, to-day. since one the painter clearly has disgraced, the other equally should be embraced. in spite of ev'ry thing you now advance, your wife as well as mine shall have a dance; a hand i'll lend, if wanting it be found; say what you will, i'll see she has her round. she had it then:--our painter tried to please; the lady equally appeared at ease; full time the others gave, and when they came, more wine was not required by spark nor dame; 'twas late, and for the day enough he'd done; good night was said: their course the belles had run; the painter, satisfied, retired to rest; the gay gallants, who lay so long distressed, the wily hostess from the closet drew, abashed, disconsolate, and cuckolds too; still worse to think, with all their care and pain; that neither of them could his wish obtain, or e'en return the dame what she procured their wives, whom she so cleverly allured. here ends our tale; the business is complete; in soft amours success alone is sweet. * the saint ampoule, or holy ampulla, a vial said to have descended from heaven, in which was oil for anointing the kings of france at the coronation, and formerly kept at rheims. etext editor's bookmarks: by others do the same as you would like they should by you the wish to please is ever found the same we scarcely good can find without alloy when passion prompts, few obstacles can clog this ebook was produced by david widger the tales and novels of j. de la fontaine volume . contains: the dress-maker the gascon the pitcher to promise is one thing, to keep it, another the nightengale epitaph of fontaine the dress-maker a cloistered nun had a lover dwelling in the neighb'ring town; both racked their brains to discover how they best their love might crown. the swain to pass the convent-door!-- no easy matter!--thus they swore, and wished it light.--i ne'er knew a nun in such a pass to be outdone:-- in woman's clothes the youth must dress, and gain admission. i confess the ruse has oft been tried before, but it succeeded as of yore. together in a close barred cell the lovers were, and sewed all day, nor heeded how time flew away.-- "what's that i hear? refection bell! "'tis time to part. adieu!--farewell!-- "how's this?" exclaimed the abbess, "why "the last at table?"--"madam, i "have had my dress-maker."--"the rent "on which you've both been so intent "is hard to stop, for the whole day "to sew and mend, you made her stay; "much work indeed you've had to do! "--madam, 't would last the whole night through, "when in our task we find enjoyment "there is no end of the employment." the gascon i am always inclined to suspect the best story under the sun as soon as by chance i detect that teller and hero are one. we're all of us prone to conceit, and like to proclaim our own glory, but our purpose we're apt to defeat as actors in chief of our story. to prove the truth of what i state let me an anecdote relate: a gascon with his comrade sat at tavern drinking. this and that he vaunted with assertion pat. from gasconade to gasconade passed to the conquests he had made in love. a buxom country maid, who served the wine, with due attention lent patient ear to each invention, and pressed her hands against her side her bursting merriment to hide. to hear our gascon talk, no sue nor poll in town but that he knew; with each he'd passed a blissful night more to their own than his delight. this one he loved for she was fair, that for her glossy ebon hair. one miss, to tame his cruel rigour, had brought him gifts.--she owned his vigour in short it wanted but his gaze to set each trembling heart ablaze. his strength surpassed his luck,--the test-- in one short night ten times he'd blessed a dame who gratefully expressed her thanks with corresponding zest. at this the maid burst forth, "what more? "i never heard such lies before! "content were i if at that sport "i had what that poor dame was short." the pitcher the simple jane was sent to bring fresh water from the neighb'ring spring; the matter pressed, no time to waste, jane took her jug, and ran in haste the well to reach, but in her flurry (the more the speed the worse the hurry), tripped on a rolling stone, and broke her precious pitcher,--ah! no joke! nay, grave mishap! 'twere better far to break her neck than such a jar! her dame would beat and soundly rate her, no way could jane propitiate her. without a sou new jug to buy! 'twere better far for her to die! o'erwhelmed by grief and cruel fears unhappy jane burst into tears "i can't go home without the delf," sobbed jane, "i'd rather kill myself; "so here am i resolved to die." a friendly neighbour passing by o'erheard our damsel's lamentation; and kindly offered consolation: "if death, sweet maiden, be thy bent, "i'll aid thee in thy sad intent." throwing her down, he drew his dirk, and plunged it in the maid,--a work you'll say was cruel,--not so jane, who even seemed to like the pain, and hoped to be thus stabbed again. amid the weary world's alarms, for some e'en death will have its charms; "if this, my friend, is how you kill, "of breaking jugs i'll have my fill!" to promise is one thing to keep it, another john courts perrette; but all in vain; love's sweetest oaths, and tears, and sighs all potent spells her heart to gain the ardent lover vainly tries: fruitless his arts to make her waver, she will not grant the smallest favour: a ruse our youth resolved to try the cruel air to mollify:-- holding his fingers ten outspread to perrette's gaze, and with no dread "so often," said he, "can i prove, "my sweet perrette, how warm my love." when lover's last avowals fail to melt the maiden's coy suspicions a lover's sign will oft prevail to win the way to soft concessions: half won she takes the tempting bait; smiles on him, draws her lover nearer, with heart no longer obdurate she teaches him no more to fear her- a pinch,--a kiss,--a kindling eye,-- her melting glances,--nothing said.-- john ceases not his suit to ply till his first finger's debt is paid. a second, third and fourth he gains, takes breath, and e'en a fifth maintains. but who could long such contest wage? not i, although of fitting age, nor john himself, for here he stopped, and further effort sudden dropped. perrette, whose appetite increased just as her lover's vigour ceased, in her fond reckoning defeated, considered she was greatly cheated-- if duty, well discharged, such blame deserve; for many a highborn dame would be content with such deceit. but perrette, as already told, out of her count, began to scold and call poor john an arrant cheat for promising and not performing. john calmly listened to her storming, and well content with work well done, thinking his laurels fairly won, cooly replied, on taking leave: "no cause i see to fume and grieve; "or for such trifle to dispute; "to promise and to execute "are not the same, be it confessed, "suffice it to have done one's best; "with time i'll yet discharge what's due; "meanwhile, my sweet perrette, adieu!" the nightingale no easy matter 'tis to hold, against its owner's will, the fleece who troubled by the itching smart of cupid's irritating dart, eager awaits some jason bold to grant release. e'en dragon huge, or flaming steer, when jason's loved will cause no fear. duennas, grating, bolt and lock, all obstacles can naught avail; constraint is but a stumbling block; for youthful ardour must prevail. girls are precocious nowadays, look at the men with ardent gaze, and longings' an infinity; trim misses but just in their teens by day and night devise the means to dull with subtlety to sleep the argus vainly set to keep in safety their virginity. sighs, smiles, false tears, they'll fain employ an artless lover to decoy. i'll say no more, but leave to you, friend reader, to pronounce if true what i've asserted when you have heard how artful kitty, caged her bird. in a small town in italy, the name of which i do not know, young kitty dwelt, gay, pretty, free, varambon's child.--boccacio omits her mother's name, which not to you or me imports a jot. at fourteen years our kitty's charms were all that could be wished--plump arms, a swelling bosom; on her cheeks roses' and lilies' mingled streaks, a sparkling eye--all these, you know, speak well for what is found below. with such advantages as these no virgin sure could fail to please, or lack a lover; nor did kate; but little time she had to wait; one soon appeared to seal her fate. young richard saw her, loved her, wooed her-- what swain i ask could have withstood her? soft words, caresses, tender glances, the battery of love's advances, soon lit up in the maiden's breast the flame which his own heart possessed, soon growing to a burning fire of love and mutual desire. desire for what? my reader knows, or if he does not may suppose, and not be very wond'rous wise. when youthful lovers mingle sighs, believe me, friend, i am not wrong, for one thing only do they long. one check deferred our lover's bliss, a thing quite natural, 'twas this: the mother loved so well her child that, fearful she might be beguiled, she would not let her out of sight, a single minute, day or night. at mother's apron string all day kate whiled the weary hours away, and shared her bed all night. such love in parents we must all approve, though catherine, i must confess, in place of so much tenderness more liberty would have preferred. to little girls maternal care in such excess is right and fair, but for a lass of fourteen years, for whom one need have no such fears, solicitude is quite absurd, and only bores her. kitty could no moment steal, do what she would, to see her richard. sorely vexed she was, and he still more perplexed. in spite of all he might devise a squeeze, a kiss, quick talk of eyes was all he could obtain, no more. bread butterless, a sanded floor, it seemed no better. joy like this could not suffice, more sterling bliss our lovers wished, nor would stop short till they'd obtained the thing they sought. and thus it came about. one day by chance they met, alone, away from jealous parents. "what's the use;" said richard, "of all our affection? "of love it is a rank abuse, "and yields me nothing but dejection "i see you without seeing you, "must always look another way, "and if we meet i dare not stay, "must ev'ry inclination smother. "i can't believe your love is true; "i'll never own you really kind "unless some certain means you find "for us to meet without your mother." kate answered: "were it not too plain "how warm my love, another strain "i would employ. in converse vain "let us not waste our moments few; "but think what it were best to do." "if you will please me," robert said, "you must contrive to change your bed, "and have it placed--well, let me see-- "moved to the outer gallery, "where you will be alone and free. "we there can meet and chat at leisure "while others sleep, nor need we fear, "of merry tales i have a treasure "to tell, but cannot tell them here." kate smiled at this for she knew well what sort of tales he had to tell; but promised she would do her best and soon accomplish his request. it was not easy, you'll admit, but love lends foolish maidens wit; and this is how she managed it. the whole night long she kept awake, snored, sighed and kicked, as one possessed, that parents both could get not rest, so much she made the settle shake. this is not strange. a longing girl, with thoughts of sweetheart in her head, in bed all night will sleepless twirl. a flea is in her ear, 'tis said. the morning broke. of fleas and heat kitty complained. "let me entreat, "o mother, i may put my bed "out in the gallery," she said, "'tis cooler there, and philomel "who warbles in the neigh'bring dell "will solace me." ready consent the simple mother gave, and went to seek her spouse. "our kate, my dear, "will change her bed that she may hear "the nightingale, and sleep more cool." "wife," said the good man, "you're a fool, "and kate too with her nightingale; "don't tell me such a foolish tale. "she must remain. no doubt to-night "will fresher be. i sleep all right "in spite of heat, and so can she. "is she more delicate than me?" incensed was kate by this denial after so promising a trial, nor would be beat, but firmly swore to give more trouble than before. that night again no wink she slept but groaned and fretted, sighed and wept, upon her couch so tossed and turned, the anxious mother quite concerned again her husband sought. "our kate "to me seems greatly changed of late. "you are unkind," she said to him, "to thwart her simple, girlish whim. "why may she not her bed exchange, "in naught will it the house derange? "placed in the passage she's as near "to us as were she lying here. "you do not love your child, and will "with your unkindness make her ill." "pray cease," the husband cried, "to scold "and take your whim. i ne'er could hold "my own against a screaming wife; "you'll drive me mad, upon my life. "her belly-full our kate may get "of nightingale or of linnet." the thing was settled. kate obeyed, and in a trice her bed was made, and lover signalled. who shall say how long to both appeared that day, that tedious day! but night arrived and richard too; he had contrived by ladder, and a servant's aid, to reach the chamber of the maid. to tell how often they embraced, how changed in form their tenderness, would lead to nothing but a waste of time, my readers will confess. the longest, most abstruse discourse would lack precision, want the force their youthful ardour to portray. to understand there's but one way-- experience. the nightingale sang all night long his pleasing tale, and though he made but little noise, the lass was satisfied. her joys so exquisite that she averred the other nightingale, the bird who warbles to the woods his bliss, was but an ass compared with this. but nature could not long maintain of efforts such as these the strain; their forces spent, the lovers twain in fond embrace fell fast asleep just as the dawn began to peep: the father as he left his bed by curiosity was led to learn if kitty soundly slept, and softly to the passage crept. "i'll see the influence," he said, "of nightingale and change of bed." with bated breath, upon tip toes, close to the couch he cautious goes where kitty lay in calm repose. excessive heat had made all clothes unbearable. the sleeping pair had cast them off, and lay as bare as our first happy parents were in paradise. but in the place of apple, in her willing hand kate firmly grasp the magic wand which served to found the human race, the which to name were a disgrace, though dames the most refined employ it; desire it, and much enjoy it, if good catullus tells us true. the father scarce believed his view, but keeping in his bosom pent his anger, to his wife he went, and said, "get up, and come with me. "at present i can plainly see "why kate had such anxiety "to hear the nightingale, for she "to catch the bird so well has planned "that now she holds him in her hand." the mother almost wept for glee. "a nightingale, oh! let me see. "how large is he, and can he sing, "and will he breed, the pretty thing? "how did she catch him, clever child?" despite his grief the good man smiled. "much more than you expect you'll see. "but hold your tongue, and come with me; "for if your chattering is heard, "away will fly the timid bird; "and you will spoil our daughter's game." who was surprised? it was the dame. her anger burst into a flame as she the nightingale espied which kitty held; she could have cried, and scolded, called her nasty slut, and brazen hussey, bitch, and--but her husband stopped her. "what's the use "of all your scolding and abuse? "the mischief's done, in vain may you "from now till doomsday fret and stew, "misfortune done you can't undo, "but something may be done to mend: "for notary this instant send, "bid holy priest and mayor attend. "for their good offices i wait "to set this nasty matter straight." as he discoursed, richard awoke, and seeing that the sun had broke, these troubled words to kitty spoke "alas, my love, 'tis broad day light, "how can i now effect my flight?" "all will go well," rejoined the sire, "i will not grumble, my just ire "were useless here; you have committed "a wrong of which to be acquitted, "richard, there is one only way, "my child you wed without delay. "she's well brought up, young, full of health "if fortune has not granted wealth, "her beauty you do not deny, "so wed her, or prepare to die." to hesitate in such a case would surely have been out of place the girl he loved to take to wife, or in his prime to lose his life, the point in truth needs no debate, nor did our richard hesitate. besides, the most supreme delight of life he'd tasted one short night, but one, in lovely kitty's arms; could he so soon resign her charms! while richard, pleased with his escape from what he feared an awkward scrape, was dreaming of his happy choice, our kitty, by her father's voice awakened, from her hand let go the cause of all her joy and woe, and round her naked beauties wound the sheet picked up from off the ground: meanwhile the notary appears to put an end to all their fears. they wrote, they signed, the sealed--and thus the wedding ended free from fuss. they left the happy couple there. his satisfaction to declare, thus spoke their father to the pair: "take courage, children, have no care; "the nightingale in cage is pent, "may sing now to his heart's content." epitaph of la fontaine made by himself john, as he came, so went away, consuming capital and pay, holding superfluous riches cheap; the trick of spending time he knew, dividing it in portions two, for idling one, and one for sleep. the end. this ebook was produced by david widger [note: there is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the file for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making an entire meal of them. d.w.] the tales and novels of j. de la fontaine volume . contains: the psalter king candaules and the doctor of laws the psalter once more permit me, nuns, and this the last; i can't resist, whatever may have passed, but must relate, what often i've been told; your tales of convent pranks are seldom cold; they have a grace that no where else we find, and, somehow, better seem to please designed. another then we'll have, which three will make:-- three did i say?-'tis four, or i mistake; let's count them well:-the gard'ner first, we'll name; then comes the abbess, whose declining frame required a youth, her malady to cure a story thought, perhaps, not over pure; and, as to sister jane, who'd got a brat, i cannot fancy we should alter that. these are the whole, and four's a number round; you'll probably remark, 'tis strange i've found such pleasure in detailing convent scenes:-- 'tis not my whim, but taste, that thither leans: and, if you'd kept your breviary in view, 'tis clear, you'd nothing had with this to do; we know, howe'er, 'tis not your fondest care; so, quickly to our hist'ry let's repair. a charming youth would frequent visits pay, to nuns, whose convent near his dwelling lay; and, 'mong the sisters, one his person saw, who, by her eyes, would fain attention draw; smiles she bestowed, and other complaisance, but not a single step would he advance; by old and young he greatly was admired; sighs burst around, but none his bosom fired. fair isabella solely got his love, a beauteous nun, and gentle as a dove, till then a novice in the flow'ry chain, and envied doubly:--for her charms and swain. their soft amours were watched with eagle-eye: no pleasure's free from care you may rely; in life each comfort coupled is with ill, and this to alter baffles all our skill. the sister nuns so vigilant had been, one night when darkness overspread the scene; and all was proper mysteries to hide, some words escaped her cell that doubts supplied, and other matters too were heard around, that in her breviary could not be found. 'tis her gallant! said they: he's clearly caught; alarm pervaded; swarms were quickly brought; rage seemed to triumph; sentinels were placed; the abbess too must know they were disgraced. away they hastened to convey surprise, and, thund'ring at her door, cried, madam rise, for sister isabella, in her cell, has got a man, which surely can't be well. you will observe, the dame was not at prayer, nor yet absorbed in sleep, devoid of care, but with her then, this abbess had in bed good parson john, by kindness thither led, a neighb'ring rector, confessor, and friend; she rose in haste the sisters to attend, and, seeking for her veil, with sense confused, the parson's breeches took for what she used, which, in the dark, resembled what was worn by nuns for veils, and called (perhaps in scorn), among themselves, their psalter, to express familiarly, a common, awkward dress. with this new ornament, by way of veil, she sallied forth and heard the woeful tale. then, irritated, she exclaimed with ire to see this wretched creature i desire, the devil's daughter, from her bold career, who'll bring our convent to disgrace, i fear; but god forbid, i say, and with his leave, we'll all restore:--rebuke she shall receive. a chapter we will call:--the sisters came, and stood around to hear their pious dame. fair isabella now the abbess sent, who straight obeyed, and to her tears gave vent, which overspread those lily cheeks and eyes, a roguish youth so lately held his prize. what! said the abbess: pretty scandal here, when in the house of god such things appear; ashamed to death you ought to be, no doubt, who brought you thither?--such we always scout. now isabella, (--sister you must lose, henceforth, that name to you we cannot use; the honour is too great,) in such a case, pray are you sensible of your disgrace, and what's the punishment you'll undergo? before to-morrow, this you'll fully know; our institution chastisement decrees; come speak, i say, we'll hear you if you please. poor isabella, with her sight on ground, confused, till then had scarcely looked around, now raised her eyes, and luckily perceived the breeches, which her fears in part relieved, and that the sisters, by surprise unnerved, as oft's the case, had never once observed. she courage took, and to the abbess said, there's something from the psalter, on your head, that awkwardly hangs down; pray, madam, try to put it right, or 'twill be in your eye. 'twas knee-strings, worn, at times, by priests and beaux, for, more or less, all follow fashion's laws. this veil, no doubt, had very much the air of those unmentionables parsons wear; and this the nun, to frolicking inclined, it seems had well impressed upon her mind. what, cried the abbess, dares she still to sneer? how great her insolence to laugh and jeer, when sins so heavily upon her rest, and ev'ry thing remains quite unconfessed. upon my word, she'd be a saint decreed; my veil, young imp, your notice cannot need; 'tis better think, you little hellish crow, what pains your soul must undergo below. the mother abbess sermonized and fired, and seemed as if her tongue would ne'er be tired. again the culprit said, your psalter, pray, good madam, haste to set the proper way; on which the sisters looked, both young and old those 'gan to laugh, while these were heard to scold. our preacher, quite ashamed of what she'd done, now lost her voice, and noticed not the nun; the murmur buzzed around, too well expressed, what thoughts the holy sisterhood possessed. at length the abbess said:--we've now not time to take the chapter's votes upon her crime; 'twould make it late; let each to bed return, and, till to-morrow, we'll the case adjourn. no chapter met, howe'er, when morrow came; another day arrived, and still the same; the sages of the convent thought it best, in fact, to let the mystick business rest. much noise, perhaps, would hurt religion's cause, and, that considered, prudent 'twere to pause. base envy made them isabella hate, and dark suspicions to the abbess state. in short, unable by their schemes to get the morsel she'd so fortunately met, each nun exerted all her art to find, what equally might satisfy the mind. old friends were willingly received again; her gallant our belle was suffered to retain; the rector and the abbess had their will; and, such their union, precepts to fulfill, that if a nun had none to give her bliss, to lend a friend was nothing thought amiss. king candaules and the doctor of laws in life oft ills from self-imprudence spring; as proof, candaules' story we will bring; in folly's scenes the king was truly great: his vassal, gyges, had from him a bait, the like in gallantry was rarely known, and want of prudence never more was shown. my friend, said he, you frequently have seen the beauteous face and features of the queen; but these are naught, believe me, to the rest, which solely can be viewed when quite undressed. some day i'll let you gratify your eyes; without her knowledge i'll means devise; but on condition:--you'll remember well what you behold, to no one you will tell, in ev'ry step most cautiously proceed, and not your mind with silly wishes feed; no sort of pleasure surely i could take, to see vain passion you her lover make. you must propose, this charming form to view, as if mere marble, though to nature true; and i'm convinced you'll readily declare, beyond nor art can reach, nor thought prepare; just now i left her in the bath at ease: a judge you are, and shall the moment seize; come, witness my felicity supreme; you know her beauties are my constant theme. away they went, and gyges much admired; still more than that: in truth his breast was fired; for when she moved astonishment was great, and ev'ry grace upon her seemed to wait. emotion to suppress howe'er he tried, since he had promised what he felt to hide; to hold his tongue he wished, but that might raise suspicions of designs and mystick ways. exaggeration was the better part, and from the subject he would never start, but fully praised each beauty in detail, without appearing any thing to veil. gods! gyges cried, how truly, king, you're blessed; the skin how fair--how charming all the rest! this am'rous conversation by the queen was never heard, or she'd enraged have been; in ancient days of ignorance, we find, the sex, to show resentment, much inclined; in diff'rent light at present this appears, and fulsome praises ne'er offend their ears. our arch observer struggled with his sighs those feelings much increased, so fair the prize: the prince, in doubt, conducted him away; but in his heart a hundred arrows lay; each magick charm directed pointed darts; to flee were useless: love such pain imparts, that nothing can at times obstruct its course; so quick the flight: so truly great the force. while near the king, much caution gyges showed; but soon the belle perceived his bosom glowed; she learned the cause:--her spouse the tale disclosed, and laughed and jeered, as he the facts exposed: a silly blockhead! not to know a queen could raillery not bear on such a scene. but had it pleased her wishes, still 'twere right (such honour's dictates) to discover spite; and this she truly did, while in her mind, to be revenged she fully was inclined. for once, good reader, i should wish thee wife; or otherwise, thou never can'st in life, conceive the lengths a woman oft will go, whose breast is filled with wrath and secret woe. a mortal was allowed these charms to view, which others' eyes could never dare pursue. such treasures were for gods, or rather kings the privilege of both are beauteous things. these thoughts induced the queen revenge to seek; rage moved her breast, and shame possessed her cheek. e'en cupid, we are told, assistance gave; what from his aim effectually can save? fair in person was gyges to behold; excuses for her easy 'twere to mould; to show her charms, what baseness could excel? and on th' exposer all her hatred fell. besides, he was a husband, which is worse with these each sin receives a double curse. what more shall i detail?--the facts are plain: detested was the king:--beloved the swain; all was accomplished, and the monarch placed among the heroes who with horns are graced; no doubt a dignity not much desired, though in repute, and easily acquired. such merit had the prince's folly got, 'in petto', vulcan's brother was his lot; the distance thence is little to the hat: the honour much the same of this or that. so far 'twas passing well, but, in the intrigue; the cruel parcae now appeared to league; and soon the lovers, on possession bent, to black cocytus' shores the monarch sent; too much of certain potions forced to drink, he quickly viewed the dreary, horrid brink; while pleasing the objects gyges' eyes beheld; and in the palace presently he dwelled, for, whether love or rage the widow fired, her throne and hand she gave, as was required. t' extend this tale was never my design; though known full well, i do not now repine; the case so thoroughly my purpose served. ne'er from the narrative the object swerved; and scarcely can i fancy, better light the doctor will afford to what i write. the scenes that follow i from rome have drawn; not rome of old, ere manners had their dawn, when customs were unpleasant and severe the females, silly, and gallants in fear; but rome of modern days, delightful spot! where better tastes have into fashion got, and pleasure solely occupies the mind to rapture ev'ry bosom seems resigned. a tempting journey truly it appears, for youths from twenty on to thirty years. not long ago, then, in the city dwelled, a master, who in teaching law excelled; in other matters he, howe'er, was thought a man that jollity and laughter sought. he criticised whatever passed around, and oft, at others' cost, diversion found. it happened that our learned doctor had, among his many pupils (good and bad) a frenchman, less designed to study laws, than, in amours, perhaps, to gain applause. one day, observing him with clouded mien, my friend, said he, you surely have the spleen, and, out of college, nothing seem to do; no law books read:--some object i'd pursue; a handsome frenchman should his hours improve; seek soft intrigues, or as a lover move; talents you have, and gay coquettes are here not one, thank heav'n, but numbers oft appear. the, student answered, i am new at rome, and, save the belles who sell their beauteous bloom, i can't perceive, gallants much business find, each house, like monasteries, is designed, with double doors, and bolts, and matrons sour, and husbands argus-eyed, who'd you devour. where can i go to follow up your plan, and hope, in spots like these, a flame to fan? 'twere not less difficult to reach the moon, and with my teeth i'd bite it just as soon. ha! ha! replied the doctor with delight, the honour which you do us is not slight; i pity men quite fresh and raw like you; our town, i see, you've hardly travelled through, you fancy then, such wily snares are set, 'tis difficult intrigues in rome to get. i'd have you know, we've creatures who devise, to horn their husbands under argus' eyes. 'tis very common; only try around, and soon you'll find, that sly amours abound. within the neighb'ring church go take your place, and, to the dames who pass in search of grace, present your fingers dipt in water blessed:-- a sign for those who wish to be caressed. in case the suppliant's air some lady please, who knows her trade, and how to act at ease, she'll send a message, something to desire: you'll soon be found, wherever you retire, though lodged so secretly, that god alone, till then, your place of residence had known. an aged female will on you attend, who, used to this, will full assistance lend, arrange an interview with wily art; no trouble take, you'll have an easy part; no trouble did i say? why, that's too much; some things i would except, their pow'r is such; and proper 'tis, my friend, that i should hint, attentions you at rome should well imprint, and be discrete; in france you favours boast: of ev'ry moment here you make the most; the romans to the greatest lengths proceed. so best, the spark replied, i like the deed; and, though no gascon, i may boldly say; superior prowess always i display. perhaps 'twas otherwise, for ev'ry wight; in this, to play the gascon, thinks it right. to all the doctor's words our youth adhered, and presently within a church appeared, where daily came the choicest belles around, and loves and graces in their train were found, or, if 'tis wished in modern phrase to speak, attention num'rous angels there would seek. beneath their veils were beauteous sparkling eyes; the holy-water scarcely would suffice. in lucky spot the spark his station took, and gave to each that passed a plaintive look; to some he bowed; to others seemed to pray, and holy water offered on their way. one angel 'mong the rest the boon received, with easy pleasing air, that much relieved; on which the student to himself expressed, a fond belief, with her he might be blessed. when home, an aged female to him came, and soon a meeting place he heard her name. to count particulars howe'er were vain their pranks were many, and their folly plain; the belle was handsome; ev'ry bliss was sought, and all their moments most delightful thought. he, to the doctor, ev'ry matter told discretion in a frenchman would be cold; 'tis out of nature, and bespeaks the cit; smells strong of shop, and would not fashion fit. the learned teacher satisfaction showed, that such success from his instructions flowed, laughed heartily at husbands, silly wights, who had not wit to guard connubial rights, and from their lamb the wily wolf to keep: a shepherd will o'erlook a hundred sheep, while foolish man's unable to protect, e'en one where most he'd wish to be correct. howe'er, this care he thought was somewhat hard, but not a thing impossible to guard; and if he had not got a hundred eyes, thank heav'n, his wife, though cunning to devise, he could defy:--her thoughts so well he knew, that these intrigues she never would pursue. you'll, ne'er believe, good reader, without shame, the doctor's wife was she our annals name; and what's still worse, so many things he asked, her look, air, form, and secret charms unmasked, that ev'ry answer fully seemed to say, 'twas clearly she, who thus had gone astray. one circumstance the lawyer led to doubt: some talents had the student pointed out, which she had never to her husband shown, and this relief administered alone. thought he, those manners not to her belong, but all the rest are indications strong, and prove the case; yet she at home is dull; while this appears to be a prattling trull, and pleasing in her conversation too; in other matters 'tis my wife we view, form, face, complexion, features, eyes, and hair, the whole combined pronounces her the fair. at length, when to himself the sage had said 'tis she; and then, 'tis not;--his senses led to make him in the first opinion rest, you well may guess what rage was in his breast. a second meeting you have fixed? cried he; yes, said the frenchman, that was made with glee; we found the first so pleasing to our mind, that to another both were well inclined, and thoroughly resolved more fun to seek. that's right, replied the doctor, have your freak; the lady howsoe'er i now could name. the scholar answered, that to me's the same; i care not what she's called, nor who she be: 'tis quite enough that we so well agree. by this time i'm convinced her loving spouse. possesses what an anchorite might rouse; and if a failure any where be met, at such a place to-morrow one may get, what i shall hope, exactly at the hour, to find resigned and fully in my pow'r: in bed i shall be instantly received, and from anxiety be soon relieved. the place of meeting is a room below, most nicely furnished, rich, but void of show. at first i through a passage dark was led, where sol's bright rays are ne'er allowed to spread; but soon, by my conductress, i was brought, 'mid love's delights, where all with charms was frought. on this you may suppose the doctor's pain; but presently he thought a point to gain, and take the student's place by wily art, where, acting in disguise the lover's part, his rib he might entangle in a net, and vassalage bestow she'd ne'er forget. our learned man was clearly in the wrong; 'twere better far to sleep and hold his tongue; unless, with god's assistance, he could raise a remedy that merited full praise. whenever wives have got a candidate, to be admitted to the cuckold's state, if thence he get scot free 'tis luck indeed; but once received, and ornaments decreed, a blot the more will surely nothing add, to one already in the garment clad. the doctor otherwise however thought; yet still his reason no advantage brought; indeed he fancied, if he could forestall the youth who now he might his master call; the trick would to his wisdom credit do, and show, superior wiles he could pursue. away the husband hastened to the place; in full belief, that, hiding well his face, and favoured by the darkness of the spot, the silence marked, and myst'ry of the plot, he, undiscovered, safely might be led, where such delicious fruits were ready spread. misfortune, howsoe'er, would so direct the aged female nothing to neglect, had with her got a lantern to conduct, the light from which at will she could obstruct, and, far more cunning than our learned sage, perceived at once with whom she had t'engage; but, marking no surprise, she bade him wait, while she, his coming, to her dame should state. said she, unless i tell her first you're here, i dare not let you in her room appear. besides, you have not got the right attire; undressed, in truth, is what she would desire. my lady, you must know, is gone to bed:-- then, thrusting in a dressing room his head, he there beheld the necessary fare, of night-cap, slippers, shirt, and combs for hair, with perfumes too, in rome the nicest known, and fit for highest cardinals to own. his clothes the learned doctor laid aside; the aged female came his steps to guide; through passages she led him by the hand, where all was dark, and many turnings planned; at once bewildered, and deprived of sight, the lawyer tottered much for want of light. at length she ope'd a door, and pushed the sage, where most unpleasantly he must engage, though doubtless ev'ry way his proper place:-- the school where he was used the laws to trace! o'ercome with shame, confusion, and surprise, he nearly fainted, vain 'twere to disguise. the circumstances ran throughout the town; each student then was waiting in his gown; enough, no doubt, his fortunes to destroy; the laugh went round, and all was jest and joy. what, is he mad? said they, or would he seek some lass, and with her wish to have a freak? still worse arrived:--his beauteous spouse complained; a trial followed, and distractions reigned; her relatives supported well the cause, and represented, that the man of laws, occasioned jars and matrimonial strife; that he was mad, and she, a prudent wife, the marriage was annulled, and she withdrew: retirement now the lady would pursue, in vavoureuse a prelate blessed the dame, and, at saint croissant, she a nun became. etext editor's bookmarks: no pleasure's free from care you may rely this ebook was produced by david widger [note: there is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the file for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making an entire meal of them. d.w.] the tales and novels of j. de la fontaine volume . contains: the picture the pack-saddle the ear-maker, and the mould-mender the picture solicited i've been to give a tale, in which (though true, decorum must prevail), the subject from a picture shall arise, that by a curtain's kept from vulgar eyes. my brain must furnish various features new: what's delicate and smart produce to view; by this expressed, and not by t'other said: and all so clear, most easy to be read, by ev'ry fool, without the aid of notes, that idiot's bad indeed who never quotes. catullus tells us, ev'ry matron sage will peep most willingly (whate'er her age), at that gigantick gift, which juno made, to venus' fruit, in gardens oft displayed. if any belle recede, and shun the sight, dissimulation she supposes right. this principle allowed, why scruples make? why, less than eyes, should ears a license take? but since 'tis so resolved i'll do my best, and naught in open terms shall be expressed: a veil shall over ev'ry charm be cast, of gauze indeed, and this from first to last, so nicely done, that howsoever tost, to none i trust will any thing be lost. who nicely thinks, and speaks with graceful ease; can current make just whatsoe'er he please; for all will pass, as i have often known: the word well chosen, pardon soon is shown, the sex o'erlook the thing no more the same, the thought remains, but 'tis without a name; no blush is raised; no difficulty found; yet ev'ry body understands around. at present, much i need this useful art: why? you will ask; because, when i impart such wondrous circumstances, ev'ry belle, without reserve, will con them over well. to this i answer: female ears are chaste, though roguish are their eyes, as well as taste. be that as 'twill, i certainly should like, with freedom to explain, by terms oblique, to belles, how this was broken:--that was down: assist me pray, ye nine of high renown; but you are maids, and strangers, we agree, to love's soft scenes, not knowing a from b. remain then, muses, never stir an inch, but beg the god of verse, when at a pinch, to help me out and kind assistance lend, to choose expressions which will not offend, lest i some silly things should chance to say, that might displeasure raise, and spoil my lay. enough, howe'er, we've on the subject said: 'tis time we t'wards the painting should be led, which an adventure you will find contains, that happened once in cupid's famed domains. in former days, just by cythera town a monastery was, of some renown, with nuns the queens of beauty filled the place, and gay gallants you easily might trace. the courtier, citizen, and parson too, the doctor and the bachelor you'd view, with eager steps:--all visits thither made; and 'mong the latter, one (a pleasing blade) had free access: was thought a prudent friend, who might to sisters many comforts lend; was always closely shaved and nicely dressed; and ev'ry thing he said was well expressed; the breath of scandal, howsoever pat, ne'er lighted on his neat cravat nor hat. two nuns alternatively, from the youth; experienced many services, in truth; the one had recently a novice been; few months had passed since she complete was seen; the other still the dress of novice wore; the youngest's age was seventeen years, not more time doubtless very proper (to be plain) love's wily thesis fully to sustain: the bachelor so well the fair had taught, and they so earnestly the science sought, that by experience both the art had learned, and ev'ry thing most perfectly discerned. these sisters eagerly had made one day an assignation with the lover gay; to have the entertainment quite complete, they'd bacchus, ceres too, who venus greet: with perfect neatness all the meats were served, and naught from grace and elegancy swerved; the wines, the custards, jellies, creams, and ice: the decorations, ev'ry thing was nice; what pleasing objects and delights were viewed! the room with sweetest flow'rs fair flora strewed; a sort of garden o'er the linen traced here lakes of love:--there names entwined were placed; magnificence like this the nuns admired, and such amusements ardently desired. their beauty too incited to be free; a thousand matters filled their souls with glee; in height the belles were pretty much the same like alabaster fair; of perfect frame; in num'rous corners cupid nestling lay: beneath a stomacher he'd slyly play, a veil or scapulary, this or that, where least the eye of day perceived he sat, unless a lover called to mystick bow'rs, where he might hearts entwine with chains of flow'rs; a thousand times a day the urchin flew, with open arms the sisters to pursue; their charms were such in ev'ry air and look, both (one by one) he for his mother took. with anxious looks, the ladies thus prepared, expected him who all their kindness shared; now they bestowed abuse; next fondly praised: then of his conduct dark suspicions raised, conceived, a new amour him kept away: what can it be, said one, that makes him stay? of honour an affair.--love--sickness--what? said t'other whether it be this or that, if here again his face he ever show, a pretty trick in turn we'll let him know. while thus the couple sought their plot to frame, a convent porter with a burden came, for her who kept the stores of ev'ry kind, depositary of the whole designed. 'twas merely a pretence, as i am told: the things were not required for young or old; but she much appetite had got in truth, which made her have recourse to such a youth, who was regarded, in repasts like these, a first rate cook that all prepared at ease. this awkward, heavy lout mistook the cell; by chance upon our ladies' room he fell, and knocked with weighty hands: they ope'd the door. and gave abuse, but soon their anger o'er, the nuns conceived a treasure they had found, and, laughing heartily, no longer frowned, but both exclaimed at once: let's take this fool; of him we easily can make a tool; as well as t'other, don't you think he'll do? the eldest added:--let's our whim pursue; 'tis well determined;--what were we to get, that here we waited, and are waiting yet? fine words and phrases; nothing of the kind; this wight 's as good, for what we have a mind, as any bachelor or doctor wise at all events, for present, he'll suffice. she rightly judged; his height, form, simple air, and ev'ry act, so clearly void of care, raised expectation; this was aesop's man, he never thought: 'twas all without a plan; both ate and drank, and, had he been at will, would matters far have pushed, though void of skill. familiar grown, the fellow ready seemed, to execute whate'er was proper deemed; to serve the convent he was porter made, and in their wishes nuns of course obeyed. 'tis here begins the subject we've in view, the scene that faithfully our painter drew; apollo, give me aid, assistance lend, enable me, i pray, to comprehend, why this mean stupid rustick sat at ease, and left the sisters (claudia, formed to please, and lovely fair theresa) all the care? had he not better done to give a chair? i think i hear the god of verse reply: not quite so fast my friend, you may rely, these matters never can the probe endure; i understand you; cupid, to be sure, is doubtless found a very roguish boy, who, though he please at times, will oft annoy; i'm wrong a wicked whelp like this to take, and, master of the ceremonies make. no sooner in a house the urchin gets, but rules and laws he at defiance sets; the place of reason whim at once assumes, breaks ev'ry obstacle, frets, rages, fumes. with scenes like these will cupid oft surprise, and frantick passion sparkle in his eyes. soon on the floor was seen this boorish wight; for, whether that the chair was rather slight, or that the composition of the clown was not, like that of geese, of softest down, or that theresa, by her gay discourse, had penetrated to the mystick source, the am'rous pulpit suddenly gave way, and on the ground the rustick quickly lay. the first attempt had clearly bad success, and fair theresa suffered you may guess. ye censors keep from hence your eyes prophane; see, honest hearts, how claudia tried amain, to take advantage of the dire mishap, and all she could, with eagerness entrap; for in the fall theresa lost her hold; the other pushed her:--further off she rolled; and then, what she had quitted claudia seized; theresa, like a demon quite displeased, endeavoured to recover what she'd lost:-- again to take her seat, but she was crossed. the sister in possession ne'er inclined to cede a post so pleasant to her mind; theresa raised her hand to give a stroke; and what of that?--if any thing provoke when thus engaged, unheeded it remains small ills are soon forgot where pleasure reigns. in spite of rage apparent in the face; of her who in the scuffle lost her place, the other followed up the road she took; his course the rustick also ne'er forsook. theresa scolded; anger marked her eyes; in venus' games contentions oft arise; their violence no parallel has seen:-- in proof, remember menelaus' queen. though here to take a part bellona 's found, of cuirasses i see but few around; when venus closes with the god of thrace, her armour then appears with ev'ry grace. the fair will understand: enough is said; when beauty's goddess is to combat led, her body-cuirass shows superior charms; the cyclops rarely forge such pleasing arms. had vulcan graven on achilles' shield the picture we've described, more praise 'twould yield. the nun's adventure i in verse have told, but not in colours, like the action, bold; and as the story in the picture fails, the latter seems to lose in my details. the pen and brush express not quite the same; eyes are not ears, however we may aim. entangled in the net, i long have left the fair theresa, of her throne bereft; howe'er, this sister had her turn we find, so much to please, the porter was inclined, that both were satisfied, and felt content; here ends our tale, and truly i lament, that not a word about the feast is said, though i've no doubt, they freely drank and fed; and this for reasons easily conceived: the interlude gave rest that much relieved. in fine, 'twas well throughout, except, in truth, the hour of meeting settled with the youth, which much embarrasses i will avow, for if he never came and made his bow, the sisters had the means, when they might please, completely to console themselves at ease; and if the spark appeared, the belles could hide both clown and chair, or any thing beside the lover what he wanted soon possessed, and was as usual treated with the best. the pack-saddle a famous painter, jealous of his wife; whose charms he valued more than fame or life, when going on a journey used his art, to paint an ass upon a certain part, (umbilical, 'tis said) and like a seal: impressive token, nothing thence to steal. a brother brush, enamoured of the dame; now took advantage, and declared his flame: the ass effaced, but god knows how 'twas done; another soon howe'er he had begun, and finished well, upon the very spot; in painting, few more praises ever got; but want of recollection made him place a saddle, where before he none could trace. the husband, when returned, desired to look at what he drew, when leave he lately took. yes, see my dear, the wily wife replied, the ass is witness, faithful i abide. zounds! said the painter, when he got a sight,-- what!--you'd persuade me ev'ry thing is right? i wish the witness you display so well, and him who saddled it, were both in hell. the ear-maker and the mould-mender when william went from home (a trader styled): six months his better half he left with child, a simple, comely, modest, youthful dame, whose name was alice; from champaign she came. her neighbour andrew visits now would pay; with what intention, needless 'tis to say: a master who but rarely spread his net, but, first or last, with full success he met; and cunning was the bird that 'scaped his snare; without surrendering a feather there. quite raw was alice; for his purpose fit; not overburdened with a store of wit; of this indeed she could not be accused, and cupid's wiles by her were never used; poor lady, all with her was honest part, and naught she knew of stratagem or art. her husband then away, and she alone, this neighbour came, and in a whining tone, to her observed, when compliments were o'er:-- i'm all astonishment, and you deplore, to find that neighbour william's gone from hence, and left your child's completing in suspense, which now you bear within, and much i fear, that when 'tis born you'll find it wants an ear. your looks sufficiently the fact proclaim, for many instances i've known the same. good heav'ns! replied the lady in a fright; what say you, pray?--the infant won't be right! shall i be mother to a one-eared child? and know you no relief that's certain styled? oh yes, there is, rejoined the crafty knave, from such mishap i can the baby save; yet solemnly i vow, for none but you i'd undertake the toilsome job to do. the ills of others, if i may be plain, except your husband's, never give me pain; but him i'd serve for ever, while i've breath; to do him good i'd e'en encounter death. now let us see, without more talk or fears, if i know how to forge the bantling ears. remember, cried the wife, to make them like. leave that to me, said he, i'll justly strike. then he prepared for work; the dame gave way; not difficult she proved:--well pleased she lay; philosophy was never less required, and andrew's process much the fair admired, who, to his work extreme attention paid; 'twas now a tendon; then a fold he made, or cartilage, of which he formed enough, and all without complaining of the stuff. to-morrow we will polish it, said he: then in perfection soon the whole will be; and from repeating this so oft, you'll get as perfect issue as was ever met. i'm much obliged to you, the wife replied, a friend is good in whom we may confide. next day, when tardy time had marked the hour; that andrew hoped again to use his pow'r, he was not plunged in sleep, but briskly flew, his purpose with the charmer to pursue. said he, all other things aside i've laid, this ear to finish, and to lend you aid. and i, the dame replied, was on the eve, to send and beg you not the job to leave; above stairs let us go:--away they ran, and quickly recommenced as they began. the work so oft was smoothed, that alice showed some scruples lest the ear he had bestowed should do too much, and to the wily wight, she said, so little you the labour slight, 'twere well if ears no more than two appear; of that, rejoined the other, never fear; i've guarded thoroughly against defects, mistake like that shall ne'er your senses vex. the ear howe'er was still in hand the same, when from his journey home the husband came. saluted alice, who with anxious look, exclaimed,--your work how finely you forsook, and, but for neighbour andrew's kindness here, our child would incomplete have been--an ear, i could not let a thing remain like this, and andrew would not be to friends remiss, but, worthy man, he left his thriving trade, and for the babe a proper ear has made. the husband, not conceiving how his wife, could be so weak and ignorant of life, the circumstances made her fully tell, repeat them o'er and on each action dwell. enraged at length, a pistol by the bed he seized and swore at once he'd shoot her dead. the belle with tears replied, howe'er she'd swerved, such cruel treatment never she deserved. her innocence, and simple, gentle way, at length appeared his frantick rage to lay. what injury, continued she, is done? the strictest scrutiny i would not shun; your goods and money, ev'ry thing is right; and andrew told me, nothing he would slight; that you would find much more than you could want; and this i hope to me you'll freely grant; if falsehood i advance, my life i'll lose; your equity, i trust, will me excuse. a little cooled, then william thus replied, we'll say no more; you have been drawn aside; what passed you fancied acting for the best, and i'll consent to put the thing at rest; to nothing good such altercations tend; i've but a word: to that attention lend; contrive to-morrow that i here entrap this fellow who has caused your sad mishap; you'll utter not a word of what i've said; be secret or at once i'll strike you dead. adroitly you must act: for instance say; i'm on a second journey gone away; a message or a letter to him send, soliciting that he'll on you attend, that something you have got to let him know;-- to come, no doubt, the rascal won't be slow; amuse him then with converse most absurd, but of the ear remember,--not a word; that's finished now, and nothing can require; you'll carefully perform what i desire. poor innocent! the point she nicely hit; fear oft gives simpletons a sort of wit. the arch gallant arrived; the husband came ascended to the room where sat his dame; much noise he made, his coming to announce; the lover, terrified, began to bounce; now here, now there, no shelter could he meet; between the bed and wall he put his feet, and lay concealed, while william loudly knocked; fair alice readily the door unlocked, and, pointing with her hand, informed the spouse, where he might easily his rival rouse. the husband ev'ry way was armed so well, he four such men as andrew could repel; in quest of succour howsoe'er he went: to kill him surely william never meant, but only take an ear, or what the turks, those savage beasts, cut off from nature's works; which doubtless must be infinitely worse infernal practice and continual curse. 'twas this he whispered should be andrew's doom, when with his easy wife he left the room; she nothing durst reply: the door he shut, and our gallant 'gan presently to strut, around and round, believing all was right, and william unacquainted with his plight. the latter having well the project weighed, now changed his plan, and other schemes surveyed; proposed within himself revenge to take, with less parade:--less noise it then would make, and better fruit the action would produce, than if he were apparently profuse. said he to alice, go and seek his wife; to her relate the whole that caused our strife; minutely all from first to last detail; and then the better on her to prevail, to hasten here, you'll hint that you have fears, that andrew risks the loss of--more than ears, for i have punishment severe in view, which greatly she must wish i should not do; but if an ear-maker, like this, is caught, the worst of chastisement is always sought; such horrid things as scarcely can be said: they make the hair to stand upon the head; that he's upon the point of suff'ring straight, and only for her presence things await; that though she cannot all proceedings stay, perhaps she may some portion take away. go, bring her instantly, haste quickly, run; and, if she comes, i'll pardon what's been done. with joy to andrew's house fair alice went; the wife to follow her appeared content; quite out of breath, alone she ran up stairs, and, not perceiving him who shared her cares; believed he was imprisoned in a room; and while with fear she trembled for his doom; the master (having laid aside his arms) now came to compliment the lady's charms; he gave the belle a chair, who looked most nice:-- said he, ingratitude's the worst of vice; to me your husband has been wondrous kind; so many services has done i find, that, ere you leave this house, i'd wish to make a little return, and this you will partake. when i was absent from my loving dear, obligingly he made her babe an ear. the compliment of course i must admire; retaliation is what i desire, and i've a thought:--your children all have got the nose a little short, which is a blot; a fault within the mould no doubt's the cause, which i can mend, and any other flaws. the business now let's execute i pray, on which the dame he took without delay, and placed her near where andrew hid his head, then 'gan to operate as he was led. the, lady patiently his process bore, and blessed her stars that andrew's risk was o'er that she had thus the dire return received, and saved the man for whom her bosom grieved. so much emotion william seemed to feel, no grace he gave, but all performed with zeal; retaliated ev'ry way so well, he measure gave for measure:--ell for ell. how true the adage, that revenge is sweet! the plan he followed clearly was discrete; for since he wished his honour to repair:-- of any better way i'm not aware. the whole without a murmur andrew viewed, and thanked kind heav'n that nothing worse ensued; one ear most readily he would have lost, could he be certain that would pay the cost. he thought 'twould lucky be, could he get out, for all considered, better 'twere no doubt, howe'er ridiculous the thing appears, to have a pair of horns than lose his ears. etext editor's bookmarks: not overburdened with a store of wit this ebook was produced by david widger the tales and novels of j. de la fontaine volume . contains: the devil in hell neighbor peter's mare the devil in hell he surely must be wrong who loving fears; and does not flee when beauty first appears. ye fair, with charms divine, i know your fame; no more i'll burn my fingers in the flame. from you a soft sensation seems to rise, and, to the heart, advances through the eyes; what there it causes i've no need to tell: some die of love, or languish in the spell. far better surely mortals here might do; there's no occasion dangers to pursue. by way of proof a charmer i will bring, whose beauty to a hermit gave the sting: thence, save the sin, which fully i except; a very pleasant intercourse was kept; except the sin, again i must repeat, my sentiments on this will never meet the taste of him at rome, who wine had swilled, till, to the throat, he thoroughly was filled, and then exclaimed, is't not a sin to drink? such conduct horrid ever i shall think; i wish to prove, e'en saints in fear should live; the truth is clear:--our faults may heav'n forgive; if dread of punishment, from pow'rs divine, had led this friar in the proper line, he never had the charming girl retained, who, young and artless, would your heart have gained. her name was alibech, if i recollect; too innocent, deceptions to detect. one day this lovely maiden having read, how certain pious, holy saints were led, the better to observe religious care, to seek retirement in some lorn repair, where they, like heav'nly angels, moved around, some here, some there, were in concealment found, was quite delighted, strange as it may seem, and presently she formed the frantick scheme, of imitating those her mind revered, and to her plan most rigidly adhered. with silent steps the innocent withdrew; to mothers, sisters,--none she bade adieu. long time she walked through fields, and plain, and dale; at length she gained a wood within a vale; there met an aged man, who once might be, gay, airy, pleasing, blithe, gallant, and free, but now a meagre skeleton was seen the shadow only of what late he'd been: said she, good father, i have much desire to be a saint: thither my hopes aspire; i fain would merit reverence and prayer, a festival have kept with anxious care; what pleasure, ev'ry year, the palm in hand, and, beaming round the head, a holy band, nice presents, flow'rs, and off'rings to receive your practice difficult must i believe? already i can fast for many days, and soon should learn to follow all your ways. go, said the aged man, your plan resign; i'd have you, as a friend, the state decline; 'tis not so easy sanctity to meet, that fasting should suffice the boon to greet. heav'n guards from ill the maids and wives who fast, or holiness would very seldom last. 'tis requisite to practise other things; these secrets are, which move by hidden springs; a hermit, whom you'll find beneath yon' beech, can, better far than i, their virtues teach; go, seek him, pray, make haste if you are sage; i ne'er retain such birds within my cage. this having said, at once he left the belle, and wisely shut the door, and barred his cell: not trusting hair-cloth, fasting, age, nor gout; with beauty, anchorites themselves should doubt. our pensive fair soon found the person meant, a man whose soul was on religion bent; his name was rustick, young and warm in prayer; such youthful hermits of deception share. her holy wish, the girl to him expressed, a wish most fervent doubtless to be blessed, and felt so strongly, alibech had fear, some day the mark might on her fruit appear. a smile her innocence from rustick drew; said he, in me you little learning view; but what i've got, i'll readily divide, and nothing from your senses try to hide. the hermit surely would have acted right; such pupil to have sent away at sight. he managed otherwise, as we shall state; the consequences, let us now relate. since much he wished perfection to pursue; he, to himself, exclaimed: what can'st thou do? watch, fast, and pray; wear hair-cloth too; but this is surely little that will lead to bliss; all do as much, but with a fair to dwell, and, never touch her, would be to excel; 'twere triumph 'mong the heav'nly angels thought; let's merit it, and keep what here is brought; if i resist a thing so sweet and kind, i gain the end that pow'rs divine designed. he with him let the charming belle remain; and confident he could at will abstain, both satan and the flesh at once defied: two foes on mischief ready to decide. behold our saints together in a hut; young rustick, where a corner seemed to jut; a bed of rushes for the novice placed, since sleeping on the floor had her debased, who, yet unused to hardships, much must feel: 'twas best that these should on her senses steal. a little fruit, and bread not over fine, she had for supper:--water too for wine. the hermit fasted; but the lady fed, and ate with appetite her fruit and bread. apart their place of rest, the maiden slept, but something quite awake the other kept: the devil could by no means quiet rest, till he should get admitted as a guest. he was received within the humble cell; the friar's thoughts were on his smiling belle, her simple manners, fascinating grace, complexion, age; each feature he would trace; the heaving bosom, and the beauteous charms; that made him wish to clasp her in his arms. by passion moved, he bade at once adieu, to hair-cloth, discipline, and fasting too; cried he, my saints are these; to them i'll pray; from alibech no longer he would stay, but to her flew, and roused the girl from sleep: said he, so soon you should not silence keep, it is not right:--there's something to be done, ere we suspend the converse we've begun: 'tis proper that, to please the pow'rs divine; we satan instantly in hell confine; he was created for no other end; to block him up let's ev'ry effort lend. immediately within the bed he slid, when, scarcely knowing what young rustick did; and, unaccustomed to the mystick scene, she knew not what the anchorite could mean, nor this nor that but, partly by consent, and partly force, yet wishing to prevent, though not presuming to resist his sway to him 'mid pain and pleasure, she gave way, believing ev'ry thing was most exact, and, what the saint performed, a gracious act, by thus the devil shutting up in hell, where he was destined with his imps to dwell. henceforth 'twas requisite, if saint she'd be; from martyrdom she must not think to flee, for friar rustick little sought to please: the lesson was not given quite at ease, which made the girl (not much improved in wit) exclaim, this devil mischief will commit; 'tis very plain, though strange it may appear to hurt his prison e'en he'll persevere; the injury now you clearly may perceive; but, for the evil done, i shall not grieve: yet richly he deserves to be again shut up effectually in his domain. it shall be so, the anchorite replied; once more the mystick art was fully tried; such care he took, such charity was shown, that hell, by use, free with the devil grown, his presence pleasant always would have found; could rustick equally have kept his ground. cried alibech, 'tis very truly said, no prison has so nice and soft a bed, but presently the host will weary grow; and here our pair soon discord seemed to show: hell, for the prisoner, in vain inquired; deaf was the fiend, and quietly retired; repeated calls of course must irksome prove: the fair grew weary, when he would not move; her strong desire to be a saint declined; and rustick to get rid of her designed; in this with him the belle agreed so well, that secretly she left the hermit's cell, and home returned in haste the shortest way; but what the fair could to her parents say, is what i fain would know, though truly yet; the full particulars i ne'er could get. 'tis probable she made them understand, her heart was prompted by divine command; to try to be a saint; that they believed, or seemingly for truth the tale received. perhaps the parents were not quite exact, in narrowly examining the fact; though some suspicions doubtless might arise about her hell, they could not well disguise; but 'tis so formed that little can be seen, and many jailors in it duped have been. for alibech great feasting was prepared, when, through simplicity, the girl declared, to those around, without the least restraint, how she had acted to be made a saint. you'd surely no occasion, they replied, to go so far instruction to provide, when at your house you might have had, with ease, like secret lectures, just as you should please. said one, my brother could the thing have done; another cried,--my cousin would have run to do the same; or neherbal, who's near, no novice in the business would appear; he seeks your hand, which you'll be wise to take before he learns--what might a diff'rence make. she took the hint, and he the fair received; a handsome fortune many fears relieved; this joined to num'rous charms that had the belle; he fancied pure a most suspicious hell, and freely used the blessings hymen sends; may heav'n like joys bestow on all our friends! neighbour peter's mare a certain pious rector (john his name), but little preached, except when vintage came; and then no preparation he required on this he triumphed and was much admired. another point he handled very well, though oft'ner he'd thereon have liked to dwell, and this the children of the present day, so fully know, there's naught for me to say: john to the senses things so clearly brought, that much by wives and husbands he was sought, who held his knowledge of superior price, and paid attention to his sage advice. around, whatever conscience he might find, to soft delights and easy ways inclined, in person he would rigidly attend, and seek to act the confessor and friend; not e'en his curate would he trust with these; but zealously he tried to give them ease, and ev'ry where would due attention show, observing that divines should always know their flocks most thoroughly and visit round; to give instruction and the truth expound. among the folks, to whom he visits paid, was neighbour peter, one who used the spade; a villager that god, in lieu of lands, had furnished only with a pair of hands, to dig and delve, and by the mattock gain enough his wife and children to maintain. still youthful charms you in his spouse might trace; the weather injured solely had her face, but not the features which were perfect yet: some wish perhaps more blooming belles to get; the rustick truly me would ne'er have pleased; but such are oft by country parsons seized, who low amours and dishes coarse admire, that palates more refined would not desire. the pastor john would often on her leer, just as a cur, when store of bones are near, that would good pickings for his teeth afford, attentively behold the precious hoard, and seem uneasy; move his feet and tail; now prick his ears; then fear he can't prevail, the eyes still fixed upon the bite in sight, which twenty times to these affords delight, ere to his longing jaws the boon arrives, however anxiously the suitor strives. self-torments solely parson john obtained; by seeing her that o'er his senses reigned. the village-wife was innocent of this, and never dreamed of any thing amiss; the pastor's mystick looks, nor flatt'ring ways; nor presents, aught in magdalene could raise; but nosegays made of thyme, and marj'ram too, were dropt on ground, or never kept in view; a hundred little cares appeared as naught 'twas welch to her, and ne'er conveyed a thought. a pleasant stratagem he now contrived, from which, he hoped, success might be derived. most clearly peter was a heavy lout, yet truly i could never have a doubt, that rashly he would ne'er himself commit, though folly 'twere from him to look for wit, or aught expect by questioning to find 'yond this to reason, he was not designed. the rector to him said, thou'rt poor, my friend, and hast not half enough for food to spend, with other things that necessary prove, if we below with comfort wish to move. some day i'll show thee how thou may'st procure the means that will thy happiness insure, and make thee feel contented as a king. to me what present for it wilt thou bring? zooks! peter answered, parson, i desire, you'll me direct to do as you require; my labour pray command; 'tis all i've got; our pig howe'er to you we can allot, we want it not; and truly it has eat more bran than thrice this vessel would complete; the cow you'll take besides, from which my wife a calf expects, to raise the means of life. no, no, the pastor with a smile replied, a recompense for this thou'lt not provide; my neighbour to oblige is all i heed; and now i'll tell thee how thou must proceed; thy spouse, by magick, i'll transform each day, and turn her to a mare for cart or dray, and then again restore her ev'ry night, to human form to give thy heart delight. from this to thee great profit will arise; thy ass, so slow is found, that when supplies, it carries to the market, 'tis so late, the hour is almost past ere at the gate, and then thy cabbages, and herbs, and roots, provisions, provender, and wares and fruits, remain unsold, and home to spoil are brought, since rarely far from thence such things are sought. but when thy wife's a mare, she'll faster go: strong, active, ev'ry way her worth she'll show, and home will come without expense in meat: no soup nor bread, but solely herbs she'll eat: said peter, parson, clearly you are wise; from learning, what advantages arise! is this pray sold?--if i'd much money got, to make the purchase i'd the cash allot. continued john:--now i will thee instruct, the proper manner, matters to conduct, for thee to have a clever mare by day, and still at night a charming wife survey; face, legs, and ev'ry thing shall reappear; come, see it done, and i'll perform it here; thou'lt then the method fully comprehend; but hold thy tongue, or all will quickly end: a single word the magick would dispel, and, during life, no more with us 'twould dwell. keep close thy mouth and merely ope' thy eyes: a glimpse alone to learn it will suffice; this o'er, thyself shall practise it the same, and all will follow as when first it came. the husband promised he would hold his tongue; and john disliked deferring matters long. come, magdalene, said he, you will undress; to quit those sunday-clothes, you'll acquiesce, and put yourself in nature's pure array well, well, proceed; with stays and sleeves away; that's better still; now petticoats lay by; how nicely with my orders you comply. when magdalene was to the linen come, some marks of shame around her senses swum; a wife to live and die was her desire, much rather than be seen in eve's attire; she vowed that, spite of what the priest disclosed; she never would consent to be exposed. said peter, pretty work, upon my truth:-- not let us see how you are made forsooth! what silly scruples!--are they in your creed? you were not always led such scenes to heed: pray how d'ye manage when for fleas you seek? 'tis strange, good sir, that she should be so weak; what can you fear?--'tis folly time to waste; he will not eat you: come, i say, make haste: have done with haggling; had you acted right, ere now the parson all had finished quite. on saying this, her garment off he took; put on his spectacles to overlook; and parson john, without delay, began; said he (as o'er her person now he ran), this part umbilical will make the mare a noble breast, and strength at once declare: then further on the pastor placed his hand, while, with the other, (as a magick wand,) he set about transforming mounts of snow; that in our climes a genial warmth bestow, and semi-globes are called, while those that rise in t'other hemisphere, of larger size, are seldom mentioned, through respect no doubt, but these howe'er the parson, quite devout, would not neglect, and whatsoe'er he felt, he always named, and on its beauties dwelt; the ceremony this, it seems, required, and fully ev'ry movement john admired. proceedings so minute gave peter pain, and as he could not see the rector gain the slightest change, he prayed the pow'rs divine, to give assistance to the priest's design; but this was vain, since all the magick spell, in metamorphosing the lady well, depended on the fixing of the tail; without this ornament the whole would fail. to set it on the parson hastened now, when neighbour peter 'gan to knit his brow, and bawled so loud, you might have heard him far: no tail, said he, i'll have: there'll be a scar; you put it on too low; but vain his cries, the husband's diligence would not suffice, for, spite of ev'ry effort, much was done, and john completely his career had run, if peter had not pulled the rector's gown, who hastily replied, thou ninny, clown; did i not tell thee silence to observe, and not a footstep from thy station swerve? the whole is spoiled, insufferable elf! and for it thou hast got to thank thyself. the husband, while the holy pastor spoke, appeared to grumble and his stars invoke. the wife was in a rage, and 'gan to scold: said she to peter, wretch that i behold! thou'lt be through life a prey to pain and grief, come not to me and bray and hope relief, the worthy pastor would have us procured the means that might much comfort have ensured. can he deserve such treatment to receive? good mister john this goose i now would leave, and ev'ry morning, while he gathers fruits, or plants, herbs, cabbages, and various roots, without averting him, pray, here repair, you'll soon transform me to a charming mare. no mare, replied the husband, i desire; an ass for me is all that i require. this ebook was produced by david widger [note: there is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the file for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making an entire meal of them. d.w.] the tales and novels of j. de la fontaine volume . contains: the river scamander the confidant without knowing it, or the strategem the clyster the river scamander i'm now disposed to give a pretty tale; love laughs at what i've sworn and will prevail; men, gods, and all, his mighty influence know, and full obedience to the urchin show. in future when i celebrate his flame, expressions not so warm will be my aim; i would not willingly abuses plant, but rather let my writings spirit want. if in these verses i around should twirl, some wily knave and easy simple girl, 'tis with intention in the breast to place; on such occasions, dread of dire disgrace; the mind to open, and the sex to set upon their guard 'gainst snares so often met. gross ignorance a thousand has misled, for one that has been hurt by what i've said. i've read that once, an orator renowned in greece, where arts superior then were found, by law's severe decree, compelled to quit his country, and to banishment submit, resolved that he a season would employ, in visiting the site of ancient troy. his comrade, cymon, with him thither went, to view those ruins, we so oft lament. a hamlet had been raised from ilion's wall, ennobled by misfortune and its fall; where now mere names are priam and his court; of all devouring time the prey and sport. o troy! for me thy very name has got superior charms:--in story fruitful spot; thy famed remains i ne'er can hope to view, that gods by labour raised, and gods o'erthrew; those fields where daring acts of valour shone; so many fights were lost:--so many won. but to resume my thread, and not extend too much the subjects which our plan suspend; this cymon, who's the hero of our tale, when walking near the banks that form the dale through which scamander's waters freely flow, observed a youthful charmer thither go, to breathe the cool refreshing breeze around; that on its verdant borders oft she'd found. her veil was floating, and her artless dress, a shepherdess seemed clearly to express. tall, elegantly formed, with beauteous mien, and ev'ry feature lovely to be seen, young cymon felt emotion and surprise, and thought 'twas venus that had caught his eyes, who on the river's side her charms displayed, those wondrous treasures all perfection made. a grot was nigh, to which the simple fair, not dreaming ills, was anxious to repair; the heat, some evil spirit, and the place, invited her the moment to embrace, to bathe within the stream that near her ran; and instantly her project she began. the spark concealed himself; each charm admired; now this, now that, now t'other feature fired; a hundred beauties caught his eager sight; and while his bosom felt supreme delight, he turned his thoughts advantages to take, and of the maiden's error something make; assumed the character, and dress; and air; that should a wat'ry deity declare; within the gliding flood his vestments dipt: a crown of rushes on his head he slipt; aquatick herbs and plants around he twined: then mercury intreated to be kind, and cupid too, the wily god of hearts; how could the innocent resist these arts? at length a foot so fair the belle exposed, e'en galatea never such disclosed; the stream, that glided by, received the prize; her lilies she beheld with downcast eyes, and, half ashamed, herself surveyed at ease, while round the zephyrs wantoned in the breeze. when thus engaged, the lover near her drew; at whose approach away the damsel flew, and tried to hide within the rocky cell; cried cymon, i beneath these waters dwell, and o'er their course a sov'reign right maintain; be goddess of the flood, and with me reign; few rivers could with you like pow'rs divide; my crystal's clear: in me you may confide; my heart is pure; with flow'rs i'll deck the stream, if worthy of yourself the flood you deem; too happy should this honour you bestow, and with me, 'neath the current, freely go. your fair companions, ev'ry one i'll make a nymph of fountains, hill, or grove, or lake; my pow'r is great, extending far around where'er the eye can reach, 'tis fully found. the eloquence he used, her fears and dread; lest she might give offence by what she said, in spite of bashfulness that bliss alloys, soon all concluded with celestial joys. 'tis even said that cupid lent supplies; from superstition many things arise. the spark withdrew, delighted by success; return said he:--we'll mutually caress; but secret prove: let none our union learn; concealment is to me of high concern; to make it publick would improper be, till on olympus' mount the gods we see, in council met, to whom i'll state the case; on this the new-made goddess left the place, in ev'ry thing contented as a dove, and fully witnessed by the god of love. two months had passed, and not a person knew their frequent meetings, pleasure to pursue. o mortals! is it true, as we are told, that ev'ry bliss at last is rendered cold? the sly gallant, though not a word he said, the grot to visit now was rarely led. at length a wedding much attention caught; the lads and lasses of the hamlet sought, to see the couple pass: the belle perceived the very man for whom her bosom heaved, and loudly cried, behold scamander's flood! which raised surprise; soon numbers round her stood, astonishment expressed, but still the fair, whate'er was asked, would nothing more declare, than, in the spacious, blue, ethereal sky, her marriage would be soon, they might rely. a laugh prevailed; for what was to be done? the god with hasty steps away had run, and none with stones pursued his rapid flight: the deity was quickly ought of sight. were this to happen now, scamander's stream would not so easily preserve esteem; but crimes like these (whoever was abused), in former days, were easily excused. with time our maxims change, and what was then, though wrong at present, may prevail agen. scamander's spouse some raillery received; but in the end she fully was relieved: a lover e'en superior thought her charms, (his taste was such) and took her to his arms. the gods can nothing spoil! but should they cause a belle to lose a portion of applause, a handsome fortune give, and you'll behold, that ev'ry thing can be repaired by gold. a confidant without knowing it; or the stratagem no master sage, nor orator i know, who can success, like gentle cupid show; his ways and arguments are pleasing smiles, engaging looks, soft tears, and winning wiles. wars in his empire will at times arise, and, in the field, his standard meet the eyes; now stealing secretly, with skilful lure. he penetrates to hearts supposed secure, o'erleaps the ramparts that protect around, and citadels reduces, most renowned. i dare engage, two fortresses besiege leave one to mars, and t'other to this liege. and though the god of war should numbers bring, with all the arms that can his thunders fling, before the fort he'll vainly waste his time, while cupid, unattended, in shall climb, obtain possession perfectly at ease, and grant conditions just as he shall please. i now propose to give a fav'rite tale :-- the god of love was never known to fail, in finding stratagems, as i have read, and many have i seen most nicely spread. the young aminta was gerontes' wife, with whom she lived, it seems, a wretched life. far better she deserved than what she had, for he was jealous, and his temper bad: an aged hunks, while she was in the hour when hearts, that never felt love's mighty pow'r, are presently by tender objects caught, which ne'er before had entered in the thought. when first aminta saw young cleon's face, a lad possessing all engaging grace, much prudence then she ev'ry way displayed, e'en more perhaps than necessary made. for though we may suppose the lovely fair, would ev'ry effort use to 'scape the snare, yet when the god of soft persuasion takes the fatal moment, havock soon he makes, in vain his duty, any thing opposed, if once the tender sentiment's disclosed. aminta consolation had in view 'twas that alone the passion from her drew, a meeting innocent, to vent her tears, and, to a feeling friend, express her fears. 'tis represented thus i cannot doubt; but sight of meat brings appetite about; and if you would avoid the tempting bit, 'tis better far at table not to sit. aminta hoped to render cleon kind; poor innocent! as yet to dangers blind, these conversations she was led to deem, mere friendly ways that raised sincere esteem; and this alone she ardently desired, without supposing more would be required, or any thing improper be the case: she'd rather die than suffer such disgrace. 'twas difficult the business to commence; a letter 's often lost, or gives offence, and many serious accidents arrive: to have a confidant 'twere better strive; but where could such a female friend be found? gerontes dreaded was by all around. i've said already, cupid will obtain, one way or t'other, what he wants to gain; and this will show the observation just the maxim's such as you may always trust. a female relative young cleon had, a peevish prude, who looked upon the lad, as one she had a right to rule and scold; her name was mistress alice: sour and old. one summer's day, aminta to her said: i cannot think how 'tis, your cousin's led, (though quite indifferent he is to me, and doubtless such will ever prove to be) with various fond attentions, to pretend, he loves me--much beyond a common friend. my window oft he passes day and night; i cannot move a step, but he's in sight, and in a moment at my heels appears; notes, letters full of soft expressions, dears, to me are sent by one i will not name, for known to you, she would be thought to blame: pray put an end to such a wild pursuit it nothing can produce but wretched fruit; my husband may take fire at things like these; and as to cleon.--me he'll never please; i'll thank you to inform him what i say; such steps are useless: folly they betray. much praise aminta from the dame received; who promised that the conduct, which aggrieved; to cleon she would mention, as desired, and reprimand him, as the fault required: so well would scold him, that she might be sure, from him in future she would be secure. the foll'wing day our youth to alice came; to pay a visit solely was his aim; she told him what aminta had declared, and, in her lecture, words by no means spared. the lad, surprised, on oath the whole denied, and vowed to gain her love, he never tried. old alice called her cousin, imp of hell; said she, in all that's wicked, you excel; you will not all your base designs confess; the oaths are false on which you lay such stress, and punishment most richly you deserve; but false or true, from this i will not swerve, that you should recollect, aminta 's chaste, and never will submit to be disgraced; renounce her from this hour; no more pursue:-- that easily, said cleon, i can do; away he went: the case considered o'er; but still the myst'ry he could not explore. three days had scarcely passed: aminta came, to pay a visit to our ancient dame; cried she i fear, you have not seen as yet, this youth, who worse and worse appears to get. rage, mistress alice, instantly o'erspread, and ev'ry thing that's vile she of him said. no sooner had aminta gone away, but she for cleon sent without delay. he presently appeared; yet to detail how alice stormed, i certainly should fail; unless an iron tongue i could obtain: all hell was ransacked epithets to gain; and lucifer and beelzebub were used: no mortal ever was so much abused. quite terrified, poor lad, he scarcely knew; her fury was so great, what best to do; if he allowed that he had acted wrong, 'twould wound his conscience and defile his tongue. he home repaired, and turning in his mind what he had heard, at length his thoughts inclined, to fancy that aminta was disposed, to play some cunning trick, which, not disclosed, would operate to bring her wish about; i see, said he, the scheme i should not doubt; it surely is my duty kind to be: methinks i hear her freely say to me, o cleon! show affection, i am yours; i love her too, for beauty that secures; and while her seraph charms my bosom fire; i equally the stratagem admire. most freely howsoe'er i will confess, at first i was so dull, i could not guess at what she aimed, but now the object's plain: aminta o'er my heart desires to reign. this minute, if i durst, i'd thither go, and, full of confidence, declare my woe, the subtle flame that burns without controul; what hurt to paint feelings of my soul? from balance of accounts 'twill both exempt: 'tis better far to love than show contempt. but should the husband find me in the house?-- ne'er think of that, and try the hunks to chouse. their course had hardly run three other days, when fair aminta, studious still of ways to have her wish, again to alice came, to give dear cleon notice of her flame. my home, cried she, 'tis requisite i leave: to ruin me, your cousin, i perceive, is still resolved, for presents now he sends; but he mistakes, and blindly wealth expends; i'm clearly not the woman he suspects: see here, what jewels rare to please the sex! nice rubies, diamonds too, but what is more, my portrait i have found among the store, which must have been from memory designed, since only with my husband that you'll find. when i arose, this person known to you, whose name i must conceal (to honour true), arrived and brought me what i just have shown; the whole should at your cousin's head be thrown; and were he present:--but i'll curb my rage; allow me to proceed, and you engage to hear the rest:--he word has also sent, that as to-day he knew my husband went on business to his cottage in the wood, where he would sleep the night, he understood, no sooner should the servants be in bed, and morpheus' robe be o'er their senses spread, but to my dressing room he would repair:-- what can he hope, such project to declare? a meeting place indeed!--he must be mad; were i not fearful 'twould affliction add to my old husband, i would set a watch, who, at the entrance, should the villain catch; or put him instantly to shame and flight; this said, she presently was out of sight. an hour had passed when cleon came anew; the jewels at him in a moment flew; and scarcely mistress alice could refrain, from wreaking further vengeance on the swain. is this your plan? cried she; but what is worse, i find you still desire a greater curse; and then she told him all aminta said, when last to visit her the fair was led. himself most fully warned the youth now thought; i loved, cried he, 'tis true; but that is naught, since nothing from the belle i must expect: in future her completely i'll neglect. that is the line, said alice, you should take; the lad howe'er was fully now awake, and thoroughly resolved to seek the dame, whose cunning wiles had set him in a flame. the, midnight hour the clock no sooner told; than cleon ran the myst'ry to unfold, and to the spot repaired, which he supposed, aminta meant, from what had been disclosed; the place was well described, and there he found; awaiting at the door, this belle renowned, without attendants: sleep their eyes o'erspread: behind thick clouds the very stars had fled: as all had been expected, in he went, most thoroughly they both appeared content; few words were used: in haste the pair withdrew, where ev'ry wish at ease they might pursue. the smart gallant at once her beauty praised; his admiration presently was raised; sweet kindness followed; charms were oft admired; and all was managed as their hearts desired. said youthful cleon, now you'll tell me why this stratagem you were induced to try? for such before in love was never seen; 'tis excellent, and worthy beauty's queen. a lovely blush o'erspread aminta's face, and gave her lily-cheeks superior grace. he praised her person, artifice, and wit, and did whate'er the moments would admit. the clyster if truth give pleasure, surely we should try; to found our tales on what we can rely; th' experiment repeatedly i've made, and seen how much realities persuade: they draw attention: confidence awake; fictitious names however we should take, and then the rest detail without disguise: 'tis thus i mean to manage my supplies. it happened then near mans, a normand town, for sapient people always of renown, a maid not long ago a lover had brisk, pleasing, ev'ry way a handsome lad; the down as yet was scarcely on his chin; the girl was such as many wished to win: had charms and fortune, all that was desired, and by the mansian sparks was much admired; around they swarmed, but vain was all their art too much our youth possessed the damsel's heart. the parents, in their wisdom, meant the fair should marry one who was a wealthy heir; but she contrived to manage matters well; in spite of ev'ry thing which might repel, (i know not how) at length he had access; though whether through indulgence or address, it matters not: perhaps his noble blood might work a change when fully understood: the lucky, ev'ry thing contrives to please; the rest can nothing but misfortune seize. the lover had success; the parents thought his merit such as prudence would have sought; what more to wish?--the miser's hoarded store: the golden age's wealth is now no more, a silly shadow, phantom of the brain; o happy time! i see indeed with pain, thou wilt return:--in maine thou shalt arise; thy innocence, we fondly may surmise, had seconded our lover's ardent flame, and hastened his possession of the dame. the slowness usually in parents found, induced the girl, whose heart by love was bound; to celebrate the hymeneal scene, as in the statutes of cythera's queen. our legendary writers this define a present contract, where they nothing sign; the thing is common;--marriage made in haste: love's perparation: hymen's bit for taste. not much examination cupid made, as parent, lawyer, priest, he lent his aid, and soon concluded matters as desired; the mansian wisdom no ways was required. our spark was satisfied, and with his belle, passed nights so happy, nothing could excel; 'twere easy to explain;--the double keys, and gifts designed the chambermaid to please, made all secure, and ev'ry joy abound; the soft delights with secrecy were crowned. it happened that our fair one evening said, to her who of each infant step had led, but of the present secret nothing knew:-- i feel unwell; pray tell me what to do. the other answered, you my dear must take a remedy that easily i'll make, a clyster you shall have to-morrow morn: by me most willingly it will be borne. when midnight came the sly gallant appeared, unluckily no doubt, but he revered the moments that so pleasantly were passed, which always seemed, he thought, to glide too fast; relief he sought, for ev'ry one below is destined torments more or less to know. he not a word was told of things designed, and just as our gallant to sleep inclined, as oft's the case at length with lovers true, quite open bright aurora's portals flew, and with a smile the aged dame arrived; the apparatus properly contrived, was in her hand, she hastened to the bed, and took the side that to the stripling led. our lady fair was instantly confused, or she precaution properly had used, 'twas easy to have kept a steady face, and 'neath the clothes the other's head to place. pass presently beyond the hidden swain, and t'other side with rapid motion gain, a thing quite natural, we should suppose; but fears o'erpow'red; the frightened damsel chose to hide herself, then whispered her gallant, what mighty terrors made her bosom pant. the youth was sage, and coolly undertook to offer for her:--t'other 'gan to look, with spectacles on nose: soon all went right; adieu, she cried, and then withdrew from sight. heav'n guard her steps, and all conduct away, whose presence secret friendships would betray: should this be thought a silly, idle tale; (and that opinion may perhaps prevail) to censure me, enough will surely try, for criticks are severe, and these will cry, your lady like a simpleton escaped; her character you better might have shaped; which makes us doubt the truth of what is told: naught in your prologue like it we behold. 'twere sueless to reply: 'twould endless prove: no arguments such censurers could move; on men like these, devoid of sense or taste, in vain might cicero his rhet'rick waste. sufficient 'tis for me, that what is here, i got from those who ev'ry-where appear the friends of truth:--let others say the same; what more would they expect should be my aim? etext editor's bookmarks: sight of meat brings appetite about to avoid the tempting bit, 'tis better far at table not to sit this ebook was produced by david widger [note: there is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the file for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making an entire meal of them. d.w.] the tales and novels of j. de la fontaine volume . contains: the amorous courtesan nicaise the amorous courtesan dan cupid, though the god of soft amour, in ev'ry age works miracles a store; can catos change to male coquets at ease; and fools make oracles whene'er he please; turn wolves to sheep, and ev'ry thing so well, that naught remains the former shape to tell: remember, hercules, with wond'rous pow'r, and polyphemus, who would men devour: the one upon a rock himself would fling, and to the winds his am'rous ditties sing; to cut his beard a nymph could him inspire; and, in the water, he'd his face admire. his club the other to a spindle changed, to please the belle with whom he often ranged. a hundred instances the fact attest, but sage boccace has one, it is confessed, which seems to me, howe'er we search around, to be a sample, rarely to be found. 'tis chimon that i mean, a savage youth, well formed in person, but the rest uncouth, a bear in mind, but cupid much can do, love licked the cub, and decent soon he grew. a fine gallant at length the lad appeared; from whence the change?--fine eyes his bosom cheered the piercing rays no sooner reached his sight, but all the savage took at once to flight; he felt the tender flame; polite became; you'll find howe'er, our tale is not the same. i mean to state how once an easy fair, who oft amused the youth devoid of care, a tender flame within her heart retained, though haughty, singular, and unrestrained. not easy 'twas her favours to procure; rome was the place where dwelled this belle impure; the mitre and the cross with her were naught; though at her feet, she'd give them not a thought; and those who were not of the highest class, no moments were allowed with her to pass. a member of the conclave, first in rank, to be her slave, she'd scarcely deign to thank; unless a cardinal's gay nephew came, and then, perhaps, she'd listen to his flame; the pope himself, had he perceived her charms, would not have been too good to grace her arms. her pride appeared in clothes as well as air, and on her sparkled gold and jewels rare; in all the elegance of dress arrayed, embroidery and lace, her taste displayed. the god of soft amour beheld her aim; and sought at once her haughty soul to tame; a roman gentleman, of finest form, soon in her bosom raised a furious storm; camillus was the name this youth had got; the nymph's was constance, that love's arrow shot: though he was mild, good humoured, and serene, no sooner constance had his person seen, and in her breast received the urchin's dart, than throbs, and trembling fears o'erwhelmed her heart. the flame she durst declare no other way, than by those sighs, which feelings oft betray. till then, nor shame nor aught could her retain; now all was changed:--her bashfulness was plain. as none, howe'er, could think the subtle flame would lie concealed with such a haughty dame, camillus nothing of the kind supposed. though she incessantly by looks disclosed, that something unrevealed disturbed the soul, and o'er her mind had absolute control. whatever presents constance might receive, still pensive sighs her breast appeared to heave: her tints of beauty too, began to fail, and o'er the rose, the lily to prevail. one night camillus had a party met, of youthful beaux and belles, a charming set, and, 'mong the rest, fair constance was a guest; the evening passed in jollity and jest; for few to holy converse seemed inclined, and none for methodists appeared designed: not one, but constance, deaf to wit was found, and, on her, raillery went briskly round. the supper o'er the company withdrew, but constance suddenly was lost to view; beside a certain bed she took her seat, where no one ever dreamed she would retreat, and all supposed, that ill, or spirits weak, she home had run, or something wished to seek. the company retired, camillus said, he meant to write before he went to bed, and told his valet he might go to rest a lucky circumstance, it is confessed. thus left alone, and as the belle desired; who, from her soul, the spark so much admired; yet knew not how the subject to disclose, or, in what way her wishes to propose; at length, with trembling accents, she revealed; the flame she longer could not keep concealed. exceedingly surprised camillus seemed, and scarcely could believe but what he dreamed; why, hey! said he, good lady, is it thus, with favoured friends, you doubtful points discuss? he made her sit, and then his seat regained who would have thought, cried he, you here remained; now who this hiding place to you could tell? 'twas love, fond love! replied the beauteous belle; and straight a blush her lovely cheek suffused, so rare with those to cyprian revels used; for venus's vot'ries, to pranks resigned, another way, to get a colour, find. camillus, truly, some suspicions had, that he was loved, though neither fool nor mad; nor such a novice in the paphian scene, but what he could at once some notions glean: more certain tokens, howsoe'er, to get, and set the lady's feelings on the fret, by trying if the gloom that o'er her reigned was only sly pretence, he coldness feigned. she often sighed as if her heart would break; at length love's piercing anguish made her speak: what you will say, cried she, i cannot guess, to see me thus a fervent flame confess. the very thought my face with crimson dyes; my way of life no shield for this supplies; the moment pure affection 's in the soul, no longer wanton freaks the mind control. my conduct to excuse, what can i say? o could my former life be done away, and in your recollection naught remain, but what might virtuous constancy maintain at all event, my frankness overlook, too well i see, the fatal path i took has such displeasure to your breast conveyed, my zeal will rather hurt than give me aid; but hurt or not, i'll idolize you still: beat, drive away, contemn me as you will; or worse, if you the torment can contrive i'm your's alone, camillus, while alive. to this harangue the wary youth replied in truth, fair lady, i could ne'er decide, to criticise what others round may do.- 'tis not the line i'd willingly pursue; and i will freely say, that your discourse has much surprised me, though 'tis void of force. to you it surely never can belong, to say variety in love is wrong; besides, your sex, and decency, 'tis clear, to ev'ry disadvantage you appear. what use this eloquence, and what your aim? such charms alone as your's could me inflame; their pow'r is great, but fully i declare, i do not like advances from the fair. to constance this a thunder-clap appeared; howe'er, she in her purpose persevered. said she, this treatment doubtless i deserve; but still, from truth my tongue can never swerve, and if i may presume my thoughts to speak, the plan which i've pursued your love to seek, had never proved injurious to my cause, if still my beauty merited applause. from what you've said, and what your looks express to please your sight, no charms i now possess. whence comes this change?--to you i will refer; till now i was admired, you must aver; and ev'ry one my person highly praised; these precious gifts, that admiration raised, alas! are fled, and since i felt love's flame, experience whispers, i'm no more the same; no longer have charms that please your eyes: how happy i should feel if they'd suffice! the suppliant belle now hoped to be allowed one half his bed to whom her sighs were vowed; but terror closed her lips; she nothing said, though oft her eyes were to his pillow led. to be confused the wily stripling feigned, and like a statue for a time remained. at length he said:--i know not what to do; undressing, by myself, i can't pursue. shall i your valet call? rejoined the fair; on no account, said he, with looks of care; i would not have you in my chamber seen, nor thought that here, by night, a girl had been, your caution is enough, the belle replied: myself between the wall and bed i'll hide, 'twill what you fear prevent, and ills avoid; but bolt the door: you'll then be not annoyed; let no one come; for once i'll do my best, and as your valet act till you're undressed; to am'rous constance this permission grant the honour would her throbbing breast enchant. the youth to her proposal gave consent, and constance instantly to business went; the means she used to take his clothes were such, that scarcely once his person felt her touch; she stopt not there, but even freely chose to take from off his feet, both shoes and hose what, say you:--with her hands did constance this? pray tell me what you see therein amiss? i wish sincerely i could do the same, with one for whom i feel a tender flame. between the clothes in haste camillus flew, without inviting constance to pursue. she thought at first he meant to try her love; but raillery, this conduct was above. his aim, howe'er more fully to unfold, she presently observed:--'tis very cold; where shall i sleep? said she: camillus just where you please; constance what, on this chair? camillus no, no, be more at ease; come into bed. constance unlace me then, i pray. camillus i cannot: i'm undressed, and cold as clay: unlace yourself.-- just then the belle perceived a poinard, which anxiety relieved; she drew it from the scabbard, cut her lace, and many parts of dress designed for grace, the works of months, embroidery and flow'r now perished in the sixtieth of an hour, without regret, or seeming to lament, what more than life will of the sex content. ye dames of britain, germany, or france, would you have done as much, through complaisance? you would not, i'm convinced: the thing is clear; but doubtless this, at rome, must fine appear. poor constance softly to the bed approached, no longer now supposing she encroached, and trusting that, no stratagem again would be contrived to give her bosom pain. camillus said: my sentiments i'll speak; dissimulation i will never seek; she who can proffer what should be denied, shall never be admitted by my side; but if the place your approbation meet, i won't refuse your lying at my feet. fair constance such reproof could not withstand, 'twas well the poinard was not in her hand; her bosom so severely felt the smart, she would have plunged the dagger through her heart: but hope, sweet hope! still fluttered to her view; and young camillus pretty well she knew; howe'er with such severity he spoke, that e'en the mildest saint it would provoke; yet, in a swain so easy, gentle, kind, 'twas strange so little lenity to find. she placed herself, as order'd, cross the bed, and at his feet at length reclined her head; a kiss on them she ventured to impress, but not too roughly, lest she should transgress: we may conjecture if he were at ease; what victory! to see her stoop to please; a beauty so renowned for charms and pride, 'twould take a week, to note each trait described; no other fault than paleness he could trace, which gave her (causes known) still higher grace. camillus stretched his legs, and on her breast familiarly allowed his feet to rest; a cushion made of what so fair appeared, that envy might from ivory be feared; then seemed as if to morpheus he inclined, and on the pillow sullenly resigned. at last the sighs with which her bosom heaved, gave vent to floods of tears that much relieved; this was the end:--camillus silence broke, and to tell the belle with pleasing accents spoke i'm satisfied, said he, your love is pure; come hither charming girl and be secure. she t'wards him moved; camillus near her slid; could you, cried he, believe that what i did, was seriously the dictates of my soul, to act the brute and ev'ry way control? no, no, sweet fair, you know me not 'tis plain: i truly wish your fondest love to gain; your heart i've probed, 'tis all that i desire; mid joys i swim; my bosom feels the fire. your rigour now in turn you may display; it is but fair: be bountiful i pray; myself from hence your lover i declare; no woman merits more my bed to share, whatever rank, or beauty, sense or life, you equally deserve to be my wife; your husband i'll become; forget the past; unpleasant recollections should not last. yet there's one thing which much i wish to speak the marriage must be secret that we seek; there's no occasion reasons to disclose; what i have said i trust will you dispose, to act as i desire: you'll find it best:-- a wedding 's like amours while unconfessed; one then both husband and gallant appears, and ev'ry wily act the bosom cheers. till we, continued he, a priest can find, are you, to trust my promises inclined? you safely may; he'll to his word adhere: his heart is honest, and his tongue sincere. to this fair constance answered not a word, which showed, with him, her sentiments concurred. the spark, no novice in the dumb assent, received her silence fully as 'twas meant; the rest involved in myst'ry deep remains; thus constance was requitted for her pains. ye cyprian nymphs to profit turn my tale; the god of love, within his vot'ries pale, has many, if their sentiments were known, that i'd prefer for hymen's joys alone. my wife, not always to the spindle true, will many things in life, not seem to view; by constance and her conduct you may see how, with this theory, her acts agree; she proved the truth of what i here advance, and reaped the fruits produced by complaisance, a horde of nuns i know who, ev'ry night, would such adventures wage with fond delight. perhaps it will not be with ease believed, that constance from camillus now received, a proof of love's enchanting balmy sweet, a proof perhaps you'll think her used to meet; but ne'er till then she tasted pleasures pure; her former life no blisses could secure. you ask the cause, and signs of doubt betray: who truly loves, the same will ever say. nicaise to serve the shop as 'prentice was the lot; of one who had the name of nicaise got; a lad quite ignorant beyond his trade, and what arithmetick might lend him aid; a perfect novice in the wily art, that in amours is used to win the heart. good tradesmen formerly were late to learn the tricks that soon in friars we discern; they ne'er were known those lessons to begin, till more than down appeared upon the chin. but now-a-days, in practice, 'tis confessed, these shopkeepers are knowing as the best. our lad of ancient date was less advanced; at scenes of love his eyes had never glanced; be that as 'twill, he now was in the way, and naught but want of wit produced delay: a belle indeed had on him set her heart his master's daughter felt love's poignant smart; a girl of most engaging mind and mien, and always steady in her conduct seen. sincerity of soul or humour free, or whether with her taste it might agree, a fool 'twas clear presided o'er her soul, and all her thoughts and actions felt control. some bold gallant would p'erhaps inform her plain, she ever kept wild folly in her train, and nothing say to me who tales relate; but oft on reason such proceedings wait. if you a goddess love, advance she'll make; our belle the same advantages would take. her fortune, wit, and charm, attention drew, and many sparks would anxiously pursue; how happy he who should her heart obtain, and hymen prove he had not sighed in vain! but she had promised, to the modest youth, who first was named, her confidence and truth; the little god of pleasing soft desire with full compliance with his whims require. the belle was pleased the 'prentice to prefer: a handsome lad with truth we may aver, quite young, well made, with fascinating eye: such charms are ne'er despised we may rely, but treasures thought, no fair will e'er neglect; whate'er her senses say, she'll these respect. for one that love lays hold of by the soul, a thousand by the eyes receive control. this sprightly girl with soft endearing ease, exerted ev'ry care the lad to please, to his regards she never shy appeared; now pinched his arm, then smiled and often leered; her hand across his eyes would sometimes put; at others try to step upon his foot. to this he nothing offered in reply, though oft his throbbing bosom heaved a sigh. so many tender scenes, at length we find, produced the explanation love designed; the youthful couple, we may well believe, would from each other mutual vows receive; they neither promises nor kisses spared, incalculable were the numbers shared; if he had tried to keep exact account, he soon had been bewildered with th' amount; to such infinity it clearly ran, mistakes would rise if he pursued the plan; a ceremony solely was required, which prudent girls have always much admired, yet this to wait gave pain and made her grieve; from you, said she, the boon i would receive; or while i live the rapture never know, that hymen at his altar can bestow; to you i promise, by the pow'rs divine, my hand and heart i truly will resign. howe'er i'll freely say, should hymen fail to make me your's and wishes not prevail, you must not fancy i'll become a nun, though much i hope to act as i've begun; to marry you would please me to the soul; but how can we the ruling pow'rs control? too much i'm confident you love my fame, to aim at what might bring me soon to shame: in wedlock i've been asked by that and this; my father thinks these offers not amiss; but, nicaise, i'll allow you still to hope, that if with others i'm obliged to cope, no matter whether counsellor or judge. since clearly ev'ry thing to such i grudge, the marriage eve, or morn, or day, or hour, to you i'll give--the first enchanting flow'r. the lad most gratefully his thanks returned; his breast with ev'ry soft emotion burned. within a week, to this sweet charmer came, a rich young squire, who soon declared his flame; on which she said to nicaise:--he will do; this spark will easily let matters through; and as the belle was confident of that, she gave consent and listened to his chat. soon all was settled and arranged the day, when marriage they no longer would delay, you'll fully notice this:--i think i view the thoughts which move around and you pursue; 'twas doubtless clear, whatever bliss in store, the lady was betrothed, and nothing more. though all was fixed a week before the day, yet fearing accidents might things delay, or even break the treaty ere complete, she would not our apprentice fully greet, till on the very morn she gave her hand, lest chance defeated what was nicely planned. howe'er the belle was to the altar led, a virgin still, and doomed the squire to wed, who, quite impatient, consummation sought, as soon as he the charmer back had brought; but she solicited the day apart, and this obtained, alone by prayers and art. 'twas early morn, and 'stead of bed she dressed, in ev'ry thing a queen had thought the best; with diamonds, pearls, and various jewels rare; her husband riches had, she was aware, which raised her into rank that dress required, and all her neighbours envied and admired. her lover, to secure the promised bliss, an hour's indulgence gained to take a kiss. a bow'r within a garden was the spot, which, for their private meeting, they had got. a confidant had been employed around, to watch if any one were lurking found. the lady was the first who thither came; to get a nosegay was, she said, her aim; and nicaise presently her steps pursued, who, when the turf within the bow'r he viewed, exclaimed, oh la! how wet it is my dear! your handsome clothes will be spoiled i fear! a carpet let me instantly provide? deuce take the clothes! the fair with anger cried; ne'er think of that: i'll say i had a fall; such accident a loss i would not call, when time so clearly on the wing appears, 'tis right to banish scruples, cares, and fears; nor think of clothes nor dress, however fine, but those to dirt or flames at once resign; far better this than precious time to waste, since frequently in minutes bliss we taste; a quarter of an hour we now should prize, the place no doubt will very well suffice; with you it rests such moments to employ, and mutually our bosoms fill with joy. i scarcely ought to say what now i speak, but anxiously your happiness i seek. indeed, the anxious, tender youth replied, to save such costly clothes we should decide; i'll run at once, and presently be here; two minutes will suffice i'm very clear. away the silly lad with ardour flew, and left no time objections to renew. his wondrous folly cured the charming dame; whose soul so much disdained her recent flame; that instantly her heart resumed its place, which had too long been loaded with disgrace: go, prince of fools, she to herself exclaimed, for ever, of thy conduct, be ashamed; to lose thee surely i can ne'er regret, impossible a worse i could have met. i've now considered, and 'tis very plain, thou merit'st not such favours to obtain; from hence i swear, by ev'ry thing above; my husband shall alone possess my love; and least i might be tempted to betray, to him i'll instantly the boon convey, which nicaise might have easily received; thank heav'n my breast from folly is relieved. this said, by disappointment rendered sour, the beauteous bride in anger left the bow'r. soon with the carpet simple nicaise came, and found that things no longer were the same. the lucky hour, ye suitors learn i pray, is not each time the clock strikes through the day, in cupid's alphabet i think i've read, old time, by lovers, likes not to be led; and since so closely he pursues his plan, 'tis right to seize him, often as you can. delays are dangerous, in love or war, and nicaise is a proof they fortune mar. quite out of breath with having quickly run; delighted too that he so soon had done, the youth returned most anxious to employ, the carpet for his mistress to enjoy, but she alas! with rage upon her brow, had left the spot, he knew not why nor how; and to her company returned in haste the flame extinguished that her mind disgraced. perhaps she went the jewel to bestow, upon her spouse, whose breast with joy would glow: what jewel pray?--the one that ev'ry maid pretends to have, whatever tricks she's played. this i believe; but i'll no dangers run; to burn my fingers i've not yet begun; yet i allow, howe'er, in such a case, the girl, who fibs, therein no sin can trace. our belle who, thanks to nicaise, yet retained; in spite of self, the flow'r he might have gained, was grumbling still, when he the lady met why, how is this, cried he, did you forget, that for this carpet i had gone away? when spread, how nicely on it we might play! you'd soon to woman change the silly maid; come, let's return, and not the bliss evade; no fear of dirt nor spoiling of your dress; and then my love i fully will express. not so, replied the disappointed dame, we'll put it off:--perhaps 'twould hurt your frame your health i value, and i would advise, to be at ease, take breath, and prudence prize; apprentice in a shop you now are bound next 'prentice go to some gallant around; you'll not so soon his pleasing art require, nor to your tutorage can i now aspire. friend nicaise take some neighb'ring servant maid, you're quite a master in the shopping trade; stuffs you can sell, and ask the highest price; and to advantage turn things in a trice. but opportunity you can't discern; to know its value,--prithee go and learn. etext editor's bookmarks: delays are dangerous, in love or war opportunity you can't discern--prithee go and learn this ebook was produced by david widger [note: there is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the file for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making an entire meal of them. d.w.] the tales and novels of j. de la fontaine volume . contains: the progress of wit the sick abbess the truckers the progress of wit diverting in extreme there is a play, which oft resumes its fascinating sway; delights the sex, or ugly, fair, or sour; by night or day:--'tis sweet at any hour. the frolick, ev'ry where is known to fame; conjecture if you can, and tells its name. this play's chief charm to husbands is unknown; 'tis with the lover it excels alone; no lookers-on, as umpires, are required; no quarrels rise, though each appears inspired; all seem delighted with the pleasing game:-- conjecture if you can, and tell its name. be this as 'twill, and called whate'er it may; no longer trifling with it i shall stay, but now disclose a method to transmit (as oft we find) to ninnies sense and wit. till alice got instruction in this school, she was regarded as a silly fool, her exercise appeared to spin and sew:-- not hers indeed, the hands alone would go; for sense or wit had in it no concern; whate'er the foolish girl had got to learn, no part therein could ever take the mind; her doll, for thought, was just as well designed. the mother would, a hundred times a day, abuse the stupid maid, and to her say go wretched lump and try some wit to gain. the girl, quite overcome with shame and pain; her neighbours asked to point her out the spot, where useful wit by purchase might be got. the simple question laughter raised around; at length they told her, that it might be found with father bonadventure, who'd a stock, which he at times disposed of to his flock. away in haste she to the cloister went, to see the friar she was quite intent, though trembling lest she might disturb his ease; and one of his high character displease. the girl exclaimed, as on she moved,--will he such presents willingly bestow on me, whose age, as yet, has scarcely reached fifteen? with such can i be worthy to be seen? her innocence much added to her charms, the gentle wily god of soft alarms had not a youthful maiden in his book, that carried more temptation in her look. most rev'rend sir, said she, by friends i'm told, that in this convent wit is often sold, will you allow me some on trust to take? my treasure won't afford that much i stake; i can return if more i should require; howe'er, you'll take this pledge i much desire; on which she tried to give the monk a ring, that to her finger firmly seemed to cling. but when the friar saw the girl's design, he cried, good maid, the pledge we will decline, and what is wished, provide for you the same; 'tis merchandize, and whatsoe'er its fame, to some 'tis freely giv'n:--to others taught if not too dear, oft better when 'tis bought. come in and boldly follow where i lead; none round can see: you've nothing here to heed; they're all at prayers; the porter's at my will; the very walls, of prudence have their fill. she entered as the holy monk desired, and they together to his cell retired. the friar on the bed this maiden threw; a kiss would take:--she from him rather drew; and said.--to give one wit is this the way? yes, answered he, and round her 'gan to play: upon her bosom then he put his hand what now, said she, am i to understand? is this the way?--said he, 'tis so decreed; then patiently she let the monk proceed, who followed up, from point to point, his aim; and wit, by easy steps, advancing came, till its progression with her was complete; then alice laughed, success appeared so sweet. a second dose the friar soon bestowed, and e'en a third, so fast his bounty flowed. well, said the monk, pray how d'ye find the play? the girl replied: wit will not long delay; 'twill soon arrive; but then i fear its flight: i'm half afraid 'twill leave me ere 'tis night. we'll see, rejoined the priest, that naught you lose; but other secrets oftentimes we use. seek not those the smiling girl replied with this most perfectly i'm satisfied; then be it so, said he, we'll recommence, nor longer keep the business in suspense, but to the utmost length at once advance; for this fair alice showed much complaisance: the secret by the friar was renewed; much pleasure in it bonadventure viewed; the belle a courtesy dropt, and then retired, reflecting on the wit she had acquired; reflecting, do you say?--to think inclined? yes, even more:--she sought excuse to find, not doubting that she should be forced to say, some cause for keeping her so long away. two days had passed, when came a youthful friend; fair nancy with her often would unbend; howe'er, so very thoughtful alice seemed, that nancy (who was penetrating deemed) was well convinced whatever alice sought, so very absent she was not for naught. in questioning she managed with such art, that soon she learned--what alice could impart to listen she was thoroughly disposed, while t'other ev'ry circumstance disclosed, from first to last, each point and mystick hit, and e'en the largeness of the friar's wit, the repetitions, and the wondrous skill with which he managed ev'ry thing at will. but now, cried alice, favour me i pray, and tell at once, without reserve, the way that you obtained such wit as you possess, and all particulars to me confess. if i, said nancy, must avow the truth, your brother alan was the bounteous youth, who me obliged therewith, and freely taught, what from the holy friar you'd have bought. my brother alan!--alan! alice cried; he ne'er with any was himself supplied; i'm all surprise; he's thought a heavy clot, how could he give what he had never got? fool! said the other, little thou can'st know; for once, to me some information owe; in such a case much skill is not required, and alan freely gave what i desired. if me thou disbeliev'st, thy mother ask; she thoroughly can undertake the task. on such a point we readily should say, long live the fools who wit so well display! the sick abbess example often proves of sov'reign use; at other times it cherishes abuse; 'tis not my purpose, howsoe'er, to tell which of the two i fancy to excel. some will conceive the abbess acted right, while others think her conduct very light be that as 'twill, her actions right or wrong, i'll freely give a license to my tongue, or pen, at all events, and clearly show, by what some nuns were led to undergo, that flocks are equally of flesh and blood, and, if one passes, hundreds stem the flood, to follow up the course the first has run, and imitate what t'other has begun. when agnes passed, another sister came, and ev'ry nun desired to do the same; at length the guardian of the flock appeared, and likewise passed, though much at first she feared. the tale is this, we purpose to relate; and full particulars we now will state. an abbess once a certain illness had, chlorosis named, which oft proves very bad, destroys the rose that decorates the cheek, and renders females languid, pale, and weak. our lady's face was like a saint's in lent: quite wan, though otherwise it marked content. the faculty, consulted on her case, and who the dire disorder's source would trace, at length pronounced slow fever must succeed, and death inevitably be decreed, unless;--but this unless is very strange unless indeed she some way could arrange; to gratify her wish, which seemed to vex, and converse be allowed with t'other sex: hippocrates, howe'er, more plainly speaks, no circumlocutory phrase he seeks. o jesus! quite abashed the abbess cried; what is it?--fy!--a man would you provide? yes, they rejoined, 'tis clearly what you want, and you will die without a brisk gallant; one truly able will alone suffice; and, if not such, take two we would advise. this still was worse, though, if we rightly guess, 'twas by her wished, durst she the truth confess. but how the sisterhood would see her take such remedies and no objection make? shame often causes injury and pain; and ills concealed bring others in their train. said sister agnes, madam, take their word; a remedy like this would be absurd, if, like old death, it had a haggard look, and you designed to get by hook or crook. a hundred secrets you retain at ease; can one so greatly shock and you displease?-- you talk at random, agnes, she replied; now, would you for the remedy decide, upon your word, if you were in my place?-- yes, madam, said the nun, and think it grace; still more i'd do, if necessary thought; your health, by me, would ev'ry way be sought, and, if required by you to suffer this, not one around would less appear remiss; sincere affection for you i have shown, and my regard i'll ever proudly own. a thousand thanks the abbess gave her friend; the doctors said:--no use for them to send; throughout the convent sad distress appeared; when agnes, who to sage advice adhered, and was not thought the weakest head around, a kinder soul perhaps could not be found, said to the sisterhood,--what now retains our worthy abbess, and her will enchains, is nothing but the shame of pow'rs divine, or else, to what's prescribed she would resign. through charity will no one take the lead, and, by example, get her to proceed? the counsel was by ev'ry one approved, and commendation through the circle moved. in this design not one, nor grave, nor old, nor young, nor prioress, at all seemed cold; notes flew around, and friends of worth and taste, the black, the fair, the brown, appeared in haste; the number was not small, our records say, not (what might be) appearance of delay, but all most anxious seemed the road to show, and what the abbess feared, at once to know; none more sincerely 'mong the nuns desired, that shame should not prevent what was required. nor that the abbess should, within her soul, retain what might injuriously control. no sooner one among the flock had made the step, of which the abbess was afraid, but other sisters followed in the train:-- not one behind consented to remain; each forward pressed, in dread to be the last; at length, from prejudice the abbess passed; to such examples she at last gave way, and, to a youth, no longer offered nay. the operation o'er, her lily face resumed the rose, and ev'ry other grace. o remedy divine, prescription blessed! thy friendly aid to numbers stands confessed; the friends of thousands, friend of nature too; the friend of all, except where honour 's due. this point of honour is another ill, in which the faculty confess no skill. what ills in life! what mis'ries dire around, while remedies so easy may be found! the truckers the change of food enjoyment is to man; in this, t'include the woman is my plan. i cannot guess why rome will not allow exchange in wedlock, and its leave avow; not ev'ry time such wishes might arise, but, once in life at least, 'twere not unwise; perhaps one day we may the boon obtain; amen, i say: my sentiments are plain; the privilege in france may yet arrive there trucking pleases, and exchanges thrive; the people love variety, we find; and such by heav'n was ere for them designed. once there dwelled, near rouen, (sapient clime) two villagers, whose wives were in their prime, and rather pleasing in their shape and mien, for those in whom refinement 's scarcely seen. each looker-on conceives, love needs not greet such humble wights, as he would prelates treat. it happened, howsoe'er, both weary grown, of halves that they so long had called their own; one holyday, with them there chanced to drink the village lawyer (bred in satan's sink); to him, said one of these, with jeering air, good mister oudinet, a strange affair is in my head: you've doubtless often made variety of contracts; 'tis your trade: now, cannot you contrive, by one of these, that men should barter wives, like goods, at ease? our pastor oft his benefice has changed; is trucking wives less easily arranged? it cannot be, for well i recollect, that parson gregory (whom none suspect) would always say, or much my mem'ry fails, my flock 's my wife: love equally prevails; he changed; let us, good neighbour do the same; with all my heart, said t'other, that's my aim; but well thou know'st that mine's the fairest face, and, mister oudinet, since that's the case, should he not add, at least, his mule to boot? my mule? rejoined the first, that will not suit; in this world ev'ry thing has got its price: mine i will change for thine and that 's concise. wives are not viewed so near; naught will i add; why, neighbour stephen, dost thou think me mad, to give my mule to boot?--of mules the king; not e'en an ass i'd to the bargain bring; change wife for wife, the barter will be fair; then each will act with t'other on the square. the village lawyer now the friends addressed: said he, antoinetta is confessed to have superior charms to those of jane; but still, if i may venture to be plain, not always is the best what meets the eye, for many beauties in concealment lie, which i prefer; and these are hid with care; deceptions, too, are practised by the fair; howe'er, we wish the whole to be disclosed, too much, 'tis said, they must not be exposed. now, neighbours, let us fair arrangement make: a pig in poke you'd neither give nor take; confront these halves in nature's birth-day suit; to neither, then, will you deceit impute. the project was most thoroughly approved; like inclination both the husbands moved. antoinetta, said the second spouse, has neither ill nor scratch her fears to rouse. jane, cried the first, is ev'ry way complete; no freckles on the skin: as balm she's sweet: antoinetta is, her spouse replied, ambrosia ev'ry way: no fault to hide. said t'other:--don't so confident appear; thou know'st not jane: her ways would marble cheer; and there's a play:--thou understand'st no doubt? to this rejoined the second village lout, one diff'rence only have my wife and i: which plays the prettiest wiles is what we try; thou'lt very soon of these know how to think; here's to thee, neighbour; mister oud'net, drink; come, toast antoinetta; likewise jane; the mule was granted, and the bargain plain: our village lawyer promised to prepare, at once, the writings, which would all declare. this oudinet a good apostle proved well paid for parchment, or he never moved: by whom was payment made?--by both the dames; on neither husband showed he any claims. the village clowns some little time supposed that all was secret: not a hint disclosed; the parson of it, howsoe'er, obtained some intimation, and his off'rings gained. i was not present, fully i admit; but rarely clergymen their dues will quit. the very clerk would not remit his fee:-- all those who serve the church in this agree. the permutation could not well be made, but scandal would such practices upbraid; in country villages each step is seen; thus, round the whisper went of what had been, and placed at length the thorn where all was ease; the pow'rs divine alone it could displease. 'twas pleasant them together to behold; the wives, in emulation, were not cold; in easy talk they'd to each other say: how pleasing to exchange from day to day! what think you, neighbour, if, to try our luck, for once we've something new, and valets truck? this last, if made, the secret had respect; the other had at first a good effect. for one good month the whole proceeded well; but, at the end, disgust dispersed the spell; and neighbour stephen, as we might suppose, began dissatisfaction to disclose; lamented much antoinetta's stop; no doubt he was a loser by the swop; yet neighbour giles expressed extreme regret, that t'other from him ought to boot should get: howe'er, he would retrucking not consent, so much he otherwise appeared content. it happened on a day, as stephen strayed within a wood, he saw, beneath a shade, and near the stream, asleep, and quite alone, antoinetta, whom he wished his own. he near her drew, and waked her with surprise; the change ne'er struck her when she ope'd her eyes; the gay gallant advantage quickly took, and, what he wished, soon placed within his hook. 'tis said, he found her better than at first; why so? you ask: was she then at the worst? a curious question, truly, you've designed; in cupid's am'rous code of laws you'll find-- bread got by stealth, and eat where none can spy, is better far than what you bake or buy; for proof of this, ask those most learn'd in love truth we prefer, all other things above; yet hymen, and the god of soft desire, how much soe'er their union we admire, are not designed together bread to bake; in proof, the sleeping scene for instance take. good cheer was there: each dish was served with taste; the god of love, who often cooks in haste, most nicely seasoned things to relish well; in this he's thought old hymen to excel. antoinetta, to his clasp restored, our neighbour stephen, who his wife adored, quite raw, howe'er, in this, exclaimed apart friend giles has surely got some secret art, for now my rib displays superior charms, to what she had, before she left my arms. let's take her back, and play the norman trick deny the whole, and by our priv'lege stick. immediately he ev'ry effort tried, to get the bargain fully set aside. giles, much distressed, exerted all his might, to keep his prize, and prove his conduct right. the cause was carried to the bishop's court; much noise it made, according to report. at length the parliament would hear the claim, and judge a case of such peculiar fame. the village lawyer, oudinet, was brought; from him, who drew the contract, truth was sought; there rests the cause, for 'tis of recent date; while undecided, more we cannot state. how silly neighbour stephen must appear! he went against his int'rest now 'tis clear; for, when superior pleasure he was shown, the fascinating fair was not his own. good sense would whisper then, 'twere full as well, to let remain with giles the beauteous belle; save now and then, within the leafy shade, where oft antoinetta visits made, and warbled to the shrubs and trees around; there he might easily the nymph have found, but, if with ease it could not be obtained, still greater pleasure he would then have gained. go preach me this to silly country louts; these, howsoe'er, had managed well their bouts, it must not be denied, and all was nice; to do the like perhaps 'twill some entice. i much regret my lot was not the same, though doubtless many will my wishes blame. etext editor's bookmarks: her doll, for thought, was just as well designed how could he give what he had never got? in country villages each step is seen the fables of la fontaine _translated from the french_ by elizur wright. _a new edition, with notes_ by j. w. m. gibbs. * * * * * preface to the present edition, with some account of the translator. the first edition of this translation of la fontaine's fables appeared in boston, u.s., in . it achieved a considerable success, and six editions were printed in three years. since then it has been allowed to pass out of print, except in the shape of a small-type edition produced in london immediately after the first publication in boston, and the present publishers have thought that a reprint in a readable yet popular form would be generally acceptable. the translator has remarked, in the "advertisement" to his original edition (which follows these pages), on the singular neglect of la fontaine by english translators up to the time of his own work. forty years have elapsed since those remarks were penned, yet translations into english of the _complete_ fables of the chief among modern fabulists are almost as few in number as they were then. mr. george ticknor (the author of the "history of spanish literature," &c.), in praising mr. wright's translation when it first appeared, said la fontaine's was "a book till now untranslated;" and since mr. wright so happily accomplished his self-imposed task, there has been but one other complete translation, viz., that of the late mr. walter thornbury. this latter, however, seems to have been undertaken chiefly with a view to supplying the necessary accompaniment to the english issue of m. doré's well-known designs for the fables (first published as illustrations to a paris edition), and existing as it does only in the large quarto form given to those illustrations, it cannot make any claim to be a handy-volume edition. mr. wright's translation, however, still holds its place as the best english version, and the present reprint, besides having undergone careful revision, embodies the corrections (but not the expurgations) of the sixth edition, which differed from those preceding it. the notes too, have, for the most part, been added by the reviser. some account of the translator, who is still one of the living notables of his nation, may not be out of place here. elizur wright, junior, is the son of elizur wright, who published some papers in mathematics, but was principally engaged in agricultural pursuits at canaan, litchfield co., connecticut, u.s. the younger elizur wright was born at canaan in . he graduated at yale college in , and afterwards taught in a school at groton. in , he became professor of mathematics in hudson college, from which post he went to new york in , on being appointed secretary to the american anti-slavery society. in he removed to the literary centre of the united states, boston, where he edited several papers successively, and where he published his "la fontaine;" which thus, whilst, it still remains his most considerable work, was also one of his earliest. how he was led to undertake it, he has himself narrated in the advertisement to his first edition. but previously to , the date of the first publication of the complete "fables," he tried the effect of a partial publication. in he published, anonymously, a little mo volume, "la fontaine; a present for the young." this, as appears from the title, was a book for children, and though the substance of these few (and simpler) fables may be traced in the later and complete edition, the latter shows a considerable improvement upon the work of his "'prentice hand." the complete work was published, as we have said, in . it appeared in an expensive and sumptuous form, and was adorned with the french artist grandville's illustrations--which had first appeared only two years previously in the paris edition of la fontaine's fables, published by fournier ainé. the book was well received both in america and england, and four other editions were speedily called for. the sixth edition, published in , was a slightly expurgated one, designed for schools. the expurgation, however, almost wholly consisted of the omission bodily of five of the fables, whose places were, as mr. wright stated in his preface, filled by six original fables of his own. from his "notice" affixed to this sixth edition, it seems evident that he by no means relished the task, usually a hateful one, of expurgating his author. having, however, been urged to the task by "criticisms both friendly and unfriendly" (as he says) he did it; and did it wisely, because sparingly. but in his prefatory words he in a measure protests. he says:--"in this age, distinguished for almost everything more than sincerity, there are some people who would seem too delicate and refined to read their bibles." and he concludes with the appeal,--"but the unsophisticated lovers of _nature_, who have not had the opportunity to acquaint themselves with the french language, i have no doubt will thank me for interpreting to them these honest and truthful fictions of the frank old jean, and will beg me to proceed no farther in the work of expurgation." the first of the substituted fables of the sixth edition--_the fly and the game_, given below--may also be viewed as a protest to the same purpose. as a specimen of mr. wright's powers at once as an original poet and an original fabulist, we here print (for the first time in england, we believe) the substituted fables of his sixth edition. we may add, that they appeared in lieu of the following five fables as given in mr. wright's complete edition--and in the present edition:--_the bitch and her friend, the mountain in labour, the young widow, the women and the secret_, and, _the husband, the wife, and the thief_. it should also be borne in mind that these original fables were inserted in an edition professedly meant for schools rather than for the general public. * * * * * the fly and the game. a knight of powder-horn and shot once fill'd his bag--as i would not, unless the feelings of my breast by poverty were sorely press'd-- with birds and squirrels for the spits of certain gormandizing cits. with merry heart the fellow went direct to mr. centpercent, who loved, as well was understood, whatever game was nice and good. this gentleman, with knowing air, survey'd the dainty lot with care, pronounced it racy, rich, and rare, and call'd his wife, to know her wishes about its purchase for their dishes. the lady thought the creatures prime, and for their dinner just in time; so sweet they were, and delicate, for dinner she could hardly wait. but now there came--could luck be worse?-- just as the buyer drew his purse, a bulky fly, with solemn buzz, and smelt, as an inspector does, this bird and that, and said the meat-- but here his words i won't repeat-- was anything but fit to eat. 'ah!' cried the lady, 'there's a fly i never knew to tell a lie; his coat, you see, is bottle-green; he knows a thing or two i ween; my dear, i beg you, do not buy: such game as this may suit the dogs.' so on our peddling sportsman jogs, his soul possess'd of this surmise, about some men, as well as flies: a filthy taint they soonest find who are to relish filth inclined. the dog and cat. a dog and cat, messmates for life, were often falling into strife, which came to scratching, growls, and snaps, and spitting in the face, perhaps. a neighbour dog once chanced to call just at the outset of their brawl, and, thinking tray was cross and cruel, to snarl so sharp at mrs. mew-well, growl'd rather roughly in his ear. 'and who are you to interfere?' exclaim'd the cat, while in his face she flew; and, as was wise, he suddenly withdrew. it seems, in spite of all his snarling, and hers, that tray was still her darling. the golden pitcher. a father once, whose sons were two, for each a gift had much ado. at last upon this course he fell: 'my sons,' said he, 'within our well two treasures lodge, as i am told; the one a sunken piece of gold,-- a bowl it may be, or a pitcher,-- the other is a thing far richer. these treasures if you can but find, each may be suited to his mind; for both are precious in their kind. to gain the one you'll need a hook; the other will but cost a look. but o, of this, i pray, beware!-- you who may choose the tempting share,-- too eager fishing for the pitcher may ruin that which is far richer.' out ran the boys, their gifts to draw: but eagerness was check'd with awe, how could there be a richer prize than solid gold beneath the skies? or, if there could, how could it dwell within their own old, mossy well? were questions which excited wonder, and kept their headlong av'rice under. the golden cup each fear'd to choose, lest he the better gift should lose; and so resolved our prudent pair, the gifts in common they would share. the well was open to the sky. as o'er its curb they keenly pry, it seems a tunnel piercing through, from sky to sky, from blue to blue; and, at its nether mouth, each sees a brace of their antipodes, with earnest faces peering up, as if themselves might seek the cup. 'ha!' said the elder, with a laugh, 'we need not share it by the half. the mystery is clear to me; that richer gift to all is free. be only as that water true, and then the whole belongs to you.' that truth itself was worth so much, it cannot be supposed that such. a pair of lads were satisfied; and yet they were before they died. but whether they fish'd up the gold i'm sure i never have been told. thus much they learn'd, i take for granted,-- and that was what their father wanted:-- if truth for wealth we sacrifice, we throw away the richer prize. party strife. among the beasts a feud arose. the lion, as the story goes, once on a time laid down his sceptre and his crown; and in his stead the beasts elected, as often as it suited them, a sort of king _pro tem._,-- some animal they much respected. at first they all concurr'd. the horse, the stag, the unicorn, were chosen each in turn; and then the noble bird that looks undazzled at the sun. but party strife began to run through burrow, den, and herd. some beasts proposed the patient ox, and others named the cunning fox. the quarrel came to bites and knocks; nor was it duly settled till many a beast high-mettled had bought an aching head, or, possibly, had bled. the fox, as one might well suppose, at last above his rival rose, but, truth to say, his reign was bootless, of honour being rather fruitless. all prudent beasts began to see the throne a certain charm had lost, and, won by strife, as it must be, was hardly worth the pains it cost. so when his majesty retired, few worthy beasts his seat desired. especially now stood aloof the wise of head, the swift of hoof, the beasts whose breasts were battle-proof. it consequently came to pass, not first, but, as we say, in fine, for king the creatures chose the ass-- he, for prime minister the swine. 'tis thus that party spirit is prone to banish merit. the cat and the thrush. a thrush that sang one rustic ode once made a garden his abode, and gave the owner such delight, he grew a special favourite. indeed, his landlord did his best to make him safe from every foe; the ground about his lowly nest was undisturb'd by spade or hoe. and yet his song was still the same; it even grew somewhat more tame. at length grimalkin spied the pet, resolved that he should suffer yet, and laid his plan of devastation so as to save his reputation; for, in the house, from looks demure, he pass'd for honest, kind, and pure. professing search of mice and moles, he through the garden daily strolls, and never seeks our thrush to catch; but when his consort comes to hatch, just eats the young ones in a batch. the sadness of the pair bereaved their generous guardian sorely grieved. but yet it could not be believed his faithful cat was in the wrong, though so the thrush said in his song. the cat was therefore favour'd still to walk the garden at his will; and hence the birds, to shun the pest, upon a pear-tree built their nest. though there it cost them vastly more, 'twas vastly better than before. and gaffer thrush directly found his throat, when raised above the ground, gave forth a softer, sweeter sound. new tunes, moreover, he had caught, by perils and afflictions taught, and found new things to sing about: new scenes had brought new talents out. so, while, improved beyond a doubt, his own old song more clearly rang, far better than themselves he sang the chants and trills of other birds; he even mock'd grimalkin's words with such delightful humour that he gain'd the christian name of cat. let genius tell in verse and prose. how much to praise and friends it owes. good sense may be, as i suppose, as much indebted to its foes. * * * * * in mr. wright wrote the preface to the first collected edition of the works of the poet j. g. whittier; and soon after he seems to have become completely absorbed in politics, and in the mighty anti-slavery struggle, which constituted the greater part of the politics of the united states in those and many succeeding years. he became a journalist in the anti-slavery cause; and, in , he wrote a trenchant answer to mr. carlyle's then just published "latter day pamphlets." later on, slavery having been at length abolished, he appeared as a writer in yet another field, publishing several works, one as lately as , on life-assurance. london, . * * * * * advertisement to the first edition of this translation. [boston, u.s.a., .] four years ago, i dropped into charles de behr's repository of foreign books, in broadway, new york, and there, for the first time, saw la fontaine's fables. it was a cheap copy, adorned with some two hundred woodcuts, which, by their worn appearance, betokened an extensive manufacture. i became a purchaser, and gave the book to my little boy, then just beginning to feel the intellectual magnetism of pictures. in the course of the next year, he frequently tasked my imperfect knowledge of french for the story which belonged to some favourite vignette. this led me to inquire whether any english version existed; and, not finding any, i resolved, though quite unused to literary exercises of the sort, to cheat sleep of an hour every morning till there should be one. the result is before you. if in this i have wronged la fontaine, i hope the best-natured of poets, as well as yourselves, will forgive me, and lay the blame on the better qualified, who have so long neglected the task. cowper should have done it. the author of "john gilpin," and the "retired cat," would have put la fontaine into every chimney-corner which resounds with the anglo-saxon tongue.... to you who have so generously enabled me to publish this work with so great advantages, and without selling the copyright for the _promise_ of a song, i return my heartfelt thanks. a hatchet-faced, spectacled, threadbare stranger knocked at your doors, with a prospectus, unbacked by "the trade," soliciting your subscription to a costly edition of a mere translation. it is a most inglorious, unsatisfactory species of literature. the slightest preponderance of that worldly wisdom which never buys a pig-in-a-poke would have sent him and his translation packing. but a kind faith in your species got the better in your case. you not only gave the hungry-looking stranger your good wishes, but your good names. a list of those names it would delight me to insert; and i should certainly do it if i felt authorized. as it is, i hope to be pardoned for mentioning some of the individuals, who have not only given their names, but expressed an interest in my enterprise which has assisted me in its accomplishment. rev. john pierpont, prof. george ticknor, prof. henry w. longfellow, william h. prescott, esq., hon. theodore lyman, prof. silliman, prof. denison olmsted, chancellor kent, william c. bryant, esq., dr. j. w. francis, hon. peter a. jay, hon. luther bradish, and prof. j. molinard, have special claims to my gratitude.... the work--as it is, not as it ought to be--i commit to your kindness. i do not claim to have succeeded in translating "the inimitable la fontaine,"--perhaps i have not even a right to say in his own language-- "j'ai du moins ouvert le chemin." however this may be, i am, gratefully, your obedient servant, elizur wright, jr. dorchester, _september_, . * * * * * a preface, on fable, the fabulists, and la fontaine. by the translator. human nature, when fresh from the hand of god, was full of poetry. its sociality could not be pent within the bounds of the actual. to the lower inhabitants of air, earth, and water,--and even to those elements themselves, in all their parts and forms,--it gave speech and reason. the skies it peopled with beings, on the noblest model of which it could have any conception--to wit, its own. the intercourse of these beings, thus created and endowed,--from the deity kindled into immortality by the imagination, to the clod personified for the moment,--gratified one of its strongest propensities; for man may well enough be defined as the historical animal. the faculty which, in after ages, was to chronicle the realities developed by time, had at first no employment but to place on record the productions of the imagination. hence, fable blossomed and ripened in the remotest antiquity. we see it mingling itself with the primeval history of all nations. it is not improbable that many of the narratives which have been preserved for us, by the bark or parchment of the first rude histories, as serious matters of fact, were originally apologues, or parables, invented to give power and wings to moral lessons, and afterwards modified, in their passage from mouth to mouth, by the well-known magic of credulity. the most ancient poets graced their productions with apologues. hesiod's fable of the hawk and the nightingale is an instance. the fable or parable was anciently, as it is even now, a favourite weapon of the most successful orators. when jotham would show the shechemites the folly of their ingratitude, he uttered the fable of the fig-tree, the olive, the vine, and the bramble. when the prophet nathan would oblige david to pass a sentence of condemnation upon himself in the matter of uriah, he brought before him the apologue of the rich man who, having many sheep, took away that of the poor man who had but one. when joash, the king of israel, would rebuke the vanity of amaziah, the king of judah, he referred him to the fable of the thistle and the cedar. our blessed saviour, the best of all teachers, was remarkable for his constant use of parables, which are but fables--we speak it with reverence--adapted to the gravity of the subjects on which he discoursed. and, in profane history, we read that stesichorus put the himerians on their guard against the tyranny of phalaris by the fable of the horse and the stag. cyrus, for the instruction of kings, told the story of the fisher obliged to use his nets to take the fish that turned a deaf ear to the sound of his flute. menenius agrippa, wishing to bring back the mutinous roman people from mount sacer, ended his harangue with the fable of the belly and the members. a ligurian, in order to dissuade king comanus from yielding to the phocians a portion of his territory as the site of marseilles, introduced into his discourse the story of the bitch that borrowed a kennel in which to bring forth her young, but, when they were sufficiently grown, refused to give it up. in all these instances, we see that fable was a mere auxiliary of discourse--an implement of the orator. such, probably, was the origin of the apologues which now form the bulk of the most popular collections. aesop, who lived about six hundred years before christ, so far as we can reach the reality of his life, was an orator who wielded the apologue with remarkable skill. from a servile condition, he rose, by the force of his genius, to be the counsellor of kings and states. his wisdom was in demand far and wide, and on the most important occasions. the pithy apologues which fell from his lips, which, like the rules of arithmetic, solved the difficult problems of human conduct constantly presented to him, were remembered when the speeches that contained them were forgotten. he seems to have written nothing himself; but it was not long before the gems which he scattered began to be gathered up in collections, as a distinct species of literature. the great and good socrates employed himself, while in prison, in turning the fables of aesop into verse. though but a few fragments of his composition have come down to us, he may, perhaps, be regarded as the father of fable, considered as a distinct art. induced by his example, many greek poets and philosophers tried their hands in it. archilocus, alcaeus, aristotle, plato, diodorus, plutarch, and lucian, have left us specimens. collections of fables bearing the name of aesop became current in the greek language. it was not, however, till the year that the large collection which now bears his name was put forth in greek prose by planudes, a monk of constantinople. this man turned the life of aesop itself into a fable; and la fontaine did it the honour to translate it as a preface to his own collection. though burdened with insufferable puerilities, it is not without the moral that a rude and deformed exterior may conceal both wit and worth. the collection of fables in greek verse by babrias was exceedingly popular among the romans. it was the favourite book of the emperor julian. only six of these fables, and a few fragments, remain; but they are sufficient to show that their author possessed all the graces of style which befit the apologue. some critics place him in the augustan age; others make him contemporary with moschus. his work was versified in latin, at the instance of seneca; and quinctilian refers to it as a reading-book for boys. thus, at all times, these playful fictions have been considered fit lessons for children, as well as for men, who are often but grown-up children. so popular were the fables of babrias and their latin translation, during the roman empire, that the work of phaedrus was hardly noticed. the latter was a freedman of augustus, and wrote in the reign of tiberius. his verse stands almost unrivalled for its exquisite elegance and compactness; and posterity has abundantly avenged him for the neglect of contemporaries. la fontaine is perhaps more indebted to phaedrus than to any other of his predecessors; and, especially in the first six books, his style has much of the same curious condensation. when the seat of the empire was transferred to byzantium, the greek language took precedence of the latin; and the rhetorician aphthonius wrote forty fables in greek prose, which became popular. besides these collections among the romans, we find apologues scattered through the writings of their best poets and historians, and embalmed in those specimens of their oratory which have come down to us. the apologues of the greeks and romans were brief, pithy, and epigrammatic, and their collections were without any principle of connection. but, at the same time, though probably unknown to them, the same species of literature was flourishing elsewhere under a somewhat different form. it is made a question, whether aesop, through the assyrians, with whom the phrygians had commercial relations, did not either borrow his art from the orientals, or lend it to them. this disputed subject must be left to those who have a taste for such inquiries. certain it is, however, that fable flourished very anciently with the people whose faith embraces the doctrine of metempsychosis. among the hindoos, there are two very ancient collections of fables, which differ from those which we have already mentioned, in having a principle of connection throughout. they are, in fact, extended romances, or dramas, in which all sorts of creatures are introduced as actors, and in which there is a development of sentiment and passion as well as of moral truth, the whole being wrought into a system of morals particularly adapted to the use of those called to govern. one of these works is called the _pantcha tantra_, which signifies "five books," or pentateuch. it is written in prose. the other is called the _hitopadesa_, or "friendly instruction," and is written in verse. both are in the ancient sanscrit language, and bear the name of a brahmin, vishnoo sarmah,[ ] as the author. sir william jones, who is inclined to make this author the true aesop of the world, and to doubt the existence of the phrygian, gives him the preference to all other fabulists, both in regard to matter and manner. he has left a prose translation of the _hitopadesa_, which, though it may not fully sustain his enthusiastic preference, shows it not to be entirely groundless. we give a sample of it, and select a fable which la fontaine has served up as the twenty-seventh of his eighth book. it should be understood that the fable, with the moral reflections which accompany it, is taken from the speech of one animal to another. [ ] _vishnoo sarmah_.--sir william jones has the name _vishnu-sarman_. he says, further, that the word _hitopadesa_ comes from _hita_, signifying fortune, prosperity, utility, and _upadesa_, signifying advice, the entire word meaning "salutary or amicable instruction."--ed. "frugality should ever be practised, but not excessive parsimony; for see how a miser was killed by a bow drawn by himself!" "how was that?" said hiranyaca. "in the country of calyanacataca," said menthara, "lived a mighty hunter, named bhairaza, or terrible. one day he went, in search of game, into a forest on the mountains vindhya; when, having slain a fawn, and taken it up, he perceived a boar of tremendous size; he therefore threw the fawn on the ground, and wounded the boar with an arrow; the beast, horribly roaring, rushed upon him, and wounded him desperately, so that he fell, like a tree stricken with an axe. * * * * * "in the meanwhile, a jackal, named lougery, was roving in search of food; and, having perceived the fawn, the hunter, and the boar, all three dead, he said to himself, 'what a noble provision is here made for me!' "as the pains of men assail them unexpectedly, so their pleasures come in the same manner; a divine power strongly operates in both. "'be it so; the flesh of these three animals will sustain me a whole month, or longer. "'a man suffices for one month; a fawn and a boar, for two; a snake, for a whole day; and then i will devour the bowstring.' when the first impulse of his hunger was allayed, he said, 'this flesh is not yet tender; let me taste the twisted string with which the horns of this bow are joined.' so saying, he began to gnaw it; but, in the instant when he had cut the string, the severed bow leaped forcibly up, and wounded him in the breast, so that he departed in the agonies of death. this i meant, when i cited the verse, frugality should ever be practised, &c. * * * * * "what thou givest to distinguished men, and what thou eatest every day--that, in my opinion, is thine own wealth: whose is the remainder which thou hoardest?" _works of sir william jones_, vol. vi. pp. - .[ ] [ ] edition , vols., to.--ed. it was one of these books which chosroës, the king of persia, caused to be translated from the sanscrit into the ancient language of his country, in the sixth century of the christian era, sending an embassy into hindostan expressly for that purpose. of the persian book a translation was made in the time of the calif mansour, in the eighth century, into arabic. this arabic translation it is which became famous under the title of "the book of calila and dimna, or the fables of bidpaï."[ ] [ ] an english translation from the arabic appeared in , done by the rev. wyndham knatchbull. sir william jones says that the word _bidpaii_ signifies beloved, or favourite, physician. and he adds that the word _pilpay_, which has taken the place of _bidpaii_ in some editions of these fables, is the result simply of a blunder in copying the word _bidpaii_ from the original. la fontaine himself uses the word _pilpay_ twice in his fables, viz., in fables xii. and xv., book xii.--ed. calila and dimna are the names of two jackals that figure in the history, and bidpaï is one of the principal human interlocutors, who came to be mistaken for the author. this remarkable book was turned into verse by several of the arabic poets, was translated into greek, hebrew, latin, modern persian, and, in the course of a few centuries, either directly or indirectly, into most of the languages of modern europe. forty-one of the unadorned and disconnected fables of aesop were also translated into arabic at a period somewhat more recent than the hegira, and passed by the name of the "fables of lokman." their want of poetical ornament prevented them from acquiring much popularity with the arabians; but they became well known in europe, as furnishing a convenient text-book in the study of arabic. the _hitopadesa_, the fountain of poetic fables, with its innumerable translations and modifications, seems to have had the greatest charms for the orientals. as it passed down the stream of time, version after version, the ornament and machinery outgrew the moral instruction, till it gave birth, at last, to such works of mere amusement as the "thousand and one nights." fable slept, with other things, in the dark ages of europe. abridgments took the place of the large collections, and probably occasioned the entire loss of some of them. as literature revived, fable was resuscitated. the crusades had brought european mind in contact with the indian works which we have already described, in their arabic dress. translations and imitations in the european tongues were speedily multiplied. the "romance of the fox," the work of perrot de saint cloud, one of the most successful of these imitations, dates back to the thirteenth century. it found its way into most of the northern languages, and became a household book. it undoubtedly had great influence over the taste of succeeding ages, shedding upon the severe and satirical wit of the greek and roman literature the rich, mellow light of asiatic poetry. the poets of that age were not confined, however, to fables from the hindoo source. marie de france, also, in the thirteenth century, versified one hundred of the fables of aesop, translating from an english collection, which does not now appear to be extant. her work is entitled the _ysopet_, or "little aesop." other versions, with the same title, were subsequently written. it was in that planudes, already referred to, wrote in greek prose a collection of fables, prefacing it with a life of aesop, which, for a long time, passed for the veritable work of that ancient. in the next century, abstemius wrote two hundred fables in latin prose, partly of modern, but chiefly of ancient invention. at this time, the vulgar languages had undergone so great changes, that works in them of two or three centuries old could not be understood, and, consequently, the latin became the favourite language of authors. many collections of fables were written in it, both in prose and verse. by the art of printing these works were greatly multiplied; and again the poets undertook the task of translating them into the language of the people. the french led the way in this species of literature, their language seeming to present some great advantages for it. one hundred years before la fontaine, corrozet, guillaume gueroult, and philibert hegemon, had written beautiful fables in verse, which it is supposed la fontaine must have read and profited by, although they had become nearly obsolete in his time. it is a remarkable fact, that these poetical fables should so soon have been forgotten. it was soon after their appearance that the languages of europe attained their full development; and, at this epoch, prose seems to have been universally preferred to poetry. so strong was this preference, that ogilby, the scotch fabulist, who had written a collection of fables in english verse, reduced them to prose on the occasion of publishing a more splendid edition in . it seems to have been the settled opinion of the critics of that age, as it has, indeed, been stoutly maintained since, that the ornaments of poetry only impair the force of the fable--that the muses, by becoming the handmaids of old aesop, part with their own dignity without conferring any on him. la fontaine has made such an opinion almost heretical. in his manner there is a perfect originality, and an immortality every way equal to that of the matter which he gathered up from all parts of the great storehouse of human experience. his fables are like pure gold enveloped in solid rock-crystal. in english, a few of the fables of gay, of moore, and of cowper, may be compared with them in some respects, but we have nothing resembling them as a whole. gay, who has done more than any other, though he has displayed great power of invention, and has given his verse a flow worthy of his master, pope, has yet fallen far behind la fontaine in the general management of his materials. his fables are all beautiful poems, but few of them are beautiful fables. his animal speakers do not sufficiently preserve their animal characters. it is quite otherwise with la fontaine. his beasts are made most nicely to observe all the proprieties not only of the scene in which they are called to speak, but of the great drama into which they are from time to time introduced. his work constitutes an harmonious whole. to those who read it in the original, it is one of the few which never cloy the appetite. as in the poetry of burns, you are apt to think the last verse you read of him the best. but the main object of this preface was to give a few traces of the life and literary career of our poet. a remarkable poet cannot but have been a remarkable man. suppose we take a man with native benevolence amounting almost to folly; but little cunning, caution, or veneration; good perceptive, but better reflective faculties; and a dominant love of the beautiful;--and toss him into the focus of civilization in the age of louis xiv. it is an interesting problem to find out what will become of him. such is the problem worked out in the life of jean de la fontaine, born on the eighth of july, , at chateau-thierry. his father, a man of some substance and station, committed two blunders in disposing of his son. first, he encouraged him to seek an education for ecclesiastical life, which was evidently unsuited to his disposition. second, he brought about his marriage with a woman who was unfitted to secure his affections, or to manage his domestic affairs. in one other point he was not so much mistaken: he laboured unremittingly to make his son a poet. jean was a backward boy, and showed not the least spark of poetical genius till his twenty-second year. his poetical genius did not ripen till long after that time. but his father lived to see him all, and more than all, that he had ever hoped.[ ] [ ] the translator in his sixth edition replaced the next paragraph by the following remarks:--"the case is apparently, and only apparently, an exception to the old rule _poeta nascitur, orator fit_--the poet is born, the orator is made. the truth is, without exception, that every poet is born such; and many are born such of whose poetry the world knows nothing. every known poet is also somewhat an orator; and as to this part of his character, he is made. and many are known as poets who are altogether made; they are mere second-hand, or orator poets, and are quite intolerable unless exceedingly well made, which is, unfortunately, seldom the case. it would be wise in them to busy themselves as mere translators. every one who is born with propensities to love and wonder too strong and deep to be worn off by repetition or continuance,--in other words, who is born to be always young,--is born a poet. the other requisites he has of course. upon him the making will never be lost. the richest gems do most honour to their polishing. but they are gems without any. so there are men who pass through the world with their souls full of poetry, who would not believe you if you were to tell them so. happy for them is their ignorance, perhaps. la fontaine came near being one of them. all that is artificial in poetry to him came late and with difficulty. yet it resulted from his keen relish of nature, that he was never satisfied with his art of verse till he had brought it to the confines of perfection. he did not philosophize over the animals; he sympathized with them. a philosopher would not have lost a fashionable dinner in his admiration of a common ant-hill. la fontaine did so once, because the well-known little community was engaged in what he took to be a funeral. he could not in decency leave them till it was over. verse-making out of the question, this was to be a genuine poet, though, with commonplace mortals, it was also to be a fool." but we will first, in few words, despatch the worst--for there is a very bad part--of his life. it was not specially _his_ life; it was the life of the age in which he lived. the man of strong amorous propensities, in that age and country, who was, nevertheless, faithful to vows of either marriage or celibacy,--the latter vows then proved sadly dangerous to the former,--may be regarded as a miracle. la fontaine, without any agency of his own affections, found himself married at the age of twenty-six, while yet as immature as most men are at sixteen. the upshot was, that his patrimony dwindled; and, though he lived many years with his wife, and had a son, he neglected her more and more, till at last he forgot that he had been married, though he unfortunately did not forget that there were other women in the world besides his wife. his genius and benevolence gained him friends everywhere with both sexes, who never suffered him to want, and who had never cause to complain of his ingratitude. but he was always the special favourite of the aspasias who ruled france and her kings. to please them, he wrote a great deal of fine poetry, much of which deserves to be everlastingly forgotten. it must be said for him, that his vice became conspicuous only in the light of one of his virtues. his frankness would never allow concealment. he scandalized his friends boileau and racine; still, it is matter of doubt whether they did not excel him rather in prudence than in purity. but, whatever may be said in palliation, it is lamentable to think that a heaven-lighted genius should have been made, in any way, to minister to a hell-envenomed vice, which has caused unutterable woes to france and the world. some time before he died, he repented bitterly of this part of his course, and laboured, no doubt sincerely, to repair the mischiefs he had done. as we have already said, jean was a backward boy. but, under a dull exterior, the mental machinery was working splendidly within. he lacked all that outside care and prudence,--that constant looking out for breakers,--which obstruct the growth and ripening of the reflective faculties. the vulgar, by a queer mistake, call a man _absent-minded_, when his mind shuts the door, pulls in the latch-string, and is wholly at home. la fontaine's mind was exceedingly domestic. it was nowhere but at home when, riding from paris to chateau-thierry, a bundle of papers fell from his saddle-bow without his perceiving it. the mail-carrier, coming behind him, picked it up, and overtaking la fontaine, asked him if he had lost anything. "certainly not," he replied, looking about him with great surprise. "well, i have just picked up these papers," rejoined the other. "ah! they are mine," cried la fontaine; "they involve my whole estate." and he eagerly reached to take them. on another occasion he was equally at home. stopping on a journey, he ordered dinner at an hotel, and then took a ramble about the town. on his return, he entered another hotel, and, passing through into the garden, took from his pocket a copy of livy, in which he quietly set himself to read till his dinner should be ready. the book made him forget his appetite, till a servant informed him of his mistake, and he returned to his hotel just in time to pay his bill and proceed on his journey. it will be perceived that he took the world quietly, and his doing so undoubtedly had important bearings on his style. we give another anecdote, which illustrates this peculiarity of his mind as well as the superlative folly of duelling. not long after his marriage, with all his indifference to his wife, he was persuaded into a fit of singular jealousy. he was intimate with an ex-captain of dragoons, by name poignant, who had retired to chateau-thierry; a frank, open-hearted man, but of extremely little gallantry. whenever poignant was not at his inn, he was at la fontaine's, and consequently with his wife, when he himself was not at home. some person took it in his head to ask la fontaine why he suffered these constant visits. "and why," said la fontaine, "should i not? he is my best friend." "the public think otherwise," was the reply; "they say that he comes for the sake of madame la fontaine." "the public is mistaken; but what must i do in the case?" said the poet. "you must demand satisfaction, sword in hand, of one who has dishonoured you." "very well," said la fontaine, "i will demand it." the next day he called on poignant, at four o'clock in the morning, and found him in bed. "rise," said he, "and come out with me!" his friend asked him what was the matter, and what pressing business had brought him so early in the morning. "i shall let you know," replied la fontaine, "when we get abroad." poignant, in great astonishment, rose, followed him out, and asked whither he was leading. "you shall know by-and-by," replied la fontaine; and at last, when they had reached a retired place, he said, "my friend, we must fight." poignant, still more surprised, sought to know in what he had offended him, and moreover represented to him that they were not on equal terms. "i am a man of war," said he, "while, as for you, you have never drawn a sword." "no matter," said la fontaine; "the public requires that i should fight you." poignant, after having resisted in vain, at last drew his sword, and, having easily made himself master of la fontaine's, demanded the cause of the quarrel. "the public maintains," said la fontaine, "that you come to my house daily, not for my sake, but my wife's." "ah! my friend," replied the other, "i should never have suspected that was the cause of your displeasure, and i protest i will never again put a foot within your doors." "on the contrary," replied la fontaine, seizing him by the hand, "i have satisfied the public, and now you must come to my house, every day, or i will fight you again." the two antagonists returned, and breakfasted together in good-humour. it was not, as we have said, till his twenty-second year, that la fontaine showed any taste for poetry. the occasion was this:--an officer, in winter-quarters at chateau-thierry, one day read to him, with great spirit, an ode of malherbe, beginning thus-- que direz-vous, races futures, si quelquefois un vrai discours vous récite les aventures de nos abominables jours? or, as we might paraphrase it,-- what will ye say, ye future days, if i, for once, in honest rhymes, recount to you the deeds and ways of our abominable times? la fontaine listened with involuntary transports of joy, admiration, and astonishment, as if a man born with a genius for music, but brought up in a desert, had for the first time heard a well-played instrument. he set himself immediately to reading malherbe, passed his nights in learning his verses by heart, and his days in declaiming them in solitary places. he also read voiture, and began to write verses in imitation. happily, at this period, a relative named pintrel directed his attention to ancient literature, and advised him to make himself familiar with horace, homer, virgil, terence, and quinctilian. he accepted this counsel. m. de maucroix, another of his friends, who cultivated poetry with success, also contributed to confirm his taste for the ancient models. his great delight, however, was to read plato and plutarch, which he did only through translations. the copies which he used are said to bear his manuscript notes on almost every page, and these notes are the maxims which are to be found in his fables. returning from this study of the ancients, he read the moderns with more discrimination. his favourites, besides malherbe, were corneille, rabelais, and marot. in italian, he read ariosto, boccaccio, and machiavel. in he published his first work, a translation of the _eunuch_ of terence. it met with no success. but this does not seem at all to have disturbed its author. he cultivated verse-making with as much ardour and good-humour as ever; and his verses soon began to be admired in the circle of his friends. no man had ever more devoted friends. verses that have cost thought are not relished without thought. when a genius appears, it takes some little time for the world to educate itself to a knowledge of the fact. by one of his friends, la fontaine was introduced to fouquet, the minister of finance, a man of great power, and who rivalled his sovereign in wealth and luxury. it was his pride to be the patron of literary men, and he was pleased to make la fontaine his poet, settling on him a pension of one thousand francs per annum, on condition that he should produce a piece in verse each quarter,--a condition which was exactly complied with till the fall of the minister. fouquet was a most splendid villain, and positively, though perhaps not comparatively, deserved to fall. but it was enough for la fontaine that fouquet had done him a kindness. he took the part of the disgraced minister, without counting the cost. his "elegy to the nymphs of vaux" was a shield to the fallen man, and turned popular hatred into sympathy. the good-hearted poet rejoiced exceedingly in its success. _bon-homme_ was the appellation which his friends pleasantly gave him, and by which he became known everywhere;--and never did a man better deserve it in its best sense. he was good by nature--not by the calculation of consequences. indeed it does not seem ever to have occurred to him that kindness, gratitude, and truth, could have any other than good consequences. he was truly a frenchman without guile, and possessed to perfection that comfortable trait,--in which french character is commonly allowed to excel the english,--_good-humour_ with the whole world. la fontaine was the intimate friend of molière, boileau, and racine. molière had already established a reputation; but the others became known to the world at the same time. boileau hired a small chamber in the faubourg saint germain, where they all met several times a week; for la fontaine, at the age of forty-four, had left chateau-thierry, and become a citizen of paris. here they discussed all sorts of topics, admitting to their society chapelle, a man of less genius, but of greater conversational powers, than either of them--a sort of connecting link between them and the world. four poets, or four men, could hardly have been more unlike. boileau was blustering, blunt, peremptory, but honest and frank; racine, of a pleasant and tranquil gaiety, but mischievous and sarcastic; molière was naturally considerate, pensive, and melancholy; la fontaine was often absent-minded, but sometimes exceedingly jovial, delighting with his sallies, his witty _naïvetés_, and his arch simplicity. these meetings, which no doubt had a great influence upon french literature, la fontaine, in one of his prefaces, thus describes:--"four friends, whose acquaintance had begun at the foot of parnassus, held a sort of society, which i should call an academy, if their number had been sufficiently great, and if they had had as much regard for the muses as for pleasure. the first thing which they did was to banish from among them all rules of conversation, and everything which savours of the academic conference. when they met, and had sufficiently discussed their amusements, if chance threw them upon any point of science or belles-lettres, they profited by the occasion; it was, however, without dwelling too long on the same subject, flitting from one thing to another like the bees that meet divers sorts of flowers on their way. neither envy, malice, nor cabal, had any voice among them. they adored the works of the ancients, never refused due praise to those of the moderns, spoke modestly of their own, and gave each other sincere counsel, when any one of them--which rarely happened--fell into the malady of the age, and published a book." the absent-mindedness of our fabulist not unfrequently created much amusement on these occasions, and made him the object of mirthful conspiracies. so keenly was the game pursued by boileau and racine, that the more considerate molière felt obliged sometimes to expose and rebuke them. once, after having done so, he privately told a stranger, who was present with them, the wits would have worried themselves in vain; they could not have obliterated the _bon-homme_. la fontaine, as we have said, was an admirer of rabelais;--to what a pitch, the following anecdote may show. at one of the meetings at boileau's were present racine, valincourt, and a brother of boileau's, a doctor of the sorbonne. the latter took it upon him to set forth the merits of st. augustin in a pompous eulogium. la fontaine, plunged in one of his habitual reveries, listened without hearing. at last, rousing himself as if from a profound sleep, to prove that the conversation had not been lost upon him, he asked the doctor, with a very serious air, whether he thought st. augustin had as much wit as rabelais. the divine, surprised, looked at him from head to foot, and only replied, "take care, monsieur la fontaine;--you have put one of your stockings on wrong side outwards"--which was the fact. it was in that la fontaine published his first collection of fables, under the modest title _fables choisies, mises en vers_, in a quarto volume, with figures designed and engraved by chauveau. it contained six books, and was dedicated to the dauphin. many of the fables had already been published in a separate form. the success of this collection was so great, that it was reprinted the same year in a smaller size. fables had come to be regarded as beneath poetry; la fontaine established them at once on the top of parnassus. the ablest poets of his age did not think it beneath them to enter the lists with him; and it is needless to say they came off second best. one of the fables of the first book is addressed to the duke de la rochefoucauld, and was the consequence of a friendship between la fontaine and the author of the celebrated "maxims." connected with the duke was madame la fayette, one of the most learned and ingenious women of her age, who consequently became the admirer and friend of the fabulist. to her he wrote verses abundantly, as he did to all who made him the object of their kind regard. indeed, notwithstanding his avowed indolence, or rather passion for quiet and sleep, his pen was very productive. in , he published "psyché," a romance in prose and verse, which he dedicated to the duchess de bouillon, in gratitude for many kindnesses. the prose is said to be better than the verse; but this can hardly be true in respect to the following lines, in which the poet under the apt name of polyphile, in a hymn addressed to pleasure, undoubtedly sketches himself:-- volupté, volupté, qui fus jadis maîtresse du plus bel esprit de la grèce, ne me dédaigne pas; viens-t'en loger chez moi: tu n'y seras pas sans emploi: j'aime le jeu, l'amour, les livres, la musique, la ville et la campagne, enfin tout; il n'est rien qui ne me soit souverain bien, jusqu'au sombre plaisir d'un coeur mélancolique. viens donc.... the characteristic grace and playfulness of this seem to defy translation. to the mere english reader, the sense may be roughly given thus:-- delight, delight, who didst as mistress hold the finest wit of grecian mould, disdain not me; but come, and make my house thy home. thou shalt not be without employ: in play, love, music, books, i joy, in town and country; and, indeed, there's nought, e'en to the luxury of sober thought,-- the sombre, melancholy mood,-- but brings to me the sovereign good. come, then, &c. the same polyphile, in recounting his adventures on a visit to the infernal regions, tells us that he saw, in the hands of the cruel eumenides, ------les auteurs de maint hymen forcé l'amant chiche, et la dame au coeur intéressé; la troupe des censeurs, peuple à l'amour rebelle; ceux enfin dont les vers ont noirci quelque belle. ------artificers of many a loveless match, and lovers who but sought the pence to catch; the crew censorious, rebels against love; and those whose verses soiled the fair above. to be "rebels against love" was quite unpardonable with la fontaine; and to bring about a "_hymen forcé_" was a crime, of which he probably spoke with some personal feeling. the great popularity of "psyché" encouraged the author to publish two volumes of poems and tales in , in which were contained several new fables. the celebrated madame de sévigné thus speaks of these fables, in one of her letters to her daughter:--"but have you not admired the beauty of the five or six fables of la fontaine contained in one of the volumes which i sent you? we were charmed with them the other day at m. de la rochefoucauld's: we got by art that of the monkey and the cat." then, quoting some lines, she adds,--"this is painting! and the pumpkin--and the nightingale--they are worthy of the first volume!" it was in his stories that la fontaine excelled; and madame de sévigné expresses a wish to invent a fable which would impress upon him the folly of leaving his peculiar province. he seemed himself not insensible where his strength lay, and seldom ventured upon any other ground, except at the instance of his friends. with all his lightness, he felt a deep veneration for religion--the most spiritual and rigid which came within the circle of his immediate acquaintance. he admired jansenius and the port royalists, and heartily loved racine, who was of their faith. count henri-louis de loménie, of brienne,--who, after being secretary of state, had retired to the oratoire,--was engaged in bringing out a better collection of christian lyrics. to this work he pressed la fontaine, whom he called his particular friend, to lend his name and contributions. thus the author of "psyché," "adonis," and "joconde," was led to the composition of pious hymns, and versifications of the psalms of david. gifted by nature with the utmost frankness of disposition, he sympathized fully with arnauld and pascal in the war against the jesuits; and it would seem, from his _ballade sur escobar_, that he had read and relished the "provincial letters." this ballad, as it may be a curiosity to many, shall be given entire:-- ballade sur escobar. c'est à bon droit que l'on condamne à rome l'évêque d'ypré [ ], auteur de vains débats; ses sectateurs nous défendent en somme tous les plaisirs que l'on goûte ici-bas. en paradis allant au petit pas, on y parvient, quoi qu'arnauld [ ] nous en die: la volupté sans cause il a bannie. veut-on monter sur les célestes tours, chemin pierreux est grande rêverie, escobar [ ] sait un chemin de velours. il ne dit pas qu'on peut tuer un homme qui sans raison nous tient en altercas pour un fêtu ou bien pour une pomme; mais qu'on le peut pour quatre ou cinq ducats. même il soutient qu'on peut en certains cas faire un serment plein de supercherie, s'abandonner aux douceurs de la vie, s'il est besoin conserver ses amours. ne faut-il pas après cela qu'on crie: escobar sait un chemin de velours? au nom de dieu, lisez-moi quelque somme de ces écrits don't chez lui l'on fait cas. qu'est-il besoin qu'à present je les nomme? ii en est tant qu'on ne les connoît pas. de leurs avis servez-vous pour compas; n'admettez qu'eux en votre librairie; brûlez arnauld avec sa côterie, près d'escobar ce ne sont qu'esprits lourds. je vous le dis: ce n'est point raillerie, escobar sait un chemin de velours. envoi. toi, que l'orgueil poussa dans la voirie, qui tiens là-bas noire concièrgerie, lucifer, chef des infernales cours, pour éviter les traits de ta furie, escobar sait un chemin de velours. [ ] _corneille jansenius_,--the originator of the sect called jansenists. though he was bishop of ypres, his chief work, "augustinus," and his doctrines generally, were condemned by popes urban viii. and innocent x., as heretical ( and ).--ed. [ ] _arnauld_.--this was antoine arnauld, doctor of the sorbonne, and one of the arnaulds famous among the port royalists, who were jansenists in opposition to the jesuits. he was born in , and died a voluntary exile in belgium, . boileau wrote his epitaph.--ed. [ ] _escobar_.--a spanish jesuit, who flourished mostly in france, and wrote against the jansenists. pascal, as well as la fontaine, ridiculed his convenient principles of morality, he "chemin de velours," as la fontaine puts it. his chief work in moral theology was published in seven vols., folio, at lyons, - . he died in .--ed. thus does the _bon-homme_ treat the subtle escobar, the prince and prototype of the moralists of _expediency_. to translate his artless and delicate irony is hardly possible. the writer of this hasty preface offers the following only as an attempted imitation:-- ballad upon escobar. good cause has rome to reprobate the bishop who disputes her so; his followers reject and hate all pleasures that we taste below. to heaven an easy pace may go, whatever crazy arnauld saith, who aims at pleasure causeless wrath. seek we the better world afar? we're fools to choose the rugged path: a velvet road hath escobar. although he does not say you can, should one with you for nothing strive, or for a trifle, kill the man-- you can for ducats four or five. indeed, if circumstances drive, defraud, or take false oaths you may, or to the charms of life give way, when love must needs the door unbar. henceforth must not the pilgrim say, a velvet road hath escobar? now, would to god that one would state the pith of all his works to me. what boots it to enumerate? as well attempt to drain the sea!-- your chart and compass let them be; all other books put under ban; burn arnauld and his rigid clan-- they're blockheads if we but compare;-- it is no joke,--i tell you, man, a velvet road hath escobar. address. thou warden of the prison black, who didst on heaven turn thy back, the chieftain of th' infernal war! to shun thy arrows and thy rack, a velvet road hath escobar. the verses of la fontaine did more for his reputation than for his purse. his paternal estate wasted away under his carelessness; for, when the ends of the year refused to meet, he sold a piece of land sufficient to make them do so. his wife, no better qualified to manage worldly gear than himself, probably lived on her family friends, who were able to support her, and who seem to have done so without blaming him. she had lived with him in paris for some time after that city became his abode; but, tiring at length of the city life, she had returned at château-thierry, and occupied the family mansion. at the earnest expostulation of boileau and racine, who wished to make him a better husband, he returned to château-thierry himself, in , for the purpose of becoming reconciled to his wife. but his purpose strangely vanished. he called at his own house, learned from the domestic, who did not know him, that madame la fontaine was in good health, and passed on to the house of a friend, where he tarried two days, and then returned to paris without having seen his wife. when his friends inquired of him his success, with some confusion he replied, "i have been to see her, but i did not find her: she was well." twenty years after that, racine prevailed on him to visit his patrimonial estate, to take some care of what remained. racine, not hearing from him, sent to know what he was about, when la fontaine wrote as follows:--"poignant, on his return from paris, told me that you took my silence in very bad part; the worse, because you had been told that i have been incessantly at work since my arrival at château-thierry, and that, instead of applying myself to my affairs, i have had nothing in my head but verses. all this is no more than half true: my affairs occupy me as much as they deserve to--that is to say not at all; but the leisure which they leave me--it is not poetry, but idleness, which makes away with it." on a certain occasion, in the earlier part of his life, when pressed in regard to his improvidence, he gaily produced the following epigram, which has commonly been appended to his fables as "the epitaph of la fontaine, written by himself":-- jean s'en alla comme il était venu, mangea le fonds avec le revenu, tint les trésors chose peu nécessaire. quant à son temps, bien sut le dispenser: deux parts en fit, don't il soûloit passer l'urie à dormir, et l'autre à ne rien faire. this confession, the immortality of which was so little foreseen by its author, liberally rendered, amounts to the following:-- john went as he came--ate his farm with its fruits, held treasure to be but the cause of disputes; and, as to his time, be it frankly confessed, divided it daily as suited him best,-- gave a part to his sleep, and to nothing the rest. it is clear that a man who provided so little for himself needed good friends to do it; and heaven kindly furnished them. when his affairs began to be straitened, he was invited by the celebrated madame de la sablière to make her house his home; and there, in fact, he was thoroughly domiciliated for twenty years. "i have sent away all my domestics," said that lady, one day; "i have kept only my dog, my cat, and la fontaine." she was, perhaps, the best-educated woman in france, was the mistress of several languages, knew horace and virgil by heart, and had been thoroughly indoctrinated in all the sciences by the ablest masters. her husband, m. rambouillet de la sablière, was secretary to the king, and register of domains, and to immense wealth united considerable poetical talents, with a thorough knowledge of the world. it was the will of madame de la sablière, that her favourite poet should have no further care for his external wants; and never was a mortal more perfectly resigned. he did all honour to the sincerity of his amiable hostess; and, if he ever showed a want of independence, he certainly did not of gratitude. compliments of more touching tenderness we nowhere meet than those which la fontaine has paid to his benefactress. he published nothing which was not first submitted to her eye, and entered into her affairs and friendships with all his heart. her unbounded confidence in his integrity she expressed by saying, "la fontaine never lies in prose." by her death, in , our fabulist was left without a home; but his many friends vied with each other which should next furnish one. he was then seventy-two years of age, had turned his attention to personal religion, and received the seal of conversion at the hands of the roman catholic church. in his conversion, as in the rest of his life, his frankness left no room to doubt his sincerity. the writings which had justly given offence to the good were made the subject of a public confession, and everything in his power was done to prevent their circulation. the death of one who had done so much for him, and whose last days, devoted with the most self-denying benevolence to the welfare of her species, had taught him a most salutary lesson, could not but be deeply felt. he had just left the house of his deceased benefactress, never again to enter it, when he met m. d'hervart in the street, who eagerly said to him, "my dear la fontaine, i was looking for you, to beg you to come and take lodgings in my house." "i was going thither," replied la fontaine. a reply could not have more characteristic. the fabulist had not in him sufficient hypocrisy of which to manufacture the commonplace politeness of society. his was the politeness of a warm and unsuspecting heart. he never concealed his confidence in the fear that it might turn out to be misplaced. his second collection of fables, containing five books, la fontaine published in - , with a dedication to madame de montespan; the previous six books were republished at the same time, revised, and enlarged. the twelfth book was not added till many years after, and proved, in fact, the song of the dying swan. it was written for the special use of the young duke de bourgogne, the royal pupil of fénélon, to whom it contains frequent allusions. the eleven books now published sealed the reputation of la fontaine, and were received with distinguished regard by the king, who appended to the ordinary protocol or imprimatur for publication the following reasons: "in order to testify to the author the esteem we have for his person and his merit, and because youth have received great advantage in their education from the fables selected and put in verse, which he has heretofore published." the author was, moreover, permitted to present his book in person to the sovereign. for this purpose he repaired to versailles, and after having well delivered himself of his compliment to royalty, perceived that he had forgotten to bring the book which he was to present; he was, nevertheless, favourably received, and loaded with presents. but it is added, that, on his return, he also lost, by his absence of mind, the purse full of gold which the king had given him, which was happily found under a cushion of the carriage in which he rode. in his advertisement to the second part of his fables, la fontaine informs the reader that he had treated his subjects in a somewhat different style. in fact, in his first collection, he had timidly confined himself to the brevity of aesop and phaedrus; but, having observed that those fables were most popular in which he had given most scope to his own genius, he threw off the trammels in the second collection, and, in the opinion of the writer, much for the better. his subjects, too, in the second part, are frequently derived from the indian fabulists, and bring with them the richness and dramatic interest of the _hitopadesa_. of all his fables, the oak and the reed is said to have been the favourite of la fontaine. but his critics have almost unanimously given the palm of excellence to the animals sick of the plague, the first of the seventh book. its exquisite poetry, the perfection of its dialogue, and the weight of its moral, well entitle it to the place. that must have been a soul replete with honesty, which could read such a lesson in the ears of a proud and oppressive court. indeed, we may look in vain through this encyclopaedia of fable for a sentiment which goes to justify the strong in their oppression of the weak. even in the midst of the fulsome compliments which it was the fashion of his age to pay to royalty, la fontaine maintains a reserve and decency peculiar to himself. by an examination of his fables, we think, we might fairly establish for him the character of an honest and disinterested lover and respecter of his species. in his fable entitled death and the dying, he unites the genius of pascal and molière; in that of the two doves is a tenderness quite peculiar to himself, and an insight into the heart worthy of shakspeare. in his mogul's dream are sentiments worthy of the very high-priest of nature, and expressed in his own native tongue with a felicity which makes the translator feel that all his labours are but vanity and vexation of spirit. but it is not the purpose of this brief preface to criticize the fables. it is sufficient to say, that the work occupies a position in french literature, which, after all has been said that can be for gay, moore, and other english versifiers of fables, is left quite vacant in ours. our author was elected a member of the french academy in , and received with the honour of a public session. he read on this occasion a poem of exquisite beauty, addressed to his benefactress, madame de la sablière. in that distinguished body of men he was a universal favourite, and none, perhaps, did more to promote its prime object--the improvement of the french language. we have already seen how he was regarded by some of the greatest minds of his age. voltaire, who never did more than justice to merit other than his own, said of the fables, "i hardly know a book which more abounds with charms adapted to the people, and at the same time to persons of refined taste. i believe that, of all authors, la fontaine is the most universally read. he is for all minds and all ages." la bruyère, when admitted to the academy, in , was warmly applauded for his _éloge_ upon la fontaine, which contained the following words:--"more equal than marot, and more poetical than voiture, la fontaine has the playfulness, felicity, and artlessness of both. he instructs while he sports, persuades men to virtue by means of beasts, and exalts trifling subjects to the sublime; a man unique in his species of composition, always original, whether he invents or translates,--who has gone beyond his models, himself a model hard to imitate." la fontaine, as we have said, devoted his latter days to religion. in this he was sustained and cheered by his old friends racine and de maucroix. death overtook him while applying his poetical powers to the hymns of the church. to de maucroix he wrote, a little before his death,--"i assure you that the best of your friends cannot count upon more than fifteen days of life. for these two months i have not gone abroad, except occasionally to attend the academy, for a little amusement. yesterday, as i was returning from it, in the middle of the rue du chantre, i was taken with such a faintness that i really thought myself dying. o, my friend, to die is nothing: but think you how i am going to appear before god! you know how i have lived. before you receive this billet, the gates of eternity will perhaps have been opened upon me!" to this, a few days after, his friend replied,--"if god, in his kindness, restores you to health, i hope you will come and spend the rest of your life with me, and we shall often talk together of the mercies of god. if, however, you have not strength to write, beg m. racine to do me that kindness, the greatest he can ever do for me. adieu, my good, my old, and my true friend. may god, in his infinite, goodness, take care of the health of your body, and that of your soul." he died the th of april, , at the age of seventy-three, and was buried in the cemetery of the saints-innocents. when fénélon heard of his death, he wrote a latin eulogium, which he gave to his royal pupil to translate. "la fontaine is no more!" said fénélon, in this composition; "he is no more! and with him have gone the playful jokes, the merry laugh, the artless graces, and the sweet muses." * * * * * the fables of la fontaine * * * * * to monseigneur the dauphin.[ ] i sing the heroes of old aesop's line, whose tale, though false when strictly we define, containeth truths it were not ill to teach. with me all natures use the gift of speech; yea, in my work, the very fishes preach, and to our human selves their sermons suit. 'tis thus, to come at man, i use the brute. son of a prince the favourite of the skies, on whom the world entire hath fix'd its eyes, who hence shall count his conquests by his days, and gather from the proudest lips his praise, a louder voice than mine must tell in song what virtues to thy kingly line belong. i seek thine ear to gain by lighter themes, slight pictures, deck'd in magic nature's beams; and if to please thee shall not be my pride, i'll gain at least the praise of having tried. [ ] this dedication prefaced la fontaine's first collection of his fables, which comprised books i. to vi., published in . the dauphin was louis, the only son of louis xiv. and marie-thérèse of austria. he was born at fontainebleau in , and died at meudon in , before his father, the "grand monarque," had ceased to reign. the dauphin being but a child, between six and seven years old, at the time of this dedication, la fontaine's act may be viewed rather as an offering to the king, than to the child himself. see the translator's preface. * * * * * book i. i.--the grasshopper and the ant.[ ] a grasshopper gay sang the summer away, and found herself poor by the winter's first roar. of meat or of bread, not a morsel she had! so a begging she went, to her neighbour the ant, for the loan of some wheat, which would serve her to eat, till the season came round. 'i will pay you,' she saith, 'on an animal's faith, double weight in the pound ere the harvest be bound.' the ant is a friend (and here she might mend) little given to lend. 'how spent you the summer?' quoth she, looking shame at the borrowing dame. 'night and day to each comer i sang, if you please.' 'you sang! i'm at ease; for 'tis plain at a glance, now, ma'am, you must dance.' [ ] for the story of this fable, as for the stories of so many of the fables which follow, especially in the first six books, la fontaine is indebted to the father of fable, aesop the phrygian. see account of aesop in the translator's preface. ii.--the raven and the fox.[ ] perch'd on a lofty oak, sir raven held a lunch of cheese; sir fox, who smelt it in the breeze, thus to the holder spoke:-- 'ha! how do you do, sir raven? well, your coat, sir, is a brave one! so black and glossy, on my word, sir, with voice to match, you were a bird, sir, well fit to be the phoenix of these days.' sir raven, overset with praise, must show how musical his croak. down fell the luncheon from the oak; which snatching up, sir fox thus spoke:-- 'the flatterer, my good sir, aye liveth on his listener; which lesson, if you please, is doubtless worth the cheese.' a bit too late, sir raven swore the rogue should never cheat him more. [ ] both aesop and phaedrus have a version of this fable. iii.--the frog that wished to be as big as the ox.[ ] the tenant of a bog, an envious little frog, not bigger than an egg, a stately bullock spies, and, smitten with his size, attempts to be as big. with earnestness and pains, she stretches, swells, and strains, and says, 'sis frog, look here! see me! is this enough?' 'no, no.' 'well, then, is this?' 'poh! poh! enough! you don't begin to be.' and thus the reptile sits, enlarging till she splits. the world is full of folks of just such wisdom;-- the lordly dome provokes the cit to build his dome; and, really, there is no telling how much great men set little ones a swelling. [ ] the story of this fable is given in horace, _satires_, ii. , phaedrus and corrozet have also versions of it. for an account of phaedrus and his fables see the translator's preface. gilles corrozet was one of the french fabulists immediately preceding la fontaine. he was a parisian bookseller-author who lived between and . iv.--the two mules. two mules were bearing on their backs, one, oats; the other, silver of the tax.[ ] the latter glorying in his load, march'd proudly forward on the road; and, from the jingle of his bell, 'twas plain he liked his burden well. but in a wild-wood glen a band of robber men rush'd forth upon the twain. well with the silver pleased, they by the bridle seized the treasure-mule so vain. poor mule! in struggling to repel his ruthless foes, he fell stabb'd through; and with a bitter sighing, he cried, 'is this the lot they promised me? my humble friend from danger free, while, weltering in my gore, i'm dying?' 'my friend,' his fellow-mule replied, 'it is not well to have one's work too high. if thou hadst been a miller's drudge, as i, thou wouldst not thus have died.' [ ] _the silver of the tax_.--an allusion to the french _gabelle_, or old salt tax, which, like all taxes levied upon the mass of the people, was a very productive one. its collection caused several peasants' insurrections. v.--the wolf and the dog.[ ] a prowling wolf, whose shaggy skin (so strict the watch of dogs had been) hid little but his bones, once met a mastiff dog astray. a prouder, fatter, sleeker tray, no human mortal owns. sir wolf in famish'd plight, would fain have made a ration upon his fat relation; but then he first must fight; and well the dog seem'd able to save from wolfish table his carcass snug and tight. so, then, in civil conversation the wolf express'd his admiration of tray's fine case. said tray, politely, 'yourself, good sir, may be as sightly; quit but the woods, advised by me. for all your fellows here, i see, are shabby wretches, lean and gaunt, belike to die of haggard want. with such a pack, of course it follows, one fights for every bit he swallows. come, then, with me, and share on equal terms our princely fare.' 'but what with you has one to do?' inquires the wolf. 'light work indeed,' replies the dog; 'you only need to bark a little now and then, to chase off duns and beggar men, to fawn on friends that come or go forth, your master please, and so forth; for which you have to eat all sorts of well-cook'd meat-- cold pullets, pigeons, savoury messes-- besides unnumber'd fond caresses.' the wolf, by force of appetite, accepts the terms outright, tears glistening in his eyes. but faring on, he spies a gall'd spot on the mastiff's neck. 'what's that?' he cries. 'o, nothing but a speck.' 'a speck?' 'ay, ay; 'tis not enough to pain me; perhaps the collar's mark by which they chain me.' 'chain! chain you! what! run you not, then, just where you please, and when?' 'not always, sir; but what of that?' 'enough for me, to spoil your fat! it ought to be a precious price which could to servile chains entice; for me, i'll shun them while i've wit.' so ran sir wolf, and runneth yet. [ ] phaedrus, iii. .--the references to the fables of phaedrus are to bohn's edition, which is from the critical edition of orellius, . vi.--the heifer, the goat, and the sheep, in company with the lion.[ ] the heifer, the goat, and their sister the sheep, compacted their earnings in common to keep, 'tis said, in time past, with a lion, who sway'd full lordship o'er neighbours, of whatever grade. the goat, as it happen'd, a stag having snared, sent off to the rest, that the beast might be shared. all gather'd; the lion first counts on his claws, and says, 'we'll proceed to divide with our paws the stag into pieces, as fix'd by our laws.' this done, he announces part first as his own; ''tis mine,' he says, 'truly, as lion alone.' to such a decision there's nought to be said, as he who has made it is doubtless the head. 'well, also, the second to me should belong; 'tis mine, be it known, by the right of the strong. again, as the bravest, the third must be mine. to touch but the fourth whoso maketh a sign, i'll choke him to death in the space of a breath!' [ ] phaedrus, i. . from this fable come the french proverbial expression, _la part du lion_, and its english equivalent, the "lion's share." vii.--the wallet.[ ] from heaven, one day, did jupiter proclaim, 'let all that live before my throne appear, and there if any one hath aught to blame, in matter, form, or texture of his frame, he may bring forth his grievance without fear. redress shall instantly be given to each. come, monkey, now, first let us have your speech. you see these quadrupeds, your brothers; comparing, then, yourself with others, are you well satisfied?' 'and wherefore not?' says jock. 'haven't i four trotters with the rest? is not my visage comely as the best? but this my brother bruin, is a blot on thy creation fair; and sooner than be painted i'd be shot, were i, great sire, a bear.' the bear approaching, doth he make complaint? not he;--himself he lauds without restraint. the elephant he needs must criticize; to crop his ears and stretch his tail were wise; a creature he of huge, misshapen size. the elephant, though famed as beast judicious, while on his own account he had no wishes, pronounced dame whale too big to suit his taste; of flesh and fat she was a perfect waste. the little ant, again, pronounced the gnat too wee; to such a speck, a vast colossus she. each censured by the rest, himself content, back to their homes all living things were sent. such folly liveth yet with human fools. for others lynxes, for ourselves but moles. great blemishes in other men we spy, which in ourselves we pass most kindly by. as in this world we're but way-farers, kind heaven has made us wallet-bearers. the pouch behind our own defects must store, the faults of others lodge in that before. [ ] one of aesop's: phaedrus also gives it, book iv. . viii.--the swallow and the little birds.[ ] by voyages in air, with constant thought and care, much knowledge had a swallow gain'd, which she for public use retain'd, the slightest storms she well foreknew, and told the sailors ere they blew. a farmer sowing hemp, once having found, she gather'd all the little birds around, and said, 'my friends, the freedom let me take to prophesy a little, for your sake, against this dangerous seed. though such a bird as i knows how to hide or fly, you birds a caution need. see you that waving hand? it scatters on the land what well may cause alarm. 'twill grow to nets and snares, to catch you unawares, and work you fatal harm! great multitudes i fear, of you, my birdies dear, that falling seed, so little, will bring to cage or kettle! but though so perilous the plot, you now may easily defeat it: all lighting on the seeded spot, just scratch up every seed and eat it.' the little birds took little heed, so fed were they with other seed. anon the field was seen bedeck'd in tender green. the swallow's warning voice was heard again: 'my friends, the product of that deadly grain, seize now, and pull it root by root, or surely you'll repent its fruit.' 'false, babbling prophetess,' says one, 'you'd set us at some pretty fun! to pull this field a thousand birds are needed, while thousands more with hemp are seeded.' the crop now quite mature, the swallow adds, 'thus far i've fail'd of cure; i've prophesied in vain against this fatal grain: it's grown. and now, my bonny birds, though you have disbelieved my words thus far, take heed at last,-- when you shall see the seed-time past, and men, no crops to labour for, on birds shall wage their cruel war, with deadly net and noose; of flying then beware, unless you take the air, like woodcock, crane, or goose. but stop; you're not in plight for such adventurous flight, o'er desert waves and sands, in search of other lands. hence, then, to save your precious souls, remaineth but to say, 'twill be the safest way, to chuck yourselves in holes.' before she had thus far gone, the birdlings, tired of hearing, and laughing more than fearing, set up a greater jargon than did, before the trojan slaughter, the trojans round old priam's daughter.[ ] and many a bird, in prison grate, lamented soon a trojan fate. 'tis thus we heed no instincts but our own; believe no evil till the evil's done. [ ] aesop. [ ] _priam's daughter_.--cassandra, who predicted the fall of troy, and was not heeded. ix.--the city rat and the country rat.[ ] a city rat, one night, did, with a civil stoop, a country rat invite to end a turtle soup. upon a turkey carpet they found the table spread, and sure i need not harp it how well the fellows fed. the entertainment was a truly noble one; but some unlucky cause disturb'd it when begun. it was a slight rat-tat, that put their joys to rout; out ran the city rat; his guest, too, scamper'd out. our rats but fairly quit, the fearful knocking ceased. 'return we,' cried the cit, to finish there our feast. 'no,' said the rustic rat; 'to-morrow dine with me. i'm not offended at your feast so grand and free,-- 'for i've no fare resembling; but then i eat at leisure, and would not swap, for pleasure so mix'd with fear and trembling.' [ ] horace, _satires_, ii. : also in aesop. x.--the wolf and the lamb.[ ] that innocence is not a shield, a story teaches, not the longest. the strongest reasons always yield to reasons of the strongest. a lamb her thirst was slaking, once, at a mountain rill. a hungry wolf was taking his hunt for sheep to kill, when, spying on the streamlet's brink this sheep of tender age, he howl'd in tones of rage, 'how dare you roil my drink? your impudence i shall chastise!' 'let not your majesty,' the lamb replies, 'decide in haste or passion! for sure 'tis difficult to think in what respect or fashion my drinking here could roil your drink, since on the stream your majesty now faces i'm lower down, full twenty paces.' 'you roil it,' said the wolf; 'and, more, i know you cursed and slander'd me a year ago.' 'o no! how could i such a thing have done! a lamb that has not seen a year, a suckling of its mother dear?' 'your brother then.' 'but brother i have none.' 'well, well, what's all the same, 'twas some one of your name. sheep, men, and dogs of every nation, are wont to stab my reputation, as i have truly heard.' without another word, he made his vengeance good-- bore off the lambkin to the wood, and there, without a jury, judged, slew, and ate her in his fury. [ ] phaedrus, i. : also in aesop. xi.--the man and his image.[ ] to m. the duke de la rochefoucauld. a man, who had no rivals in the love which to himself he bore, esteem'd his own dear beauty far above what earth had seen before. more than contented in his error, he lived the foe of every mirror. officious fate, resolved our lover from such an illness should recover, presented always to his eyes the mute advisers which the ladies prize;-- mirrors in parlours, inns, and shops,-- mirrors the pocket furniture of fops,-- mirrors on every lady's zone,[ ] from which his face reflected shone. what could our dear narcissus do? from haunts of men he now withdrew, on purpose that his precious shape from every mirror might escape. but in his forest glen alone, apart from human trace, a watercourse, of purest source, while with unconscious gaze he pierced its waveless face, reflected back his own. incensed with mingled rage and fright, he seeks to shun the odious sight; but yet that mirror sheet, so clear and still, he cannot leave, do what he will. ere this, my story's drift you plainly see. from such mistake there is no mortal free. that obstinate self-lover the human soul doth cover; the mirrors follies are of others, in which, as all are genuine brothers, each soul may see to life depicted itself with just such faults afflicted; and by that charming placid brook, needless to say, i mean your maxim book. [ ] this is one of la fontaine's most admired fables, and is one of the few for which he did not go for the groundwork to some older fabulist. the duke de la rochefoucauld, to whom it was dedicated, was the author of the famous "reflexions et maximes morales," which la fontaine praises in the last lines of his fable. la rochefoucauld was la fontaine's friend and patron. the "maximes" had achieved a second edition just prior to la fontaine's publication of this first series of his fables, in . "the rabbits" (book x., fable .), published in the second collection, in - , is also dedicated to the duke, who died the following year, . see translator's preface. [ ] _lady's zone_.--one of la fontaine's commentators remarks upon this passage that it is no exaggeration of the foppishness of the times in which the poet wrote, and cites the instance that the canons of st. martin of tours wore mirrors on their shoes, even while officiating in church. xii.--the dragon with many heads, and the dragon with many tails.[ ] an envoy of the porte sublime, as history says, once on a time, before th' imperial german court[ ] did rather boastfully report, the troops commanded by his master's firman, as being a stronger army than the german: to which replied a dutch attendant, 'our prince has more than one dependant who keeps an army at his own expense.' the turk, a man of sense, rejoin'd, 'i am aware what power your emperor's servants share. it brings to mind a tale both strange and true, a thing which once, myself, i chanced to view. i saw come darting through a hedge, which fortified a rocky ledge, a hydra's hundred heads; and in a trice my blood was turning into ice. but less the harm than terror,-- the body came no nearer; nor could, unless it had been sunder'd, to parts at least a hundred. while musing deeply on this sight, another dragon came to light, whose single head avails to lead a hundred tails: and, seized with juster fright, i saw him pass the hedge,-- head, body, tails,--a wedge of living and resistless powers.-- the other was your emperor's force; this ours.' [ ] the original of this fable has been attributed to the chief who made himself emperor of tartary and called himself ghengis khan (b. , d. ). he is said to have applied the fable to the great mogul and his innumerable dependent potentates. [ ] _german court_.--the court of the "holy roman empire" is here meant. xiii.--the thieves and the ass.[ ] two thieves, pursuing their profession, had of a donkey got possession, whereon a strife arose, which went from words to blows. the question was, to sell, or not to sell; but while our sturdy champions fought it well, another thief, who chanced to pass, with ready wit rode off the ass. this ass is, by interpretation, some province poor, or prostrate nation. the thieves are princes this and that, on spoils and plunder prone to fat,-- as those of austria, turkey, hungary. (instead of two, i've quoted three-- enough of such commodity.) these powers engaged in war all, some fourth thief stops the quarrel, according all to one key, by riding off the donkey. [ ] aesop. xiv.--simonides preserved by the gods.[ ] three sorts there are, as malherbe[ ] says, which one can never overpraise-- the gods, the ladies, and the king; and i, for one, endorse the thing. the heart, praise tickles and entices; of fair one's smile, it oft the price is. see how the gods sometimes repay it. simonides--the ancients say it-- once undertook, in poem lyric, to write a wrestler's panegyric; which, ere he had proceeded far in, he found his subject somewhat barren. no ancestors of great renown; his sire of some unnoted town; himself as little known to fame, the wrestler's praise was rather tame. the poet, having made the most of whate'er his hero had to boast of, digress'd, by choice that was not all luck's, to castor and his brother pollux; whose bright career was subject ample, for wrestlers, sure, a good example. our poet fatten'd on their story, gave every fight its place and glory, till of his panegyric words these deities had got two-thirds. all done, the poet's fee a talent was to be. but when he comes his bill to settle, the wrestler, with a spice of mettle, pays down a third, and tells the poet, 'the balance they may pay who owe it. the gods than i are rather debtors to such a pious man of letters. but still i shall be greatly pleased to have your presence at my feast, among a knot of guests select, my kin, and friends i most respect.' more fond of character than coffer, simonides accepts the offer. while at the feast the party sit, and wine provokes the flow of wit, it is announced that at the gate two men, in haste that cannot wait, would see the bard. he leaves the table, no loss at all to 'ts noisy gabble. the men were leda's twins, who knew what to a poet's praise was due, and, thanking, paid him by foretelling the downfall of the wrestler's dwelling. from which ill-fated pile, indeed, no sooner was the poet freed, than, props and pillars failing, which held aloft the ceiling so splendid o'er them, it downward loudly crash'd, the plates and flagons dash'd, and men who bore them; and, what was worse, full vengeance for the man of verse, a timber broke the wrestler's thighs, and wounded many otherwise. the gossip fame, of course, took care abroad to publish this affair. 'a miracle!' the public cried, delighted. no more could god-beloved bard be slighted. his verse now brought him more than double, with neither duns, nor care, nor trouble. whoe'er laid claim to noble birth must buy his ancestors a slice, resolved no nobleman on earth should overgo him in the price. from which these serious lessons flow:-- fail not your praises to bestow on gods and godlike men. again, to sell the product of her pain is not degrading to the muse. indeed, her art they do abuse, who think her wares to use, and yet a liberal pay refuse. whate'er the great confer upon her, they're honour'd by it while they honour. of old, olympus and parnassus in friendship heaved their sky-crown'd masses. [ ] phaedrus, iv. . [ ] _malherbe_.--see note to fable i., book iii. xv.--death and the unfortunate.[ ] a poor unfortunate, from day to day, call'd death to take him from this world away. 'o death' he said, 'to me how fair thy form! come quick, and end for me life's cruel storm.' death heard, and with a ghastly grin, knock'd at his door, and enter'd in 'take out this object from my sight!' the poor man loudly cried. 'its dreadful looks i can't abide; o stay him, stay him' let him come no nigher; o death! o death! i pray thee to retire!' a gentleman of note in rome, maecenas,[ ] somewhere wrote:-- "make me the poorest wretch that begs, sore, hungry, crippled, clothed in rags, in hopeless impotence of arms and legs; provided, after all, you give the one sweet liberty to live: i'll ask of death no greater favour than just to stay away for ever." [ ] aesop. [ ] _maecenas_.--seneca's epistles, ci. xvi.--death and the woodman.[ ] a poor wood-chopper, with his fagot load, whom weight of years, as well as load, oppress'd, sore groaning in his smoky hut to rest, trudged wearily along his homeward road. at last his wood upon the ground he throws, and sits him down to think o'er all his woes. to joy a stranger, since his hapless birth, what poorer wretch upon this rolling earth? no bread sometimes, and ne'er a moment's rest; wife, children, soldiers, landlords, public tax, all wait the swinging of his old, worn axe, and paint the veriest picture of a man unblest. on death he calls. forthwith that monarch grim appears, and asks what he should do for him. 'not much, indeed; a little help i lack-- to put these fagots on my back.' death ready stands all ills to cure; but let us not his cure invite. than die, 'tis better to endure,-- is both a manly maxim and a right. [ ] aesop: it is also in corrozet's fables. xvii.--the man between two ages, and his two mistresses.[ ] a man of middle age, whose hair was bordering on the grey, began to turn his thoughts and care the matrimonial way. by virtue of his ready, a store of choices had he of ladies bent to suit his taste; on which account he made no haste. to court well was no trifling art. two widows chiefly gain'd his heart; the one yet green, the other more mature, who found for nature's wane in art a cure. these dames, amidst their joking and caressing the man they long'd to wed, would sometimes set themselves to dressing his party-colour'd head. each aiming to assimilate her lover to her own estate, the older piecemeal stole the black hair from his poll, while eke, with fingers light, the young one stole the white. between them both, as if by scald, his head was changed from grey to bald. 'for these,' he said, 'your gentle pranks, i owe you, ladies, many thanks. by being thus well shaved, i less have lost than saved. of hymen, yet, no news at hand, i do assure ye. by what i've lost, i understand it is in your way, not mine, that i must pass on. thanks, ladies, for the lesson.' [ ] phaedrus, ii. : aesop. xviii.--the fox and the stork.[ ] old mister fox was at expense, one day, to dine old mistress stork. the fare was light, was nothing, sooth to say, requiring knife and fork. that sly old gentleman, the dinner-giver, was, you must understand, a frugal liver. this once, at least, the total matter was thinnish soup served on a platter, for madam's slender beak a fruitless puzzle, till all had pass'd the fox's lapping muzzle. but, little relishing his laughter, old gossip stork, some few days after, return'd his foxship's invitation. without a moment's hesitation, he said he'd go, for he must own he ne'er stood with friends for ceremony. and so, precisely at the hour, he hied him to the lady's bower; where, praising her politeness, he finds her dinner right nice. its punctuality and plenty, its viands, cut in mouthfuls dainty, its fragrant smell, were powerful to excite, had there been need, his foxish appetite. but now the dame, to torture him, such wit was in her, served up her dinner in vases made so tall and slim, they let their owner's beak pass in and out, but not, by any means, the fox's snout! all arts without avail, with drooping head and tail, as ought a fox a fowl had cheated, the hungry guest at last retreated. ye knaves, for you is this recital, you'll often meet dame stork's requital. [ ] phaedrus, i. ; also in aesop. xix.--the boy and the schoolmaster.[ ] wise counsel is not always wise, as this my tale exemplifies. a boy, that frolick'd on the banks of seine, fell in, and would have found a watery grave, had not that hand that planteth ne'er in vain a willow planted there, his life to save. while hanging by its branches as he might, a certain sage preceptor came in sight; to whom the urchin cried, 'save, or i'm drown'd!' the master, turning gravely at the sound, thought proper for a while to stand aloof, and give the boy some seasonable reproof. 'you little wretch! this comes of foolish playing, commands and precepts disobeying. a naughty rogue, no doubt, you are, who thus requite your parents' care. alas! their lot i pity much, whom fate condemns to watch o'er such.' this having coolly said, and more, he pull'd the drowning lad ashore. this story hits more marks than you suppose. all critics, pedants, men of endless prose,-- three sorts, so richly bless'd with progeny, the house is bless'd that doth not lodge any,-- may in it see themselves from head to toes. no matter what the task, their precious tongues must teach; their help in need you ask, you first must hear them preach. [ ] a fable telling this story is in the collection of arabic fables which bear the name of locman, or lokman, a personage some identify with aesop himself. lokman is said to have flourished about b.c.; and even as the "phrygian slave"--aesop was said to have been very ugly, so lokman is described as "an ugly black slave." see translator's preface. rabelais also has a version of the story of this fable, _vide gargantua_, book i. ch. xlii. xx.--the cock and the pearl.[ ] a cock scratch'd up, one day, a pearl of purest ray, which to a jeweller he bore. 'i think it fine,' he said, 'but yet a crumb of bread to me were worth a great deal more.' so did a dunce inherit a manuscript of merit, which to a publisher he bore. ''tis good,' said he, 'i'm told, yet any coin of gold to me were worth a great deal more.' [ ] phaedrus, iii. . xxi.--the hornets and the bees.[ ] "the artist by his work is known."-- a piece of honey-comb, one day, discover'd as a waif and stray, the hornets treated as their own. their title did the bees dispute, and brought before a wasp the suit. the judge was puzzled to decide, for nothing could be testified save that around this honey-comb there had been seen, as if at home, some longish, brownish, buzzing creatures, much like the bees in wings and features. but what of that? for marks the same, the hornets, too, could truly claim. between assertion, and denial, the wasp, in doubt, proclaim'd new trial; and, hearing what an ant-hill swore, could see no clearer than before. 'what use, i pray, of this expense?' at last exclaim'd a bee of sense. 'we've labour'd months in this affair, and now are only where we were. meanwhile the honey runs to waste: 'tis time the judge should show some haste. the parties, sure, have had sufficient bleeding, without more fuss of scrawls and pleading. let's set ourselves at work, these drones and we, and then all eyes the truth may plainly see, whose art it is that can produce the magic cells, the nectar juice.' the hornets, flinching on their part, show that the work transcends their art. the wasp at length their title sees, and gives the honey to the bees. would god that suits at laws with us might all be managed thus! that we might, in the turkish mode, have simple common sense for code! they then were short and cheap affairs, instead of stretching on like ditches, ingulfing in their course all riches,-- the parties leaving for their shares, the shells (and shells there might be moister) from which the court has suck'd the oyster.[ ] [ ] phaedrus, iii. . [ ] _the court has suck'd the oyster_.--the humorous idea of the lawyers, the litigants, and the oyster, is more fully treated in fable ix., book ix. xxii.--the oak and the reed.[ ] the oak one day address'd the reed:-- 'to you ungenerous indeed has nature been, my humble friend, with weakness aye obliged to bend. the smallest bird that flits in air is quite too much for you to bear; the slightest wind that wreathes the lake your ever-trembling head doth shake. 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 sturdy 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![ ] [ ] the groundwork of this fable is in aesop, and also in the fables of avianus. flavius avianus 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. [ ] 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 classical 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.[ ] 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,[ ] 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.'[ ] 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 gods 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. [ ] phaedrus, book iv. . [ ] _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 assignment 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. [ ] _half-a-dozen baby stories_.--here la fontaine exalts his muse as a fabulist. this is in reply to certain of his critics who pronounced 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 . 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 [ ] old rodilard,[ ] 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 pass'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. [ ] faerno and abstemius both have fables upon this subject. gabriel faerno ( - ) was an italian writer who published fables in latin. perrault translated these into french verse, and published them at paris in . 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. [ ] _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.[ ] 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[ ] 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.[ ] [ ] phaedrus, i. . [ ] _themis_.--the goddess of justice. [ ] 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.[ ] 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? no more permitted on the grass to feed, he'll forage through our marsh, on rush and reed; and while he eats or chews the cud, will trample on us in the mud. alas! to think how frogs must suffer by means of this proud lady heifer!' this fear was not without good sense. one bull was beat, and much to their expense; for, quick retreating to their reedy bower, he trod on twenty of them in an hour. of little folks it oft has been the fate to suffer for the follies of the great. [ ] phaedrus, i. . v.--the bat and the two weasels.[ ] a blundering bat once stuck her head into a wakeful weasel's bed; whereat the mistress of the house, a deadly foe of rats and mice, was making ready in a trice to eat the stranger as a mouse. 'what! do you dare,' she said, 'to creep in the very bed i sometimes sleep in, now, after all the provocation i've suffer'd from your thievish nation? are you not really a mouse, that gnawing pest of every house, your special aim to do the cheese ill? ay, that you are, or i'm no weasel.' 'i beg your pardon,' said the bat; 'my kind is very far from that. what! i a mouse! who told you such a lie? why, ma'am, i am a bird; and, if you doubt my word, just see the wings with which i fly. long live the mice that cleave the sky!' these reasons had so fair a show, the weasel let the creature go. by some strange fancy led, the same wise blunderhead, but two or three days later, had chosen for her rest another weasel's nest, this last, of birds a special hater. new peril brought this step absurd; without a moment's thought or puzzle, dame weasel oped her peaked muzzle to eat th' intruder as a bird. 'hold! do not wrong me,' cried the bat; 'i'm truly no such thing as that. your eyesight strange conclusions gathers. what makes a bird, i pray? its feathers. i'm cousin of the mice and rats. great jupiter confound the cats!' the bat, by such adroit replying, twice saved herself from dying. and many a human stranger thus turns his coat in danger; and sings, as suits, where'er he goes, 'god save the king!'--or 'save his foes!'[ ] [ ] aesop. [ ] _or save his foes!_--la fontaine's last line is--"vive le roi! vive la ligue!" conveying an allusion to the "holy league" of the french catholic party, which, under the guises, brought about the war with henry iii. and the huguenots, which ended, for a time, in the edict of nantes, promulgated by henry iv. in . vi.--the bird wounded by an arrow.[ ] a bird, with plumèd arrow shot, in dying case deplored her lot: 'alas!' she cried, 'the anguish of the thought! this ruin partly by myself was brought! hard-hearted men! from us to borrow what wings to us the fatal arrow! but mock us not, ye cruel race, for you must often take our place.' the work of half the human brothers is making arms against the others. [ ] aesop. vii.--the bitch and her friend.[ ] a bitch, that felt her time approaching, and had no place for parturition, went to a female friend, and, broaching her delicate condition, got leave herself to shut within the other's hut. at proper time the lender came her little premises to claim. the bitch crawl'd meekly to the door, and humbly begg'd a fortnight more. her little pups, she said, could hardly walk. in short, the lender yielded to her talk. the second term expired; the friend had come to take possession of her house and home. the bitch, this time, as if she would have bit her, replied, 'i'm ready, madam, with my litter, to go when you can turn me out.' her pups, you see, were fierce and stout. the creditor, from whom a villain borrows, will fewer shillings get again than sorrows. if you have trusted people of this sort, you'll have to plead, and dun, and fight; in short, if in your house you let one step a foot, he'll surely step the other in to boot. [ ] phaedrus, i. . see the translator's preface. viii.--the eagle and the beetle.[ ] john rabbit, by dame eagle chased, was making for his hole in haste, when, on his way, he met a beetle's burrow. i leave you all to think if such a little chink could to a rabbit give protection thorough. but, since no better could be got, john rabbit there was fain to squat. of course, in an asylum so absurd, john felt ere long the talons of the bird. but first, the beetle, interceding, cried, 'great queen of birds, it cannot be denied, that, maugre my protection, you can bear my trembling guest, john rabbit, through the air. but do not give me such affront, i pray; and since he craves your grace, in pity of his case, grant him his life, or take us both away; for he's my gossip, friend, and neighbour.' in vain the beetle's friendly labour; the eagle clutch'd her prey without reply, and as she flapp'd her vasty wings to fly, struck down our orator and still'd him; the wonder is she hadn't kill'd him. the beetle soon, of sweet revenge in quest, flew to the old, gnarl'd mountain oak, which proudly bore that haughty eagle's nest. and while the bird was gone, her eggs, her cherish'd eggs, he broke, not sparing one. returning from her flight, the eagle's cry, of rage and bitter anguish, fill'd the sky. but, by excess of passion blind, her enemy she fail'd to find. her wrath in vain, that year it was her fate to live a mourning mother, desolate. the next, she built a loftier nest; 'twas vain; the beetle found and dash'd her eggs again. john rabbit's death was thus revenged anew. the second mourning for her murder'd brood was such, that through the giant mountain wood, for six long months, the sleepless echo flew. the bird, once ganymede, now made her prayer to jupiter for aid; and, laying them within his godship's lap, she thought her eggs now safe from all mishap; the god his own could not but make them-- no wretch, would venture there to break them. and no one did. their enemy, this time, upsoaring to a place sublime, let fall upon his royal robes some dirt, which jove just shaking, with a sudden flirt, threw out the eggs, no one knows whither. when jupiter inform'd her how th' event occurr'd by purest accident, the eagle raved; there was no reasoning with her; she gave out threats of leaving court, to make the desert her resort, and other brav'ries of this sort. poor jupiter in silence heard the uproar of his favourite bird. before his throne the beetle now appear'd, and by a clear complaint the mystery clear'd. the god pronounced the eagle in the wrong. but still, their hatred was so old and strong, these enemies could not be reconciled; and, that the general peace might not be spoil'd,-- the best that he could do,--the god arranged, that thence the eagle's pairing should be changed, to come when beetle folks are only found conceal'd and dormant under ground. [ ] aesop. ix.--the lion and the gnat.[ ] 'go, paltry insect, nature's meanest brat!' thus said the royal lion to the gnat. the gnat declared immediate war. 'think you,' said he, 'your royal name to me worth caring for? think you i tremble at your power or fame? the ox is bigger far than you; yet him i drive, and all his crew.' this said, as one that did no fear owe, himself he blew the battle charge, himself both trumpeter and hero. at first he play'd about at large, then on the lion's neck, at leisure, settled, and there the royal beast full sorely nettled. with foaming mouth, and flashing eye, he roars. all creatures hide or fly,-- such mortal terror at the work of one poor gnat! with constant change of his attack, the snout now stinging, now the back, and now the chambers of the nose; the pigmy fly no mercy shows. the lion's rage was at its height; his viewless foe now laugh'd outright, when on his battle-ground he saw, that every savage tooth and claw had got its proper beauty by doing bloody duty; himself, the hapless lion, tore his hide, and lash'd with sounding tail from side to side. ah! bootless blow, and bite, and curse! he beat the harmless air, and worse; for, though so fierce and stout, by effort wearied out, he fainted, fell, gave up the quarrel. the gnat retires with verdant laurel. now rings his trumpet clang, as at the charge it rang. but while his triumph note he blows, straight on our valiant conqueror goes a spider's ambuscade to meet, and make its web his winding-sheet. we often have the most to fear from those we most despise; again, great risks a man may clear, who by the smallest dies. [ ] aesop. x.--the ass loaded with sponges, and the ass loaded with salt.[ ] a man, whom i shall call an ass-eteer, his sceptre like some roman emperor bearing, drove on two coursers of protracted ear, the one, with sponges laden, briskly faring; the other lifting legs as if he trod on eggs, with constant need of goading, and bags of salt for loading. o'er hill and dale our merry pilgrims pass'd, till, coming to a river's ford at last, they stopp'd quite puzzled on the shore. our asseteer had cross'd the stream before; so, on the lighter beast astride, he drives the other, spite of dread, which, loath indeed to go ahead, into a deep hole turns aside, and, facing right about, where he went in, comes out; for duckings two or three had power the salt to melt, so that the creature felt his burden'd shoulders free. the sponger, like a sequent sheep, pursuing through the water deep, into the same hole plunges himself, his rider, and the sponges. all three drank deeply: asseteer and ass for boon companions of their load might pass; which last became so sore a weight, the ass fell down, belike to drown, his rider risking equal fate. a helper came, no matter who. the moral needs no more ado-- that all can't act alike,-- the point i wish'd to strike. [ ] aesop. xi.--the lion and the rat.[ ] to show to all your kindness, it behoves: there's none so small but you his aid may need. i quote two fables for this weighty creed, which either of them fully proves. from underneath the sward a rat, quite off his guard, popp'd out between a lion's paws. the beast of royal bearing show'd what a lion was the creature's life by sparing-- a kindness well repaid; for, little as you would have thought his majesty would ever need his aid, it proved full soon a precious boon. forth issuing from his forest glen, t' explore the haunts of men, in lion net his majesty was caught, from which his strength and rage served not to disengage. the rat ran up, with grateful glee, gnaw'd off a rope, and set him free. by time and toil we sever what strength and rage could never. [ ] aesop. in the original editions of la fontaine's fables, xi. and xii. are printed together, and headed "fables xi. et xii." xii.--the dove and the ant.[ ] the same instruction we may get from another couple, smaller yet. a dove came to a brook to drink, when, leaning o'er its crumbling brink, an ant fell in, and vainly tried, in this, to her, an ocean tide, to reach the land; whereat the dove, with every living thing in love, was prompt a spire of grass to throw her, by which the ant regain'd the shore. a barefoot scamp, both mean and sly, soon after chanced this dove to spy; and, being arm'd with bow and arrow, the hungry codger doubted not the bird of venus, in his pot, would make a soup before the morrow. just as his deadly bow he drew, our ant just bit his heel. roused by the villain's squeal, the dove took timely hint, and flew far from the rascal's coop;-- and with her flew his soup. [ ] aesop. xiii.--the astrologer who stumbled into a well.[ ] to an astrologer who fell plump to the bottom of a well, 'poor blockhead!' cried a passer-by, 'not see your feet, and read the sky?' this upshot of a story will suffice to give a useful hint to most; for few there are in this our world so wise as not to trust in star or ghost, or cherish secretly the creed that men the book of destiny may read. this book, by homer and his pupils sung, what is it, in plain common sense, but what was chance those ancient folks among, and with ourselves, god's providence? now chance doth bid defiance to every thing like science; 'twere wrong, if not, to call it hazard, fortune, lot-- things palpably uncertain. but from the purposes divine, the deep of infinite design, who boasts to lift the curtain? whom but himself doth god allow to read his bosom thoughts? and how would he imprint upon the stars sublime the shrouded secrets of the night of time? and all for what? to exercise the wit of those who on astrology have writ? to help us shun inevitable ills? to poison for us even pleasure's rills? the choicest blessings to destroy, exhausting, ere they come, their joy? such faith is worse than error--'tis a crime. the sky-host moves and marks the course of time; the sun sheds on our nicely-measured days the glory of his night-dispelling rays; and all from this we can divine is, that they need to rise and shine,-- to roll the seasons, ripen fruits, and cheer the hearts of men and brutes. how tallies this revolving universe with human things, eternally diverse? ye horoscopers, waning quacks, please turn on europe's courts your backs, and, taking on your travelling lists the bellows-blowing alchemists, budge off together to the land of mists. but i've digress'd. return we now, bethinking of our poor star-man, whom we left a drinking. besides the folly of his lying trade, this man the type may well be made of those who at chimeras stare when they should mind the things that are. [ ] aesop. diogenes laertius tells the story of this fable of thales of miletus. "it is said that once he (thales) was led out of his house by an old woman for the purpose of observing the stars, and he fell into a ditch and bewailed himself. on which the old woman said to him--'do you, o thales, who cannot see what is under your feet, think that thou shalt understand what is in heaven?'"--_diogenes laertius, bohn's edition._ xiv.--the hare and the frogs.[ ] once in his bed deep mused the hare, (what else but muse could he do there?) and soon by gloom was much afflicted;-- to gloom the creature's much addicted. 'alas! these constitutions nervous,' he cried, 'how wretchedly they serve us! we timid people, by their action, can't eat nor sleep with satisfaction; we can't enjoy a pleasure single, but with some misery it must mingle. myself, for one, am forced by cursed fear to sleep with open eye as well as ear. "correct yourself," says some adviser. grows fear, by such advice, the wiser? indeed, i well enough descry that men have fear, as well as i.' with such revolving thoughts our hare kept watch in soul-consuming care. a passing shade, or leaflet's quiver would give his blood a boiling fever. full soon, his melancholy soul aroused from dreaming doze by noise too slight for foes, he scuds in haste to reach his hole. he pass'd a pond; and from its border bogs, plunge after plunge, in leap'd the timid frogs, 'aha! i do to them, i see,' he cried, 'what others do to me. the sight of even me, a hare, sufficeth some, i find, to scare. and here, the terror of my tramp hath put to rout, it seems, a camp. the trembling fools! they take me for the very thunderbolt of war! i see, the coward never skulk'd a foe that might not scare a coward still below.' [ ] aesop. xv.--the cock and the fox.[ ] upon a tree there mounted guard a veteran cock, adroit and cunning; when to the roots a fox up running, spoke thus, in tones of kind regard:-- 'our quarrel, brother, 's at an end; henceforth i hope to live your friend; for peace now reigns throughout the animal domains. i bear the news:--come down, i pray, and give me the embrace fraternal; and please, my brother, don't delay. so much the tidings do concern all, that i must spread them far to-day. now you and yours can take your walks without a fear or thought of hawks. and should you clash with them or others, in us you'll find the best of brothers;-- for which you may, this joyful night, your merry bonfires light. but, first, let's seal the bliss with one fraternal kiss.' 'good friend,' the cock replied, 'upon my word, a better thing i never heard; and doubly i rejoice to hear it from your voice; and, really there must be something in it, for yonder come two greyhounds, which i flatter myself are couriers on this very matter. they come so fast, they'll be here in a minute. i'll down, and all of us will seal the blessing with general kissing and caressing.' 'adieu,' said fox; 'my errand's pressing; i'll hurry on my way, and we'll rejoice some other day.' so off the fellow scamper'd, quick and light, to gain the fox-holes of a neighbouring height, less happy in his stratagem than flight. the cock laugh'd sweetly in his sleeve;-- 'tis doubly sweet deceiver to deceive. [ ] aesop. xvi.--the raven wishing to imitate the eagle.[ ] the bird of jove bore off a mutton, a raven being witness. that weaker bird, but equal glutton, not doubting of his fitness to do the same with ease, and bent his taste to please, took round the flock his sweep, and mark'd among the sheep, the one of fairest flesh and size, a real sheep of sacrifice-- a dainty titbit bestial, reserved for mouth celestial. our gormand, gloating round, cried, 'sheep, i wonder much who could have made you such. you're far the fattest i have found; i'll take you for my eating.' and on the creature bleating he settled down. now, sooth to say, this sheep would weigh more than a cheese; and had a fleece much like that matting famous which graced the chin of polyphemus;[ ] so fast it clung to every claw, it was not easy to withdraw. the shepherd came, caught, caged, and, to their joy, gave croaker to his children for a toy. ill plays the pilferer the bigger thief; one's self one ought to know;--in brief, example is a dangerous lure; death strikes the gnat, where flies the wasp secure. [ ] aesop; and corrozet. [ ] _polyphemus_.--the cyclop king: _vide_ homer's odyssey, book ix. xvii.--the peacock complaining to juno.[ ] the peacock[ ] to the queen of heaven complain'd in some such words:-- 'great goddess, you have given to me, the laughing-stock of birds, a voice which fills, by taste quite just, all nature with disgust; whereas that little paltry thing, the nightingale, pours from her throat so sweet and ravishing a note, she bears alone the honours of the spring.' in anger juno heard, and cried, 'shame on you, jealous bird! grudge you the nightingale her voice, who in the rainbow neck rejoice, than costliest silks more richly tinted, in charms of grace and form unstinted,-- who strut in kingly pride, your glorious tail spread wide with brilliants which in sheen do outshine the jeweller's bow window? is there a bird beneath the blue that has more charms than you? no animal in everything can shine. by just partition of our gifts divine, each has its full and proper share; among the birds that cleave the air, the hawk's a swift, the eagle is a brave one, for omens serves the hoarse old raven, the rook's of coming ills the prophet; and if there's any discontent, i've heard not of it. 'cease, then, your envious complaint; or i, instead of making up your lack, will take your boasted plumage from your back.' [ ] phaedrus, iii. . [ ] the peacock was consecrated to juno the "queen of heaven," and was under her protection. xviii.--the cat metamorphosed into a woman.[ ] a bachelor caress'd his cat, a darling, fair, and delicate; so deep in love, he thought her mew the sweetest voice he ever knew. by prayers, and tears, and magic art, the man got fate to take his part; and, lo! one morning at his side his cat, transform'd, became his bride. in wedded state our man was seen the fool in courtship he had been. no lover e'er was so bewitch'd by any maiden's charms as was this husband, so enrich'd by hers within his arms. he praised her beauties, this and that, and saw there nothing of the cat. in short, by passion's aid, he thought her a perfect lady. 'twas night: some carpet-gnawing mice disturb'd the nuptial joys. excited by the noise, the bride sprang at them in a trice; the mice were scared and fled. the bride, scarce in her bed, the gnawing heard, and sprang again,-- and this time not in vain, for, in this novel form array'd, of her the mice were less afraid. through life she loved this mousing course, so great is stubborn nature's force. in mockery of change, the old will keep their youthful bent. when once the cloth has got its fold, the smelling-pot its scent, in vain your efforts and your care to make them other than they are. to work reform, do what you will, old habit will be habit still. nor fork[ ] nor strap can mend its manners, nor cudgel-blows beat down its banners. secure the doors against the renter, and through the windows it will enter. [ ] aesop. [ ] naturam expellas furca, tamen usque recurret.--hor. epist. bk. i. .--translator. xix.--the lion and the ass hunting.[ ] the king of animals, with royal grace, would celebrate his birthday in the chase. 'twas not with bow and arrows, to slay some wretched sparrows; the lion hunts the wild boar of the wood, the antlered deer and stags, the fat and good. this time, the king, t' insure success, took for his aide-de-camp an ass, a creature of stentorian voice, that felt much honour'd by the choice. the lion hid him in a proper station, and order'd him to bray, for his vocation, assured that his tempestuous cry the boldest beasts would terrify, and cause them from their lairs to fly. and, sooth, the horrid noise the creature made did strike the tenants of the wood with dread; and, as they headlong fled, all fell within the lion's ambuscade. 'has not my service glorious made both of us victorious?' cried out the much-elated ass. 'yes,' said the lion; 'bravely bray'd! had i not known yourself and race, i should have been myself afraid!' if he had dared, the donkey had shown himself right spunky at this retort, though justly made; for who could suffer boasts to pass so ill-befitting to an ass? [ ] phaedrus, i. : aesop. xx.--the will explained by aesop.[ ] if what old story says of aesop's true, the oracle of greece he was, and more than areopagus[ ] he knew, with all its wisdom in the laws. the following tale gives but a sample of what has made his fame so ample. three daughters shared a father's purse, of habits totally diverse. the first, bewitched with drinks delicious; the next, coquettish and capricious; the third, supremely avaricious. the sire, expectant of his fate, bequeathed his whole estate, in equal shares, to them, and to their mother just the same,-- to her then payable, and not before, each daughter should possess her part no more. the father died. the females three were much in haste the will to see. they read, and read, but still saw not the willer's will. for could it well be understood that each of this sweet sisterhood, when she possess'd her part no more, should to her mother pay it o'er? 'twas surely not so easy saying how lack of means would help the paying. what meant their honour'd father, then? th' affair was brought to legal men, who, after turning o'er the case some hundred thousand different ways, threw down the learned bonnet, unable to decide upon it; and then advised the heirs, without more thought, t' adjust affairs. as to the widow's share, the counsel say, 'we hold it just the daughters each should pay one third to her upon demand, should she not choose to have it stand commuted as a life annuity, paid from her husband's death, with due congruity.' the thing thus order'd, the estate is duly cut in portions three. and in the first they all agree to put the feasting-lodges, plate, luxurious cooling mugs, enormous liquor jugs, rich cupboards,--built beneath the trellised vine,-- the stores of ancient, sweet malvoisian wine, the slaves to serve it at a sign; in short, whatever, in a great house, there is of feasting apparatus. the second part is made of what might help the jilting trade-- the city house and furniture, exquisite and genteel, be sure, the eunuchs, milliners, and laces, the jewels, shawls, and costly dresses. the third is made of household stuff, more vulgar, rude, and rough-- farms, fences, flocks, and fodder, and men and beasts to turn the sod o'er. this done, since it was thought to give the parts by lot might suit, or it might not, each paid her share of fees dear, and took the part that pleased her. 'twas in great athens town, such judgment gave the gown. and there the public voice applauded both the judgment and the choice. but aesop well was satisfied the learned men had set aside, in judging thus the testament, the very gist of its intent. 'the dead,' quoth he, 'could he but know of it, would heap reproaches on such attic wit. what! men who proudly take their place as sages of the human race, lack they the simple skill to settle such a will?' this said, he undertook himself the task of portioning the pelf; and straightway gave each maid the part the least according to her heart-- the prim coquette, the drinking stuff, the drinker, then, the farms and cattle; and on the miser, rude and rough, the robes and lace did aesop settle; for thus, he said, 'an early date would see the sisters alienate their several shares of the estate. no motive now in maidenhood to tarry, they all would seek, post haste, to marry; and, having each a splendid bait, each soon would find a well-bred mate; and, leaving thus their father's goods intact, would to their mother pay them all, in fact,'-- which of the testament was plainly the intent. the people, who had thought a slave an ass, much wonder'd how it came to pass that one alone should have more sense than all their men of most pretence. [ ] phaedrus, iv. . [ ] _areopagus._--this was the athenian court of justice at mars hill. it is said to have been called _areiopagos_ (the hill of mars) because, according to tradition, the first trial there was that of mars for the murder of halirrhotius. * * * * * book iii. i.--the miller, his son, and the ass [ ] to m. de maucroix.[ ] because the arts are plainly birthright matters, for fables we to ancient greece are debtors; but still this field could not be reap'd so clean as not to let us, later comers, glean. the fiction-world hath deserts yet to dare, and, daily, authors make discoveries there. i'd fain repeat one which our man of song, old malherbe, told one day to young racan.[ ] of horace they the rivals and the heirs, apollo's pets,--my masters, i should say,-- sole by themselves were met, i'm told, one day, confiding each to each their thoughts and cares. racan begins:--'pray end my inward strife, for well you know, my friend, what's what in life, who through its varied course, from stage to stage, have stored the full experience of age; what shall i do? 'tis time i chose profession. you know my fortune, birth, and disposition. ought i to make the country my resort, or seek the army, or to rise at court? there's nought but mixeth bitterness with charms; war hath its pleasures; hymen, its alarms. 'twere nothing hard to take my natural bent,-- but i've a world of people to content.' 'content a world!' old malherbe cries; 'who can, sir? why, let me tell a story ere i answer.' 'a miller and his son, i've somewhere read, the first in years, the other but a lad,-- a fine, smart boy, however, i should say,-- to sell their ass went to a fair one day. in order there to get the highest price, they needs must keep their donkey fresh and nice; so, tying fast his feet, they swung him clear, and bore him hanging like a chandelier. alas! poor, simple-minded country fellows! the first that sees their load, loud laughing, bellows, "what farce is this to split good people's sides? the most an ass is not the one that rides!" the miller, much enlighten'd by this talk, untied his precious beast, and made him walk. the ass, who liked the other mode of travel, bray'd some complaint at trudging on the gravel; whereat, not understanding well the beast, the miller caused his hopeful son to ride, and walk'd behind, without a spark of pride. three merchants pass'd, and, mightily displeased, the eldest of these gentlemen cried out, "ho there! dismount, for shame, you lubber lout! nor make a foot-boy of your grey-beard sire; change places, as the rights of age require." "to please you, sirs," the miller said, "i ought." so down the young and up the old man got. three girls next passing, "what a shame!" says one, "that boy should be obliged on foot to run, while that old chap, upon his ass astride, should play the calf, and like a bishop ride!" "please save your wit," the miller made reply, "tough veal, my girls, the calf as old as i." but joke on joke repeated changed his mind; so up he took, at last, his son behind. not thirty yards ahead, another set found fault. "the biggest fools i ever met," says one of them, "such burdens to impose. the ass is faint, and dying with their blows. is this, indeed, the mercy which these rustics show to their honest, faithful, old domestics? if to the fair these lazy fellows ride, 'twill be to sell thereat the donkey's hide!" "zounds!" cried the miller, "precious little brains hath he who takes, to please the world, such pains; but since we're in, we'll try what can be done." so off the ass they jump'd, himself and son, and, like a prelate, donkey march'd alone. another man they met. "these folks," said he, "enslave themselves to let their ass go free-- the darling brute! if i might be so bold, i'd counsel them to have him set in gold. not so went nicholas his jane[ ] to woo, who rode, we sing, his ass to save his shoe." "ass! ass!" our man replied; "we're asses three! i do avow myself an ass to be; but since my sage advisers can't agree, their words henceforth shall not be heeded; i'll suit myself." and he succeeded. 'for you, choose army, love, or court; in town, or country, make resort; take wife, or cowl; ride you, or walk; doubt not but tongues will have their talk.' [ ] the story of this fable has been used by most of the fabulists, from aesop downwards. [ ] in the original editions this fable is dedicated "a. m. d. m." which initials stand for "to m. de maucroix," canon of rheims, an early and late friend and patron of the poet. see translator's preface. [ ] _old malherbe and young racan._--french poets. malherbe was born in , and died in . la fontaine owed to malherbe's works the happy inspiration which led him to write poetry. see translator's preface. honorat de bueil, marquis de racan, was born at la roche racan in . as a poet he was a pupil of malherbe. his works were praised by boileau, and he was one of the earliest members of the french academy. [ ] _nicholas and his jane._--an allusion to an old french song. ii.--the members and the belly.[ ] perhaps, had i but shown due loyalty, this book would have begun with royalty, of which, in certain points of view, boss[ ] belly is the image true, in whose bereavements all the members share: of whom the latter once so weary were, as all due service to forbear, on what they called his idle plan, resolved to play the gentleman, and let his lordship live on air. 'like burden-beasts,' said they, 'we sweat from day to day; and all for whom, and what? ourselves we profit not. our labour has no object but one, that is, to feed this lazy glutton. we'll learn the resting trade by his example's aid.' so said, so done; all labour ceased; the hands refused to grasp, the arms to strike; all other members did the like. their boss might labour if he pleased! it was an error which they soon repented, with pain of languid poverty acquainted. the heart no more the blood renew'd, and hence repair no more accrued to ever-wasting strength; whereby the mutineers, at length, saw that the idle belly, in its way, did more for common benefit than they. for royalty our fable makes, a thing that gives as well as takes its power all labour to sustain, nor for themselves turns out their labour vain. it gives the artist bread, the merchant riches; maintains the diggers in their ditches; pays man of war and magistrate; supports the swarms in place, that live on sovereign grace; in short, is caterer for the state. menenius[ ] told the story well: when rome, of old, in pieces fell, the commons parting from the senate. 'the ills,' said they, 'that we complain at are, that the honours, treasures, power, and dignity, belong to them alone; while we get nought our labour for but tributes, taxes, and fatigues of war.' without the walls the people had their stand prepared to march in search of other land, when by this noted fable menenius was able to draw them, hungry, home to duty and to rome.[ ] [ ] aesop. rabelais also has a version: book iii. ch. . [ ] _boss_.--a word probably more familiar to hod-carriers than to lexicographers; qu. derived from the french _bosseman_, or the english _boatswain_, pronounced _bos'n_? it denotes a "master" of some practical "art." master belly, says rabelais, was the first master of arts in the world.--translator. the name used by la fontaine is "messer gaster." to which he puts a footnote stating that he meant "l'estomac." he took the name from rabelais, book iv., ch. , where it occurs thus:--"messer gaster est le premier maître ès arts de ce monde.... son mandement est nommé: faire le fault, sans delay, ou mourir." [ ] _menenius_.--see translator's preface. [ ] _rome_.--according to our republican notions of government, these people were somewhat imposed upon. perhaps the fable finds a more appropriate application in the relation of employer to employed. i leave the fabulists and the political economists to settle the question between them.--translator. iii.--the wolf turned shepherd.[ ] a wolf, whose gettings from the flocks began to be but few, bethought himself to play the fox in character quite new. a shepherd's hat and coat he took, a cudgel for a crook, nor e'en the pipe forgot: and more to seem what he was not, himself upon his hat he wrote, 'i'm willie, shepherd of these sheep.' his person thus complete, his crook in upraised feet, the impostor willie stole upon the keep. the real willie, on the grass asleep, slept there, indeed, profoundly, his dog and pipe slept, also soundly; his drowsy sheep around lay. as for the greatest number, much bless'd the hypocrite their slumber, and hoped to drive away the flock, could he the shepherd's voice but mock. he thought undoubtedly he could. he tried: the tone in which he spoke, loud echoing from the wood, the plot and slumber broke; sheep, dog, and man awoke. the wolf, in sorry plight, in hampering coat bedight, could neither run nor fight. there's always leakage of deceit which makes it never safe to cheat. whoever is a wolf had better keep clear of hypocritic fetter. [ ] the story of this fable is traced to verdizotti, an italian poet who lived about - . iv.--the frogs asking a king.[ ] a certain commonwealth aquatic, grown tired of order democratic, by clamouring in the ears of jove, effected its being to a monarch's power subjected. jove flung it down, at first, a king pacific. who nathless fell with such a splash terrific, the marshy folks, a foolish race and timid, made breathless haste to get from him hid. they dived into the mud beneath the water, or found among the reeds and rushes quarter. and long it was they dared not see the dreadful face of majesty, supposing that some monstrous frog had been sent down to rule the bog. the king was really a log, whose gravity inspired with awe the first that, from his hiding-place forth venturing, astonish'd, saw the royal blockhead's face. with trembling and with fear, at last he drew quite near. another follow'd, and another yet, till quite a crowd at last were met; who, growing fast and strangely bolder, perch'd soon upon the royal shoulder. his gracious majesty kept still, and let his people work their will. clack, clack! what din beset the ears of jove? 'we want a king,' the people said, 'to move!' the god straight sent them down a crane, who caught and slew them without measure, and gulp'd their carcasses at pleasure; whereat the frogs more wofully complain. 'what! what!' great jupiter replied; 'by your desires must i be tied? think you such government is bad? you should have kept what first you had; which having blindly fail'd to do, it had been prudent still for you to let that former king suffice, more meek and mild, if not so wise. with this now make yourselves content, lest for your sins a worse be sent.' [ ] aesop: phaedrus, i. . v.--the fox and the goat.[ ] a fox once journey'd, and for company a certain bearded, horned goat had he; which goat no further than his nose could see. the fox was deeply versed in trickery. these travellers did thirst compel to seek the bottom of a well. there, having drunk enough for two, says fox, 'my friend, what shall we do? 'tis time that we were thinking of something else than drinking. raise you your feet upon the wall, and stick your horns up straight and tall; then up your back i'll climb with ease, and draw you after, if you please.' 'yes, by my beard,' the other said, ''tis just the thing. i like a head well stock'd with sense, like thine. had it been left to mine, i do confess, i never should have thought of this.' so renard clamber'd out, and, leaving there the goat, discharged his obligations by preaching thus on patience:-- 'had heaven put sense thy head within, to match the beard upon thy chin, thou wouldst have thought a bit, before descending such a pit. i'm out of it; good bye: with prudent effort try yourself to extricate. for me, affairs of state permit me not to wait.' whatever way you wend, consider well the end. [ ] aesop; also in phaedrus, iv. . vi.--the eagle, the wild sow, and the cat.[ ] a certain hollow tree was tenanted by three. an eagle held a lofty bough, the hollow root a wild wood sow, a female cat between the two. all busy with maternal labours, they lived awhile obliging neighbours. at last the cat's deceitful tongue broke up the peace of old and young. up climbing to the eagle's nest, she said, with whisker'd lips compress'd, 'our death, or, what as much we mothers fear, that of our helpless offspring dear, is surely drawing near. beneath our feet, see you not how destruction's plotted by the sow? her constant digging, soon or late, our proud old castle will uproot. and then--o, sad and shocking fate!-- she'll eat our young ones, as the fruit! were there but hope of saving one, 'twould soothe somewhat my bitter moan.' thus leaving apprehensions hideous, down went the puss perfidious to where the sow, no longer digging, was in the very act of pigging. 'good friend and neighbour,' whisper'd she, 'i warn you on your guard to be. your pigs should you but leave a minute, this eagle here will seize them in it. speak not of this, i beg, at all, lest on my head her wrath should fall.' another breast with fear inspired, with fiendish joy the cat retired. the eagle ventured no egress to feed her young, the sow still less. fools they, to think that any curse than ghastly famine could be worse! both staid at home, resolved and obstinate, to save their young ones from impending fate,-- the royal bird for fear of mine, for fear of royal claws the swine. all died, at length, with hunger, the older and the younger; there staid, of eagle race or boar, not one this side of death's dread door;-- a sad misfortune, which the wicked cats made rich. o, what is there of hellish plot the treacherous tongue dares not! of all the ills pandora's box[ ] outpour'd, deceit, i think, is most to be abhorr'd. [ ] phaedrus, ii. . [ ] _pandora's box._--pandora, the eve of the grecian mythology, was sent to earth with all the human ills and hope in a box, whence all but hope escaped.--_vide_ elton's hesiod, _works and days_, i. , bohn's edition, &c. vii.--the drunkard and his wife.[ ] each has his fault, to which he clings in spite of shame or fear. this apophthegm a story brings, to make its truth more clear. a sot had lost health, mind, and purse; and, truly, for that matter, sots mostly lose the latter ere running half their course. when wine, one day, of wit had fill'd the room, his wife inclosed him in a spacious tomb. there did the fumes evaporate at leisure from his drowsy pate. when he awoke, he found his body wrapp'd around with grave-clothes, chill and damp, beneath a dim sepulchral lamp. 'how's this? my wife a widow sad?' he cried, 'and i a ghost? dead? dead?' thereat his spouse, with snaky hair, and robes like those the furies wear, with voice to fit the realms below, brought boiling caudle to his bier-- for lucifer the proper cheer; by which her husband came to know-- for he had heard of those three ladies-- himself a citizen of hades. 'what may your office be?' the phantom question'd he. 'i'm server up of pluto's meat, and bring his guests the same to eat.' 'well,' says the sot, not taking time to think, 'and don't you bring us anything to drink?' [ ] aesop. viii.--the gout and the spider.[ ] when nature angrily turn'd out those plagues, the spider and the gout,-- 'see you,' said she, 'those huts so meanly built, these palaces so grand and richly gilt? by mutual agreement fix your choice of dwellings; or if not, to end th' affair by lot, draw out these little sticks.' 'the huts are not for me,' the spider cried; 'and not for me the palace,' cried the gout; for there a sort of men she spied call'd doctors, going in and out, from whom, she could not hope for ease. so hied her to the huts the fell disease, and, fastening on a poor man's toe, hoped there to fatten on his woe, and torture him, fit after fit, without a summons e'er to quit, from old hippocrates. the spider, on the lofty ceiling, as if she had a life-lease feeling. wove wide her cunning toils, soon rich with insect spoils. a maid destroy'd them as she swept the room: repair'd, again they felt the fatal broom. the wretched creature, every day, from house and home must pack away. at last, her courage giving out, she went to seek her sister gout, and in the field descried her, quite starved: more evils did betide her than e'er befel the poorest spider-- her toiling host enslaved her so, and made her chop, and dig, and hoe! (says one, "kept brisk and busy, the gout is made half easy.") 'o, when,' exclaim'd the sad disease, 'will this my misery stop? o, sister spider, if you please, our places let us swop.' the spider gladly heard, and took her at her word,-- and flourish'd in the cabin-lodge, not forced the tidy broom to dodge the gout, selecting her abode with an ecclesiastic judge, turn'd judge herself, and, by her code, he from his couch no more could budge. the salves and cataplasms heaven knows, that mock'd the misery of his toes; while aye, without a blush, the curse, kept driving onward worse and worse. needless to say, the sisterhood thought their exchange both wise and good. [ ] the story of this fable is told in petrarch, (epistles, iii. ) and by others. ix.--the wolf and the stork.[ ] the wolves are prone to play the glutton. one, at a certain feast, 'tis said, so stuff'd himself with lamb and mutton, he seem'd but little short of dead. deep in his throat a bone stuck fast. well for this wolf, who could not speak, that soon a stork quite near him pass'd. by signs invited, with her beak the bone she drew with slight ado, and for this skilful surgery demanded, modestly, her fee. 'your fee!' replied the wolf, in accents rather gruff; 'and is it not enough your neck is safe from such a gulf? go, for a wretch ingrate, nor tempt again your fate!' [ ] phaedrus, i. ; and aesop. x.--the lion beaten by the man.[ ] a picture once was shown, in which one man, alone, upon the ground had thrown a lion fully grown. much gloried at the sight the rabble. a lion thus rebuked their babble:-- 'that you have got the victory there, there is no contradiction. but, gentles, possibly you are the dupes of easy fiction: had we the art of making pictures, perhaps our champion had beat yours!' [ ] aesop. xi.--the fox and the grapes.[ ] a fox, almost with hunger dying, some grapes upon a trellis spying, to all appearance ripe, clad in their tempting russet skin, most gladly would have eat them; but since he could not get them, so far above his reach the vine-- 'they're sour,' he said; 'such grapes as these, the dogs may eat them if they please!' did he not better than to whine? [ ] aesop: phaedrus, iv. . xii.--the swan and the cook.[ ] the pleasures of a poultry yard were by a swan and gosling shared. the swan was kept there for his looks, the thrifty gosling for the cooks; the first the garden's pride, the latter a greater favourite on the platter. they swam the ditches, side by side, and oft in sports aquatic vied, plunging, splashing far and wide, with rivalry ne'er satisfied. one day the cook, named thirsty john, sent for the gosling, took the swan, in haste his throat to cut, and put him in the pot. the bird's complaint resounded in glorious melody; whereat the cook, astounded his sad mistake to see, cried, 'what! make soup of a musician! please god, i'll never set such dish on. no, no; i'll never cut a throat that sings so sweet a note.' 'tis thus, whatever peril may alarm us, sweet words will never harm us. [ ] aesop. xiii.--the wolves and the sheep.[ ] by-gone a thousand years of war, the wearers of the fleece and wolves at last made peace; which both appear'd the better for; for if the wolves had now and then eat up a straggling ewe or wether, as often had the shepherd men turn'd wolf-skins into leather. fear always spoil'd the verdant herbage, and so it did the bloody carnage. hence peace was sweet; and, lest it should be riven, on both sides hostages were given. the sheep, as by the terms arranged, for pups of wolves their dogs exchanged; which being done above suspicion, confirm'd and seal'd by high commission, what time the pups were fully grown, and felt an appetite for prey, and saw the sheepfold left alone, the shepherds all away, they seized the fattest lambs they could, and, choking, dragg'd them to the wood; of which, by secret means apprised, their sires, as is surmised, fell on the hostage guardians of the sheep, and slew them all asleep. so quick the deed of perfidy was done, there fled to tell the tale not one! from which we may conclude that peace with villains will be rued. peace in itself, 'tis true, may be a good for you; but 'tis an evil, nathless, when enemies are faithless. [ ] aesop. xiv.--the lion grown old.[ ] a lion, mourning, in his age, the wane of might once dreaded through his wild domain, was mock'd, at last, upon his throne, by subjects of his own, strong through his weakness grown. the horse his head saluted with a kick; the wolf snapp'd at his royal hide; the ox, too, gored him in the side; the unhappy lion, sad and sick, could hardly growl, he was so weak. in uncomplaining, stoic pride, he waited for the hour of fate, until the ass approach'd his gate; whereat, 'this is too much,' he saith; 'i willingly would yield my breath; but, ah! thy kick is double death!' [ ] phaedrus, i. . xv.--philomel and progne.[ ] from home and city spires, one day, the swallow progne flew away, and sought the bosky dell where sang poor philomel.[ ] 'my sister,' progne said, 'how do you do? 'tis now a thousand years since you have been conceal'd from human view; i'm sure i have not seen your face once since the times of thrace. pray, will you never quit this dull retreat?' 'where could i find,' said philomel, 'so sweet?' 'what! sweet?' cried progne--'sweet to waste such tones on beasts devoid of taste, or on some rustic, at the most! should you by deserts be engross'd? come, be the city's pride and boast. besides, the woods remind of harms that tereus in them did your charms.' 'alas!' replied the bird of song, 'the thought of that so cruel wrong makes me, from age to age, prefer this hermitage; for nothing like the sight of men can call up what i suffer'd then.' [ ] aesop. [ ] _progne and philomel_.--progne and philomela, sisters, in mythology. progne was queen of thrace, and was changed into a swallow. her sister was changed into a nightingale; _vide_ ovid, _metamorphoses_. xvi.--the woman drowned.[ ] i hate that saying, old and savage, "'tis nothing but a woman drowning." that's much, i say. what grief more keen should have edge than loss of her, of all our joys the crowning? thus much suggests the fable i am borrowing. a woman perish'd in the water, where, anxiously, and sorrowing, her husband sought her, to ease the grief he could not cure, by honour'd rites of sepulture. it chanced that near the fatal spot, along the stream which had produced a death so sad, there walk'd some men that knew it not. the husband ask'd if they had seen his wife, or aught that hers had been. one promptly answer'd, 'no! but search the stream below: it must nave borne her in its flow.' 'no,' said another; 'search above. in that direction she would have floated, by the love of contradiction.' this joke was truly out of season;-- i don't propose to weigh its reason. but whether such propensity the sex's fault may be, or not, one thing is very sure, its own propensities endure. up to the end they'll have their will, and, if it could be, further still. [ ] verdizotti. xvii.--the weasel in the granary.[ ] a weasel through a hole contrived to squeeze, (she was recovering from disease,) which led her to a farmer's hoard. there lodged, her wasted form she cherish'd; heaven knows the lard and victuals stored that by her gnawing perish'd! of which the consequence was sudden corpulence. a week or so was past, when having fully broken fast. a noise she heard, and hurried to find the hole by which she came, and seem'd to find it not the same; so round she ran, most sadly flurried; and, coming back, thrust out her head, which, sticking there, she said, 'this is the hole, there can't be blunder: what makes it now so small, i wonder, where, but the other day, i pass'd with ease?' a rat her trouble sees, and cries, 'but with an emptier belly; you enter'd lean, and lean must sally.' what i have said to you has eke been said to not a few, who, in a vast variety of cases,[ ] have ventured into such-like places. [ ] aesop: also in horace, _epistles_, book i. . [ ] _a vast variety of cases_.--chamfort says of this passage: "la fontaine, with his usual delicacy, here alludes to the king's farmers and other officers in place; and abruptly quits the subject as if he felt himself on ticklish ground." xviii.--the cat and the old rat.[ ] a story-writer of our sort historifies, in short, of one that may be reckon'd a rodilard the second,--[ ] the alexander of the cats, the attila,[ ] the scourge of rats, whose fierce and whisker'd head among the latter spread, a league around, its dread; who seem'd, indeed, determined the world should be unvermined. the planks with props more false than slim, the tempting heaps of poison'd meal, the traps of wire and traps of steel, were only play compared with him. at length, so sadly were they scared. the rats and mice no longer dared to show their thievish faces outside their hiding-places, thus shunning all pursuit; whereat our crafty general cat contrived to hang himself, as dead, beside the wall with downward head, resisting gravitation's laws by clinging with his hinder claws to some small bit of string. the rats esteem'd the thing a judgment for some naughty deed, some thievish snatch, or ugly scratch; and thought their foe had got his meed by being hung indeed. with hope elated all of laughing at his funeral, they thrust their noses out in air; and now to show their heads they dare; now dodging back, now venturing more; at last upon the larder's store they fall to filching, as of yore. a scanty feast enjoy'd these shallows; down dropp'd the hung one from his gallows, and of the hindmost caught. 'some other tricks to me are known,' said he, while tearing bone from bone, 'by long experience taught; the point is settled, free from doubt, that from your holes you shall come out.' his threat as good as prophecy was proved by mr. mildandsly; for, putting on a mealy robe, he squatted in an open tub, and held his purring and his breath;-- out came the vermin to their death. on this occasion, one old stager, a rat as grey as any badger, who had in battle lost his tail, abstained from smelling at the meal; and cried, far off, 'ah! general cat, i much suspect a heap like that; your meal is not the thing, perhaps, for one who knows somewhat of traps; should you a sack of meal become, i'd let you be, and stay at home.' well said, i think, and prudently, by one who knew distrust to be the parent of security. [ ] phaedrus, book iv. : also in aesop, and faerno. [ ] _rodilard the second._--another allusion to rabelais's cat rodilardus. see fable ii., book ii. [ ] _attila_.--the king of the huns, who, for overrunning half europe, was termed the scourge of god. * * * * * book iv. i.--the lion in love.[ ] to mademoiselle de sévigné.[ ] sévigné, type of every grace in female form and face, in your regardlessness of men, can you show favour when the sportive fable craves your ear, and see, unmoved by fear, a lion's haughty heart thrust through by love's audacious dart? strange conqueror, love! and happy he, and strangely privileged and free, who only knows by story him and his feats of glory! if on this subject you are wont to think the simple truth too blunt, the fabulous may less affront; which now, inspired with gratitude, yea, kindled into zeal most fervent, doth venture to intrude within your maiden solitude, and kneel, your humble servant.-- in times when animals were speakers, among the quadrupedal seekers of our alliance there came the lions. and wherefore not? for then they yielded not to men in point of courage or of sense, nor were in looks without pretence. a high-born lion, on his way across a meadow, met one day a shepherdess, who charm'd him so, that, as such matters ought to go, he sought the maiden for his bride. her sire, it cannot be denied, had much preferr'd a son-in-law of less terrific mouth and paw. it was not easy to decide-- the lion might the gift abuse-- 'twas not quite prudent to refuse. and if refusal there should be, perhaps a marriage one would see, some morning, made clandestinely. for, over and above the fact that she could bear with none but males of martial air, the lady was in love with him of shaggy hair. her sire, much wanting cover to send away the lover, thus spoke:--'my daughter, sir, is delicate. i fear to her your fond caressings will prove rough blessings. to banish all alarm about such sort of harm, permit us to remove the cause, by filing off your teeth and claws. in such a case, your royal kiss will be to her a safer bliss, and to yourself a sweeter; since she will more respond to those endearments fond with which you greet her.' the lion gave consent at once, by love so great a dunce! without a tooth or claw now view him-- a fort with cannon spiked. the dogs, let loose upon him, slew him, all biting safely where they liked. o, tyrant love! when held by you, we may to prudence bid adieu. [ ] aesop, also verdizotti. [ ] _mademoiselle de sévigné_.--francoise-marguerite de sévigné, afterwards madame de grignan, the daughter of the celebrated madame de sévigné. the famous sévigné "letters" were for the most part addressed to madame de grignan. for some account of madame de sévigné and la fontaine, see the translator's preface; also note to fable xi. book vii. ii.--the shepherd and the sea.[ ] a shepherd, neighbour to the sea, lived with his flock contentedly. his fortune, though but small, was safe within his call. at last some stranded kegs of gold him tempted, and his flock he sold, turn'd merchant, and the ocean's waves bore all his treasure--to its caves. brought back to keeping sheep once more, but not chief shepherd, as before, when sheep were his that grazed the shore, he who, as corydon or thyrsis, might once have shone in pastoral verses, bedeck'd with rhyme and metre, was nothing now but peter. but time and toil redeem'd in full those harmless creatures rich in wool; and as the lulling winds, one day, the vessels wafted with a gentle motion, 'want you,' he cried, 'more money, madam ocean? address yourself to some one else, i pray; you shall not get it out of me! i know too well your treachery.' this tale's no fiction, but a fact, which, by experience back'd, proves that a single penny, at present held, and certain, is worth five times as many, of hope's, beyond the curtain; that one should be content with his condition, and shut his ears to counsels of ambition, more faithless than the wreck-strown sea, and which doth thousands beggar where it makes one rich,-- inspires the hope of wealth, in glorious forms, and blasts the same with piracy and storms. [ ] aesop. iii.--the fly and the ant.[ ] a fly and ant, upon a sunny bank, discuss'd the question of their rank. 'o jupiter!' the former said, 'can love of self so turn the head, that one so mean and crawling, and of so low a calling, to boast equality shall dare with me, the daughter of the air? in palaces i am a guest, and even at thy glorious feast. whene'er the people that adore thee may immolate for thee a bullock, i'm sure to taste the meat before thee. meanwhile this starveling, in her hillock, is living on some bit of straw which she has labour'd home to draw. but tell me now, my little thing, do you camp ever on a king, an emperor, or lady? i do, and have full many a play-day on fairest bosom of the fair, and sport myself upon her hair. come now, my hearty, rack your brain to make a case about your grain.' 'well, have you done?' replied the ant. 'you enter palaces, i grant, and for it get right soundly cursed. of sacrifices, rich and fat, your taste, quite likely, is the first;-- are they the better off for that? you enter with the holy train; so enters many a wretch profane. on heads of kings and asses you may squat; deny your vaunting i will not; but well such impudence, i know, provokes a sometimes fatal blow. the name in which your vanity delights is own'd as well by parasites, and spies that die by ropes--as you soon will by famine or by ague-chill, when phoebus goes to cheer the other hemisphere,-- the very time to me most dear. not forced abroad to go through wind, and rain, and snow, my summer's work i then enjoy, and happily my mind employ, from care by care exempted. by which this truth i leave to you, that by two sorts of glory we are tempted, the false one and the true. work waits, time flies; adieu:-- this gabble does not fill my granary or till.' [ ] phaedrus, iv. . iv.--the gardener and his lord. a lover of gardens, half cit and half clown, possess'd a nice garden beside a small town; and with it a field by a live hedge inclosed, where sorrel and lettuce, at random disposed, a little of jasmine, and much of wild thyme, grew gaily, and all in their prime to make up miss peggy's bouquet, the grace of her bright wedding day. for poaching in such a nice field--'twas a shame; a foraging, cud-chewing hare was to blame. whereof the good owner bore down this tale to the lord of the town:-- 'some mischievous animal, morning and night, in spite of my caution, comes in for his bite. he laughs at my cunning-set dead-falls and snares; for clubbing and stoning as little he cares. i think him a wizard. a wizard! the coot! i'd catch him if he were a devil to boot!' the lord said, in haste to have sport for his hounds, 'i'll clear him, i warrant you, out of your grounds; to morrow i'll do it without any fail.' the thing thus agreed on, all hearty and hale, the lord and his party, at crack of the dawn, with hounds at their heels canter'd over the lawn. arrived, said the lord in his jovial mood, 'we'll breakfast with you, if your chickens are good. that lass, my good man, i suppose is your daughter: no news of a son-in-law? any one sought her? no doubt, by the score. keep an eye on the docket, eh? dost understand me? i speak of the pocket.' so saying, the daughter he graciously greeted, and close by his lordship he bade her be seated; avow'd himself pleased with so handsome a maid, and then with her kerchief familiarly play'd,-- impertinent freedoms the virtuous fair repell'd with a modest and lady-like air,-- so much that her father a little suspected the girl had already a lover elected. meanwhile in the kitchen what bustling and cooking! 'for what are your hams? they are very good looking.' 'they're kept for your lordship.' 'i take them,' said he; 'such elegant flitches are welcome to me.' he breakfasted finely his troop, with delight,-- dogs, horses, and grooms of the best appetite. thus he govern'd his host in the shape of a guest, unbottled his wine, and his daughter caress'd. to breakfast, the huddle of hunters succeeds, the yelping of dogs and the neighing of steeds, all cheering and fixing for wonderful deeds; the horns and the bugles make thundering din; much wonders our gardener what it can mean. the worst is, his garden most wofully fares; adieu to its arbours, and borders, and squares; adieu to its chiccory, onions, and leeks; adieu to whatever good cookery seeks. beneath a great cabbage the hare was in bed, was started, and shot at, and hastily fled. off went the wild chase, with a terrible screech, and not through a hole, but a horrible breach, which some one had made, at the beck of the lord, wide through the poor hedge! 'twould have been quite absurd should lordship not freely from garden go out, on horseback, attended by rabble and rout. scarce suffer'd the gard'ner his patience to wince, consoling himself--'twas the sport of a prince; while bipeds and quadrupeds served to devour, and trample, and waste, in the space of an hour, far more than a nation of foraging hares could possibly do in a hundred of years. small princes, this story is true, when told in relation to you. in settling your quarrels with kings for your tools, you prove yourselves losers and eminent fools. v.--the ass and the little dog.[ ] one's native talent from its course cannot be turned aside by force; but poorly apes the country clown the polish'd manners of the town. their maker chooses but a few with power of pleasing to imbue; where wisely leave it we, the mass, unlike a certain fabled ass, that thought to gain his master's blessing by jumping on him and caressing. 'what!' said the donkey in his heart; 'ought it to be that puppy's part to lead his useless life in full companionship with master and his wife, while i must bear the whip? what doth the cur a kiss to draw? forsooth, he only gives his paw! if that is all there needs to please, i'll do the thing myself, with ease.' possess'd with this bright notion,-- his master sitting on his chair, at leisure in the open air,-- he ambled up, with awkward motion, and put his talents to the proof; upraised his bruised and batter'd hoof, and, with an amiable mien, his master patted on the chin, the action gracing with a word-- the fondest bray that e'er was heard! o, such caressing was there ever? or melody with such a quaver? 'ho! martin![ ] here! a club, a club bring!' out cried the master, sore offended. so martin gave the ass a drubbing,-- and so the comedy was ended. [ ] aesop. [ ] _martin_.--la fontaine has "martin-bâton," a name for a groom or ostler armed with his cudgel of office, taken from rabelais. vi.--the battle of the rats and the weasels.[ ] the weasels live, no more than cats, on terms of friendship with the rats; and, were it not that these through doors contrive to squeeze too narrow for their foes, the animals long-snouted would long ago have routed, and from the planet scouted their race, as i suppose. one year it did betide, when they were multiplied, an army took the field of rats, with spear and shield, whose crowded ranks led on a king named ratapon. the weasels, too, their banner unfurl'd in warlike manner. as fame her trumpet sounds, the victory balanced well; enrich'd were fallow grounds where slaughter'd legions fell; but by said trollop's tattle, the loss of life in battle thinn'd most the rattish race in almost every place; and finally their rout was total, spite of stout artarpax and psicarpax, and valiant meridarpax,[ ] who, cover'd o'er with dust, long time sustain'd their host down sinking on the plain. their efforts were in vain; fate ruled that final hour, (inexorable power!) and so the captains fled as well as those they led; the princes perish'd all. the undistinguish'd small in certain holes found shelter, in crowding, helter-skelter; but the nobility could not go in so free, who proudly had assumed each one a helmet plumed; we know not, truly, whether for honour's sake the feather, or foes to strike with terror; but, truly, 'twas their error. nor hole, nor crack, nor crevice will let their head-gear in; while meaner rats in bevies an easy passage win;-- so that the shafts of fate do chiefly hit the great. a feather in the cap is oft a great mishap. an equipage too grand comes often to a stand within a narrow place. the small, whate'er the case, with ease slip through a strait, where larger folks must wait. [ ] phaedrus, book iv. . [ ] names of rats, invented by homer.--translator. vii.--the monkey and the dolphin.[ ] it was the custom of the greeks for passengers o'er sea to carry both monkeys full of tricks and funny dogs to make them merry. a ship, that had such things on deck, not far from athens, went to wreck. but for the dolphins, all had drown'd. they are a philanthropic fish, which fact in pliny may be found;-- a better voucher who could wish? they did their best on this occasion. a monkey even, on their plan well nigh attain'd his own salvation; a dolphin took him for a man, and on his dorsal gave him place. so grave the silly creature's face, that one might well have set him down that old musician of renown.[ ] the fish had almost reach'd the land, when, as it happen'd,--what a pity!-- he ask'd, 'are you from athens grand?' 'yes; well they know me in that city. if ever you have business there, i'll help you do it, for my kin the highest offices are in. my cousin, sir, is now lord mayor.' the dolphin thank'd him, with good grace, both for himself and all his race, and ask'd, 'you doubtless know piraeus, where, should we come to town, you'll see us.' 'piraeus? yes, indeed i know; he was my crony long ago.' the dunce knew not the harbour's name, and for a man's mistook the same. the people are by no means few, who never went ten miles from home, nor know their market-town from rome, yet cackle just as if they knew. the dolphin laugh'd, and then began his rider's form and face to scan, and found himself about to save from fishy feasts, beneath the wave, a mere resemblance of a man. so, plunging down, he turn'd to find some drowning wight of human kind. [ ] aesop. [ ] arion.--translator. according to herodotus, i. (bonn's ed., p. ), arion, the son of cyclon of methymna, and famous lyric poet and musician, having won riches at a musical contest in sicily, was voyaging home, when the sailors of his ship determined to murder him for his treasure. he asked to be allowed to play a tune; and as soon as he had finished he threw himself into the sea. it was then found that the music had attracted a number of dolphins round the ship, and one of these took the bard on its back and conveyed him safely to taenarus. viii.--the man and the wooden god.[ ] a pagan kept a god of wood,-- a sort that never hears, though furnish'd well with ears,-- from which he hoped for wondrous good. the idol cost the board of three; so much enrich'd was he with vows and offerings vain, with bullocks garlanded and slain: no idol ever had, as that, a kitchen quite so full and fat. but all this worship at his shrine brought not from this same block divine inheritance, or hidden mine, or luck at play, or any favour. nay, more, if any storm whatever brew'd trouble here or there, the man was sure to have his share, and suffer in his purse, although the god fared none the worse. at last, by sheer impatience bold, the man a crowbar seizes, his idol breaks in pieces, and finds it richly stuff'd with gold. 'how's this? have i devoutly treated,' says he, 'your godship, to be cheated? now leave my house, and go your way, and search for altars where you may. you're like those natures, dull and gross, from, which comes nothing but by blows; the more i gave, the less i got; i'll now be rich, and you may rot.' [ ] aesop. ix.--the jay in the feathers of the peacock.[ ] a peacock moulted: soon a jay was seen bedeck'd with argus tail of gold and green,[ ] high strutting, with elated crest, as much a peacock as the rest. his trick was recognized and bruited, his person jeer'd at, hiss'd, and hooted. the peacock gentry flock'd together, and pluck'd the fool of every feather. nay more, when back he sneak'd to join his race, they shut their portals in his face. there is another sort of jay, the number of its legs the same, which makes of borrow'd plumes display, and plagiary is its name. but hush! the tribe i'll not offend; 'tis not my work their ways to mend. [ ] aesop; phaedrus, i. . [ ] _argus tail of gold and green._--according to mythology, argus, surnamed panoptes (or all-seeing), possessed a hundred eyes, some of which were never closed in sleep. at his death juno either transformed him into the peacock, or transferred his hundred eyes to the tail of that, her favourite, bird. "argus tail of gold and green," therefore, means tail endowed with the eyes of argus. x.--the camel and the floating sticks.[ ] the first who saw the humpback'd camel fled off for life; the next approach'd with care; the third with tyrant rope did boldly dare the desert wanderer to trammel. such is the power of use to change the face of objects new and strange; which grow, by looking at, so tame, they do not even seem the same. and since this theme is up for our attention, a certain watchman i will mention, who, seeing something far away upon the ocean, could not but speak his notion that 'twas a ship of war. some minutes more had past,-- a bomb-ketch 'twas without a sail, and then a boat, and then a bale, and floating sticks of wood at last! full many things on earth, i wot, will claim this tale,--and well they may; they're something dreadful far away, but near at hand--they're not. [ ] aesop. xi.--the frog and the rat.[ ] they to bamboozle are inclined, saith merlin,[ ] who bamboozled are. the word, though rather unrefined, has yet an energy we ill can spare; so by its aid i introduce my tale. a well-fed rat, rotund and hale, not knowing either fast or lent, disporting round a frog-pond went. a frog approach'd, and, with a friendly greeting, invited him to see her at her home, and pledged a dinner worth his eating,-- to which the rat was nothing loath to come. of words persuasive there was little need: she spoke, however, of a grateful bath; of sports and curious wonders on their path; of rarities of flower, and rush, and reed: one day he would recount with glee to his assembled progeny the various beauties of these places, the customs of the various races, and laws that sway the realms aquatic, (she did not mean the hydrostatic!) one thing alone the rat perplex'd,-- he was but moderate as a swimmer. the frog this matter nicely fix'd by kindly lending him her long paw, which with a rush she tied to his; and off they started, side by side. arrived upon the lakelet's brink, there was but little time to think. the frog leap'd in, and almost brought her bound guest to land beneath the water. perfidious breach of law and right! she meant to have a supper warm out of his sleek and dainty form. already did her appetite dwell on the morsel with delight. the gods, in anguish, he invokes; his faithless hostess rudely mocks; he struggles up, she struggles down. a kite, that hovers in the air, inspecting everything with care, now spies the rat belike to drown, and, with a rapid wing, upbears the wretched thing, the frog, too, dangling by the string! the joy of such a double haul was to the hungry kite not small. it gave him all that he could wish-- a double meal of flesh and fish. the best contrived deceit can hurt its own contriver, and perfidy doth often cheat its author's purse of every stiver. [ ] aesop. [ ] _merlin._--this is merlin, the wizard of the old french novels. xii.--the animals sending tribute to alexander.[ ] a fable flourished with antiquity whose meaning i could never clearly see. kind reader, draw the moral if you're able: i give you here the naked fable. fame having bruited that a great commander, a son of jove, a certain alexander, resolved to leave nought free on this our ball, had to his footstool gravely summon'd all men, quadrupeds, and nullipeds, together with all the bird-republics, every feather,-- the goddess of the hundred mouths, i say, thus having spread dismay, by widely publishing abroad this mandate of the demigod, the animals, and all that do obey their appetite alone, mistrusted now that to another sceptre they must bow. far in the desert met their various races, all gathering from their hiding-places. discuss'd was many a notion. at last, it was resolved, on motion, to pacify the conquering banner, by sending homage in, and tribute. with both the homage and its manner they charged the monkey, as a glib brute; and, lest the chap should too much chatter, in black on white they wrote the matter. nought but the tribute served to fash, as that must needs be paid in cash. a prince, who chanced a mine to own, at last, obliged them with a loan. the mule and ass, to bear the treasure, their service tender'd, full of pleasure; and then the caravan was none the worse, assisted by the camel and the horse. forthwith proceeded all the four behind the new ambassador, and saw, erelong, within a narrow place, monseigneur lion's quite unwelcome face. 'well met, and all in time,' said he; 'myself your fellow traveller will be. i wend my tribute by itself to bear; and though 'tis light, i well might spare the unaccustom'd load. take each a quarter, if you please, and i will guard you on the road; more free and at my ease-- in better plight, you understand, to fight with any robber band.' a lion to refuse, the fact is, is not a very usual practice: so in he comes, for better and for worse; whatever he demands is done, and, spite of jove's heroic son, he fattens freely from the public purse. while wending on their way, they found a spot one day, with waters hemm'd, of crystal sheen; its carpet, flower-besprinkled green; where pastured at their ease both flocks of sheep and dainty heifers, and play'd the cooling breeze-- the native land of all the zephyrs. no sooner is the lion there than of some sickness he complains. says he, 'you on your mission fare. a fever, with its thirst and pains, dries up my blood, and bakes my brains; and i must search some herb, its fatal power to curb. for you, there is no time to waste; pay me my money, and make haste.' the treasures were unbound, and placed upon the ground. then, with a look which testified his royal joy, the lion cried, 'my coins, good heavens, have multiplied! and see the young ones of the gold as big already as the old! the increase belongs to me, no doubt;' and eagerly he took it out! 'twas little staid beneath the lid; the wonder was that any did. confounded were the monkey and his suite. and, dumb with fear, betook them to their way, and bore complaint to jove's great son, they say-- complaint without a reason meet; for what could he? though a celestial scion, he could but fight, as lion versus lion. when corsairs battle, turk with turk, they're not about their proper work. [ ] the story of this fable has been traced to gilbert cousin, in whose works it figures with the title "de jovis ammonis oraculo." gilbert cousin was canon of nozeret, and wrote between and . xiii.--the horse wishing to be revenged upon the stag.[ ] the horses have not always been the humble slaves of men. when, in the far-off past, the fare of gentlemen was mast, and even hats were never felt, horse, ass, and mule in forests dwelt. nor saw one then, as in these ages, so many saddles, housings, pillions; such splendid equipages, with golden-lace postilions; such harnesses for cattle, to be consumed in battle; as one saw not so many feasts, and people married by the priests. the horse fell out, within that space, with the antler'd stag, so fleetly made: he could not catch him in a race, and so he came to man for aid. man first his suppliant bitted; then, on his back well seated, gave chase with spear, and rested not till to the ground the foe he brought. this done, the honest horse, quite blindly, thus thank'd his benefactor kindly:-- 'dear sir, i'm much obliged to you; i'll back to savage life. adieu!' 'o, no,' the man replied; 'you'd better here abide; i know too well your use. here, free from all abuse, remain a liege to me, and large your provender shall be.' alas! good housing or good cheer, that costs one's liberty, is dear. the horse his folly now perceived, but quite too late he grieved. no grief his fate could alter; his stall was built, and there he lived, and died there in his halter. ah! wise had he one small offence forgot! revenge, however sweet, is dearly bought by that one good, which gone, all else is nought. [ ] phaedrus, iv. ; horace (_epistles_, book i. ), and others. xiv.--the fox and the bust.[ ] the great are like the maskers of the stage; their show deceives the simple of the age. for all that they appear to be they pass, with only those whose type's the ass. the fox, more wary, looks beneath the skin, and looks on every side, and, when he sees that all their glory is a semblance thin, he turns, and saves the hinges of his knees, with such a speech as once, 'tis said, he utter'd to a hero's head. a bust, somewhat colossal in its size, attracted crowds of wondering eyes. the fox admired the sculptor's pains: 'fine head,' said he, 'but void of brains!' the same remark to many a lord applies. [ ] aesop: phaedrus, i. (the fox and the tragic mask). xv.--the wolf, the goat, and the kid.[ ] as went the goat her pendent dugs to fill, and browse the herbage of a distant hill, she latch'd her door, and bid, with matron care, her kid;-- 'my daughter, as you live, this portal don't undo to any creature who this watchword does not give: "deuce take the wolf and all his race!"' the wolf was passing near the place by chance, and heard the words with pleasure, and laid them up as useful treasure; and hardly need we mention, escaped the goat's attention. no sooner did he see the matron off, than he, with hypocritic tone and face, cried out before the place, 'deuce take the wolf and all his race!' not doubting thus to gain admission. the kid, not void of all suspicion, peer'd through a crack, and cried, 'show me white paw before you ask me to undo the door.' the wolf could not, if he had died, for wolves have no connexion with paws of that complexion. so, much surprised, our gormandiser retired to fast till he was wiser. how would the kid have been undone had she but trusted to the word the wolf by chance had overheard! two sureties better are than one; and caution's worth its cost, though sometimes seeming lost. [ ] corrozet; and others. xvi.--the wolf, the mother, and her child.[ ] this wolf another brings to mind, who found dame fortune more unkind, in that the greedy, pirate sinner, was balk'd of life as well as dinner. as saith our tale, a villager dwelt in a by, unguarded place; there, hungry, watch'd our pillager for luck and chance to mend his case. for there his thievish eyes had seen all sorts of game go out and in-- nice sucking calves, and lambs and sheep; and turkeys by the regiment, with steps so proud, and necks so bent, they'd make a daintier glutton weep. the thief at length began to tire of being gnaw'd by vain desire. just then a child set up a cry: 'be still,' the mother said, 'or i will throw you to the wolf, you brat!' 'ha, ha!' thought he, 'what talk is that! the gods be thank'd for luck so good!' and ready at the door he stood, when soothingly the mother said, 'now cry no more, my little dear; that naughty wolf, if he comes here, your dear papa shall kill him dead.' 'humph!' cried the veteran mutton-eater. 'now this, now that! now hot, now cool! is this the way they change their metre? and do they take me for a fool? some day, a nutting in the wood, that young one yet shall be my food.' but little time has he to dote on such a feast; the dogs rush out and seize the caitiff by the throat; and country ditchers, thick and stout, with rustic spears and forks of iron, the hapless animal environ. 'what brought you here, old head?' cried one. he told it all, as i have done. 'why, bless my soul!' the frantic mother said,-- 'you, villain, eat my little son! and did i nurse the darling boy, your fiendish appetite to cloy?' with that they knock'd him on the head. his feet and scalp they bore to town, to grace the seigneur's hall, where, pinn'd against the wall, this verse completed his renown:-- "ye honest wolves, believe not all that mothers say, when children squall!" [ ] aesop; and others. xvii.--the words of socrates.[ ] a house was built by socrates that failed the public taste to please. some blamed the inside; some, the out; and all agreed that the apartments were too small. such rooms for him, the greatest sage of greece! 'i ask,' said he, 'no greater bliss than real friends to fill e'en this.' and reason had good socrates to think his house too large for these. a crowd to be your friends will claim, till some unhandsome test you bring. there's nothing plentier than the name; there's nothing rarer than the thing. [ ] phaedrus, iii. . xviii.--the old man and his sons.[ ] all power is feeble with dissension: for this i quote the phrygian slave.[ ] if aught i add to his invention, it is our manners to engrave, and not from any envious wishes;-- i'm not so foolishly ambitious. phaedrus enriches oft his story, in quest--i doubt it not--of glory: such thoughts were idle in my breast. an aged man, near going to his rest, his gather'd sons thus solemnly address'd:-- 'to break this bunch of arrows you may try; and, first, the string that binds them i untie.' the eldest, having tried with might and main, exclaim'd, 'this bundle i resign to muscles sturdier than mine.' the second tried, and bow'd himself in vain. the youngest took them with the like success. all were obliged their weakness to confess. unharm'd the arrows pass'd from son to son; of all they did not break a single one. 'weak fellows!' said their sire, 'i now must show what in the case my feeble strength can do.' they laugh'd, and thought their father but in joke, till, one by one, they saw the arrows broke. 'see, concord's power!' replied the sire; 'as long as you in love agree, you will be strong. i go, my sons, to join our fathers good; now promise me to live as brothers should, and soothe by this your dying father's fears.' each strictly promised with a flood of tears. their father took them by the hand, and died; and soon the virtue of their vows was tried. their sire had left a large estate involved in lawsuits intricate; here seized a creditor, and there a neighbour levied for a share. at first the trio nobly bore the brunt of all this legal war. but short their friendship as 'twas rare. whom blood had join'd--and small the wonder!-- the force of interest drove asunder; and, as is wont in such affairs, ambition, envy, were co-heirs. in parcelling their sire's estate, they quarrel, quibble, litigate, each aiming to supplant the other. the judge, by turns, condemns each brother. their creditors make new assault, some pleading error, some default. the sunder'd brothers disagree; for counsel one, have counsels three. all lose their wealth; and now their sorrows bring fresh to mind those broken arrows. [ ] aesop, avianus, and others. [ ] _phrygan slave._--aesop. see translator's preface. xix.--the oracle and the atheist.[ ] that man his maker can deceive, is monstrous folly to believe. the labyrinthine mazes of the heart are open to his eyes in every part. whatever one may do, or think, or feel, from him no darkness can the thing conceal. a pagan once, of graceless heart and hollow, whose faith in gods, i'm apprehensive, was quite as real as expensive. consulted, at his shrine, the god apollo. 'is what i hold alive, or not?' said he,--a sparrow having brought, prepared to wring its neck, or let it fly, as need might be, to give the god the lie. apollo saw the trick, and answer'd quick, 'dead or alive, show me your sparrow, and cease to set for me a trap which can but cause yourself mishap. i see afar, and far i shoot my arrow.' [ ] aesop. xx.--the miser who had lost his treasure.[ ] 'tis use that constitutes possession. i ask that sort of men, whose passion it is to get and never spend, of all their toil what is the end? what they enjoy of all their labours which do not equally their neighbours? throughout this upper mortal strife, the miser leads a beggar's life. old aesop's man of hidden treasure may serve the case to demonstrate. he had a great estate, but chose a second life to wait ere he began to taste his pleasure. this man, whom gold so little bless'd, was not possessor, but possess'd. his cash he buried under ground, where only might his heart be found; it being, then, his sole delight to ponder of it day and night, and consecrate his rusty pelf, a sacred offering, to himself. in all his eating, drinking, travel, most wondrous short of funds he seem'd; one would have thought he little dream'd where lay such sums beneath the gravel. a ditcher mark'd his coming to the spot, so frequent was it, and thus at last some little inkling got of the deposit. he took it all, and babbled not. one morning, ere the dawn, forth had our miser gone to worship what he loved the best, when, lo! he found an empty nest! alas! what groaning, wailing, crying! what deep and bitter sighing! his torment makes him tear out by the roots his hair. a passenger demandeth why such marvellous outcry. 'they've got my gold! it's gone--it's gone!' 'your gold! pray where?'--'beneath this stone.' 'why, man, is this a time of war, that you should bring your gold so far? you'd better keep it in your drawer; and i'll be bound, if once but in it, you could have got it any minute.' 'at any minute! ah, heaven knows that cash comes harder than it goes! i touch'd it not.'--'then have the grace to explain to me that rueful face,' replied the man; 'for, if 'tis true you touch'd it not, how plain the case, that, put the stone back in its place, and all will be as well for you!' [ ] aesop, and others. xxi.--the eye of the master.[ ] a stag took refuge from the chase among the oxen of a stable, who counsel'd him, as saith the fable, to seek at once some safer place. 'my brothers,' said the fugitive, 'betray me not, and, as i live, the richest pasture i will show, that e'er was grazed on, high or low; your kindness you will not regret, for well some day i'll pay the debt.' the oxen promised secrecy. down crouch'd the stag, and breathed more free. at eventide they brought fresh hay, as was their custom day by day; and often came the servants near, as did indeed the overseer, but with so little thought or care, that neither horns, nor hide, nor hair reveal'd to them the stag was there. already thank'd the wild-wood stranger the oxen for their treatment kind, and there to wait made up his mind, till he might issue free from danger. replied an ox that chew'd the cud, 'your case looks fairly in the bud; but then i fear the reason why is, that the man of sharpest eye hath not yet come his look to take. i dread his coming, for your sake; your boasting may be premature: till then, poor stag, you're not secure.' 'twas but a little while before the careful master oped the door. 'how's this, my boys?' said he; 'these empty racks will never do. go, change this dirty litter too. more care than this i want to see of oxen that belong to me. well, jim, my boy, you're young and stout; what would it cost to clear these cobwebs out? and put these yokes, and hames, and traces, all as they should be, in their places?' thus looking round, he came to see one head he did not usually. the stag is found; his foes deal heavily their blows. down sinks he in the strife; no tears can save his life. they slay, and dress, and salt the beast, and cook his flesh in many a feast, and many a neighbour gets a taste. as phaedrus says it, pithily, the master's is the eye to see:-- i add the lover's, as for me. [ ] phaedrus, ii. (the stag and the oxen); and others. xxii.--the lark and her young ones with the owner of a field.[ ] "depend upon yourself alone," has to a common proverb grown. 'tis thus confirm'd in aesop's way:-- the larks to build their nests are seen among the wheat-crops young and green; that is to say, what time all things, dame nature heeding, betake themselves to love and breeding-- the monstrous whales and sharks, beneath the briny flood, the tigers in the wood, and in the fields, the larks. one she, however, of these last, found more than half the spring-time past without the taste of spring-time pleasures; when firmly she set up her will that she would be a mother still, and resolutely took her measures;-- first, got herself by hymen match'd; then built her nest, laid, sat, and hatch'd. all went as well as such things could. the wheat-crop ripening ere the brood were strong enough to take their flight, aware how perilous their plight, the lark went out to search for food, and told her young to listen well, and keep a constant sentinel. 'the owner of this field,' said she, 'will come, i know, his grain to see. hear all he says; we little birds must shape our conduct by his words.' no sooner was the lark away, than came the owner with his son. 'this wheat is ripe,' said he: 'now run and give our friends a call to bring their sickles all, and help us, great and small, to-morrow, at the break of day.' the lark, returning, found no harm, except her nest in wild alarm. says one, 'we heard the owner say, go, give our friends a call to help, to-morrow, break of day.' replied the lark, 'if that is all, we need not be in any fear, but only keep an open ear. as gay as larks, now eat your victuals.--' they ate and slept--the great and littles. the dawn arrives, but not the friends; the lark soars up, the owner wends his usual round to view his land. 'this grain,' says he, 'ought not to stand. our friends do wrong; and so does he who trusts that friends will friendly be. my son, go call our kith and kin to help us get our harvest in.' this second order made the little larks still more afraid. 'he sent for kindred, mother, by his son; the work will now, indeed, be done.' 'no, darlings; go to sleep; our lowly nest we'll keep.' with reason said; for kindred there came none. thus, tired of expectation vain, once more the owner view'd his grain. 'my son,' said he, 'we're surely fools to wait for other people's tools; as if one might, for love or pelf, have friends more faithful than himself! engrave this lesson deep, my son. and know you now what must be done? we must ourselves our sickles bring, and, while the larks their matins sing, begin the work; and, on this plan, get in our harvest as we can.' this plan the lark no sooner knew, than, 'now's the time,' she said, 'my chicks;' and, taking little time to fix, away they flew; all fluttering, soaring, often grounding, decamp'd without a trumpet sounding. [ ] aesop (aulus gellus); avianus. * * * * * book v. i.--the woodman and mercury.[ ] to m. the chevalier de bouillon.[ ] your taste has served my work to guide; to gain its suffrage i have tried. you'd have me shun a care too nice, or beauty at too dear a price, or too much effort, as a vice. my taste with yours agrees: such effort cannot please; and too much pains about the polish is apt the substance to abolish; not that it would be right or wise the graces all to ostracize. you love them much when delicate; nor is it left for me to hate. as to the scope of aesop's plan,[ ] i fail as little as i can. if this my rhymed and measured speech availeth not to please or teach, i own it not a fault of mine; some unknown reason i assign. with little strength endued for battles rough and rude, or with herculean arm to smite, i show to vice its foolish plight. in this my talent wholly lies; not that it does at all suffice. my fable sometimes brings to view the face of vanity purblind with that of restless envy join'd; and life now turns upon these pivots two. such is the silly little frog that aped the ox upon her bog. a double image sometimes shows how vice and folly do oppose the ways of virtue and good sense; as lambs with wolves so grim and gaunt, the silly fly and frugal ant. thus swells my work--a comedy immense-- its acts unnumber'd and diverse, its scene the boundless universe. gods, men, and brutes, all play their part in fields of nature or of art, and jupiter among the rest. here comes the god who's wont to bear jove's frequent errands to the fair, with winged heels and haste; but other work's in hand to-day. a man that labour'd in the wood had lost his honest livelihood; that is to say, his axe was gone astray. he had no tools to spare; this wholly earn'd his fare. without a hope beside, he sat him down and cried, 'alas, my axe! where can it be? o jove! but send it back to me, and it shall strike good blows for thee.' his prayer in high olympus heard, swift mercury started at the word. 'your axe must not be lost,' said he: 'now, will you know it when you see? an axe i found upon the road.' with that an axe of gold he show'd. 'is't this?' the woodman answer'd, 'nay.' an axe of silver, bright and gay, refused the honest woodman too. at last the finder brought to view an axe of iron, steel, and wood. 'that's mine,' he said, in joyful mood; 'with that i'll quite contented be.' the god replied, 'i give the three, as due reward of honesty.' this luck when neighbouring choppers knew, they lost their axes, not a few, and sent their prayers to jupiter so fast, he knew not which to hear. his winged son, however, sent with gold and silver axes, went. each would have thought himself a fool not to have own'd the richest tool. but mercury promptly gave, instead of it, a blow upon the head. with simple truth to be contented, is surest not to be repented; but still there are who would with evil trap the good,-- whose cunning is but stupid, for jove is never dupèd. [ ] aesop. there is also a version of the story in rabelais, book iv, _prologue_. [ ] la fontaine's dedication is in initials thus:--"a. m. l. c. d. b." which are interpreted by some as meaning, "to m. the chevalier de bouillon" (as above), and by others as meaning, "to monseigneur le cardinal de bouillon." [ ] _aesop's plan_.--here, as in the dedication of book vii., fable ii., book i., fable i., book iii., fable i., book vi., fable iv., book viii., and fable i., book ix., the poet treats of the nature and uses of fable. ii.--the earthen pot and the iron pot.[ ] an iron pot proposed to an earthen pot a journey. the latter was opposed, expressing the concern he had felt about the danger of going out a ranger. he thought the kitchen hearth the safest place on earth for one so very brittle. 'for thee, who art a kettle, and hast a tougher skin, there's nought to keep thee in.' 'i'll be thy body-guard,' replied the iron pot; 'if anything that's hard should threaten thee a jot, between you i will go, and save thee from the blow.' this offer him persuaded. the iron pot paraded himself as guard and guide close at his cousin's side. now, in their tripod way, they hobble as they may; and eke together bolt at every little jolt,-- which gives the crockery pain; but presently his comrade hits so hard, he dashes him to bits, before he can complain. take care that you associate with equals only, lest your fate between these pots should find its mate. [ ] aesop. iii.--the little fish and the fisher.[ ] a little fish will grow, if life be spared, a great; but yet to let him go, and for his growing wait, may not be very wise, as 'tis not sure your bait will catch him when of size. upon a river bank, a fisher took a tiny troutling from his hook. said he, ''twill serve to count, at least, as the beginning of my feast; and so i'll put it with the rest.' this little fish, thus caught, his clemency besought. 'what will your honour do with me? i'm not a mouthful, as you see. pray let me grow to be a trout, and then come here and fish me out. some alderman, who likes things nice, will buy me then at any price. but now, a hundred such you'll have to fish, to make a single good-for-nothing dish.' 'well, well, be it so,' replied the fisher, 'my little fish, who play the preacher, the frying-pan must be your lot, although, no doubt, you like it not: i fry the fry that can be got.' in some things, men of sense prefer the present to the future tense. [ ] aesop. iv.--the ears of the hare.[ ] some beast with horns did gore the lion; and that sovereign dread, resolved to suffer so no more, straight banish'd from his realm, 'tis said, all sorts of beasts with horns-- rams, bulls, goats, stags, and unicorns. such brutes all promptly fled. a hare, the shadow of his ears perceiving, could hardly help believing that some vile spy for horns would take them, and food for accusation make them. 'adieu,' said he, 'my neighbour cricket; i take my foreign ticket. my ears, should i stay here, will turn to horns, i fear; and were they shorter than a bird's, i fear the effect of words.' 'these horns!' the cricket answer'd; 'why, god made them ears who can deny?' 'yes,' said the coward, 'still they'll make them horns, and horns, perhaps of unicorns! in vain shall i protest, with all the learning of the schools: my reasons they will send to rest in th' hospital of fools.'[ ] [ ] faerno. [ ] _hospital of fools_, i.e., madhouse. v.--the fox with his tail cut off.[ ] a cunning old fox, of plundering habits, great crauncher of fowls, great catcher of rabbits, whom none of his sort had caught in a nap, was finally caught in somebody's trap. by luck he escaped, not wholly and hale, for the price of his luck was the loss of his tail. escaped in this way, to save his disgrace, he thought to get others in similar case. one day that the foxes in council were met, 'why wear we,' said he, 'this cumbering weight, which sweeps in the dirt wherever it goes? pray tell me its use, if any one knows. if the council will take my advice, we shall dock off our tails in a trice.' 'your advice may be good,' said one on the ground; 'but, ere i reply, pray turn yourself round.' whereat such a shout from the council was heard, poor bob-tail, confounded, could say not a word. to urge the reform would have wasted his breath. long tails were the mode till the day of his death. [ ] aesop; faerno. vi.--the old woman and her two servants.[ ] a beldam kept two spinning maids, who plied so handily their trades, those spinning sisters down below were bunglers when compared with these. no care did this old woman know but giving tasks as she might please. no sooner did the god of day his glorious locks enkindle, than both the wheels began to play, and from each whirling spindle forth danced the thread right merrily, and back was coil'd unceasingly. soon as the dawn, i say, its tresses show'd, a graceless cock most punctual crow'd. the beldam roused, more graceless yet, in greasy petticoat bedight, struck up her farthing light, and then forthwith the bed beset, where deeply, blessedly did snore those two maid-servants tired and poor. one oped an eye, an arm one stretch'd, and both their breath most sadly fetch'd, this threat concealing in the sigh-- 'that cursed cock shall surely die!' and so he did:--they cut his throat, and put to sleep his rousing note. and yet this murder mended not the cruel hardship of their lot; for now the twain were scarce in bed before they heard the summons dread. the beldam, full of apprehension lest oversleep should cause detention, ran like a goblin through her mansion. thus often, when one thinks to clear himself from ill, his effort only sinks him in the deeper still. the beldam, acting for the cock, was scylla for charybdis' rock. [ ] aesop. vii.--the satyr and the traveller.[ ] within a savage forest grot a satyr and his chips were taking down their porridge hot; their cups were at their lips. you might have seen in mossy den, himself, his wife, and brood; they had not tailor-clothes, like men, but appetites as good. in came a traveller, benighted, all hungry, cold, and wet, who heard himself to eat invited with nothing like regret. he did not give his host the pain his asking to repeat; but first he blew with might and main to give his fingers heat. then in his steaming porridge dish he delicately blew. the wondering satyr said, 'i wish the use of both i knew.' 'why, first, my blowing warms my hand, and then it cools my porridge.' 'ah!' said his host, 'then understand i cannot give you storage. 'to sleep beneath one roof with you, i may not be so bold. far be from me that mouth untrue which blows both hot and cold.' [ ] aesop. viii.--the horse and the wolf.[ ] a wolf, what time the thawing breeze renews the life of plants and trees, and beasts go forth from winter lair to seek abroad their various fare,-- a wolf, i say, about those days, in sharp look-out for means and ways, espied a horse turn'd out to graze. his joy the reader may opine. 'once got,' said he, 'this game were fine; but if a sheep, 'twere sooner mine. i can't proceed my usual way; some trick must now be put in play.' this said, he came with measured tread, as if a healer of disease,-- some pupil of hippocrates,-- and told the horse, with learned verbs, he knew the power of roots and herbs,-- whatever grew about those borders,-- and not at all to flatter himself in such a matter, could cure of all disorders. if he, sir horse, would not conceal the symptoms of his case, he, doctor wolf, would gratis heal; for that to feed in such a place, and run about untied, was proof itself of some disease, as all the books decide. 'i have, good doctor, if you please,' replied the horse, 'as i presume, beneath my foot, an aposthume.' 'my son,' replied the learned leech, 'that part, as all our authors teach, is strikingly susceptible of ills which make acceptable what you may also have from me-- the aid of skilful surgery; which noble art, the fact is, for horses of the blood i practise.' the fellow, with this talk sublime, watch'd for a snap the fitting time. meanwhile, suspicious of some trick, the wary patient nearer draws, and gives his doctor such a kick, as makes a chowder of his jaws. exclaim'd the wolf, in sorry plight, 'i own those heels have served me right. i err'd to quit my trade, as i will not in future; me nature surely made for nothing but a butcher.' [ ] aesop; also in faerno. ix.--the ploughman and his sons.[ ] the farmer's patient care and toil are oftener wanting than the soil. a wealthy ploughman drawing near his end, call'd in his sons apart from every friend, and said, 'when of your sire bereft, the heritage our fathers left guard well, nor sell a single field. a treasure in it is conceal'd: the place, precisely, i don't know, but industry will serve to show. the harvest past, time's forelock take, and search with plough, and spade, and rake; turn over every inch of sod, nor leave unsearch'd a single clod.' the father died. the sons--and not in vain-- turn'd o'er the soil, and o'er again; that year their acres bore more grain than e'er before. though hidden money found they none, yet had their father wisely done, to show by such a measure, that toil itself is treasure. [ ] aesop. x.--the mountain in labour.[ ] a mountain was in travail pang; the country with her clamour rang. out ran the people all, to see, supposing that the birth would be a city, or at least a house. it was a mouse! in thinking of this fable, of story feign'd and false, but meaning veritable, my mind the image calls of one who writes, "the war i sing which titans waged against the thunder-king."[ ] as on the sounding verses ring, what will be brought to birth? why, dearth. [ ] phaedrus, iv. . [ ] _the war, &c._--the war of the gods and titans (sons of heaven and earth); _vide_ hesiod, _theogony_, i. , bohn's ed. xi.--fortune and the boy.[ ] beside a well, uncurb'd and deep, a schoolboy laid him down to sleep: (such rogues can do so anywhere.) if some kind man had seen him there, he would have leap'd as if distracted; but fortune much more wisely acted; for, passing by, she softly waked the child, thus whispering in accents mild: 'i save your life, my little dear, and beg you not to venture here again, for had you fallen in, i should have had to bear the sin; but i demand, in reason's name, if for your rashness i'm to blame?' with this the goddess went her way. i like her logic, i must say. there takes place nothing on this planet, but fortune ends, whoe'er began it. in all adventures good or ill, we look to her to foot the bill. has one a stupid, empty pate, that serves him never till too late, he clears himself by blaming fate! [ ] aesop. xii.--the doctors.[ ] the selfsame patient put to test two doctors, fear-the-worst and hope-the-best. the latter hoped; the former did maintain the man would take all medicine in vain. by different cures the patient was beset, but erelong cancell'd nature's debt, while nursed as was prescribed by fear-the-worst. but over the disease both triumph'd still. said one, 'i well foresaw his death.' 'yes,' said the other, 'but my pill would certainly have saved his breath.' [ ] aesop, and others. xiii.--the hen with the golden eggs.[ ] how avarice loseth all, by striving all to gain, i need no witness call but him whose thrifty hen, as by the fable we are told, laid every day an egg of gold. 'she hath a treasure in her body,' bethinks the avaricious noddy. he kills and opens--vexed to find all things like hens of common kind. thus spoil'd the source of all his riches, to misers he a lesson teaches. in these last changes of the moon, how often doth one see men made as poor as he by force of getting rich too soon! [ ] aesop. xiv.--the ass carrying relics.[ ] an ass, with relics for his load, supposed the worship on the road meant for himself alone, and took on lofty airs, receiving as his own the incense and the prayers. some one, who saw his great mistake, cried, 'master donkey, do not make yourself so big a fool. not you they worship, but your pack; they praise the idols on your back, and count yourself a paltry tool.' 'tis thus a brainless magistrate is honour'd for his robe of state. [ ] aesop; also faerno. xv.--the stag and the vine.[ ] a stag, by favour of a vine, which grew where suns most genial shine, and form'd a thick and matted bower which might have turn'd a summer shower, was saved from ruinous assault. the hunters thought their dogs at fault, and call'd them off. in danger now no more the stag, a thankless wretch and vile, began to browse his benefactress o'er. the hunters, listening the while, the rustling heard, came back, with all their yelping pack, and seized him in that very place. 'this is,' said he, 'but justice, in my case. let every black ingrate henceforward profit by my fate.' the dogs fell to--'twere wasting breath to pray those hunters at the death. they left, and we will not revile 'em, a warning for profaners of asylum. [ ] aesop. xvi.--the serpent and the file.[ ] a serpent, neighbour to a smith, (a neighbour bad to meddle with,) went through his shop, in search of food, but nothing found, 'tis understood, to eat, except a file of steel, of which he tried to make a meal. the file, without a spark of passion, address'd him in the following fashion:-- 'poor simpleton! you surely bite with less of sense than appetite; for ere from me you gain one quarter of a grain, you'll break your teeth from ear to ear. time's are the only teeth i fear.' this tale concerns those men of letters, who, good for nothing, bite their betters. their biting so is quite unwise. think you, ye literary sharks, your teeth will leave their marks upon the deathless works you criticise? fie! fie! fie! men! to you they're brass--they're steel--they're diamond! [ ] phaedrus, book iv. ; also aesop. xvii.--the hare and the partridge. beware how you deride the exiles from life's sunny side: to you is little known how soon their case may be your own. on this, sage aesop gives a tale or two, as in my verses i propose to do. a field in common share a partridge and a hare, and live in peaceful state, till, woeful to relate! the hunters' mingled cry compels the hare to fly. he hurries to his fort, and spoils almost the sport by faulting every hound that yelps upon the ground. at last his reeking heat betrays his snug retreat. old tray, with philosophic nose, snuffs carefully, and grows so certain, that he cries, 'the hare is here; bow wow!' and veteran ranger now,-- the dog that never lies,-- 'the hare is gone,' replies. alas! poor, wretched hare, back comes he to his lair, to meet destruction there! the partridge, void of fear, begins her friend to jeer:-- 'you bragg'd of being fleet; how serve you, now, your feet?' scarce has she ceased to speak,-- the laugh yet in her beak,-- when comes her turn to die, from which she could not fly. she thought her wings, indeed, enough for every need; but in her laugh and talk, forgot the cruel hawk! xviii.--the eagle and the owl.[ ] the eagle and the owl, resolved to cease their war, embraced in pledge of peace. on faith of king, on faith of owl, they swore that they would eat each other's chicks no more. 'but know you mine?' said wisdom's bird.[ ] 'not i, indeed,' the eagle cried. 'the worse for that,' the owl replied: 'i fear your oath's a useless word; i fear that you, as king, will not consider duly who or what: you kings and gods, of what's before ye, are apt to make one category. adieu, my young, if you should meet them!' 'describe them, then, or let me greet them, and, on my life, i will not eat them,' the eagle said. the owl replied: 'my little ones, i say with pride, for grace of form cannot be match'd,-- the prettiest birds that e'er were hatch'd; by this you cannot fail to know them; 'tis needless, therefore, that i show them. pray don't forget, but keep this mark in view, lest fate should curse my happy nest by you.' at length god gives the owl a set of heirs, and while at early eve abroad he fares, in quest of birds and mice for food, our eagle haply spies the brood, as on some craggy rock they sprawl, or nestle in some ruined wall, (but which it matters not at all,) and thinks them ugly little frights, grim, sad, with voice like shrieking sprites. 'these chicks,' says he, 'with looks almost infernal, can't be the darlings of our friend nocturnal. i'll sup of them.' and so he did, not slightly:-- he never sups, if he can help it, lightly. the owl return'd; and, sad, he found nought left but claws upon the ground. he pray'd the gods above and gods below to smite the brigand who had caused his woe. quoth one, 'on you alone the blame must fall; or rather on the law of nature, which wills that every earthly creature shall think its like the loveliest of all. you told the eagle of your young ones' graces; you gave the picture of their faces:-- had it of likeness any traces?' [ ] avianus; also verdizotti. [ ] _wisdom's bird_.--the owl was the bird of minerva, as the eagle was that of jupiter. xix.--the lion going to war.[ ] the lion had an enterprise in hand; held a war-council, sent his provost-marshal, and gave the animals a call impartial-- each, in his way, to serve his high command. the elephant should carry on his back the tools of war, the mighty public pack, and fight in elephantine way and form; the bear should hold himself prepared to storm; the fox all secret stratagems should fix; the monkey should amuse the foe by tricks. 'dismiss,' said one, 'the blockhead asses, and hares, too cowardly and fleet.' 'no,' said the king; 'i use all classes; without their aid my force were incomplete. the ass shall be our trumpeter, to scare our enemy. and then the nimble hare our royal bulletins shall homeward bear.' a monarch provident and wise will hold his subjects all of consequence, and know in each what talent lies. there's nothing useless to a man of sense. [ ] abstemius. xx.--the bear and the two companions.[ ] two fellows, needing funds, and bold, a bearskin to a furrier sold, of which the bear was living still, but which they presently would kill-- at least they said they would. and, if their word was good, it was a king of bears--an ursa major-- the biggest bear beneath the sun. its skin, the chaps would wager, was cheap at double cost; 'twould make one laugh at frost-- and make two robes as well as one. old dindenaut,[ ] in sheep who dealt, less prized his sheep, than they their pelt-- (in their account 'twas theirs, but in his own, the bears.) by bargain struck upon the skin, two days at most must bring it in. forth went the two. more easy found than got, the bear came growling at them on the trot. behold our dealers both confounded, as if by thunderbolt astounded! their bargain vanish'd suddenly in air; for who could plead his interest with a bear? one of the friends sprung up a tree; the other, cold as ice could be, fell on his face, feign'd death, and closely held his breath,-- he having somewhere heard it said the bear ne'er preys upon the dead. sir bear, sad blockhead, was deceived-- the prostrate man a corpse believed; but, half suspecting some deceit, he feels and snuffs from head to feet, and in the nostrils blows. the body's surely dead, he thinks. 'i'll leave it,' says he, 'for it stinks;' and off into the woods he goes. the other dealer, from his tree descending cautiously, to see his comrade lying in the dirt, consoling, says, 'it is a wonder that, by the monster forced asunder, we're, after all, more scared than hurt. but,' addeth he, 'what of the creature's skin? he held his muzzle very near; what did he whisper in your ear?' 'he gave this caution,--"never dare again to sell the skin of bear its owner has not ceased to wear."'[ ] [ ] versions will be found in aesop, avianus, and abstemius. [ ] _old dindenaut_.--_vide_ rabelais, _pantagruel_, book iv. chap. viii.--translator. the character in rabelais is a sheep-stealer as well as a sheep-dealer. [ ] according to philip de commines, the emperor frederic iii. of germany used a story conveying the substance of this fable, with its moral of _never sell your bear-skin till the beast is dead_, as his sole reply to the ambassadors of the french king when that monarch sent him proposals for dividing between them the provinces of the duke of burgundy. the meaning of which was, says de commines, "that if the king came according to his promise, they would take the duke, if they could; and when he was taken, they would talk of dividing his dominions."--_vide_ bohn's edition of the "memoirs of de commines," vol. i., p. . xxi.--the ass dressed in the lion's skin.[ ] clad in a lion's shaggy hide, an ass spread terror far and wide, and, though himself a coward brute, put all the world to scampering rout: but, by a piece of evil luck, a portion of an ear outstuck, which soon reveal'd the error of all the panic-terror. old martin did his office quick. surprised were all who did not know the trick, to see that martin,[ ] at his will, was driving lions to the mill! in france, the men are not a few of whom this fable proves too true; whose valour chiefly doth reside in coat they wear and horse they ride. [ ] aesop, and avianus. [ ] _martin_.--martin-bâton, again as in fable v., book iv. * * * * * book vi. i.--the shepherd and the lion.[ ] of fables judge not by their face; they give the simplest brute a teacher's place. bare precepts were inert and tedious things; the story gives them life and wings. but story for the story's sake were sorry business for the wise; as if, for pill that one should take, you gave the sugary disguise. for reasons such as these, full many writers great and good have written in this frolic mood, and made their wisdom please. but tinsel'd style they all have shunn'd with care; with them one never sees a word to spare. of phaedrus some have blamed the brevity, while aesop uses fewer words than he. a certain greek,[ ] however, beats them both in his larconic feats. each tale he locks in verses four; the well or ill i leave to critic lore. at aesop's side to see him let us aim, upon a theme substantially the same. the one selects a lover of the chase; a shepherd comes, the other's tale to grace. their tracks i keep, though either tale may grow a little in its features as i go. the one which aesop tells is nearly this:-- a shepherd from his flock began to miss, and long'd to catch the stealer of, his sheep. before a cavern, dark and deep, where wolves retired by day to sleep, which he suspected as the thieves, he set his trap among the leaves; and, ere he left the place, he thus invoked celestial grace:-- 'o king of all the powers divine, against the rogue but grant me this delight, that this my trap may catch him in my sight, and i, from twenty calves of mine, will make the fattest thine.' but while the words were on his tongue, forth came a lion great and strong. down crouch'd the man of sheep, and said, with shivering fright half dead, 'alas! that man should never be aware of what may be the meaning of his prayer! to catch the robber of my flocks, o king of gods, i pledged a calf to thee: if from his clutches thou wilt rescue me, i'll raise my offering to an ox.' 'tis thus the master-author[ ] tells the story: now hear the rival of his glory. [ ] aesop. [ ] _a certain greek_.--gabrias.--la fontaine. this is babrias, the greek fabulist, to whom la fontaine gives the older form of his name. la fontaine's strictures on this "rival" of aesop proceed from the fact that he read the author in the corrupted form of the edition by ignatius magister (ninth century). it was not till a century after la fontaine wrote, that the fame of babrias was cleared by bentley and tyrwhitt, who brought his fables to light in their original form. [ ] _master-author, &c._--the "master-author" is aesop; the rival, gabrias, or babrias. the last line refers the reader to the following fable for comparison. in the original editions of la fontaine, the two fables appear together with the heading "fables i. et ii." ii.--the lion and the hunter.[ ] a braggart, lover of the chase, had lost a dog of valued race, and thought him in a lion's maw. he ask'd a shepherd whom he saw, 'pray show me, man, the robber's place, and i'll have justice in the case.' ''tis on this mountain side,' the shepherd man replied. 'the tribute of a sheep i pay, each month, and where i please i stray.' out leap'd the lion as he spake, and came that way, with agile feet. the braggart, prompt his flight to take, cried, 'jove, o grant a safe retreat!' a danger close at hand of courage is the test. it shows us who will stand-- whose legs will run their best. [ ] gabrias, or babrias; and aesop. see note to preceding fable. iii.--phoebus and boreas.[ ] old boreas and the sun, one day espied a traveller on his way, whose dress did happily provide against whatever might betide. the time was autumn, when, indeed, all prudent travellers take heed. the rains that then the sunshine dash, and iris with her splendid sash, warn one who does not like to soak to wear abroad a good thick cloak. our man was therefore well bedight with double mantle, strong and tight. 'this fellow,' said the wind, 'has meant to guard from every ill event; but little does he wot that i can blow him such a blast that, not a button fast, his cloak shall cleave the sky. come, here's a pleasant game, sir sun! wilt play?' said phoebus, 'done! we'll bet between us here which first will take the gear from off this cavalier. begin, and shut away. the brightness of my ray.' 'enough.' our blower, on the bet, swell'd out his pursy form with all the stuff for storm-- the thunder, hail, and drenching wet, and all the fury he could muster; then, with a very demon's bluster, he whistled, whirl'd, and splash'd, and down the torrents dash'd, full many a roof uptearing he never did before, full many a vessel bearing to wreck upon the shore,-- and all to doff a single cloak. but vain the furious stroke; the traveller was stout, and kept the tempest out, defied the hurricane, defied the pelting rain; and as the fiercer roar'd the blast, his cloak the tighter held he fast. the sun broke out, to win the bet; he caused the clouds to disappear, refresh'd and warm'd the cavalier, and through his mantle made him sweat, till off it came, of course, in less than half an hour; and yet the sun saved half his power.-- so much doth mildness more than force. [ ] aesop and lokman; also p. hegemon. iv.--jupiter and the farmer.[ ] of yore, a farm had jupiter to rent; to advertise it, mercury was sent. the farmers, far and near, flock'd round, the terms to hear; and, calling to their aid the various tricks of trade, one said 'twas rash a farm to hire which would so much expense require; another, that, do what you would, the farm would still be far from good. while thus, in market style, its faults were told, one of the crowd, less wise than bold, would give so much, on this condition, that jove would yield him altogether the choice and making of his weather,-- that, instantly on his decision, his various crops should feel the power of heat or cold, of sun or shower. jove yields. the bargain closed, our man rains, blows, and takes the care of all the changes of the air, on his peculiar, private plan. his nearest neighbours felt it not, and all the better was their lot. their year was good, by grace divine; the grain was rich, and full the vine. the renter, failing altogether, the next year made quite different weather; and yet the fruit of all his labours was far inferior to his neighbours'. what better could he do? to heaven he owns at last his want of sense, and so is graciously forgiven. hence we conclude that providence knows better what we need than we ourselves, indeed. [ ] aesop; and faerno. v.--the cockerel, the cat, and the young mouse.[ ] a youthful mouse, not up to trap, had almost met a sad mishap. the story hear him thus relate, with great importance, to his mother:-- 'i pass'd the mountain bounds of this estate, and off was trotting on another, like some young rat with nought to do but see things wonderful and new, when two strange creatures came in view. the one was mild, benign, and gracious; the other, turbulent, rapacious, with voice terrific, shrill, and rough, and on his head a bit of stuff that look'd like raw and bloody meat, raised up a sort of arms, and beat the air, as if he meant to fly, and bore his plumy tail on high.' a cock, that just began to crow, as if some nondescript, from far new holland shipp'd, was what our mousling pictured so. 'he beat his arms,' said he, 'and raised his voice, and made so terrible a noise, that i, who, thanks to heaven, may justly boast myself as bold as any mouse, scud off, (his voice would even scare a ghost!) and cursed himself and all his house; for, but for him, i should have staid, and doubtless an acquaintance made with her who seem'd so mild and good. like us, in velvet cloak and hood, she wears a tail that's full of grace, a very sweet and humble face,-- no mouse more kindness could desire,-- and yet her eye is full of fire. i do believe the lovely creature a friend of rats and mice by nature. her ears, though, like herself, they're bigger, are just like ours in form and figure. to her i was approaching, when, aloft on what appear'd his den, the other scream'd,--and off i fled.' 'my son,' his cautious mother said, 'that sweet one was the cat, the mortal foe of mouse and rat, who seeks by smooth deceit, her appetite to treat. so far the other is from that, we yet may eat his dainty meat; whereas the cruel cat, whene'er she can, devours no other meat than ours.' remember while you live, it is by looks that men deceive. [ ] abstemius. vi.--the fox, the monkey, and the animals.[ ] left kingless by the lion's death, the beasts once met, our story saith, some fit successor to install. forth from a dragon-guarded, moated place, the crown was brought, and, taken from its case, and being tried by turns on all, the heads of most were found too small; some hornèd were, and some too big; not one would fit the regal gear. for ever ripe for such a rig, the monkey, looking very queer, approach'd with antics and grimaces, and, after scores of monkey faces, with what would seem a gracious stoop, pass'd through the crown as through a hoop. the beasts, diverted with the thing, did homage to him as their king. the fox alone the vote regretted, but yet in public never fretted. when he his compliments had paid to royalty, thus newly made, 'great sire, i know a place,' said he, 'where lies conceal'd a treasure, which, by the right of royalty, should bide your royal pleasure.' the king lack'd not an appetite for such financial pelf, and, not to lose his royal right, ran straight to see it for himself. it was a trap, and he was caught. said renard, 'would you have it thought, you ape, that you can fill a throne, and guard the rights of all, alone, not knowing how to guard your own?' the beasts all gather'd from the farce, that stuff for kings is very scarce. [ ] aesop; also faerno. vii.--the mule boasting of his genealogy.[ ] a prelate's mule of noble birth was proud, and talk'd, incessantly and loud, of nothing but his dam, the mare, whose mighty deeds by him recounted were,-- this had she done, and had been present there,-- by which her son made out his claim to notice on the scroll of fame. too proud, when young, to bear a doctor's pill; when old, he had to turn a mill. as there they used his limbs to bind, his sire, the ass, was brought to mind. misfortune, were its only use the claims of folly to reduce, and bring men down to sober reason, would be a blessing in its season. [ ] aesop. viii.--the old man and the ass.[ ] an old man, riding on his ass, had found a spot of thrifty grass, and there turn'd loose his weary beast. old grizzle, pleased with such a feast, flung up his heels, and caper'd round, then roll'd and rubb'd upon the ground, and frisk'd and browsed and bray'd, and many a clean spot made. arm'd men came on them as he fed: 'let's fly,' in haste the old man said. 'and wherefore so?' the ass replied; 'with heavier burdens will they ride?' 'no,' said the man, already started. 'then,' cried the ass, as he departed, 'i'll stay, and be--no matter whose; save you yourself, and leave me loose. but let me tell you, ere you go, (i speak plain french, you know,) my master is my only foe.' [ ] phaedras. i. . ix.--the stag seeing himself in the water.[ ] beside a placid, crystal flood, a stag admired the branching wood that high upon his forehead stood, but gave his maker little thanks for what he call'd his spindle shanks. 'what limbs are these for such a head!-- so mean and slim!' with grief he said. 'my glorious heads o'ertops the branches of the copse; my legs are my disgrace.' as thus he talk'd, a bloodhound gave him chase. to save his life he flew where forests thickest grew. his horns,--pernicious ornament!-- arresting him where'er he went, did unavailing render what else, in such a strife, had saved his precious life-- his legs, as fleet as slender. obliged to yield, he cursed the gear which nature gave him every year. too much the beautiful we prize; the useful, often, we despise: yet oft, as happen'd to the stag, the former doth to ruin drag. [ ] aesop; also phaedrus, i. . x.--the hare and the tortoise.[ ] to win a race, the swiftness of a dart availeth not without a timely start. the hare and tortoise are my witnesses. said tortoise to the swiftest thing that is, 'i'll bet that you'll not reach, so soon as i the tree on yonder hill we spy.' 'so soon! why, madam, are you frantic?' replied the creature, with an antic; 'pray take, your senses to restore, a grain or two of hellebore.'[ ] 'say,' said the tortoise, 'what you will; i dare you to the wager still.' 'twas done; the stakes were paid, and near the goal tree laid-- of what, is not a question for this place, nor who it was that judged the race. our hare had scarce five jumps to make, of such as he is wont to take, when, starting just before their beaks he leaves the hounds at leisure, thence till the kalends of the greeks,[ ] the sterile heath to measure. thus having time to browse and doze, and list which way the zephyr blows, he makes himself content to wait, and let the tortoise go her gait in solemn, senatorial state. she starts; she moils on, modestly and lowly, and with a prudent wisdom hastens slowly; but he, meanwhile, the victory despises, thinks lightly of such prizes, believes it for his honour to take late start and gain upon her. so, feeding, sitting at his ease, he meditates of what you please, till his antagonist he sees approach the goal; then starts, away like lightning darts: but vainly does he run; the race is by the tortoise won. cries she, 'my senses do i lack? what boots your boasted swiftness now? you're beat! and yet, you must allow, i bore my house upon my back.' [ ] aesop; also lokman. [ ] _hellebore_.--the ancient remedy for insanity. [ ] _kalends of the greeks_.--the greeks, unlike the romans, had no kalends in their computation of time, hence the frequent use of this expression to convey the idea of an indefinite period of time. xi.--the ass and his masters.[ ] a gardener's ass complain'd to destiny of being made to rise before the dawn. 'the cocks their matins have not sung,' said he, 'ere i am up and gone. and all for what? to market herbs, it seems. fine cause, indeed, to interrupt my dreams!' fate, moved by such a prayer, sent him a currier's load to bear, whose hides so heavy and ill-scented were, they almost choked the foolish beast. 'i wish me with my former lord,' he said; 'for then, whene'er he turn'd his head, if on the watch, i caught a cabbage-leaf, which cost me nought. but, in this horrid place, i find no chance or windfall of the kind:-- or if, indeed, i do, the cruel blows i rue.' anon it came to pass he was a collier's ass. still more complaint. 'what now?' said fate, quite out of patience. 'if on this jackass i must wait, what will become of kings and nations? has none but he aught here to tease him? have i no business but to please him?' and fate had cause;--for all are so. unsatisfied while here below our present lot is aye the worst. our foolish prayers the skies infest. were jove to grant all we request, the din renew'd, his head would burst. [ ] aesop. xii.--the sun and the frogs.[ ] rejoicing on their tyrant's wedding-day, the people drown'd their care in drink; while from the general joy did aesop shrink, and show'd its folly in this way. 'the sun,' said he, 'once took it in his head to have a partner for his bed. from swamps, and ponds, and marshy bogs, up rose the wailings of the frogs. "what shall we do, should he have progeny?" said they to destiny; "one sun we scarcely can endure, and half-a-dozen, we are sure, will dry the very sea. adieu to marsh and fen! our race will perish then, or be obliged to fix their dwelling in the styx!" for such an humble animal, the frog, i take it, reason'd well.' [ ] there is another fable with this title, viz., fable xxiv., book xii. this fable in its earlier form will be found in phaedrus, i. . xiii.--the countryman and the serpent.[ ] a countryman, as aesop certifies, a charitable man, but not so wise, one day in winter found, stretch'd on the snowy ground, a chill'd or frozen snake, as torpid as a stake, and, if alive, devoid of sense. he took him up, and bore him home, and, thinking not what recompense for such a charity would come, before the fire stretch'd him, and back to being fetch'd him. the snake scarce felt the genial heat before his heart with native malice beat. he raised his head, thrust out his forkèd tongue, coil'd up, and at his benefactor sprung. 'ungrateful wretch!' said he, 'is this the way my care and kindness you repay? now you shall die.' with that his axe he takes, and with two blows three serpents makes. trunk, head, and tail were separate snakes; and, leaping up with all their might, they vainly sought to reunite. 'tis good and lovely to be kind; but charity should not be blind; for as to wretchedness ingrate, you cannot raise it from its wretched state. [ ] aesop; also phaedrus, iv. . xiv.--the sick lion and the fox.[ ] sick in his den, we understand, the king of beasts sent out command that of his vassals every sort should send some deputies to court-- with promise well to treat each deputy and suite; on faith of lion, duly written, none should be scratch'd, much less be bitten. the royal will was executed, and some from every tribe deputed; the foxes, only, would not come. one thus explain'd their choice of home:-- 'of those who seek the court, we learn, the tracks upon the sand have one direction, and not one betokens a return. this fact begetting some distrust, his majesty at present must excuse us from his great levee. his plighted word is good, no doubt; but while how beasts get in we see, we do not see how they get out.' [ ] aesop. xv.--the fowler, the hawk, and the lark.[ ] from wrongs of wicked men we draw excuses for our own:-- such is the universal law. would you have mercy shown, let yours be clearly known. a fowler's mirror served to snare the little tenants of the air. a lark there saw her pretty face, and was approaching to the place. a hawk, that sailed on high like vapour in the sky, came down, as still as infant's breath, on her who sang so near her death. she thus escaped the fowler's steel, the hawk's malignant claws to feel. while in his cruel way, the pirate pluck'd his prey, upon himself the net was sprung. 'o fowler,' pray'd he in the hawkish tongue, 'release me in thy clemency! i never did a wrong to thee.' the man replied, ''tis true; and did the lark to you?' [ ] abstemius, . xvi.--the horse and the ass.[ ] in such a world, all men, of every grade, should each the other kindly aid; for, if beneath misfortune's goad a neighbour falls, on you will fall his load. there jogg'd in company an ass and horse; nought but his harness did the last endorse; the other bore a load that crush'd him down, and begg'd the horse a little help to give, or otherwise he could not reach the town. 'this prayer,' said he, 'is civil, i believe; one half this burden you would scarcely feel.' the horse refused, flung up a scornful heel, and saw his comrade die beneath the weight:-- and saw his wrong too late; for on his own proud back they put the ass's pack, and over that, beside, they put the ass's hide. [ ] aesop. xvii.--the dog that dropped the substance for the shadow.[ ] this world is full of shadow-chasers, most easily deceived. should i enumerate these racers, i should not be believed. i send them all to aesop's dog, which, crossing water on a log, espied the meat he bore, below; to seize its image, let it go; plunged in; to reach the shore was glad, with neither what he hoped, nor what he'd had. [ ] aesop; also phaedrus, i. . xviii.--the carter in the mire.[ ] the phaëton who drove a load of hay once found his cart bemired. poor man! the spot was far away from human help--retired, in some rude country place, in brittany, as near as i can trace, near quimper corentan,-- a town that poet never sang,-- which fate, they say, puts in the traveller's path, when she would rouse the man to special wrath. may heaven preserve us from that route! but to our carter, hale and stout:-- fast stuck his cart; he swore his worst, and, fill'd with rage extreme, the mud-holes now he cursed, and now he cursed his team, and now his cart and load,-- anon, the like upon himself bestow'd. upon the god he call'd at length, most famous through the world for strength. 'o, help me, hercules!' cried he; 'for if thy back of yore this burly planet bore, thy arm can set me free.' this prayer gone up, from out a cloud there broke a voice which thus in godlike accents spoke:-- 'the suppliant must himself bestir, ere hercules will aid confer. look wisely in the proper quarter, to see what hindrance can be found; remove the execrable mud and mortar, which, axle-deep, beset thy wheels around. thy sledge and crowbar take, and pry me up that stone, or break; now fill that rut upon the other side. hast done it?' 'yes,' the man replied. 'well,' said the voice, 'i'll aid thee now; take up thy whip.' 'i have ... but, how? my cart glides on with ease! i thank thee, hercules.' 'thy team,' rejoin'd the voice, 'has light ado; so help thyself, and heaven will help thee too.' [ ] avianus; also faerno; also rabelais, book iv., ch. , bohn's edition. xix.--the charlatan.[ ] the world has never lack'd its charlatans, more than themselves have lack'd their plans. one sees them on the stage at tricks which mock the claims of sullen styx. what talents in the streets they post! one of them used to boast such mastership of eloquence that he could make the greatest dunce another tully cicero in all the arts that lawyers know. 'ay, sirs, a dunce, a country clown, the greatest blockhead of your town,-- nay more, an animal, an ass,-- the stupidest that nibbles grass,-- needs only through my course to pass, and he shall wear the gown with credit, honour, and renown.' the prince heard of it, call'd the man, thus spake: 'my stable holds a steed of the arcadian breed,[ ] of which an orator i wish to make.' 'well, sire, you can,' replied our man. at once his majesty paid the tuition fee. ten years must roll, and then the learned ass should his examination pass, according to the rules adopted in the schools; if not, his teacher was to tread the air, with halter'd neck, above the public square,-- his rhetoric bound on his back, and on his head the ears of jack. a courtier told the rhetorician, with bows and terms polite, he would not miss the sight of that last pendent exhibition; for that his grace and dignity would well become such high degree; and, on the point of being hung, he would bethink him of his tongue, and show the glory of his art,-- the power to melt the hardest heart,-- and wage a war with time by periods sublime-- a pattern speech for orators thus leaving, whose work is vulgarly call'd thieving. 'ah!' was the charlatan's reply, 'ere that, the king, the ass, or i, shall, one or other of us, die.' and reason good had he; we count on life most foolishly, though hale and hearty we may be. in each ten years, death cuts down one in three. [ ] abstemius. [ ] _steed of the arcadian breed_.--an ass, as in fable xvii, book viii. xx.--discord. the goddess discord, having made, on high, among the gods a general grapple, and thence a lawsuit, for an apple, was turn'd out, bag and baggage, from the sky. the animal call'd man, with open arms, received the goddess of such naughty charms,-- herself and whether-or-no, her brother, with thine-and-mine, her stingy mother. in this, the lower universe, our hemisphere she chose to curse: for reasons good she did not please to visit our antipodes-- folks rude and savage like the beasts, who, wedding-free from forms and priests, in simple tent or leafy bower, make little work for such a power. that she might know exactly where her direful aid was in demand, renown flew courier through the land, reporting each dispute with care; then she, outrunning peace, was quickly there; and if she found a spark of ire, was sure to blow it to a fire. at length, renown got out of patience at random hurrying o'er the nations, and, not without good reason, thought a goddess, like her mistress, ought to have some fix'd and certain home, to which her customers might come; for now they often search'd in vain. with due location, it was plain she might accomplish vastly more, and more in season than before. to find, howe'er, the right facilities, was harder, then, than now it is; for then there were no nunneries. so, hymen's inn at last assign'd, thence lodged the goddess to her mind.[ ] [ ] la fontaine, gentle reader, does not mean to say that discord lodges with all married people, but that the foul fiend is never better satisfied than when she can find such accommodation.--translator. xxi.--the young widow.[ ] a husband's death brings always sighs; the widow sobs, sheds tears--then dries. of time the sadness borrows wings; and time returning pleasure brings. between the widow of a year and of a day, the difference is so immense, that very few who see her would think the laughing dame and weeping one the same. the one puts on repulsive action, the other shows a strong attraction. the one gives up to sighs, or true or false; the same sad note is heard, whoever calls. her grief is inconsolable, they say. not so our fable, or, rather, not so says the truth. to other worlds a husband went and left his wife in prime of youth. above his dying couch she bent, and cried, 'my love, o wait for me! my soul would gladly go with thee!' (but yet it did not go.) the fair one's sire, a prudent man, check'd not the current of her woe. at last he kindly thus began:-- 'my child, your grief should have its bound. what boots it him beneath the ground that you should drown your charms? live for the living, not the dead. i don't propose that you be led at once to hymen's arms; but give me leave, in proper time, to rearrange the broken chime with one who is as good, at least, in all respects, as the deceased.' 'alas!' she sigh'd, 'the cloister vows befit me better than a spouse.' the father left the matter there. about one month thus mourn'd the fair; another month, her weeds arranged; each day some robe or lace she changed, till mourning dresses served to grace, and took of ornament the place. the frolic band of loves came flocking back like doves. jokes, laughter, and the dance, the native growth of france, had finally their turn; and thus, by night and morn, she plunged, to tell the truth, deep in the fount of youth. her sire no longer fear'd the dead so much endear'd; but, as he never spoke, herself the silence broke:-- 'where is that youthful spouse,' said she, 'whom, sir, you lately promised me?' [ ] abstemius. epilogue. here check we our career: long books i greatly fear. i would not quite exhaust my stuff; the flower of subjects is enough. to me, the time is come, it seems, to draw my breath for other themes. love, tyrant of my life, commands that other work be on my hands. i dare not disobey. once more shall psyche be my lay. i'm call'd by damon to portray her sorrows and her joys. i yield: perhaps, while she employs, my muse will catch a richer glow; and well if this my labour'd strain shall be the last and only pain her spouse[ ] shall cause me here below. [ ] _her spouse_.--cupid, the spouse of psyche. the "other work on my hands" mentioned in this epilogue (the end of the poet's first collection of fables) was no doubt the writing of his "psyche," which was addressed to his patron the duchess de bouillon, and published in , the year following the publication of the first six books of the fables. see also translator's preface. * * * * * book vii.[ ] to madame de montespan[ ] the apologue[ ] is from the immortal gods; or, if the gift of man it is, its author merits apotheosis. whoever magic genius lauds will do what in him lies to raise this art's inventor to the skies. it hath the potence of a charm, on dulness lays a conquering arm, subjects the mind to its control, and works its will upon the soul. o lady, arm'd with equal power, if e'er within celestial bower, with messmate gods reclined, my muse ambrosially hath dined, lend me the favour of a smile on this her playful toil. if you support, the tooth of time will shun, and let my work the envious years outrun. if authors would themselves survive, to gain your suffrage they should strive. on you my verses wait to get their worth; to you my beauties all will owe their birth,-- for beauties you will recognize invisible to other eyes. ah! who can boast a taste so true, of beauty or of grace, in either thought or face? for words and looks are equal charms in you. upon a theme so sweet, the truth to tell, my muse would gladly dwell: but this employ to others i must yield;-- a greater master claims the field. for me, fair lady, 'twere enough your name should be my wall and roof. protect henceforth the favour'd book through which for second life i look. in your auspicious light, these lines, in envy's spite, will gain the glorious meed, that all the world shall read. 'tis not that i deserve such fame;-- i only ask in fable's name, (you know what credit that should claim;) and, if successfully i sue, a fane will be to fable due,-- a thing i would not build--except for you. [ ] here commences the second collection of la fontaine's fables, comprising books vii. to xi. this collection was published in - , ten years after the publication of the foregoing six books. see translator's preface. [ ] _madame de montespan_.--francoise-athénaïs de rochechouart de mortemart, marquise de montespan, born , died . she became one of the mistresses of the "grand monarque," louis xiv., in . [ ] _the apologue._--here, as in the opening fable of books v. and vi., and elsewhere, la fontaine defines fable and defends the art of the fabulist. i.--the animals sick of the plague.[ ] the sorest ill that heaven hath sent on this lower world in wrath,-- the plague (to call it by its name,) one single day of which would pluto's ferryman enrich,-- waged war on beasts, both wild and tame. they died not all, but all were sick: no hunting now, by force or trick, to save what might so soon expire. no food excited their desire; nor wolf nor fox now watch'd to slay the innocent and tender prey. the turtles fled; so love and therefore joy were dead. the lion council held, and said: 'my friends, i do believe this awful scourge, for which we grieve, is for our sins a punishment most righteously by heaven sent. let us our guiltiest beast resign, a sacrifice to wrath divine. perhaps this offering, truly small, may gain the life and health of all. by history we find it noted that lives have been just so devoted. then let us all turn eyes within, and ferret out the hidden sin. himself let no one spare nor flatter, but make clean conscience in the matter. for me, my appetite has play'd the glutton too much and often upon mutton. what harm had e'er my victims done? i answer, truly, none. perhaps, sometimes, by hunger press'd, i've eat the shepherd with the rest. i yield myself, if need there be; and yet i think, in equity, each should confess his sins with me; for laws of right and justice cry, the guiltiest alone should die.' 'sire,' said the fox, 'your majesty is humbler than a king should be, and over-squeamish in the case. what! eating stupid sheep a crime? no, never, sire, at any time. it rather was an act of grace, a mark of honour to their race. and as to shepherds, one may swear, the fate your majesty describes, is recompense less full than fair for such usurpers o'er our tribes.' thus renard glibly spoke, and loud applause from flatterers broke. of neither tiger, boar, nor bear, did any keen inquirer dare to ask for crimes of high degree; the fighters, biters, scratchers, all from every mortal sin were free; the very dogs, both great and small, were saints, as far as dogs could be. the ass, confessing in his turn, thus spoke in tones of deep concern:-- 'i happen'd through a mead to pass; the monks, its owners, were at mass; keen hunger, leisure, tender grass, and add to these the devil too, all tempted me the deed to do. i browsed the bigness of my tongue; since truth must out, i own it wrong.' on this, a hue and cry arose, as if the beasts were all his foes: a wolf, haranguing lawyer-wise, denounced the ass for sacrifice-- the bald-pate, scabby, ragged lout, by whom the plague had come, no doubt. his fault was judged a hanging crime. 'what? eat another's grass? o shame! the noose of rope and death sublime,' for that offence, were all too tame! and soon poor grizzle felt the same. thus human courts acquit the strong, and doom the weak, as therefore wrong. [ ] one of the most original as well as one of the most beautiful of the poet's fables, yet much of the groundwork of its story may be traced in the fables of bidpaii and other collections. see also note to fable xxii., book i. ii.--the ill-married. if worth, were not a thing more rare than beauty in this planet fair, there would be then less need of care about the contracts hymen closes. but beauty often is the bait to love that only ends in hate; and many hence repent too late of wedding thorns from wooing roses.[ ] my tale makes one of these poor fellows, who sought relief from marriage vows, send back again his tedious spouse, contentious, covetous, and jealous, with nothing pleased or satisfied, this restless, comfort-killing bride some fault in every one descried. her good man went to bed too soon, or lay in bed till almost noon. too cold, too hot,--too black, too white,-- were on her tongue from morn till night. the servants mad and madder grew; the husband knew not what to do. 'twas, 'dear, you never think or care;' and, 'dear, that price we cannot bear;' and, 'dear, you never stay at home;' and, 'dear, i wish you would just come;' till, finally, such ceaseless dearing upon her husband's patience wearing, back to her sire's he sent his wife, to taste the sweets of country life, to dance at will the country jigs, and feed the turkeys, geese, and pigs. in course of time, he hoped his bride might have her temper mollified; which hope he duly put to test. his wife recall'd, said he, 'how went with you your rural rest, from vexing cares and fashions free? its peace and quiet did you gain,-- its innocence without a stain?' 'enough of all,' said she; 'but then to see those idle, worthless men neglect the flocks, it gave me pain. i told them, plainly, what i thought, and thus their hatred quickly bought; for which i do not care--not i.' 'ah, madam,' did her spouse reply, 'if still your temper's so morose, and tongue so virulent, that those who only see you morn and night are quite grown weary of the sight, what, then, must be your servants' case, who needs must see you face to face, throughout the day? and what must be the harder lot of him, i pray, whose days and nights with you must be by marriage rights? return you to your father's cot. if i recall you in my life, or even wish for such a wife, let heaven, in my hereafter, send two such, to tease me without end!' [ ] the badinage of la fontaine having been misunderstood, the translator has altered the introduction to this fable. the intention of the fable is to recommend prudence and good nature, not celibacy. so the peerless granville understands it, for his pencil tells us that the hero of the fable did finally recall his wife, notwithstanding his fearful imprecation. it seems that even she was better than none.--translator; (in his sixth edition). iii.--the rat retired from the world. the sage levantines have a tale about a rat that weary grew of all the cares which life assail, and to a holland cheese withdrew. his solitude was there profound, extending through his world so round. our hermit lived on that within; and soon his industry had been with claws and teeth so good, that in his novel hermitage, he had in store, for wants of age, both house and livelihood. what more could any rat desire? he grew fair, fat, and round. 'god's blessings thus redound to those who in his vows retire.'[ ] one day this personage devout, whose kindness none might doubt, was ask'd, by certain delegates that came from rat-united-states, for some small aid, for they to foreign parts were on their way, for succour in the great cat-war. ratopolis beleaguer'd sore, their whole republic drain'd and poor, no morsel in their scrips they bore. slight boon they craved, of succour sure in days at utmost three or four. 'my friends,' the hermit said, 'to worldly things i'm dead. how can a poor recluse to such a mission be of use? what can he do but pray that god will aid it on its way? and so, my friends, it is my prayer that god will have you in his care.' his well-fed saintship said no more, but in their faces shut the door. what think you, reader, is the service for which i use this niggard rat? to paint a monk? no, but a dervise. a monk, i think, however fat, must be more bountiful than that. [ ] _god's blessing, &c_.--so the rat himself professed to consider the matter.--translator. iv.--the heron.[ ] one day,--no matter when or where,-- a long-legg'd heron chanced to fare by a certain river's brink, with his long, sharp beak helved on his slender neck; 'twas a fish-spear, you might think. the water was clear and still, the carp and the pike there at will pursued their silent fun, turning up, ever and anon, a golden side to the sun. with ease might the heron have made great profits in his fishing trade. so near came the scaly fry, they might be caught by the passer-by. but he thought he better might wait for a better appetite-- for he lived by rule, and could not eat, except at his hours, the best of meat. anon his appetite return'd once more; so, approaching again the shore, he saw some tench taking their leaps, now and then, from their lowest deeps. with as dainty a taste as horace's rat, he turn'd away from such food as that. 'what, tench for a heron! poh! i scorn the thought, and let them go.' the tench refused, there came a gudgeon; 'for all that,' said the bird, 'i budge on. i'll ne'er open my beak, if the gods please, for such mean little fishes as these.' he did it for less; for it came to pass, that not another fish could he see; and, at last, so hungry was he, that he thought it of some avail to find on the bank a single snail. such is the sure result of being too difficult. would you be strong and great, learn to accommodate. get what you can, and trust for the rest; the whole is oft lost by seeking the best. above all things beware of disdain; where, at most, you have little to gain. the people are many that make every day this sad mistake. 'tis not for the herons i put this case, ye featherless people, of human race. --list to another tale as true, and you'll hear the lesson brought home to you.[ ] [ ] abstemius. [ ] _the lesson brought home to you_. the two last lines refer the reader to the next fable. v.--the maid.[ ] a certain maid, as proud as fair, a husband thought to find exactly to her mind-- well-form'd and young, genteel in air, not cold nor jealous;--mark this well. whoe'er would wed this dainty belle must have, besides rank, wealth, and wit, and all good qualities to fit-- a man 'twere difficult to get. kind fate, however, took great care to grant, if possible, her prayer. there came a-wooing men of note; the maiden thought them all, by half, too mean and small. 'they marry me! the creatures dote:-- alas! poor souls! their case i pity.' (here mark the bearing of the beauty.) some were less delicate than witty; some had the nose too short or long; in others something else was wrong; which made each in the maiden's eyes an altogether worthless prize. profound contempt is aye the vice which springs from being over-nice, thus were the great dismiss'd; and then came offers from inferior men. the maid, more scornful than before, took credit to her tender heart for giving then an open door. 'they think me much in haste to part with independence! god be thank'd my lonely nights bring no regret; nor shall i pine, or greatly fret, should i with ancient maids be rank'd.' such were the thoughts that pleased the fair: age made them only thoughts that were. adieu to lovers:--passing years awaken doubts and chilling fears. regret, at last, brings up the train. day after day she sees, with pain, some smile or charm take final flight, and leave the features of a 'fright.' then came a hundred sorts of paint: but still no trick, nor ruse, nor feint, avail'd to hide the cause of grief, or bar out time, that graceless thief. a house, when gone to wreck and ruin, may be repair'd and made a new one. alas! for ruins of the face no such rebuilding e'er takes place. her daintiness now changed its tune; her mirror told her, 'marry soon!' so did a certain wish within, with more of secrecy than sin,-- a wish that dwells with even prudes, annihilating solitudes. this maiden's choice was past belief, she soothing down her restless grief, and smoothing it of every ripple, by marrying a cripple. [ ] this fable should be read in conjunction with the foregoing one. vi.--the wishes. within the great mogul's domains there are familiar sprites of much domestic use: they sweep the house, and take a tidy care of equipage, nor garden work refuse; but, if you meddle with their toil, the whole, at once, you're sure to spoil. one, near the mighty ganges flood, the garden of a burgher good work'd noiselessly and well; to master, mistress, garden, bore a love that time and toil outwore, and bound him like a spell. did friendly zephyrs blow, the demon's pains to aid? (for so they do, 'tis said.) i own i do not know. but for himself he rested not, and richly bless'd his master's lot. what mark'd his strength of love, he lived a fixture on the place, in spite of tendency to rove so natural to his race. but brother sprites conspiring with importunity untiring, so teased their goblin chief, that he, of his caprice, or policy, our sprite commanded to attend a house in norway's farther end, whose roof was snow-clad through the year, and shelter'd human kind with deer. before departing to his hosts thus spake this best of busy ghosts:-- 'to foreign parts i'm forced to go! for what sad fault i do not know;-- but go i must; a month's delay, or week's perhaps, and i'm away. seize time; three wishes make at will; for three i'm able to fulfil-- no more.' quick at their easy task, abundance first these wishers ask-- abundance, with her stores unlock'd-- barns, coffers, cellars, larder, stock'd-- corn, cattle, wine, and money,-- the overflow of milk and honey. but what to do with all this wealth! what inventories, cares, and worry! what wear of temper and of health! both lived in constant, slavish hurry. thieves took by plot, and lords by loan; the king by tax, the poor by tone. thus felt the curses which arise from being rich,-- 'remove this affluence!' they pray; the poor are happier than they whose riches make them slaves. 'go, treasures, to the winds and waves; come, goddess of the quiet breast, who sweet'nest toil with rest, dear mediocrity, return!' the prayer was granted as we learn. two wishes thus expended, had simply ended in bringing them exactly where, when they set out they were. so, usually, it fares with those who waste in such vain prayers the time required by their affairs. the goblin laugh'd, and so did they. however, ere he went away, to profit by his offer kind, they ask'd for wisdom, wealth of mind,-- a treasure void of care and sorrow-- a treasure fearless of the morrow, let who will steal, or beg, or borrow. vii.--the lion's court.[ ] his lion majesty would know, one day, what bestial tribes were subject to his sway. he therefore gave his vassals all, by deputies a call, despatching everywhere a written circular, which bore his seal, and did import his majesty would hold his court a month most splendidly;-- a feast would open his levee, which done, sir jocko's sleight would give the court delight. by such sublime magnificence the king would show his power immense. now were they gather'd all within the royal hall.-- and such a hall! the charnel scent would make the strongest nerves relent. the bear put up his paw to close the double access of his nose. the act had better been omitted; his throne at once the monarch quitted, and sent to pluto's court the bear, to show his delicacy there. the ape approved the cruel deed, a thorough flatterer by breed. he praised the prince's wrath and claws, he praised the odour and its cause. judged by the fragrance of that cave, the amber of the baltic wave, the rose, the pink, the hawthorn bank, might with the vulgar garlic rank. the mark his flattery overshot, and made him share poor bruin's lot; this lion playing in his way, the part of don caligula. the fox approach'd. 'now,' said the king, 'apply your nostrils to this thing, and let me hear, without disguise, the judgment of a beast so wise.' the fox replied, 'your majesty will please excuse'--and here he took good care to sneeze;-- 'afflicted with a dreadful cold, your majesty need not be told: my sense of smell is mostly gone.' from danger thus withdrawn, he teaches us the while, that one, to gain the smile of kings, must hold the middle place 'twixt blunt rebuke and fulsome praise; and sometimes use with easy grace, the language of the norman race.[ ] [ ] phaedrus. iv. . [ ] the normans are proverbial among the french for the oracular noncommittal of their responses.--_un normand_, says the proverb, _a son dit et son détit._--translator. viii.--the vultures and the pigeons.[ ] mars once made havoc in the air: some cause aroused a quarrel there among the birds;--not those that sing, the courtiers of the merry spring, and by their talk, in leafy bowers, of loves they feel, enkindle ours; nor those which cupid's mother yokes to whirl on high her golden spokes; but naughty hawk and vulture folks, of hooked beak and talons keen. the carcass of a dog, 'tis said, had to this civil carnage led. blood rain'd upon the swarded green, and valiant deeds were done, i ween. but time and breath would surely fail to give the fight in full detail; suffice to say, that chiefs were slain, and heroes strow'd the sanguine plain, till old prometheus, in his chains, began to hope an end of pains. 'twas sport to see the battle rage, and valiant hawk with hawk engage; 'twas pitiful to see them fall,-- torn, bleeding, weltering, gasping, all. force, courage, cunning, all were plied; intrepid troops on either side no effort spared to populate the dusky realms of hungry fate. this woful strife awoke compassion within another feather'd nation, of iris neck and tender heart. they tried their hand at mediation-- to reconcile the foes, or part. the pigeon people duly chose ambassadors, who work'd so well as soon the murderous rage to quell, and stanch the source of countless woes. a truce took place, and peace ensued. alas! the people dearly paid who such pacification made! those cursed hawks at once pursued the harmless pigeons, slew and ate, till towns and fields were desolate. small prudence had the friends of peace to pacify such foes as these! the safety of the rest requires the bad should flesh each other's spears: whoever peace with them desires had better set them by the ears. [ ] abstemius. ix.--the coach and the fly.[ ] upon a sandy, uphill road, which naked in the sunshine glow'd, six lusty horses drew a coach. dames, monks, and invalids, its load, on foot, outside, at leisure trode. the team, all weary, stopp'd and blow'd: whereon there did a fly approach, and, with a vastly business air. cheer'd up the horses with his buzz,-- now pricked them here, now prick'd them there, as neatly as a jockey does,-- and thought the while--he knew 'twas so-- he made the team and carriage go,-- on carriage-pole sometimes alighting-- or driver's nose--and biting. and when the whole did get in motion, confirm'd and settled in the notion, he took, himself, the total glory,-- flew back and forth in wondrous hurry, and, as he buzz'd about the cattle, seem'd like a sergeant in a battle, the files and squadrons leading on to where the victory is won. thus charged with all the commonweal, this single fly began to feel responsibility too great, and cares, a grievous crushing weight; and made complaint that none would aid the horses up the tedious hill-- the monk his prayers at leisure said-- fine time to pray!--the dames, at will, were singing songs--not greatly needed! thus in their ears he sharply sang, and notes of indignation ran,-- notes, after all, not greatly heeded. erelong the coach was on the top: 'now,' said the fly, 'my hearties, stop and breathe;--i've got you up the hill; and messrs. horses, let me say, i need not ask you if you will a proper compensation pay.' thus certain ever-bustling noddies are seen in every great affair; important, swelling, busy-bodies, and bores 'tis easier to bear than chase them from their needless care. [ ] aesop; also phaedrus, iii., . x.--the dairywoman and the pot of milk. a pot of milk upon her cushion'd crown, good peggy hasten'd to the market town; short clad and light, with speed she went, not fearing any accident; indeed, to be the nimbler tripper, her dress that day, the truth to say, was simple petticoat and slipper. and, thus bedight, good peggy, light,-- her gains already counted,-- laid out the cash at single dash, which to a hundred eggs amounted. three nests she made, which, by the aid of diligence and care were hatch'd. 'to raise the chicks, i'll easy fix,' said she, 'beside our cottage thatch'd. the fox must get more cunning yet, or leave enough to buy a pig. with little care and any fare, he'll grow quite fat and big; and then the price will be so nice, for which, the pork will sell! 'twill go quite hard but in our yard i'll bring a cow and calf to dwell-- a calf to frisk among the flock!' the thought made peggy do the same; and down at once the milk-pot came, and perish'd with the shock. calf, cow, and pig, and chicks, adieu! your mistress' face is sad to view; she gives a tear to fortune spilt; then with the downcast look of guilt home to her husband empty goes, somewhat in danger of his blows. who buildeth not, sometimes, in air his cots, or seats, or castles fair? from kings to dairy women,--all,-- the wise, the foolish, great and small,-- each thinks his waking dream the best. some flattering error fills the breast: the world with all its wealth is ours, its honours, dames, and loveliest bowers. instinct with valour, when alone, i hurl the monarch from his throne; the people, glad to see him dead, elect me monarch in his stead, and diadems rain on my head. some accident then calls me back, and i'm no more than simple jack.[ ] [ ] this and the following fable should be read together. see note to next fable. xi.--the curate and the corpse.[ ] a dead man going slowly, sadly, to occupy his last abode, a curate by him, rather gladly, did holy service on the road. within a coach the dead was borne, a robe around him duly worn, of which i wot he was not proud-- that ghostly garment call'd a shroud. in summer's blaze and winter's blast, that robe is changeless--'tis the last. the curate, with his priestly dress on, recited all the church's prayers, the psalm, the verse, response, and lesson, in fullest style of such affairs. sir corpse, we beg you, do not fear a lack of such things on your bier; they'll give abundance every way, provided only that you pay. the reverend john cabbagepate watch'd o'er the corpse as if it were a treasure needing guardian care; and all the while, his looks elate, this language seem'd to hold: 'the dead will pay so much in gold, so much in lights of molten wax, so much in other sorts of tax:' with all he hoped to buy a cask of wine, the best which thereabouts produced the vine. a pretty niece, on whom he doted, and eke his chambermaid, should be promoted, by being newly petticoated. the coach upset, and dash'd to pieces, cut short these thoughts of wine and nieces! there lay poor john with broken head, beneath the coffin of the dead! his rich, parishioner in lead drew on the priest the doom of riding with him to the tomb! the pot of milk,[ ] and fate of curate cabbagepate, as emblems, do but give the history of most that live. [ ] this fable is founded upon a fact, which is related by madame de sévigné in her _letters_ under date feb. , , as follows:--"m. boufflers has killed a man since his death: the circumstance was this: they were carrying him about a league from boufflers to inter him; the corpse was on a bier in a coach; his own curate attended it; the coach overset, and the bier falling upon the curate's neck choaked him." m. de boufflers had fallen down dead a few days before. he was the eldest brother of the duke de boufflers. in another _letter_, march , , madame de sévigné says:--"here is fontaine's fable too, on the adventure of m. de boufflers' curate, who was killed in the coach by his dead patron. there was something very extraordinary in the affair itself: the fable is pretty; but not to be compared to the one that follows it: i do not understand the milk-pot." [ ] this allusion to the preceding fable must be the "milk-pot" which madame de sévigné did "not understand" (_vide_ last note); madame can hardly have meant the "milk-pot" fable, which is easily understood. she often saw la fontaine's work before it was published, and the date of her letter quoted at p. shows that she must so have seen the "curate and the corpse," and that, perhaps, without so seeing the "dairywoman and the pot of milk." xii.--the man who ran after fortune, and the man who waited for her in his bed. who joins not with his restless race to give dame fortune eager chase? o, had i but some lofty perch, from which to view the panting crowd of care-worn dreamers, poor and proud, as on they hurry in the search, from realm to realm, o'er land and water, of fate's fantastic, fickle daughter! ah! slaves sincere of flying phantom! just as their goddess they would clasp, the jilt divine eludes their grasp, and flits away to bantam! poor fellows! i bewail their lot. and here's the comfort of my ditty; for fools the mark of wrath are not so much, i'm sure, as pity. 'that man,' say they, and feed their hope, 'raised cabbages--and now he's pope. don't we deserve as rich a prize?' ay, richer? but, hath fortune eyes? and then the popedom, is it worth the price that must be given?-- repose?--the sweetest bliss of earth, and, ages since, of gods in heaven? 'tis rarely fortune's favourites enjoy this cream of all delights. seek not the dame, and she will you-- a truth which of her sex is true. snug in a country town a pair of friends were settled down. one sigh'd unceasingly to find a fortune better to his mind, and, as he chanced his friend to meet, proposed to quit their dull retreat. 'no prophet can to honour come,' said he, 'unless he quits his home; let's seek our fortune far and wide.' 'seek, if you please,' his friend replied: 'for one, i do not wish to see a better clime or destiny. i leave the search and prize to you; your restless humour please pursue! you'll soon come back again. i vow to nap it here till then.' the enterprising, or ambitious, or, if you please, the avaricious, betook him to the road. the morrow brought him to a place the flaunting goddess ought to grace as her particular abode-- i mean the court--whereat he staid, and plans for seizing fortune laid. he rose, and dress'd, and dined, and went to bed, exactly as the fashion led: in short, he did whate'er he could, but never found the promised good. said he, 'now somewhere else i'll try-- and yet i fail'd i know not why; for fortune here is much at home to this and that i see her come, astonishingly kind to some. and, truly, it is hard to see the reason why she slips from me. 'tis true, perhaps, as i've been told, that spirits here may be too bold. to courts and courtiers all i bid adieu; deceitful shadows they pursue. the dame has temples in surat; i'll go and see them--that is flat.' to say so was t' embark at once. o, human hearts are made of bronze! his must have been of adamant, beyond the power of death to daunt, who ventured first this route to try, and all its frightful risks defy. 'twas more than once our venturous wight did homeward turn his aching sight, when pirate's, rocks, and calms and storms, presented death in frightful forms-- death sought with pains on distant shores, which soon as wish'd for would have come, had he not left the peaceful doors of his despised but blessed home. arrived, at length, in hindostan, the people told our wayward man that fortune, ever void of plan, dispensed her favours in japan. and on he went, the weary sea his vessel bearing lazily. this lesson, taught by savage men, was after all his only gain:-- contented in thy country stay, and seek thy wealth in nature's way. japan refused to him, no less than hindostan, success; and hence his judgment came to make his quitting home a great mistake. renouncing his ungrateful course, he hasten'd back with all his force; and when his village came in sight, his tears were proof of his delight. 'ah, happy he,' exclaimed the wight, 'who, dwelling there with mind sedate, employs himself to regulate his ever-hatching, wild desires; who checks his heart when it aspires to know of courts, and seas, and glory, more than he can by simple story; who seeks not o'er the treacherous wave-- more treacherous fortune's willing slave-- the bait of wealth and honours fleeting, held by that goddess, aye retreating. henceforth from home i budge no more!' pop on his sleeping friends he came, thus purposing against the dame, and found her sitting at his door.[ ] [ ] see note to preceding fable, for madame de sévigné's opinion. xiii.--the two cocks.[ ] two cocks in peace were living, when a war was kindled by a hen. o love, thou bane of troy! 'twas thine the blood of men and gods to shed enough to turn the xanthus red as old port wine! and long the battle doubtful stood: (i mean the battle of the cocks;) they gave each other fearful shocks: the fame spread o'er the neighbourhood, and gather'd all the crested brood. and helens more than one, of plumage bright, led off the victor of that bloody fight. the vanquish'd, drooping, fled, conceal'd his batter'd head, and in a dark retreat bewail'd his sad defeat. his loss of glory and the prize his rival now enjoy'd before his eyes. while this he every day beheld, his hatred kindled, courage swell'd: he whet his beak, and flapp'd his wings, and meditated dreadful things. waste rage! his rival flew upon a roof and crow'd to give his victory proof.-- a hawk this boasting heard: now perish'd all his pride, as suddenly he died beneath that savage bird. in consequence of this reverse, the vanquish'd sallied from his hole, and took the harem, master sole, for moderate penance not the worse. imagine the congratulation, the proud and stately leading, gallanting, coaxing, feeding, of wives almost a nation! 'tis thus that fortune loves to flee the insolent by victory. we should mistrust her when we beat, lest triumph lead us to defeat. [ ] aesop. xiv.--the ingratitude and injustice of men towards fortune.[ ] a trader on the sea to riches grew; freight after freight the winds in favour blew; fate steer'd him clear; gulf, rock, nor shoal of all his bales exacted toll. of other men the powers of chance and storm their dues collected in substantial form; while smiling fortune, in her kindest sport, took care to waft his vessels to their port. his partners, factors, agents, faithful proved; his goods--tobacco, sugar, spice-- were sure to fetch the highest price. by fashion and by folly loved, his rich brocades and laces, and splendid porcelain vases, enkindling strong desires, most readily found buyers. in short, gold rain'd where'er he went-- abundance, more than could be spent-- dogs, horses, coaches, downy bedding-- his very fasts were like a wedding. a bosom friend, a look his table giving, inquired whence came such sumptuous living. 'whence should it come,' said he, superb of brow, 'but from the fountain of my knowing how? i owe it simply to my skill and care in risking only where the marts will bear.' and now, so sweet his swelling profits were, he risk'd anew his former gains: success rewarded not his pains-- his own imprudence was the cause. one ship, ill-freighted, went awreck; another felt of arms the lack, when pirates, trampling on the laws, o'ercame, and bore it off a prize. a third, arriving at its port, had fail'd to sell its merchandize,-- the style and folly of the court not now requiring such a sort. his agents, factors, fail'd;--in short, the man himself, from pomp and princely cheer, and palaces, and parks, and dogs, and deer, fell down to poverty most sad and drear. his friend, now meeting him in shabby plight, exclaim'd, 'and whence comes this to pass?' 'from fortune,' said the man, 'alas!' 'console yourself,' replied the friendly wight: 'for, if to make you rich the dame denies, she can't forbid you to be wise.' what faith he gain'd, i do not wis; i know, in every case like this, each claims the credit of his bliss, and with a heart ingrate imputes his misery to fate.[ ] [ ] abstemius. [ ] on this favourite subject with the easy-going la fontaine--man's ungracious treatment of fortune--see also the two preceding fables, and some neighbouring ones. xv.--the fortune-tellers. 'tis oft from chance opinion takes its rise, and into reputation multiplies. this prologue finds pat applications in men of all this world's vocations; for fashion, prejudice, and party strife, conspire to crowd poor justice out of life. what can you do to counteract this reckless, rushing cataract? 'twill have its course for good or bad, as it, indeed, has always had. a dame in paris play'd the pythoness[ ] with much of custom, and, of course, success. was any trifle lost, or did some maid a husband wish, or wife of husband to be rid, or either sex for fortune fish, resort was had to her with gold, to get the hidden future told. her art was made of various tricks, wherein the dame contrived to mix, with much assurance, learned terms. now, chance, of course, sometimes confirms; and just as often as it did, the news was anything but hid. in short, though, as to ninety-nine per cent., the lady knew not what her answers meant, borne up by ever-babbling fame, an oracle she soon became. a garret was this woman's home, till she had gain'd of gold a sum that raised the station of her spouse-- bought him an office and a house. as she could then no longer bear it, another tenanted the garret. to her came up the city crowd,-- wives, maidens, servants, gentry proud,-- to ask their fortunes, as before; a sibyl's cave was on her garret floor: such custom had its former mistress drawn it lasted even when herself was gone. it sorely tax'd the present mistress' wits to satisfy the throngs of teasing cits. 'i tell your fortunes! joke, indeed! why, gentlemen, i cannot read! what can you, ladies, learn from me, who never learn'd my a, b, c?' avaunt with reasons! tell she must,-- predict as if she understood, and lay aside more precious dust than two the ablest lawyers could. the stuff that garnish'd out her room-- four crippled chairs, a broken broom-- help'd mightily to raise her merits,-- full proof of intercourse with spirits! had she predicted e'er so truly, on floor with carpet cover'd duly, her word had been a mockery made. the fashion set upon the garret. doubt that?--none bold enough to dare it! the other woman lost her trade. all shopmen know the force of signs, and so, indeed, do some divines. in palaces, a robe awry has sometimes set the wearer high; and crowds his teaching will pursue who draws the greatest listening crew. ask, if you please, the reason why. [ ] _pythoness_.--the pythoness was the priestess who gave out the oracles at delphi. xvi.--the cat, the weasel, and the young rabbit.[ ] john rabbit's palace under ground was once by goody weasel found. she, sly of heart, resolved to seize the place, and did so at her ease. she took possession while its lord was absent on the dewy sward, intent upon his usual sport, a courtier at aurora's court. when he had browsed his fill of clover and cut his pranks all nicely over, home johnny came to take his drowse, all snug within his cellar-house. the weasel's nose he came to see, outsticking through the open door. 'ye gods of hospitality!' exclaim'd the creature, vexèd sore, 'must i give up my father's lodge? ho! madam weasel, please to budge, or, quicker than a weasel's dodge, i'll call the rats to pay their grudge!' the sharp-nosed lady made reply, that she was first to occupy. the cause of war was surely small-- a house where one could only crawl! and though it were a vast domain, said she, 'i'd like to know what will could grant to john perpetual reign,-- the son of peter or of bill,-- more than to paul, or even me.' john rabbit spoke--great lawyer he-- of custom, usage, as the law, whereby the house, from sire to son, as well as all its store of straw, from peter came at length to john. who could present a claim, so good as he, the first possessor, could? 'now,' said the dame, 'let's drop dispute, and go before raminagrobis, [ ] who'll judge, not only in this suit, but tell us truly whose the globe is.' this person was a hermit cat, a cat that play'd the hypocrite, a saintly mouser, sleek and fat, an arbiter of keenest wit. john rabbit in the judge concurr'd, and off went both their case to broach before his majesty, the furr'd. said clapperclaw, 'my kits, approach, and put your noses to my ears: i'm deaf, almost, by weight of years.' and so they did, not fearing aught. the good apostle, clapperclaw, then laid on each a well-arm'd paw, and both to an agreement brought, by virtue of his tuskèd jaw. this brings to mind the fate of little kings before the great. [ ] fables of bidpaii, "the rat and the cat." in knatchbull's english edition it will be found at p. . also in the lokman collection. [ ] _raminagrobis._--this name occurs in rabelais (book iii., ch. ), where, however, it is not the name of a cat, but of a poet--understood to be meant for guillaume cretin, who lived in the times of kings charles viii., louis xii., and francis i. see note to bohn's edition of rabelais. xvii.--the head and the tail of the serpent.[ ] two parts the serpent has-- of men the enemies-- the head and tail: the same have won a mighty fame, next to the cruel fates;-- so that, indeed, hence they once had great debates about precedence. the first had always gone ahead; the tail had been for ever led; and now to heaven it pray'd, and said, 'o, many and many a league, dragg'd on in sore fatigue, behind his back i go. shall he for ever use me so? am i his humble servant; no. thanks to god most fervent! his brother i was born, and not his slave forlorn. the self-same blood in both, i'm just as good as he: a poison dwells in me as virulent as doth[ ] in him. in mercy, heed, and grant me this decree, that i, in turn, may lead-- my brother, follow me. my course shall be so wise, that no complaint shall rise.' with cruel kindness heaven granted the very thing he blindly wanted: to such desires of beasts and men, though often deaf, it was not then. at once this novel guide, that saw no more in broad daylight than in the murk of darkest night, his powers of leading tried, struck trees, and men, and stones, and bricks, and led his brother straight to styx. and to the same unlovely home, some states by such an error come. [ ] plutarch's lives, _agis_, "the fable of the servant, enforcing the moral that you cannot have the same man both for your governor and your slave." [ ] an ancient mistake in natural history.--translator. xviii.--an animal in the moon.[ ] while one philosopher[ ] affirms that by our senses we're deceived, another[ ] swears, in plainest terms, the senses are to be believed. the twain are right. philosophy correctly calls us dupes whene'er upon mere senses we rely. but when we wisely rectify the raw report of eye or ear, by distance, medium, circumstance, in real knowledge we advance. these things hath nature wisely plann'd-- whereof the proof shall be at hand. i see the sun: its dazzling glow seems but a hand-breadth here below; but should i see it in its home, that azure, star-besprinkled dome, of all the universe the eye, its blaze would fill one half the sky. the powers of trigonometry have set my mind from blunder free. the ignorant believe it flat; i make it round, instead of that. i fasten, fix, on nothing ground it, and send the earth to travel round it. in short, i contradict my eyes, and sift the truth from constant lies. the mind, not hasty at conclusion, resists the onset of illusion, forbids the sense to get the better, and ne'er believes it to the letter. between my eyes, perhaps too ready, and ears as much or more too slow, a judge with balance true and steady, i come, at last, some things to know. thus when the water crooks a stick,[ ] my reason straightens it as quick-- kind mistress reason--foe of error, and best of shields from needless terror! the creed is common with our race, the moon contains a woman's face. true? no. whence, then, the notion, from mountain top to ocean? the roughness of that satellite, its hills and dales, of every grade, effect a change of light and shade deceptive to our feeble sight; so that, besides the human face, all sorts of creatures one might trace. indeed, a living beast, i ween, has lately been by england seen. all duly placed the telescope, and keen observers full of hope, an animal entirely new, in that fair planet, came to view. abroad and fast the wonder flew;-- some change had taken place on high, presaging earthly changes nigh; perhaps, indeed, it might betoken the wars[ ] that had already broken out wildly o'er the continent. the king to see the wonder went: (as patron of the sciences, no right to go more plain than his.) to him, in turn, distinct and clear, this lunar monster did appear.-- a mouse, between the lenses caged, had caused these wars, so fiercely waged! no doubt the happy english folks laugh'd at it as the best of jokes. how soon will mars afford the chance for like amusements here in france! he makes us reap broad fields of glory. our foes may fear the battle-ground; for us, it is no sooner found, than louis, with fresh laurels crown'd, bears higher up our country's story. the daughters, too, of memory,-- the pleasures and the graces,-- still show their cheering faces: we wish for peace, but do not sigh. the english charles the secret knows to make the most of his repose. and more than this, he'll know the way, by valour, working sword in hand, to bring his sea-encircled land to share the fight it only sees to-day. yet, could he but this quarrel quell, what incense-clouds would grateful swell! what deed more worthy of his fame! augustus, julius[ ]--pray, which caesar's name shines now on story's page with purest flame? o people happy in your sturdy hearts! say, when shall peace pack up these bloody darts, and send us all, like you, to softer arts? [ ] this fable is founded on a fact which occurred in the experience of the astronomer sir paul neal, a member of the royal society of london.--translator. sir paul neal, whose _lapsus_ suggested this fable, thought he had discovered an animal in the moon. unluckily, however, after having made his "discovery" known, it was found that the ground of it was simply the accidental presence of a mouse in the object-glass of his telescope. samuel butler, the author of "hudibras," has also made fun of this otherwise rather tragical episode in the early history of the royal society of london, _vide_ his "elephant in the moon." [ ] _one philosopher._--democritus, the so-called "laughing (or scoffing) philosopher." he lived b.c. about years. fable xxvi., book viii., is devoted to him and how he was treated by his contemporaries. [ ] _another._--epicurus, founder of the epicurean philosophy. he lived b. c. about years. [ ] _water crooks a stick_.--an allusion to the bent appearance which a stick has in water, consequent upon the refraction of light. [ ] _the wars_.--this fable appears to have been composed about the beginning of the year . the european powers then found themselves exhausted by wars, and desirous of peace. england, the only neutral, became, of course, the arbiter of the negotiations which ensued at nimeguen. all the belligerent parties invoked her mediation. charles ii., however, felt himself exceedingly embarrassed by his secret connections with louis xiv., which made him desire to prescribe conditions favourable to that monarch; while, on the other hand, he feared the people of england, if, treacherous to her interests, he should fail to favour the nations allied and combined against france.--translator. _vide_ hume: who also says that the english king "had actually in secret sold his neutrality to france, and he received remittances of , , livres a year, which was afterwards increased to , , livres; a considerable sum in the embarrassed state of his revenue." hume's _hist. england_, bell's edit., , vol. vi., p. . [ ] _augustus, julius._--augustus caesar was eminent for his pacific policy, as julius caesar was eminent for his warlike policy. * * * * * book viii. i.--death and the dying.[ ] death never taketh by surprise the well-prepared, to wit, the wise-- they knowing of themselves the time to meditate the final change of clime. that time, alas! embraces all which into hours and minutes we divide; there is no part, however small, that from this tribute one can hide. the very moment, oft, which bids the heirs of empire see the light is that which shuts their fringèd lids in everlasting night. defend yourself by rank and wealth, plead beauty, virtue, youth, and health,-- unblushing death will ravish all; the world itself shall pass beneath his pall. no truth is better known; but, truth to say, no truth is oftener thrown away. a man, well in his second century, complain'd that death had call'd him suddenly; had left no time his plans to fill, to balance books, or make his will. 'o death,' said he, 'd' ye call it fair, without a warning to prepare, to take a man on lifted leg? o, wait a little while, i beg. my wife cannot be left alone; i must set out my nephew's son, and let me build my house a wing, before you strike, o cruel king!' 'old man,' said death, 'one thing is sure,-- my visit here's not premature. hast thou not lived a century! darest thou engage to find for me? in paris' walls two older men has france, among her millions ten? thou say'st i should have sent thee word thy lamp to trim, thy loins to gird, and then my coming had been meet-- thy will engross'd, thy house complete! did not thy feelings notify? did not they tell thee thou must die? thy taste and hearing are no more; thy sight itself is gone before; for thee the sun superfluous shines, and all the wealth of indian mines; thy mates i've shown thee dead or dying. what's this, indeed, but notifying? come on, old man, without reply; for to the great and common weal it doth but little signify whether thy will shall ever feel the impress of thy hand and seal.' and death had reason,--ghastly sage! for surely man, at such an age, should part from life as from a feast, returning decent thanks, at least, to him who spread the various cheer, and unrepining take his bier; for shun it long no creature can. repinest thou, grey-headed man? see younger mortals rushing by to meet their death without a sigh-- death full of triumph and of fame, but in its terrors still the same.-- but, ah! my words are thrown away! those most like death most dread his sway. [ ] abstemius. ii.--the cobbler and the financier. a cobbler sang from morn till night; 'twas sweet and marvellous to hear, his trills and quavers told the ear of more contentment and delight, enjoy'd by that laborious wight than e'er enjoy'd the sages seven, or any mortals short of heaven. his neighbour, on the other hand, with gold in plenty at command, but little sang, and slumber'd less-- a financier of great success. if e'er he dozed, at break of day, the cobbler's song drove sleep away; and much he wish'd that heaven had made sleep a commodity of trade, in market sold, like food and drink, so much an hour, so much a wink. at last, our songster did he call to meet him in his princely hall. said he, 'now, honest gregory, what may your yearly earnings be?' 'my yearly earnings! faith, good sir, i never go, at once, so far,' the cheerful cobbler said, and queerly scratch'd his head,-- 'i never reckon in that way, but cobble on from day to day, content with daily bread.' 'indeed! well, gregory, pray, what may your earnings be per day?' 'why, sometimes more and sometimes less. the worst of all, i must confess, (and but for which our gains would be a pretty sight, indeed, to see,) is that the days are made so many in which we cannot earn a penny-- the sorest ill the poor man feels: they tread upon each other's heels, those idle days of holy saints! and though the year is shingled o'er, the parson keeps a-finding more!'[ ] with smiles provoked by these complaints, replied the lordly financier, 'i'll give you better cause to sing. these hundred pounds i hand you here will make you happy as a king. go, spend them with a frugal heed; they'll long supply your every need.' the cobbler thought the silver more than he had ever dream'd before, the mines for ages could produce, or world, with all its people, use. he took it home, and there did hide-- and with it laid his joy aside. no more of song, no more of sleep, but cares, suspicions in their stead, and false alarms, by fancy fed. his eyes and ears their vigils keep, and not a cat can tread the floor but seems a thief slipp'd through the door. at last, poor man! up to the financier he ran,-- then in his morning nap profound: 'o, give me back my songs,' cried he, 'and sleep, that used so sweet to be, and take the money, every pound!' [ ] _the parson keeps a-finding more!_--under the old regime of france the parish priest of each church had usually every sunday, at sermon time, to announce more than one religious fast or feast for the coming week, which the poor at least were expected to observe. iii.--the lion, the wolf, and the fox.[ ] a lion, old, and impotent with gout, would have some cure for age found out. impossibilities, on all occasions, with kings, are rank abominations. this king, from every species,-- for each abounds in every sort,-- call'd to his aid the leeches. they came in throngs to court, from doctors of the highest fee to nostrum-quacks without degree,-- advised, prescribed, talk'd learnedly; but with the rest came not sir cunning fox, m.d. sir wolf the royal couch attended, and his suspicions there express'd. forthwith his majesty, offended, resolved sir cunning fox should come, and sent to smoke him from his home. he came, was duly usher'd in, and, knowing where sir wolf had been, said, 'sire, your royal ear has been abused, i fear, by rumours false and insincere; to wit, that i've been self-exempt from coming here, through sheer contempt. but, sire, i've been on pilgrimage, by vow expressly made, your royal health to aid, and, on my way, met doctors sage, in skill the wonder of the age, whom carefully i did consult about that great debility term'd in the books senility, of which you fear, with reason, the result. you lack, they say, the vital heat, by age extreme become effete. drawn from a living wolf, the hide should warm and smoking be applied. the secret's good, beyond a doubt, for nature's weak, and wearing out. sir wolf, here, won't refuse to give his hide to cure you, as i live.' the king was pleased with this advice. flay'd, jointed, served up in a trice, sir wolf first wrapp'd the monarch up, then furnish'd him whereon to sup. beware, ye courtiers, lest ye gain, by slander's arts, less power than pain; for in the world where ye are living, a pardon no one thinks of giving. [ ] aesop; also bidpaii, and lokman. iv.--the power of fables. to m. de barillon.[ ] can diplomatic dignity to simple fables condescend? can i your famed benignity invoke, my muse an ear to lend? if once she dares a high intent, will you esteem her impudent? your cares are weightier, indeed, than listening to the sage debates of rabbit or of weasel states: so, as it pleases, burn or read; but save us from the woful harms of europe roused in hostile arms. that from a thousand other places our enemies should show their faces, may well be granted with a smile, but not that england's isle our friendly kings should set their fatal blades to whet. comes not the time for louis to repose? what hercules, against these hydra foes, would not grow weary? must new heads oppose his ever-waxing energy of blows? now, if your gentle, soul-persuasive powers, as sweet as mighty in this world of ours, can soften hearts, and lull this war to sleep,[ ] i'll pile your altars with a hundred sheep; and this is not a small affair for a parnassian mountaineer. meantime, (if you have time to spare,) accept a little incense-cheer. a homely, but an ardent prayer, and tale in verse, i give you here. i'll only say, the theme is fit for you. with praise, which envy must confess to worth like yours is justly due, no man on earth needs propping less. in athens, once, that city fickle, an orator,[ ] awake to feel his country in a dangerous pickle, would sway the proud republic's heart, discoursing of the common weal, as taught by his tyrannic art. the people listen'd--not a word. meanwhile the orator recurr'd to bolder tropes--enough to rouse the dullest blocks that e'er did drowse; he clothed in life the very dead, and thunder'd all that could be said. the wind received his breath, as to the ear of death. that beast of many heads and light,[ ] the crowd, accustom'd to the sound was all intent upon a sight-- a brace of lads in mimic fight. a new resource the speaker found. 'ceres,' in lower tone said he, 'went forth her harvest fields to see: an eel, as such a fish might he, and swallow, were her company. a river check'd the travellers three. two cross'd it soon without ado; the smooth eel swam, the swallow flew.--' outcried the crowd with voices loud-- 'and ceres--what did she?' 'why, what she pleased; but first yourselves she justly cursed-- a people puzzling aye your brains with children's tales and children's play, while greece puts on her steel array, to save her limbs from, tyrant chains! why ask you not what philip[ ] does?' at this reproach the idle buzz fell to the silence of the grave, or moonstruck sea without a wave, and every eye and ear awoke to drink the words the patriot spoke. this feather stick in fable's cap. we're all athenians, mayhap; and i, for one, confess the sin; for, while i write this moral here, if one should tell that tale so queer ycleped, i think, "the ass's skin,"[ ] i should not mind my work a pin. the world is old, they say; i don't deny it;-- but, infant still in taste and will, whoe'er would teach, must gratify it.[ ] [ ] _m. de barillon._--ambassador to the court of st. james.--translator. m. de barillon was a great friend of la fontaine, and also of other literary lights of the time. [ ] _and lull this war to sleep._--the parliament of england was determined that, in case louis xiv. did not make peace with the allies, charles ii. should join them to make war on france.--translator. [ ] _an orator._--demades.--translator. [ ] _that beast of many heads._--horace, speaking of the roman people, said, "bellua multorum est capitum."--_epist. i., book i._, .--translator. [ ] _philip._--philip of macedon, then at war with the greeks. [ ] "the ass's skin,"--an old french nursery tale so called. [ ] la fontaine's views on "the power of fables" are further given in fable i., book ii.; fable i., book iii.; fable i., book v.; fable i., book vi; the introduction to book vii., and fable i., book ix. v.--the man and the flea.[ ] impertinent, we tease and weary heaven with prayers which would insult mere mortals even. 'twould seem that not a god in all the skies from our affairs must ever turn his eyes, and that the smallest of our race could hardly eat, or wash his face, without, like greece and troy for ten years' space, embroiling all olympus in the case. a flea some blockhead's shoulder bit, and then his clothes refused to quit. 'o hercules,' he cried, 'you ought to purge this world of this far worse than hydra scourge! o jupiter, what are your bolts about, they do not put these foes of mine to rout?' to crush a flea, this fellow's fingers under, the gods must lend the fool their club and thunder! [ ] aesop. vi.--the women and the secret.[ ] there's nothing like a secret weighs; too heavy 'tis for women tender; and, for this matter, in my days, i've seen some men of female gender. to prove his wife, a husband cried, (the night he knew the truth would hide,) 'o heavens! what's this? o dear--i beg-- i'm torn--o! o! i've laid an egg!' 'an egg?' 'why, yes, it's gospel-true. look here--see--feel it, fresh and new; but, wife, don't mention it, lest men should laugh at me, and call me hen: indeed, don't say a word about it.' on this, as other matters, green and young, the wife, all wonder, did not doubt it, and pledged herself by heaven to hold her tongue. her oath, however, fled the light as quick as did the shades of night. before dan phoebus waked to labour the dame was off to see a neighbour. 'my friend,' she said, half-whispering. 'there's come to pass the strangest thing-- if you should tell, 'twould turn me out of door:-- my husband's laid an egg as big as four! as you would taste of heaven's bliss, don't tell a living soul of this.' 'i tell! why if you knew a thing about me, you wouldn't for an instant doubt me; your confidence i'll ne'er abuse.' the layer's wife went home relieved; the other broil'd to tell the news; you need not ask if she believed. a dame more busy could not be; in twenty places, ere her tea, instead of one egg, she said three! nor was the story finish'd here: a gossip, still more keen than she, said four, and spoke it in the ear-- a caution truly little worth, applied to all the ears on earth. of eggs, the number, thanks to fame, as on from mouth to mouth she sped, had grown a hundred, soothly said, ere sol had quench'd his golden flame! [ ] abstemius. vii.--the dog that carried his master's dinner. our eyes are not made proof against the fair, nor hands against the touch of gold. fidelity is sadly rare, and has been from the days of old. well taught his appetite to check, and do full many a handy trick, a dog was trotting, light and quick, his master's dinner on his neck. a temperate, self-denying dog was he, more than, with such a load, he liked to be. but still he was, while many such as we would not have scrupled to make free. strange that to dogs a virtue you may teach, which, do your best, to men you vainly preach! this dog of ours, thus richly fitted out, a mastiff met, who wish'd the meat, no doubt. to get it was less easy than he thought: the porter laid it down and fought. meantime some other dogs arrive: such dogs are always thick enough, and, fearing neither kick nor cuff, upon the public thrive. our hero, thus o'ermatch'd and press'd,-- the meat in danger manifest,-- is fain to share it with the rest; and, looking very calm and wise, 'no anger, gentlemen,' he cries: 'my morsel will myself suffice; the rest shall be your welcome prize.' with this, the first his charge to violate, he snaps a mouthful from his freight. then follow mastiff, cur, and pup, till all is cleanly eaten up. not sparingly the party feasted, and not a dog of all but tasted. in some such manner men abuse of towns and states the revenues. the sheriffs, aldermen, and mayor, come in for each a liberal share. the strongest gives the rest example: 'tis sport to see with what a zest they sweep and lick the public chest of all its funds, however ample. if any commonweal's defender should dare to say a single word, he's shown his scruples are absurd, and finds it easy to surrender-- perhaps, to be the first offender. viii.--the joker and the fishes.[ ] some seek for jokers; i avoid. a joke must be, to be enjoy'd, of wisdom's words, by wit employ'd. god never meant for men of sense, the wits that joke to give offence. perchance of these i shall be able to show you one preserved in fable. a joker at a banker's table, most amply spread to satisfy the height of epicurean wishes, had nothing near but little fishes. so, taking several of the fry, he whisper'd to them very nigh, and seem'd to listen for reply. the guests much wonder'd what it meant, and stared upon him all intent. the joker, then with sober face, politely thus explain'd the case: 'a friend of mine, to india bound, has been, i fear, within a year, by rocks or tempests wreck'd and drown'd. i ask'd these strangers from the sea to tell me where my friend might be. but all replied they were too young to know the least of such a matter-- the older fish could tell me better. pray, may i hear some older tongue?' what relish had the gentlefolks for such a sample of his jokes, is more than i can now relate. they put, i'm sure, upon his plate, a monster of so old a date, he must have known the names and fate of all the daring voyagers, who, following the moon and stars, have, by mischances, sunk their bones, within the realms of davy jones; and who, for centuries, had seen, far down, within the fathomless, where whales themselves are sceptreless, the ancients in their halls of green. [ ] abstemius. ix.--the rat and the oyster[ ] a country rat, of little brains, grown weary of inglorious rest, left home with all its straws and grains, resolved to know beyond his nest. when peeping through the nearest fence, 'how big the world is, how immense!' he cried; 'there rise the alps, and that is doubtless famous ararat.' his mountains were the works of moles, or dirt thrown up in digging holes! some days of travel brought him where the tide had left the oysters bare. since here our traveller saw the sea, he thought these shells the ships must be. 'my father was, in truth,' said he, 'a coward, and an ignoramus; he dared not travel: as for me, i've seen the ships and ocean famous; have cross'd the deserts without drinking, and many dangerous streams unshrinking; such things i know from having seen and felt them.' and, as he went, in tales he proudly dealt them, not being of those rats whose knowledge comes by their teeth on books in college. among the shut-up shell-fish, one was gaping widely at the sun; it breathed, and drank the air's perfume, expanding, like a flower in bloom. both white and fat, its meat appear'd a dainty treat. our rat, when he this shell espied, thought for his stomach to provide. 'if not mistaken in the matter,' said he, 'no meat was ever fatter, or in its flavour half so fine, as that on which to-day i dine.' thus full of hope, the foolish chap thrust in his head to taste, and felt the pinching of a trap-- the oyster closed in haste. we're first instructed, by this case, that those to whom the world is new are wonder-struck at every view; and, in the second place, that the marauder finds his match, and he is caught who thinks to catch. [ ] abstemius; also aesop. x.--the bear and the amateur gardener.[ ] a certain mountain bear, unlick'd and rude, by fate confined within a lonely wood, a new bellerophon,[ ] whose life, knew neither comrade, friend, nor wife,-- became insane; for reason, as we term it, dwells never long with any hermit. 'tis good to mix in good society, obeying rules of due propriety; and better yet to be alone; but both are ills when overdone. no animal had business where all grimly dwelt our hermit bear; hence, bearish as he was, he grew heart-sick, and long'd for something new. while he to sadness was addicted, an aged man, not far from there, was by the same disease afflicted. a garden was his favourite care,-- sweet flora's priesthood, light and fair, and eke pomona's--ripe and red the presents that her fingers shed. these two employments, true, are sweet when made so by some friend discreet. the gardens, gaily as they look, talk not, (except in this my book;) so, tiring of the deaf and dumb, our man one morning left his home some company to seek, that had the power to speak.-- the bear, with thoughts the same, down from his mountain came; and in a solitary place, they met each other, face to face. it would have made the boldest tremble; what did our man? to play the gascon the safest seem'd. he put the mask on, his fear contriving to dissemble. the bear, unused to compliment, growl'd bluntly, but with good intent, 'come home with me.' the man replied: 'sir bear, my lodgings, nearer by, in yonder garden you may spy, where, if you'll honour me the while, we'll break our fast in rural style. i've fruits and milk,--unworthy fare, it may be, for a wealthy bear; but then i offer what i have.' the bear accepts, with visage grave, but not unpleased; and on their way, they grow familiar, friendly, gay. arrived, you see them, side by side, as if their friendship had been tried. to a companion so absurd, blank solitude were well preferr'd, yet, as the bear scarce spoke a word, the man was left quite at his leisure to trim his garden at his pleasure. sir bruin hunted--always brought his friend whatever game he caught; but chiefly aim'd at driving flies-- those hold and shameless parasites, that vex us with their ceaseless bites-- from off our gardener's face and eyes. one day, while, stretch'd upon the ground the old man lay, in sleep profound, a fly that buzz'd around his nose,-- and bit it sometimes, i suppose,-- put bruin sadly to his trumps. at last, determined, up he jumps; 'i'll stop thy noisy buzzing now,' says he; 'i know precisely how.' no sooner said than done. he seized a paving-stone; and by his modus operandi did both the fly and man die. a foolish friend may cause more woe than could, indeed, the wisest foe. [ ] bidpaii. [ ] _bellerophon_.--the son of king glaucus, who, after a wandering life, died a prey to melancholy. xi.--the two friends.[ ] two friends, in monomotapa, had all their interests combined. their friendship, faithful and refined, our country can't exceed, do what it may. one night, when potent sleep had laid all still within our planet's shade, one of the two gets up alarm'd, runs over to the other's palace, and hastily the servants rallies. his startled friend, quick arm'd, with purse and sword his comrade meets, and thus right kindly greets:-- 'thou seldom com'st at such an hour; i take thee for a man of sounder mind than to abuse the time for sleep design'd. hast lost thy purse, by fortune's power? here's mine. hast suffer'd insult, or a blow, i've here my sword--to avenge it let us go.' 'no,' said his friend, 'no need i feel of either silver, gold, or steel; i thank thee for thy friendly zeal. in sleep i saw thee rather sad, and thought the truth might be as bad. unable to endure the fear, that cursed dream has brought me here.' which think you, reader, loved the most! if doubtful this, one truth may be proposed: there's nothing sweeter than a real friend: not only is he prompt to lend-- an angler delicate, he fishes the very deepest of your wishes, and spares your modesty the task his friendly aid to ask. a dream, a shadow, wakes his fear, when pointing at the object dear.[ ] [ ] bidpaii. [ ] this fable is thought to have been inspired by the friendship of la fontaine for fouquet, the minister whom louis xiv., actuated mostly by jealousy and envy, disgraced and imprisoned. see the translator's preface. xii.--the hog, the goat, and the sheep.[ ] a goat, a sheep, and porker fat, all to the market rode together. their own amusement was not that which caused their journey thither. their coachman did not mean to 'set them down' to see the shows and wonders of the town. the porker cried, in piercing squeals, as if with butchers at his heels. the other beasts, of milder mood, the cause by no means understood. they saw no harm, and wonder'd why at such a rate the hog should cry. 'hush there, old piggy!' said the man, 'and keep as quiet as you can. what wrong have you to squeal about, and raise this dev'lish, deaf'ning shout? these stiller persons at your side have manners much more dignified. pray, have you heard a single word come from that gentleman in wool? that proves him wise.' 'that proves him fool!' the testy hog replied; 'for did he know to what we go, he'd cry almost to split his throat; so would her ladyship the goat. they only think to lose with ease, the goat her milk, the sheep his fleece: they're, maybe, right; but as for me, this ride is quite another matter. of service only on the platter, my death is quite a certainty. adieu, my dear old piggery!' the porker's logic proved at once himself a prophet and a dunce. hope ever gives a present ease, but fear beforehand kills: the wisest he who least foresees inevitable ills. [ ] aesop. xiii.--thyrsis and amaranth. for mademoiselle de sillery.[ ] i had the phrygian quit, charm'd with italian wit;[ ] but a divinity would on parnassus see a fable more from me. such challenge to refuse, without a good excuse, is not the way to use divinity or muse. especially to one of those who truly are, by force of being fair, made queens of human will. a thing should not be done in all respects so ill. for, be it known to all, from sillery the call has come for bird, and beast, and insects, to the least; to clothe their thoughts sublime in this my simple rhyme. in saying sillery, all's said that need to be. her claim to it so good, few fail to give her place above the human race: how could they, if they would? now come we to our end:-- as she opines my tales are hard to comprehend-- for even genius fails some things to understand-- so let us take in hand to make unnecessary, for once, a commentary. come shepherds now,--and rhyme we afterwards the talk between the wolves and fleecy herds. to amaranth, the young and fair, said thyrsis, once, with serious air,-- 'o, if you knew, like me, a certain ill, with which we men are harm'd, as well as strangely charm'd, no boon from heaven your heart could like it fill! please let me name it in your ear,-- a harmless word,--you need not fear. would i deceive you, you, for whom i bear the tenderest sentiments that ever were?' then amaranth replied, 'what is its name? i beg you, do not hide' ''tis love.'--' the word is beautiful! reveal its signs and symptoms, how it makes one feel.'-- 'its pains are ecstacies. so sweet its stings, the nectar-cups and incense-pots of kings, compared, are flat, insipid things. one strays all lonely in the wood-- leans silent o'er the placid flood, and there with great complacency, a certain face can see-- 'tis not one's own--but image fair, retreating, fleeting, meeting, greeting, following everywhere. for all the rest of human kind, one is as good, in short, as blind. there is a shepherd wight, i ween, well known upon the village green, whose voice, whose name, whose turning of the hinge excites upon the cheek a richer tinge-- the thought of whom is signal for a sigh-- the breast that heaves it knows not why-- whose face the maiden fears to see, yet none so welcome still as he.'-- here amaranth cut short his speech: 'o! o! is that the evil which you preach? to me i think it is no stranger; i must have felt its power and danger.' here thrysis thought his end was gain'd, when further thus the maid explain'd: ''tis just the very sentiment which i have felt for clidamant!' the other, vex'd and mortified, now bit his lips, and nearly died. like him are multitudes, who when their own advancement they have meant, have play'd the game of other men. [ ] _mdlle. de sillery_.--gabrielle-françoise brulart de sillery, niece of la fontaine's friend and patron, the duke de la rochefoucauld (author of the _maximes_). she married louis de tibergeau, marquis de la motte-au-maine, and died in . [ ] _italian wit_.--referring to his tales, in which he had borrowed many subjects from boccaccio.--translator. xiv.--the funeral of the lioness.[ ] the lion's consort died: crowds, gather'd at his side, must needs console the prince, and thus their loyalty evince by compliments of course; which make affliction worse. officially he cites his realm to funeral rites, at such a time and place; his marshals of the mace would order the affair. judge you if all came there. meantime, the prince gave way to sorrow night and day. with cries of wild lament his cave he well-nigh rent. and from his courtiers far and near, sounds imitative you might hear. the court a country seems to me, whose people are, no matter what,-- sad, gay, indifferent, or not,-- as suits the will of majesty; or, if unable so to be, their task it is to seem it all-- chameleons, monkeys, great and small. 'twould seem one spirit serves a thousand bodies-- a paradise, indeed, for soulless noddies. but to our tale again: the stag graced not the funeral train; of tears his cheeks bore not a stain; for how could such a thing have been, when death avenged him on the queen, who, not content with taking one, had choked to death his wife and son? the tears, in truth, refused to run. a flatterer, who watch'd the while, affirm'd that he had seen him smile. if, as the wise man somewhere saith, a king's is like a lion's wrath, what should king lion's be but death? the stag, however, could not read; hence paid this proverb little heed, and walk'd, intrepid, to'ards the throne; when thus the king, in fearful tone: 'thou caitiff of the wood! presum'st to laugh at such a time? joins not thy voice the mournful chime? we suffer not the blood of such a wretch profane our sacred claws to stain. wolves, let a sacrifice be made, avenge your mistress' awful shade.' 'sire,' did the stag reply, the time for tears is quite gone by; for in the flowers, not far from here, your worthy consort did appear; her form, in spite of my surprise, i could not fail to recognise. "my friend," said she, "beware lest funeral pomp about my bier, when i shall go with gods to share, compel thine eye to drop a tear. with kindred saints i rove in the elysian grove, and taste a sort of bliss unknown in worlds like this. still, let the royal sorrow flow its proper season here below; 'tis not unpleasing, i confess."' the king and court scarce hear him out. up goes the loud and welcome shout-- 'a miracle! an apotheosis!' and such at once the fashion is, so far from dying in a ditch, the stag retires with presents rich. amuse the ear of royalty with pleasant dreams, and flattery,-- no matter what you may have done, nor yet how high its wrath may run,-- the bait is swallow'd--object won. [ ] abstemius. xv.--the rat and the elephant. one's own importance to enhance, inspirited by self-esteem, is quite a common thing in france; a french disease it well might seem. the strutting cavaliers of spain are in another manner vain. their pride has more insanity; more silliness our vanity. let's shadow forth our own disease-- well worth a hundred tales like these. a rat, of quite the smallest size, fix'd on an elephant his eyes, and jeer'd the beast of high descent because his feet so slowly went. upon his back, three stories high, there sat, beneath a canopy, a certain sultan of renown, his dog, and cat, and concubine, his parrot, servant, and his wine, all pilgrims to a distant town. the rat profess'd to be amazed that all the people stood and gazed with wonder, as he pass'd the road, both at the creature and his load. 'as if,' said he, 'to occupy a little more of land or sky made one, in view of common sense, of greater worth and consequence! what see ye, men, in this parade, that food for wonder need be made? the bulk which makes a child afraid? in truth, i take myself to be, in all aspects, as good as he.' and further might have gone his vaunt; but, darting down, the cat convinced him that a rat is smaller than an elephant. xvi.--the horoscope. on death we mortals often run, just by the roads we take to shun. a father's only heir, a son, was over-loved, and doted on so greatly, that astrology was question'd what his fate might be. the man of stars this caution gave-- that, until twenty years of age, no lion, even in a cage, the boy should see,--his life to save. the sire, to silence every fear about a life so very dear, forbade that any one should let his son beyond his threshold get. within his palace walls, the boy might all that heart could wish enjoy-- might with his mates walk, leap, and run, and frolic in the wildest fun. when come of age to love the chase, that exercise was oft depicted to him as one that brought disgrace, to which but blackguards were addicted. but neither warning nor derision could change his ardent disposition. the youth, fierce, restless, full of blood, was prompted by the boiling flood to love the dangers of the wood. the more opposed, the stronger grew his mad desire. the cause he knew, for which he was so closely pent; and as, where'er he went, in that magnificent abode, both tapestry and canvas show'd the feats he did so much admire, a painted lion roused his ire. 'ah, monster!' cried he, in his rage, 'tis you that keep me in my cage.' with that, he clinch'd his fist, to strike the harmless beast-- and did his hand impale upon a hidden nail! and thus this cherish'd head, for which the healing art but vainly did its part, was hurried to the dead, by caution blindly meant to shun that sad event. the poet aeschylus, 'tis said, by much the same precaution bled. a conjuror foretold a house would crush him in its fall;-- forth sallied he, though old, from town and roof-protected hall, and took his lodgings, wet or dry, abroad, beneath the open sky. an eagle, bearing through the air a tortoise for her household fare, which first she wish'd to break, the creature dropp'd, by sad mistake, plump on the poet's forehead bare, as if it were a naked rock-- to aeschylus a fatal shock! from these examples, it appears, this art, if true in any wise, makes men fulfil the very fears engender'd by its prophecies. but from this charge i justify, by branding it a total lie. i don't believe that nature's powers have tied her hands or pinion'd ours, by marking on the heavenly vault our fate without mistake or fault. that fate depends upon conjunctions of places, persons, times, and tracks, and not upon the functions of more or less of quacks. a king and clown beneath one planet's nod are born; one wields a sceptre, one a hod. but it is jupiter that wills it so! and who is he?[ ] a soulless clod. how can he cause such different powers to flow upon the aforesaid mortals here below? and how, indeed, to this far distant ball can he impart his energy at all?-- how pierce the ether deeps profound, the sun and globes that whirl around? a mote might turn his potent ray for ever from its earthward way. will find, it, then, in starry cope, the makers of the horoscope? the war[ ] with which all europe's now afflicted-- deserves it not by them to've been predicted? yet heard we not a whisper of it, before it came, from any prophet. the suddenness of passion's gush, of wayward life the headlong rush,-- permit they that the feeble ray of twinkling planet, far away, should trace our winding, zigzag course? and yet this planetary force, as steady as it is unknown, these fools would make our guide alone-- of all our varied life the source! such doubtful facts as i relate-- the petted child's and poet's fate-- our argument may well admit. the blindest man that lives in france, the smallest mark would doubtless hit-- once in a thousand times--by chance. [ ] _and who is he_?--by jupiter, "the soulless clod," is of course meant the planet, not the god. [ ] _the war_.--see note to fable xviii., book vii. xvii.--the ass and the dog.[ ] dame nature, our respected mother, ordains that we should aid each other. the ass this ordinance neglected, though not a creature ill-affected. along the road a dog and he one master follow'd silently. their master slept: meanwhile, the ass applied his nippers to the grass, much pleased in such a place to stop, though there no thistle he could crop. he would not be too delicate, nor spoil a dinner for a plate, which, but for that, his favourite dish, were all that any ass could wish. 'my dear companion,' towser said,-- ''tis as a starving dog i ask it,-- pray lower down your loaded basket, and let me get a piece of bread.' no answer--not a word!--indeed, the truth was, our arcadian steed[ ] fear'd lest, for every moment's flight, his nimble teeth should lose a bite. at last, 'i counsel you,' said he, 'to wait till master is himself awake, who then, unless i much mistake, will give his dog the usual bait.' meanwhile, there issued from the wood a creature of the wolfish brood, himself by famine sorely pinch'd. at sight of him the donkey flinch'd, and begg'd the dog to give him aid. the dog budged not, but answer made,-- 'i counsel thee, my friend, to run, till master's nap is fairly done; there can, indeed, be no mistake, that he will very soon awake; till then, scud off with all your might; and should he snap you in your flight, this ugly wolf,--why, let him feel the greeting of your well-shod heel. i do not doubt, at all, but that will be enough to lay him flat.' but ere he ceased it was too late; the ass had met his cruel fate. thus selfishness we reprobate. [ ] abstemius. [ ] _arcadian steed_.--la fontaine has "roussin d'arcadie." the ass was so derisively nicknamed. see also fable xix., book vi. xviii.--the pashaw and the merchant.[ ] a trading greek, for want of law, protection bought of a pashaw; and like a nobleman he paid, much rather than a man of trade-- protection being, turkish-wise, a costly sort of merchandise. so costly was it, in this case, the greek complain'd, with tongue and face. three other turks, of lower rank, would guard his substance as their own, and all draw less upon his bank, than did the great pashaw alone. the greek their offer gladly heard, and closed the bargain with a word. the said pashaw was made aware, and counsel'd, with a prudent care these rivals to anticipate, by sending them to heaven's gate, as messengers to mahomet-- which measure should he much delay, himself might go the self-same way, by poison offer'd secretly, sent on, before his time, to be protector to such arts and trades as flourish in the world of shades. on this advice, the turk--no gander-- behaved himself like alexander.[ ] straight to the merchant's, firm and stable, he went, and took a seat at table. such calm assurance there was seen, both in his words and in his mien, that e'en that weasel-sighted grecian could not suspect him of suspicion. 'my friend,' said he, 'i know you've quit me, and some think caution would befit me, lest to despatch me be your plan: but, deeming you too good a man to injure either friends or foes with poison'd cups or secret blows, i drown the thought, and say no more. but, as regards the three or four who take my place, i crave your grace to listen to an apologue. 'a shepherd, with a single dog, was ask'd the reason why he kept a dog, whose least supply amounted to a loaf of bread for every day. the people said he'd better give the animal to guard the village seignior's hall; for him, a shepherd, it would be a thriftier economy to keep small curs, say two or three, that would not cost him half the food, and yet for watching be as good. the fools, perhaps, forgot to tell if they would fight the wolf as well. the silly shepherd, giving heed, cast off his dog of mastiff breed, and took three dogs to watch his cattle, which ate far less, but fled in battle. his flock such counsel lived to rue, as doubtlessly, my friend, will you. if wise, my aid again you'll seek--' and so, persuaded, did the greek. not vain our tale, if it convinces small states that 'tis a wiser thing to trust a single powerful king, than half a dozen petty princes. [ ] gilbert cousin. [ ] _alexander_.--who took the medicine presented to him by his physician philip, the moment after he had received a letter announcing that that very man designed to poison him.--arrian, l. ii. chap. xiv.--translator. xix.--the use of knowledge.[ ] between two citizens a controversy grew. the one was poor, but much he knew: the other, rich, with little sense, claim'd that, in point of excellence, the merely wise should bow the knee to all such money'd men as he. the merely fools, he should have said; for why should wealth hold up its head, when merit from its side hath fled? 'my friend,' quoth bloated-purse, to his reverse, 'you think yourself considerable. pray, tell me, do you keep a table? what comes of this incessant reading, in point of lodging, clothing, feeding? it gives one, true, the highest chamber, one coat for june and for december, his shadow for his sole attendant, and hunger always in th' ascendant. what profits he his country, too, who scarcely ever spends a sou-- will, haply, be a public charge? who profits more the state at large, than he whose luxuries dispense among the people wealth immense? we set the streams of life a-flowing; we set all sorts of trades a-going. the spinner, weaver, sewer, vender, and many a wearer, fair and tender, all live and flourish on the spender-- as do, indeed, the reverend rooks who waste their time in making books.' these words, so full of impudence, received their proper recompense. the man of letters held his peace, though much he might have said with ease. a war avenged him soon and well; in it their common city fell. both fled abroad; the ignorant, by fortune thus brought down to want, was treated everywhere with scorn, and roamed about, a wretch forlorn; whereas the scholar, everywhere, was nourish'd by the public care. let fools the studious despise; there's nothing lost by being wise. [ ] abstemius. xx.--jupiter and the thunderbolts. said jupiter, one day, as on a cloud he lay, 'observing all our crimes, come, let us change the times, by leasing out anew a world whose wicked crew have wearied out our grace, and cursed us to our face. hie hellward, mercury; a fury bring to me, the direst of the three. race nursed too tenderly, this day your doom shall be!' e'en while he spoke their fate, his wrath began to moderate. o kings, with whom his will hath lodged our good and ill, your wrath and storm between one night should intervene! the god of rapid wing, and lip unfaltering, to sunless regions sped, and met the sisters dread. to grim tisiphone, and pale megaera, he preferr'd, as murderess, alecto, pitiless. this choice so roused the fiend, by pluto's beard she swore the human race no more should be by handfuls glean'd, but in one solid mass th' infernal gates should pass. but jove, displeased with both the fury and her oath, despatched her back to hell. and then a bolt he hurl'd, down on a faithless world, which in a desert fell. aim'd by a father's arm, it caused more fear than harm. (all fathers strike aside.) what did from this betide? our evil race grew bold, resumed their wicked tricks, increased them manifold, till, all olympus through, indignant murmurs flew. when, swearing by the styx, the sire that rules the air storms promised to prepare more terrible and dark, which should not miss their mark. 'a father's wrath it is!' the other deities all in one voice exclaim'd; 'and, might the thing be named, some other god would make bolts better for our sake.' this vulcan undertook. his rumbling forges shook, and glow'd with fervent heat, while cyclops blew and beat. forth, from the plastic flame two sorts of bolts there came. of these, one misses not: 'tis by olympus shot,-- that is, the gods at large. the other, bearing wide, hits mountain-top or side, or makes a cloud its targe. and this it is alone which leaves the father's throne. xxi.--the falcon and the capon.[ ] you often hear a sweet seductive call: if wise, you haste towards it not at all;-- and, if you heed my apologue, you act like john de nivelle's dog.[ ] a capon, citizen of mans, was summon'd from a throng to answer to the village squire, before tribunal call'd the fire. the matter to disguise the kitchen sheriff wise cried, 'biddy--biddy--biddy!--' but not a moment did he-- this norman and a half[ ]-- the smooth official trust. 'your bait,' said he, 'is dust, and i'm too old for chaff.' meantime, a falcon, on his perch, observed the flight and search. in man, by instinct or experience, the capons have so little confidence, that this was not without much trouble caught, though for a splendid supper sought. to lie, the morrow night, in brilliant candle-light, supinely on a dish 'midst viands, fowl, and fish, with all the ease that heart could wish-- this honour, from his master kind, the fowl would gladly have declined. outcried the bird of chase, as in the weeds he eyed the skulker's face, 'why, what a stupid, blockhead race!-- such witless, brainless fools might well defy the schools. for me, i understand to chase at word the swiftest bird, aloft, o'er sea or land; at slightest beck, returning quick to perch upon my master's hand. there, at his window he appears-- he waits thee--hasten--hast no ears?' 'ah! that i have,' the fowl replied; 'but what from master might betide? or cook, with cleaver at his side? return you may for such a call, but let me fly their fatal hall; and spare your mirth at my expense: whate'er i lack, 'tis not the sense to know that all this sweet-toned breath is spent to lure me to my death. if you had seen upon the spit as many of the falcons roast as i have of the capon host, you would, not thus reproach my wit.' [ ] in the bidpaii fables it is "the falcon and the cock." [ ] _john de nivelle's dog_.--a dog which, according to the french proverb, ran away when his master called him.--translator. [ ] _this norman and a half_.--though the normans are proverbial for their shrewdness, the french have, nevertheless, a proverb that they come to paris to be hanged. hence la fontaine makes his capon, who knew how to shun a similar fate, _le normand et demi_--the norman and a half.--translator. xxii.--the cat and the rat.[ ] four creatures, wont to prowl,-- sly grab-and-snatch, the cat, grave evil-bode, the owl, thief nibble-stitch, the rat, and madam weasel, prim and fine,-- inhabited a rotten pine. a man their home discover'd there, and set, one night, a cunning snare. the cat, a noted early-riser, went forth, at break of day, to hunt her usual prey. not much the wiser for morning's feeble ray, the noose did suddenly surprise her. waked by her strangling cry, grey nibble-stitch drew nigh: as full of joy was he as of despair was she, for in the noose he saw his foe of mortal paw. 'dear friend,' said mrs. grab-and-snatch, 'do, pray, this cursed cord detach. i've always known your skill, and often your good-will; now help me from this worst of snares, in which i fell at unawares. 'tis by a sacred right, you, sole of all your race, by special love and grace, have been my favourite-- the darling of my eyes. 'twas order'd by celestial cares, no doubt; i thank the blessed skies, that, going out to say my prayers, as cats devout each morning do, this net has made me pray to you. come, fall to work upon the cord.' replied the rat, 'and what reward shall pay me, if i dare?' 'why,' said the cat, 'i swear to be your firm ally: henceforth, eternally, these powerful claws are yours, which safe your life insures. i'll guard from quadruped and fowl; i'll eat the weasel and the owl.' 'ah,' cried the rat, 'you fool! i'm quite too wise to be your tool.' he said, and sought his snug retreat, close at the rotten pine-tree's feet. where plump he did the weasel meet; whom shunning by a happy dodge, he climb'd the hollow trunk to lodge; and there the savage owl he saw. necessity became his law, and down he went, the rope to gnaw. strand after strand in two he bit, and freed, at last, the hypocrite. that moment came the man in sight; the new allies took hasty flight. a good while after that, our liberated cat espied her favourite rat, quite out of reach, and on his guard. 'my friend,' said she, 'i take your shyness hard; your caution wrongs my gratitude; approach, and greet your staunch ally. do you suppose, dear rat, that i forget the solemn oath i mew'd?' 'do i forget,' the rat replied, 'to what your nature is allied? to thankfulness, or even pity, can cats be ever bound by treaty?' alliance from necessity is safe just while it has to be. [ ] another rendering of "the rat and the cat" of the bidpaii collection. see fable xvi., book vii. xxiii.--the torrent and the river.[ ] with mighty rush and roar, adown a mountain steep a torrent tumbled,--swelling o'er its rugged banks,--and bore vast ruin in its sweep. the traveller were surely rash to brave its whirling, foaming dash, but one, by robbers sorely press'd, its terrors haply put to test. they were but threats of foam and sound, the loudest where the least profound. with courage from his safe success, his foes continuing to press, he met a river in his course: on stole its waters, calm and deep, so silently they seem'd asleep, all sweetly cradled, as i ween, in sloping banks, and gravel clean,-- they threaten'd neither man nor horse. both ventured; but the noble steed, that saved from robbers by his speed, from that deep water could not save; both went to drink the stygian wave; both went to cross, (but not to swim,) where reigns a monarch stern and grim, far other streams than ours. still men are men of dangerous powers; elsewhere, 'tis only ignorance that cowers. [ ] abstemius. xxiv.--education. lapluck and caesar brothers were, descended from dogs by fame the most commended, who falling, in their puppyhood, to different masters anciently, one dwelt and hunted in the boundless wood; from thieves the other kept a kitchen free. at first, each had another name; but, by their bringing up, it came, while one improved upon his nature, the other grew a sordid creature, till, by some scullion called lapluck, the name ungracious ever stuck. to high exploits his brother grew, put many a stag at bay, and tore full many a trophy from the boar; in short, him first, of all his crew, the world as caesar knew; and care was had, lest, by a baser mate, his noble blood should e'er degenerate. not so with his neglected brother; he made whatever came a mother; and, by the laws of population, his race became a countless nation-- the common turnspits throughout france-- where danger is, they don't advance-- precisely the antipodes of what we call the caesars, these! oft falls the son below his sire's estate: through want of care all things degenerate. for lack of nursing nature and her gifts. what crowds from gods become mere kitchen-thrifts! xxv.--the two dogs and the dead ass.[ ] the virtues should be sisters, hand in hand, since banded brothers all the vices stand: when one of these our hearts attacks, all come in file; there only lacks, from out the cluster, here and there, a mate of some antagonizing pair, that can't agree the common roof to share. but all the virtues, as a sisterhood, have scarcely ever in one subject stood. we find one brave, but passionate; another prudent, but ingrate. of beasts, the dog may claim to be the pattern of fidelity; but, for our teaching little wiser, he's both a fool and gormandiser. for proof, i cite two mastiffs, that espied a dead ass floating on a water wide. the distance growing more and more, because the wind the carcass bore,-- 'my friend,' said one, 'your eyes are best; pray let them on the water rest: what thing is that i seem to see? an ox, or horse? what can it be?' 'hey!' cried his mate; 'what matter which, provided we could get a flitch? it doubtless is our lawful prey: the puzzle is to find some way to get the prize; for wide the space to swim, with wind against your face.[ ] let's drink the flood; our thirsty throats will gain the end as well as boats. the water swallow'd, by and bye we'll have the carcass, high and dry-- enough to last a week, at least.' both drank as some do at a feast; their breath was quench'd before their thirst, and presently the creatures burst! and such is man. whatever he may set his soul to do or be, to him is possibility? how many vows he makes! how many steps he takes! how does he strive, and pant, and strain, fortune's or glory's prize to gain! if round my farm off well i must, or fill my coffers with the dust, or master hebrew, science, history,-- i make my task to drink the sea. one spirit's projects to fulfil, four bodies would require; and still the work would stop half done; the lives of four methuselahs, placed end to end for use, alas! would not suffice the wants of one. [ ] aesop; also lokman. [ ] _with the wind against your face_.--did la fontaine, to enhance the folly of these dogs, make them bad judges of the course of the wind, or did he forget what he had said a few lines above?--translator. xxvi.--democritus and the people of abdera. how do i hate the tide of vulgar thought! profane, unjust, with childish folly fraught; it breaks and bends the rays of truth divine, and by its own conceptions measures mine. famed epicurus' master[ ] tried the power of this unstable tide. his country said the sage was mad-- the simpletons! but why? no prophet ever honour had beneath his native sky. democritus, in truth, was wise; the mass were mad, with faith in lies. so far this error went, that all abdera sent to old hippocrates to cure the sad disease. 'our townsman,' said the messengers, appropriately shedding tears, 'hath lost his wits! democritus, by study spoil'd, is lost to us. were he but fill'd with ignorance, we should esteem him less a dunce. he saith that worlds like this exist, an absolutely endless list,-- and peopled, even, it may be, with countless hosts as wise as we! but, not contented with such dreams, his brain with viewless "atoms" teems, instinct with deathless life, it seems. and, never stirring from the sod below, he weighs and measures all the stars; and, while he knows the universe, himself he doth not know. though now his lips he strictly bars, he once delighted to converse. come, godlike mortal, try thy art divine where traits of worst insanity combine!' small faith the great physician lent, but still, perhaps more readily, he went. and mark what meetings strange chance causes in this world of change! hippocrates arrived in season, just as his patient (void of reason!) was searching whether reason's home, in talking animals and dumb, be in the head, or in the heart, or in some other local part. all calmly seated in the shade, where brooks their softest music made, he traced, with study most insane, the convolutions of a brain; and at his feet lay many a scroll-- the works of sages on the soul. indeed, so much absorb'd was he, his friend, at first, he did not see. a pair so admirably match'd, their compliments erelong despatch'd. in time and talk, as well as dress, the wise are frugal, i confess. dismissing trifles, they began at once with eagerness to scan the life, and soul, and laws of man; nor stopp'd till they had travell'd o'er all the ground, from, physical to moral. my time and space would fail to give the full detail. but i have said enough to show how little 'tis the people know. how true, then, goes the saw abroad-- their voice is but the voice of god? [ ] _epicurus' master_.--democritus and epicurus lived about a century apart. the latter was disciple to the former only because in early life he adopted some of democritus's philosophy. later epicurus rejected more than he accepted of what his "master" taught. xxvii.--the wolf and the hunter.[ ] thou lust of gain,--foul fiend, whose evil eyes regard as nought the blessings of the skies, must i for ever battle thee in vain? how long demandest thou to gain the meaning of my lessons plain? will constant getting never cloy? will man ne'er slacken to enjoy? haste, friend; thou hast not long to live: let me the precious word repeat, and listen to it, i entreat; a richer lesson none can give-- the sovereign antidote for sorrow-- enjoy!--'i will.'--but when?--'to-morrow.--' ah! death may take you on the way, why not enjoy, i ask, to-day? lest envious fate your hopes ingulf, as once it served the hunter and the wolf. the former, with his fatal bow, a noble deer had laid full low: a fawn approach'd, and quickly lay companion of the dead, for side by side they bled. could one have wished a richer prey? such luck had been enough to sate a hunter wise and moderate. meantime a boar, as big as e'er was taken, our archer tempted, proud, and fond of bacon. another candidate for styx, struck by his arrow, foams and kicks. but strangely do the shears of fate to cut his cable hesitate. alive, yet dying, there he lies, a glorious and a dangerous prize. and was not this enough? not quite, to fill a conqueror's appetite; for, ere the boar was dead, he spied a partridge by a furrow's side-- a trifle to his other game. once more his bow he drew; the desperate boar upon him came, and in his dying vengeance slew: the partridge thank'd him as she flew. thus much is to the covetous address'd; the miserly shall have the rest. a wolf, in passing, saw that woeful sight. 'o fortune,' cried the savage, with delight, 'a fane to thee i'll build outright! 'four carcasses! how rich! but spare-- 'i'll make them last--such luck is rare,' (the miser's everlasting plea.) 'they'll last a month for--let me see-- one, two, three, four--the weeks are four if i can count--and some days more. well, two days hence and i'll commence. meantime, the string upon this bow i'll stint myself to eat; for by its mutton-smell i know 'tis made of entrails sweet.' his entrails rued the fatal weapon, which, while he heedlessly did step on, the arrow pierced his bowels deep, and laid him lifeless on the heap. hark, stingy souls! insatiate leeches! our text this solemn duty teaches,-- enjoy the present; do not wait to share the wolf's or hunter's fate. [ ] bidpaii; and the _hitopadesa_. see extract from sir william jones's translation of the latter in translator's preface. * * * * * book ix. i.--the faithless depositary.[ ] thanks to memory's daughters nine, animals have graced my line: higher heroes in my story might have won me less of glory. wolves, in language of the sky, talk with dogs throughout my verse; beasts with others shrewdly vie, representing characters; fools in furs not second-hand, sages, hoof'd or feather'd, stand: fewer truly are the latter, more the former--ay, and fatter. flourish also in my scene tyrants, villains, mountebanks, beasts incapable of thanks, beasts of rash and reckless pranks, beasts of sly and flattering mien; troops of liars, too, i ween. as to men, of every age, all are liars, saith the sage. had he writ but of the low, one could hardly think it so; but that human mortals, all, lie like serpents, great and small, had another certified it, i, for one, should have denied it. he who lies in aesop's way, or like homer, minstrel gray, is no liar, sooth to say. charms that bind us like a dream, offspring of their happy art, cloak'd in fiction, more than seem truth to offer to the heart. both have left us works which i think unworthy e'er to die. liar call not him who squares all his ends and aims with theirs; but from sacred truth to vary, like the false depositary, is to be, by every rule both a liar and a fool. the story goes: a man of trade, in persia, with his neighbour made deposit, as he left the state, of iron, say a hundredweight. return'd, said he, 'my iron, neighbour.' 'your iron! you have lost your labour; i grieve to say it,--'pon my soul, a rat has eaten up the whole. my men were sharply scolded at, but yet a hole, in spite of that, was left, as one is wont to be in every barn or granary, by which crept in that cursed rat.' admiring much the novel thief, the man affected full belief. ere long, his faithless neighbour's child he stole away,--a heavy lad,-- and then to supper bade the dad, who thus plead off in accents sad:-- 'it was but yesterday i had a boy as fine as ever smiled, an only son, as dear as life, the darling of myself and wife. alas! we have him now no more, and every joy with us is o'er.' replied the merchant, 'yesternight, by evening's faint and dusky ray, i saw a monstrous owl alight, and bear your darling son away to yonder tott'ring ruin gray.' 'can i believe you, when you say an owl bore off: so large a prey? how could it be?' the father cried; 'the thing is surely quite absurd; my son with ease had kill'd the bird.' 'the how of it,' the man replied, 'is not my province to decide; i know i saw your son arise, borne through, the air before my eyes. why should it seem a strange affair, moreover, in a country where a single rat contrives to eat a hundred pounds of iron meat, that owls should be of strength to lift ye a booby boy that weighs but fifty?' the other plainly saw the trick, restored the iron very quick. and got, with shame as well as joy, possession of his kidnapp'd boy. the like occurr'd two travellers between. one was of those who wear a microscope, i ween, each side the nose. would you believe their tales romantic, our europe, in its monsters, beats the lands that feel the tropic heats, surcharged with all that is gigantic. this person, feeling free to use the trope hyperbole, had seen a cabbage with his eyes exceeding any house in size. 'and i have seen,' the other cries, resolved to leave his fellow in the lurch, 'a pot that would have held a church. why, friend, don't give that doubting look,-- the pot was made your cabbages to cook.' this pot-discov'rer was a wit; the iron-monger, too, was wise. to such absurd and ultra lies their answers were exactly fit. 'twere doing honour overmuch, to reason or dispute with such. to overbid them is the shortest path, and less provocative of wrath. [ ] bidpaii. ii.--the two doves.[ ] two doves once cherish'd for each other the love that brother hath for brother. but one, of scenes domestic tiring, to see the foreign world aspiring, was fool enough to undertake a journey long, o'er land and lake. 'what plan is this?' the other cried; 'wouldst quit so soon thy brother's side? this absence is the worst of ills; thy heart may bear, but me it kills. pray, let the dangers, toil, and care, of which all travellers tell, your courage somewhat quell. still, if the season later were-- o wait the zephyrs!--hasten not-- just now the raven, on his oak, in hoarser tones than usual spoke. my heart forebodes the saddest lot,-- the falcons, nets--alas, it rains! my brother, are thy wants supplied-- provisions, shelter, pocket-guide, and all that unto health pertains?' these words occasion'd some demur in our imprudent traveller. but restless curiosity prevail'd at last; and so said he,-- 'the matter is not worth a sigh; three days, at most, will satisfy, and then, returning, i shall tell you all the wonders that befell,-- with scenes enchanting and sublime shall sweeten all our coming time. who seeth nought, hath nought to say. my travel's course, from day to day, will be the source of great delight. a store of tales i shall relate,-- say there i lodged at such a date, and saw there such and such a sight. you'll think it all occurr'd to you.--' on this, both, weeping, bade adieu. away the lonely wanderer flew.-- a thunder-cloud began to lower; he sought, as shelter from the shower, the only tree that graced the plain, whose leaves ill turn'd the pelting rain. the sky once more serene above, on flew our drench'd and dripping dove, and dried his plumage as he could. next, on the borders of a wood, he spied some scatter'd grains of wheat, which one, he thought, might safely eat; for there another dove he saw.-- he felt the snare around him draw! this wheat was but a treacherous bait to lure poor pigeons to their fate. the snare had been so long in use, with beak and wings he struggled loose: some feathers perish'd while it stuck; but, what was worst in point of luck, a hawk, the cruellest of foes, perceived him clearly as he rose, off dragging, like a runaway, a piece of string. the bird of prey had bound him, in a moment more, much faster than he was before, but from the clouds an eagle came, and made the hawk himself his game. by war of robbers profiting, the dove for safety plied the wing, and, lighting on a ruin'd wall, believed his dangers ended all. a roguish boy had there a sling, (age pitiless! we must confess,) and, by a most unlucky fling, half kill'd our hapless dove; who now, no more in love with foreign travelling, and lame in leg and wing, straight homeward urged his crippled flight, fatigued, but glad, arrived at night, in truly sad and piteous plight. the doves rejoin'd, i leave you all to say, what pleasure might their pains repay. ah, happy lovers, would you roam?-- pray, let it not be far from home. to each the other ought to be a world of beauty ever new; in each the other ought to see the whole of what is good and true. myself have loved; nor would i then, for all the wealth of crownèd men, or arch celestial, paved with gold, the presence of those woods have sold, and fields, and banks, and hillocks, which were by the joyful steps made rich, and smiled beneath the charming eyes of her who made my heart a prize-- to whom i pledged it, nothing loath, and seal'd the pledge with virgin oath. ah, when will time such moments bring again? to me are sweet and charming objects vain-- my soul forsaking to its restless mood? o, did my wither'd heart but dare to kindle for the bright and good, should not i find the charm still there? is love, to me, with things that were? [ ] bidpaii. by common consent this fable is ranked among la fontaine's very best. see translator's preface. iii.--the monkey and the leopard.[ ] a monkey and a leopard were the rivals at a country fair. each advertised his own attractions. said one, 'good sirs, the highest place my merit knows; for, of his grace, the king hath seen me face to face; and, judging by his looks and actions, i gave the best of satisfactions. when i am dead, 'tis plain enough, my skin will make his royal muff. so richly is it streak'd and spotted, so delicately waved and dotted, its various beauty cannot fail to please.' and, thus invited, everybody sees; but soon they see, and soon depart. the monkey's show-bill to the mart his merits thus sets forth the while, all in his own peculiar style:-- 'come, gentlemen, i pray you, come; in magic arts i am at home. the whole variety in which my neighbour boasts himself so rich, is to his simple skin confined, while mine is living in the mind. your humble servant, monsieur gille, the son-in-law to tickleville, pope's monkey, and of great renown, is now just freshly come to town, arrived in three bateaux, express, your worships to address; for he can speak, you understand; can dance, and practise sleight-of-hand; can jump through hoops, and balance sticks; in short, can do a thousand tricks; and all for blancos six--[ ] not, messieurs, for a sou. and, if you think the price won't do, when you have seen, then he'll restore each man his money at the door.' the ape was not to reason blind; for who in wealth of dress can find such charms as dwell in wealth of mind? one meets our ever-new desires, the other in a moment tires. alas! how many lords there are, of mighty sway and lofty mien, who, like this leopard at the fair, show all their talents on the skin! [ ] aesop; also avianus. [ ] _blancos six._--the blanc was a french copper coin, six of which were equivalent in value to something over a penny of the present english money. iv.--the acorn and the pumpkin. god's works are good. this truth to prove around the world i need not move; i do it by the nearest pumpkin. 'this fruit so large, on vine so small,' surveying once, exclaim'd a bumpkin-- 'what could he mean who made us all? he's left this pumpkin out of place. if i had order'd in the case, upon that oak it should have hung-- a noble fruit as ever swung to grace a tree so firm and strong. indeed, it was a great mistake, as this discovery teaches, that i myself did not partake his counsels whom my curate preaches. all things had then in order come; this acorn, for example, not bigger than my thumb, had not disgraced a tree so ample. the more i think, the more i wonder to see outraged proportion's laws, and that without the slightest cause; god surely made an awkward blunder.' with such reflections proudly fraught, our sage grew tired of mighty thought, and threw himself on nature's lap, beneath an oak,--to take his nap. plump on his nose, by lucky hap, an acorn fell: he waked, and in the matted beard that graced his chin, he found the cause of such a bruise as made him different language use. 'o! o!' he cried; 'i bleed! i bleed! and this is what has done the deed! but, truly, what had been my fate, had this had half a pumpkin's weight! i see that god had reasons good, and all his works well understood.' thus home he went in humbler mood.[ ] [ ] this fable was much admired by madame de sévigné. see translator's preface. v.--the schoolboy, the pedant, and the owner of a garden. a boy who savour'd of his school,-- a double rogue and double fool,-- by youth and by the privilege which pedants have, by ancient right, to alter reason, and abridge,-- a neighbour robb'd, with fingers light, of flowers and fruit. this neighbour had, of fruits that make the autumn glad, the very best--and none but he. each season brought, from plant and tree, to him its tribute; for, in spring, his was the brightest blossoming. one day, he saw our hopeful lad perch'd on the finest tree he had, not only stuffing down the fruit, but spoiling, like a vandal brute, the buds that play advance-courier of plenty in the coming year. the branches, too, he rudely tore, and carried things to such a pass, the owner sent his servant o'er to tell the master of his class. the latter came, and came attended by all the urchins of his school, and thus one plunderer's mischief mended by pouring in an orchard-full. it seems the pedant was intent on making public punishment, to teach his boys the force of law, and strike their roguish hearts with awe. the use of which he first must show from virgil and from cicero, and many other ancients noted, from whom, in their own tongues, he quoted. so long, indeed, his lecture lasted, while not a single urchin fasted, that, ere its close, their thievish crimes were multiplied a hundred times. i hate all eloquence and reason expended plainly out of season. of all the beasts that earth have cursed while they have fed on't, the school-boy strikes me as the worst-- except the pedant. the better of these neighbours two for me, i'm sure, would never do. vi.--the sculptor and the statue of jupiter. a block of marble was so fine, to buy it did a sculptor hasten. 'what shall my chisel, now 'tis mine-- a god, a table, or a basin?' 'a god,' said he, 'the thing shall be; i'll arm it, too, with thunder. let people quake, and bow the knee with reverential wonder.' so well the cunning artist wrought all things within a mortal's reach, that soon the marble wanted nought of being jupiter, but speech. indeed, the man whose skill did make had scarcely laid his chisel down, before himself began to quake, and fear his manufacture's frown. and even this excess of faith the poet once scarce fell behind, the hatred fearing, and the wrath, of gods the product of his mind. this trait we see in infancy between the baby and its doll, of wax or china, it may be-- a pocket stuff'd, or folded shawl. imagination rules the heart: and here we find the fountain head from whence the pagan errors start, that o'er the teeming nations spread. with violent and flaming zeal, each takes his own chimera's part; pygmalion[ ] doth a passion feel for venus chisel'd by his art. all men, as far as in them lies, create realities of dreams. to truth our nature proves but ice; to falsehood, fire it seems. [ ] _pygmalion_.--the poet here takes an erroneous view of the story of pygmalion. that sculptor fell in love with his statue of the nymph galatea, to which venus gave life at his request. see ovid, _metam_. book x. vii.--the mouse metamorphosed into a maid.[ ] a mouse once from an owl's beak fell; i'd not have pick'd it up, i wis; a brahmin did it: very well; each country has its prejudice. the mouse, indeed, was sadly bruised. although, as neighbours, we are used to be more kind to many others, the brahmins treat the mice as brothers. the notion haunts their heads, that when the soul goes forth from dying men, it enters worm, or bird, or beast, as providence or fate is pleased; and on this mystery rests their law, which from pythagoras they're said to draw. and hence the brahmin kindly pray'd to one who knew the wizard's trade, to give the creature, wounded sore, the form in which it lodged before. forthwith the mouse became a maid, of years about fifteen; a lovelier was never seen. she would have waked, i ween, in priam's son, a fiercer flame than did the beauteous grecian dame. surprised at such a novelty, the brahmin to the damsel cried, 'your choice is free; for every he will seek you for his bride.' said she, 'am i to have a voice? the strongest, then, shall be my choice.' 'o sun!' the brahmin cried, 'this maid is thine, and thou shalt be a son-in-law of mine.' 'no,' said the sun, 'this murky cloud, it seems, in strength exceeds me, since he hides my beams; and him i counsel you to take.' again the reverend brahmin spake-- 'o cloud, on-flying with thy stores of water, pray wast thou born to wed my daughter?' 'ah, no, alas! for, you may see, the wind is far too strong for me. my claims with boreas' to compare, i must confess, i do not dare.' 'o wind,' then cried the brahmin, vex'd, and wondering what would hinder next,-- 'approach, and, with thy sweetest air, embrace--possess--the fairest fair.' the wind, enraptured, thither blew;-- a mountain stopp'd him as he flew, to him now pass'd the tennis-ball, and from him to a creature small. said he, 'i'd wed the maid, but that i've had a quarrel with the rat. a fool were i to take the bride from one so sure to pierce my side.' the rat! it thrill'd the damsel's ear; to name at once seem'd sweet and dear. the rat! 'twas one of cupid's blows; the like full many a maiden knows; but all of this beneath the rose. one smacketh ever of the place where first he show'd the world his face. thus far the fable's clear as light; but, if we take a nearer sight, there lurks within its drapery somewhat of graceless sophistry; for who, that worships e'en the glorious sun, would not prefer to wed some cooler one? and doth a flea's exceed a giant's might, because the former can the latter bite? and, by the rule of strength, the rat had sent his bride to wed the cat; from cat to dog, and onward still to wolf or tiger, if you will: indeed, the fabulist might run a circle backward to the sun.-- but to the change the tale supposes,-- in learned phrase, metempsychosis. the very thing the wizard did its falsity exposes-- if that indeed were ever hid. according to the brahmin's plan, the proud aspiring soul of man, and souls that dwell in humbler forms of rats and mice, and even worms, all issue from a common source, and, hence, they are the same of course.-- unequal but by accident of organ and of tenement, they use one pair of legs, or two, or e'en with none contrive to do, as tyrant matter binds them to. why, then, could not so fine a frame constrain its heavenly guest to wed the solar flame? a rat her love possess'd. in all respects, compared and weigh'd, the souls of men and souls of mice quite different are made,-- unlike in sort as well as size. each fits and fills its destined part as heaven doth well provide; nor witch, nor fiend, nor magic art, can set their laws aside. [ ] bidpaii. viii.--the fool who sold wisdom.[ ] of fools come never in the reach: no rule can i more wisely teach. nor can there be a better one than this,--distemper'd heads to shun. we often see them, high and low. they tickle e'en the royal ear, as, privileged and free from fear, they hurl about them joke and jeer, at pompous lord or silly beau. a fool, in town, did wisdom cry; the people, eager, flock'd to buy. each for his money got, paid promptly on the spot, besides a box upon the head, two fathoms' length of thread. the most were vex'd--but quite in vain the public only mock'd their pain. the wiser they who nothing said, but pocketed the box and thread. to search the meaning of the thing would only laughs and hisses bring. hath reason ever guaranteed the wit of fools in speech or deed? 'tis said of brainless heads in france, the cause of what they do is chance. one dupe, however, needs must know what meant the thread, and what the blow; so ask'd a sage, to make it sure. 'they're both hieroglyphics pure,' the sage replied without delay; 'all people well advised will stay from fools this fibre's length away, or get--i hold it sure as fate-- the other symbol on the pate. so far from cheating you of gold, the fool this wisdom fairly sold.' [ ] abstemius. ix.--the oyster and the litigants. two pilgrims on the sand espied an oyster thrown up by the tide. in hope, both swallow'd ocean's fruit; but ere the fact there came dispute. while one stoop'd down to take the prey, the other push'd him quite away. said he, ''twere rather meet to settle which shall eat. why, he who first the oyster saw should be its eater, by the law; the other should but see him do it.' replied his mate, 'if thus you view it, thank god the lucky eye is mine.' 'but i've an eye not worse than thine,' the other cried, 'and will be cursed, if, too, i didn't see it first.' 'you saw it, did you? grant it true, i saw it then, and felt it too.' amidst this sweet affair, arrived a person very big, ycleped sir nincom periwig.[ ] they made him judge,--to set the matter square. sir nincom, with a solemn face, took up the oyster and the case: in opening both, the first he swallow'd, and, in due time, his judgment follow'd. 'attend: the court awards you each a shell cost free; depart in peace, and use them well.' foot up the cost of suits at law, the leavings reckon and awards, the cash you'll see sir nincom draw, and leave the parties--purse and cards.[ ] [ ] _sir nincom periwig_.--the name in la fontaine is perrin dandin, which is also that of the peasant judge in rabelais (book iii., ch. ), and the judge in racine's "plaideurs" (produced in ). molière's "george dandin" (produced ), may also have helped la fontaine to the name. the last-mentioned character is a farmer, but, like the others, he is a species of incapable; and the word dandin in the old french dictionaries is given as signifying inaptness or incapacity. [ ] the oyster and lawyer story is also treated in fable xxi., book i. (_the hornet and the bees_). x.--the wolf and the lean dog.[ ] a troutling, some time since,[ ] 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 lordship, 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. [ ] aesop. [ ] _a troutling_.--see book v., fable iii.--translator. xi.--nothing too much.[ ] 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. [ ] abstemius. xii.--the wax-candle.[ ] from bowers of gods the bees came down to man. on mount hymettus,[ ] 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 fashion'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[ ] 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. [ ] abstemius. [ ] _mount hymettus_.--this was the mountain whence the greeks got fine honey. [ ] _empedocles_.--a pythagorean philosopher who asserted 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 wishing to be thought a god, 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 passenger.[ ] how danger would the gods 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 passenger, 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 shore, 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 godship ever owns: from debt i therefore stand acquitted.' with seeming smile, the god 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.' [ ] 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 hoarse. 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.' with that, she climb'd a lofty pine. the fox his hundred ruses tried, and yet no safety found. a hundred times he falsified the nose of every hound.-- was here, and there, and everywhere, above, and under ground; but yet to stop he did not dare, pent in a hole, it was no joke, to meet the terriers or the smoke. so, leaping into upper air, he met two dogs, that choked him there. expedients may be too many, consuming time to choose and try. on one, but that as good as any, 'tis best in danger to rely. xv.--the husband, the wife, and the thief.[ ] a man that loved,--and loved his wife,-- still led an almost joyless life. no tender look, nor gracious word, nor smile, that, coming from a bride, its object would have deified, e'er told her doting lord the love with which he burn'd was in its kind return'd. still unrepining at his lot, this man, thus tied in hymen's knot, thank'd god for all the good he got. but why? if love doth fail to season whatever pleasures hymen gives, i'm sure i cannot see the reason why one for him the happier lives. however, since his wife had ne'er caress'd him in her life, he made complaint of it one night. the entrance of a thief cut short his tale of grief, and gave the lady such a fright, she shrunk from dreaded harms within her husband's arms. 'good thief,' cried he, 'this joy so sweet, i owe to thee: now take, as thy reward, of all that owns me lord, whatever suits thee save my spouse; ay, if thou pleasest, take the house.' as thieves are not remarkably o'erstock'd with modesty, this fellow made quite free. from this account it doth appear, the passions all are ruled by fear. aversion may be conquer'd by it, and even love may not defy it. but still some cases there have been where love hath ruled the roast, i ween. that lover, witness, highly bred, who burnt his house above his head, and all to clasp a certain dame, and bear her harmless through the flame. this transport through the fire, i own, i much admire; and for a spanish soul, reputed coolish, i think it grander even than 'twas foolish.[ ] [ ] bidpaii. [ ] _'twas foolish._--la fontaine here refers to the adventure of the spanish count villa medina with elizabeth of france, wife of philip iv. of spain. the former, having invited the spanish court to a splendid entertainment in his palace, had it set on fire, that he might personally rescue the said lady from its flames.--translator. xvi.--the treasure and the two men.[ ] a man whose credit fail'd, and what was worse, who lodged the devil in his purse,-- that is to say, lodged nothing there,-- by self-suspension in the air concluded his accounts to square, since, should he not, he understood, from various tokens, famine would-- a death for which no mortal wight had ever any appetite. a ruin, crown'd with ivy green, was of his tragedy the scene. his hangman's noose he duly tied, and then to drive a nail he tried;-- but by his blows the wall gave way, now tremulous and old, disclosing to the light of day a sum of hidden gold. he clutch'd it up, and left despair to struggle with his halter there. nor did the much delighted man e'en stop to count it as he ran. but, while he went, the owner came, who loved it with a secret flame, too much indeed for kissing,-- and found his money--missing! 'o heavens!' he cried, 'shall i such riches lose, and still not die? shall i not hang?--as i, in fact, might justly do if cord i lack'd; but now, without expense, i can; this cord here only lacks a man.' the saving was no saving clause; it suffer'd not his heart to falter, until it reach'd his final pause as full possessor of the halter,-- 'tis thus the miser often grieves: whoe'er the benefit receives of what he owns, he never must-- mere treasurer for thieves, or relatives, or dust. but what say we about the trade in this affair by fortune made? why, what but that it was just like her! in freaks like this delighteth she. the shorter any turn may be, the better it is sure to strike her. it fills that goddess full of glee a self-suspended man to see; and that it does especially, when made so unexpectedly. [ ] the story of this fable has been traced to the epigrams of ausonius who was born at bordeaux, and lived in the fourth century. xvii.--the monkey and the cat. sly bertrand and ratto in company sat, (the one was a monkey, the other a cat,) co-servants and lodgers: more mischievous codgers ne'er mess'd from a platter, since platters were flat. was anything wrong in the house or about it, the neighbours were blameless,--no mortal could doubt it; for bertrand was thievish, and ratto so nice, more attentive to cheese than he was to the mice. one day the two plunderers sat by the fire, where chestnuts were roasting, with looks of desire. to steal them would be a right noble affair. a double inducement our heroes drew there-- 'twould benefit them, could they swallow their fill, and then 'twould occasion to somebody ill. said bertrand to ratto, 'my brother, to-day exhibit your powers in a masterly way, and take me these chestnuts, i pray. which were i but otherwise fitted (as i am ingeniously witted) for pulling things out of the flame, would stand but a pitiful game.' ''tis done,' replied ratto, all prompt to obey; and thrust out his paw in a delicate way. first giving the ashes a scratch, he open'd the coveted batch; then lightly and quickly impinging, he drew out, in spite of the singeing, one after another, the chestnuts at last,-- while bertrand contrived to devour them as fast. a servant girl enters. adieu to the fun. our ratto was hardly contented, says one.-- no more are the princes, by flattery paid for furnishing help in a different trade, and burning their fingers to bring more power to some mightier king.[ ] [ ] for madame de sévigné's opinion of this fable, see the translator's preface. xviii.--the kite and the nightingale.[ ] a noted thief, the kite, had set a neighbourhood in fright, and raised the clamorous noise of all the village boys, when, by misfortune,--sad to say,-- a nightingale fell in his way. spring's herald begg'd him not to eat a bird for music--not for meat. 'o spare!' cried she, 'and i'll relate 'the crime of tereus and his fate.'-- 'what's tereus?[ ] is it food for kites?'-- 'no, but a king, of female rights the villain spoiler, whom i taught a lesson with repentance fraught; and, should it please you not to kill, my song about his fall your very heart shall thrill, as it, indeed, does all.'-- replied the kite, a 'pretty thing! when i am faint and famishing, to let you go, and hear you sing?'-- 'ah, but i entertain the king!'-- 'well, when he takes you, let him hear your tale, full wonderful, no doubt; for me, a kite, i'll go without.' an empty stomach hath no ear.[ ] [ ] abstemius; also aesop. [ ] _what's tereus?_--see story of tereus philomela and progne, in ovid's _metamorphoses_.--see also fable xv., book iii., and note. [ ] _an empty stomach hath no ear_.--cato the censor said in one of his speeches to the romans, who were clamouring for a distribution of corn, "it is a difficult task, my fellow-citizens, to speak to the belly, because it hath no ears."--plutarch's _life of cato_ (langhorne's ed.). "the belly has no ears, nor is it to be filled with fair words."--rabelais, book iv., ch. . xix.--the shepherd and his flock.[ ] 'what! shall i lose them one by one, this stupid coward throng? and never shall the wolf have done? they were at least a thousand strong, but still they've let poor robin[ ] fall a prey! ah, woe's the day! poor robin wether lying dead! he follow'd for a bit of bread his master through the crowded city, and would have follow'd, had he led, around the world. o! what a pity! my pipe, and even step, he knew; to meet me when i came, he flew; in hedge-row shade we napp'd together; alas, alas, my robin wether!' when willy thus had duly said his eulogy upon the dead and unto everlasting fame consign'd poor robin wether's name, he then harangued the flock at large, from proud old chieftain rams down to the smallest lambs, addressing them this weighty charge,-- against the wolf, as one, to stand in firm, united, fearless band, by which they might expel him from their land. upon their faith, they would not flinch, they promised him, a single inch. 'we'll choke,' said they, 'the murderous glutton who robbed of us of our robin mutton.' their lives they pledged against the beast, and willy gave them all a feast. but evil fate, than phoebus faster, ere night had brought a new disaster: a wolf there came. by nature's law, the total flock were prompt to run; and yet 'twas not the wolf they saw, but shadow of him from the setting sun. harangue a craven soldiery, what heroes they will seem to be! but let them snuff the smoke of battle, or even hear the ramrods rattle, adieu to all their spunk and mettle: your own example will be vain, and exhortations, to retain the timid cattle. [ ] abstemius. [ ] _robin_.--rabelais, in his _pantagruel_, book iv., ch. , has robin, robin mouton, &c. * * * * * book x. i.--the two rats, the fox, and the egg. address to madame de la sablière.[ ] you, iris, 'twere an easy task to praise; but you refuse the incense of my lays. in this you are unlike all other mortals, who welcome all the praise that seeks their portals; not one who is not soothed by sound so sweet. for me to blame this humour were not meet, by gods and mortals shared in common, and, in the main, by lovely woman. that drink, so vaunted by the rhyming trade, that cheers the god who deals the thunder-blow, and oft intoxicates the gods below,-- the nectar, iris, is of praises made. you taste it not. but, in its place, wit, science, even trifles grace your bill of fare; but, for that matter, the world will not believe the latter. well, leave the world in unbelief. still science, trifles, fancies light as air, i hold, should mingle in a bill of fare, each giving each its due relief; as, where the gifts of flora fall, on different flowers we see alight the busy bee, educing sweet from all. thus much premised, don't think it strange, or aught beyond my muse's range, if e'en my fables should infold, among their nameless trumpery, the traits of a philosophy far-famed as subtle, charming, bold. they call it new--the men of wit; perhaps you have not heard of it?[ ] my verse will tell you what it means:-- they say that beasts are mere machines;[ ] that, in their doings, everything is done by virtue of a spring-- no sense, no soul, nor notion; but matter merely,--set in motion, just such the watch in kind, which joggeth on, to purpose blind. now ope, and read within its breast-- the place of soul is by its wheels possess'd. one moves a second, that a third, till finally its sound is heard. and now the beast, our sages say, is moved precisely in this way an object strikes it in a certain place: the spot thus struck, without a moment's space, to neighbouring parts the news conveys; thus sense receives it through the chain, and takes impression.--how? explain.-- not i. they say, by sheer necessity, from will as well as passion free, the animal is found the thrall of movements which the vulgar call joy, sadness, pleasure, pain, and love-- the cause extrinsic and above.-- believe it not. what's this i hold? why, sooth, it is a watch of gold-- its life, the mere unbending of a spring. and we?--are quite a different thing. hear how descartes--descartes, whom all applaud, whom pagans would have made a god, who holds, in fact, the middle place 'twixt ours and the celestial race, about as does the plodding ass from man to oyster as you pass-- hear how this author states the case 'of all the tribes to being brought by our creator out of nought, i only have the gift of thought.' now, iris, you will recollect we were by older science taught that when brutes think, they don't reflect. descartes proceeds beyond the wall, and says they do not think at all. this you believe with ease; and so could i, if i should please. still, in the forest, when, from morn till midday, sounds of dog and horn have terrified the stag forlorn; when he has doubled forth and back, and labour'd to confound his track, till tired and spent with efforts vain-- an ancient stag, of antlers ten;-- he puts a younger in his place, all fresh, to weary out the chase.-- what thoughts for one that merely grazes! the doublings, turnings, windings, mazes, the substituting fresher bait, were worthy of a man of state-- and worthy of a better fate! to yield to rascal dogs his breath is all the honour of his death. and when the partridge danger spies, before her brood have strength to rise, she wisely counterfeits a wound, and drags her wing upon the ground-- thus, from her home, beside some ancient log, safe drawing off the sportsman and his dog; and while the latter seems to seize her, the victim of an easy chase-- 'your teeth are not for such as me, sir,' she cries, and flies, and laughs the former in his face. far north, 'tis said, the people live in customs nearly primitive; that is to say, are bound in ignorance profound:-- i mean the people human; for animals are dwelling there with skill such buildings to prepare as could on earth but few men. firm laid across the torrent's course, their work withstands its mighty force, so damming it from shore to shore, that, gliding smoothly o'er, in even sheets the waters pour. their work, as it proceeds, they grade and bevel, or bring it up to plumb or level; first lay their logs, and then with mortar smear, as if directed by an engineer. each labours for the public good; the old command, the youthful brood cut down, and shape, and place the wood. compared with theirs, e'en plato's model state were but the work of some apprentice pate. such are the beaver folks, who know enough to house themselves from snow, and bridge, though they can swim, the pools. meanwhile, our kinsmen are such fools, in spite of their example, they dwell in huts less ample, and cross the streams by swimming, however cold and brimming! now that the skilful beaver, is but a body void of spirit, from whomsoever i might hear it, i would believe it never. but i go farther in the case. pray listen while i tell a thing which lately fell from one of truly royal race.[ ] a prince beloved by victory, the north's defender here shall be my voucher and your guaranty; whose mighty name alone commands the sultan's throne, the king whom poland calls her own. this king declares (kings cannot lie, we hear) that, on his own frontier, some animals there are; engaged in ceaseless war; from age to age the quarrel runs, transmitted down from sires to sons; (these beasts, he says, are to the fox akin;) and with more skill no war hath been, by highest military powers, conducted in this age of ours guards, piquets, scouts, and spies, and ambuscade that hidden lies, the foe to capture by surprise, and many a shrewd appliance of that pernicious, cursed science, the daughter of the stygian wave, and mother harsh of heroes brave, those military creatures have. to chant their feats a bard we lack, till death shall give us homer back. and should he such a wonder do, and, while his hand was in, release old epicurus' rival[ ] too, what would the latter say to facts like these? why, as i've said, that nature does such things in animals by means of springs; that memory is but corporeal; and that to do the things array'd so proudly in my story all, the animal but needs her aid. at each return, the object, so to speak, proceeds directly to her store with keenest optics--there to seek the image it had traced before, which found, proceeds forthwith to act just as at first it did, in fact, by neither thought nor reason back'd. not so with us, beasts perpendicular; with us kind heaven is more particular. self-ruled by independent mind, we're not the sport of objects blind, nor e'en to instinct are consign'd. i walk; i talk; i feel the sway of power within this nice machine, it cannot but obey. this power, although with matter link'd, is comprehended as distinct. indeed 'tis comprehended better in truth and essence than is matter. o'er all our arts it is supreme. but how doth matter understand or hear its sovereign lord's command? here doth a difficulty seem: i see the tool obey the hand; but then the hand who guideth it; who guides the stars in order fit? perhaps each mighty world, since from its maker hurl'd, some angel may have kept in custody. however that may be, a spirit dwells in such as we; it moves our limbs; we feel its mandates now; we see and know it rules, but know not how: nor shall we know, indeed, till in the breast of god we read. and, speaking in all verity, descartes is just as ignorant as we; in things beyond a mortal's ken, he knows no more than other men. but, iris, i confess to this, that in the beasts of which i speak such spirit it were vain to seek, for man its only temple is. yet beasts must have a place beneath our godlike race, which no mere plant requires although the plant respires. but what shall one reply to what i next shall certify? two rats in foraging fell on an egg,-- for gentry such as they a genteel dinner every way; they needed not to find an ox's leg. brimful of joy and appetite, they were about to sack the box, so tight without the aid of locks, when suddenly there came in sight a personage--sir pullet fox. sure, luck was never more untoward since fortune was a vixen froward! how should they save their egg--and bacon? their plunder couldn't then be bagg'd; should it in forward paws be taken, or roll'd along, or dragg'd? each method seem'd impossible, and each was then of danger full. necessity, ingenious mother, brought forth what help'd them from their pother. as still there was a chance to save their prey,-- the spunger yet some hundred yards away,-- one seized the egg, and turn'd upon his back, and then, in spite of many a thump and thwack, that would have torn, perhaps, a coat of mail, the other dragg'd him by the tail. who dares the inference to blink, that beasts possess wherewith to think? were i commission'd to bestow this power on creatures here below, the beasts should have as much of mind as infants of the human kind. think not the latter, from their birth? it hence appears there are on earth that have the simple power of thought where reason hath no knowledge wrought. and on this wise an equal power i'd yield to all the various tenants of the field; not reason such as in ourselves we find, but something more than any mainspring blind. a speck of matter i would subtilise almost beyond the reach of mental eyes;-- an atom's essence, one might say, an extract of a solar ray, more quick and pungent than a flame of fire,-- for if of flame the wood is sire, cannot the flame, itself refined, give some idea of the mind? comes not the purest gold from lead, as we are told? to feel and choose, my work should soar-- unthinking judgment--nothing more. no monkey of my manufacture should argue from his sense or fact, sure: but my allotment to mankind should be of very different mind. we men should share in double measure, or rather have a twofold treasure; the one the soul, the same in all that bear the name of animal-- the sages, dunces, great and small, that tenant this our teeming ball;-- the other still another soul, which should to mortals here belong in common with the angel throng; which, made an independent whole, could pierce the skies to worlds of light, within a point have room to be,-- its life a morn, sans noon or night. exempt from all destructive change-- a thing as real as it is strange. in infancy this child of day should glimmer but a feeble ray. its earthly organs stronger grown, the beam of reason, brightly thrown, should pierce the darkness, thick and gross, that holds the other prison'd close. [ ] _madame de la sablière_.--see the following note; also the translator's preface. [ ] _perhaps you have not heard of it_?--madame de la sablière was one of the most learned women of the age in which she lived, and knew more of the philosophy of descartes, in which she was a believer, than our poet; but she dreaded the reputation of a "blue-stocking," and for this reason la fontaine addresses her as if she might be ignorant of the cartesian theory.--translator. molière's _femme savante_, the object of which was to ridicule the french "blue-stockings," had been only recently produced upon the stage ( ), hence madame de la sablière's fears, and la fontaine's delicate forbearance. [ ] _beasts are mere machines_.--at this time the discussion as to the mind in animals was very rife in the salons of paris. madame de sévigné often alludes to it in her letters. la fontaine further contends against the "mere machine" theory in fable ix., book xi. [ ] _one of truly royal race_.--john sobieski.--translator. at the time this was written, sobieski's great victory over the turks at choczim ( ) was resounding throughout europe, and had made him king of poland ( ). sobieski had previously been a frequent visitor at the house of madame de la sablière, where la fontaine had often met him. sobieski is again alluded to as a guest of madame de la sablière, in fable xv., book xii. [ ] _old epicurus' rival_.--descartes.--translator. ii.--the man and the adder.[ ] 'you villain!' cried a man who found an adder coil'd upon the ground, 'to do a very grateful deed for all the world, i shall proceed.' on this the animal perverse (i mean the snake; pray don't mistake the human for the worse) was caught and bagg'd, and, worst of all, his blood was by his captor to be spilt without regard to innocence or guilt. howe'er, to show the why, these words let fall his judge and jailor, proud and tall:-- 'thou type of all ingratitude! all charity to hearts like thine is folly, certain to be rued. die, then, thou foe of men! thy temper and thy teeth malign shall never hurt a hair of mine.' the muffled serpent, on his side, the best a serpent could, replied,-- 'if all this world's ingrates must meet with such a death, who from this worst of fates could save his breath? upon thyself thy law recoils; i throw myself upon thy broils, thy graceless revelling on spoils; if thou but homeward cast an eye, thy deeds all mine will justify. but strike: my life is in thy hand; thy justice, all may understand, is but thy interest, pleasure, or caprice:-- pronounce my sentence on such laws as these. but give me leave to tell thee, while i can, the type of all ingratitude is man.' by such a lecture somewhat foil'd, the other back a step recoil'd, and finally replied,-- 'thy reasons are abusive, and wholly inconclusive. i might the case decide because to me such right belongs; but let's refer the case of wrongs.' the snake agreed; they to a cow referr'd it. who, being called, came graciously and heard it. then, summing up, 'what need,' said she, 'in such a case, to call on me? the adder's right, plain truth to bellow; for years i've nursed this haughty fellow, who, but for me, had long ago been lodging with the shades below. for him my milk has had to flow, my calves, at tender age, to die. and for this best of wealth, and often reëstablished health, what pay, or even thanks, have i? here, feeble, old, and worn, alas! i'm left without a bite of grass. were i but left, it might be weather'd, but, shame to say it, i am tether'd. and now my fate is surely sadder than if my master were an adder, with brains within the latitude of such immense ingratitude. this, gentles, is my honest view; and so i bid you both adieu.' the man, confounded and astonish'd to be so faithfully admonish'd, replied, 'what fools to listen, now, to this old, silly, dotard cow! let's trust the ox.' 'let's trust,' replied the crawling beast, well gratified. so said, so done; the ox, with tardy pace, came on and, ruminating o'er the case, declared, with very serious face, that years of his most painful toil had clothed with ceres' gifts our soil-- her gifts to men--but always sold to beasts for higher cost than gold; and that for this, for his reward, more blows than thanks return'd his lord; and then, when age had chill'd his blood, and men would quell the wrath of heaven, out must be pour'd the vital flood, for others' sins, all thankless given. so spake the ox; and then the man:-- 'away with such a dull declaimer! instead of judge, it is his plan to play accuser and defamer.' a tree was next the arbitrator, and made the wrong of man still greater. it served as refuge from the heat, the showers, and storms which madly beat; it grew our gardens' greatest pride, its shadow spreading far and wide, and bow'd itself with fruit beside: but yet a mercenary clown with cruel iron chopp'd it down. behold the recompense for which, year after year, it did enrich, with spring's sweet flowers, and autumn's fruits, and summer's shade, both men and brutes, and warm'd the hearth with many a limb which winter from its top did trim! why could not man have pruned and spared, and with itself for ages shared?-- much scorning thus to be convinced, the man resolved his cause to gain. quoth he, 'my goodness is evinced by hearing this, 'tis very plain;' then flung the serpent bag and all, with fatal force, against a wall. so ever is it with the great, with whom the whim doth always run, that heaven all creatures doth create for their behoof beneath the sun-- count they four feet, or two, or none. if one should dare the fact dispute, he's straight set down a stupid brute. now, grant it so,--such lords among, what should be done, or said, or sung? at distance speak, or hold your tongue. [ ] bidpaii. iii.--the tortoise and the two ducks.[ ] a light-brain'd tortoise, anciently, tired of her hole, the world would see. prone are all such, self-banish'd, to roam-- prone are all cripples to abhor their home. two ducks, to whom the gossip told the secret of her purpose bold, profess'd to have the means whereby they could her wishes gratify. 'our boundless road,' said they, 'behold! it is the open air; and through it we will bear you safe o'er land and ocean. republics, kingdoms, you will view, and famous cities, old and new; and get of customs, laws, a notion,-- of various wisdom various pieces, as did, indeed, the sage ulysses.' the eager tortoise waited not to question what ulysses got, but closed the bargain on the spot. a nice machine the birds devise to bear their pilgrim through the skies.-- athwart her mouth a stick they throw: 'now bite it hard, and don't let go,' they say, and seize each duck an end, and, swiftly flying, upward tend. it made the people gape and stare beyond the expressive power of words, to see a tortoise cut the air, exactly poised between two birds. 'a miracle,' they cried, 'is seen! there goes the flying tortoise queen!' 'the queen!' ('twas thus the tortoise spoke;) 'i'm truly that, without a joke.' much better had she held her tongue for, opening that whereby she clung, before the gazing crowd she fell, and dash'd to bits her brittle shell. imprudence, vanity, and babble, and idle curiosity, an ever-undivided rabble, have all the same paternity. [ ] bidpaii. iv.--the fishes and the cormorant.[ ] no pond nor pool within his haunt but paid a certain cormorant its contribution from its fishes, and stock'd his kitchen with good dishes. yet, when old age the bird had chill'd, his kitchen was less amply fill'd. all cormorants, however grey, must die, or for themselves purvey. but ours had now become so blind, his finny prey he could not find; and, having neither hook nor net, his appetite was poorly met. what hope, with famine thus infested? necessity, whom history mentions, a famous mother of inventions, the following stratagem suggested: he found upon the water's brink a crab, to which said he, 'my friend, a weighty errand let me send: go quicker than a wink-- down to the fishes sink, and tell them they are doom'd to die; for, ere eight days have hasten'd by, its lord will fish this water dry.' the crab, as fast as she could scrabble, went down, and told the scaly rabble. what bustling, gathering, agitation! straight up they send a deputation to wait upon the ancient bird. 'sir cormorant, whence hast thou heard this dreadful news? and what assurance of it hast thou got? how such a danger can we shun? pray tell us, what is to be done? 'why, change your dwelling-place,' said he, 'what, change our dwelling! how can we?' 'o, by your leave, i'll take that care, and, one by one, in safety bear you all to my retreat: the path's unknown to any feet, except my own. a pool, scoop'd out by nature's hands, amidst the desert rocks and sands, where human traitors never come, shall save your people from their doom.' the fish republic swallow'd all, and, coming at the fellow's call, were singly borne away to stock a pond beneath a lonely rock; and there good prophet cormorant, proprietor and bailiff sole, from narrow water, clear and shoal, with ease supplied his daily want, and taught them, at their own expense, that heads well stored with common sense give no devourers confidence.-- still did the change not hurt their case, since, had they staid, the human race, successful by pernicious art, would have consumed as large a part. what matters who your flesh devours, of human or of bestial powers? in this respect, or wild or tame, all stomachs seem to me the same: the odds is small, in point of sorrow, of death to-day, or death to-morrow. [ ] bidpaii. v.--the burier and his comrade.[ ] a close-fist had his money hoarded beyond the room his till afforded. his avarice aye growing ranker, (whereby his mind of course grew blanker,) he was perplex'd to choose a banker; for banker he must have, he thought, or all his heap would come to nought. 'i fear,' said he, 'if kept at home, and other robbers should not come, it might be equal cause of grief that i had proved myself the thief.' the thief! is to enjoy one's pelf to rob or steal it from one's self? my friend, could but my pity reach you, this lesson i would gladly teach you, that wealth is weal no longer than diffuse and part with it you can: without that power, it is a woe. would you for age keep back its flow? age buried 'neath its joyless snow? with pains of getting, care of got consumes the value, every jot, of gold that one can never spare. to take the load of such a care, assistants were not very rare. the earth was that which pleased him best. dismissing thought of all the rest, he with his friend, his trustiest,-- a sort of shovel-secretary,-- went forth his hoard to bury. safe done, a few days afterward, the man must look beneath the sward-- when, what a mystery! behold the mine exhausted of its gold! suspecting, with the best of cause, his friend was privy to his loss, he bade him, in a cautious mood, to come as soon as well he could, for still some other coins he had, which to the rest he wish'd to add. expecting thus to get the whole, the friend put back the sum he stole, then came with all despatch. the other proved an overmatch: resolved at length to save by spending, his practice thus most wisely mending, the total treasure home he carried-- no longer hoarded it or buried. chapfallen was the thief, when gone he saw his prospects and his pawn. from this it may be stated, that knaves with ease are cheated. [ ] abstemius. vi.--the wolf and the shepherds.[ ] a wolf, replete with humanity sweet, (a trait not much suspected,) on his cruel deeds, the fruit of his needs, profoundly thus reflected. 'i'm hated,' said he, 'as joint enemy, by hunters, dogs, and clowns. they swear i shall die, and their hue and cry the very thunder drowns. 'my brethren have fled, with price on the head, from england's merry land. king edgar came out, and put them to rout,[ ] with many a deadly band. 'and there's not a squire but blows up the fire by hostile proclamation; nor a human brat, dares cry, but that its mother mocks my nation. 'and all for what? for a sheep with the rot, or scabby, mangy ass, or some snarling cur, with less meat than fur, on which i've broken fast! 'well, henceforth i'll strive that nothing alive shall die to quench my thirst; no lambkin shall fall, nor puppy, at all, to glut my maw accurst. with grass i'll appease, or browse on the trees, or die of famine first. 'what of carcass warm? is it worth the storm of universal hate?' as he spoke these words, the lords of the herds, all seated at their bait, he saw; and observed the meat which was served was nought but roasted lamb! 'o! o!' said the beast, 'repent of my feast-- all butcher as i am-- on these vermin mean, whose guardians e'en eat at a rate quadruple!-- themselves and their dogs, as greedy as hogs, and i, a wolf, to scruple!' 'look out for your wool i'll not be a fool, the very pet i'll eat; the lamb the best-looking, without any cooking, i'll strangle from the teat; and swallow the dam, as well as the lamb, and stop her foolish bleat. old hornie, too,--rot him,-- the sire that begot him shall be among my meat!' well-reasoning beast! were we sent to feast on creatures wild and tame? and shall we reduce the beasts to the use of vegetable game? shall animals not have flesh-hook or pot, as in the age of gold? and we claim the right, in the pride of our might, themselves to have and hold? o shepherds, that keep your folds full of sheep, the wolf was only wrong, because, so to speak, his jaws were too weak to break your palings strong. [ ] founded upon one of philibert hegemon's fables. [ ] _king edgar put them to rout._--the english king edgar (reigned - ) took great pains in hunting and pursuing wolves; "and," says hume, "when he found that all that escaped him had taken shelter in the mountains and forests of wales, he changed the tribute of money imposed on the welsh princes by athelstan, his predecessor, into an annual tribute of three hundred heads of wolves; which produced such diligence in hunting them, that the animal has been no more seen in this island."--hume's _england_, vol. i., p. , bell's edit., . vii.--the spider and the swallow.[ ] 'o jupiter, whose fruitful brain, by odd obstetrics freed from pain, bore pallas,[ ] erst my mortal foe,[ ] pray listen to my tale of woe. this progne[ ] takes my lawful prey. as through the air she cuts her way, and skims the waves in seeming play. my flies she catches from my door,-- 'yes, _mine_--i emphasize the word,-- and, but for this accursed bird, my net would hold an ample store: for i have woven it of stuff to hold the strongest strong enough.' 'twas thus, in terms of insolence, complain'd the fretful spider, once of palace-tapestry a weaver, but then a spinster and deceiver, that hoped within her toils to bring of insects all that ply the wing. the sister swift of philomel, intent on business, prosper'd well; in spite of the complaining pest, the insects carried to her nest-- nest pitiless to suffering flies-- mouths gaping aye, to gormandize, of young ones clamouring, and stammering, with unintelligible cries. the spider, with but head and feet. and powerless to compete with wings so fleet, soon saw herself a prey. the swallow, passing swiftly by, bore web and all away, the spinster dangling in the sky! two tables hath our maker set for all that in this world are met. to seats around the first the skilful, vigilant, and strong are beckon'd: their hunger and their thirst the rest must quell with leavings at the second. [ ] abstemius. [ ] _pallas_.--an allusion to the birth of pallas, or minerva--grown and armed--from the brain of jove. [ ] _mortal foe_.--arachne (whence the spider (_aranea_) has its name) was a woman of colopho who challenged pallas to a trial of skill in needlework, and, being defeated, hanged herself. she was changed into a spider: _vide_ ovid, _metam._, book vi., &c. [ ] _progne_.--the sister of philomela, turned into a swallow, as mentioned in note to fable xv., book iii. viii.--the partridge and the cocks.[ ] with a set of uncivil and turbulent cocks, that deserved for their noise to be put in the stocks, a partridge was placed to be rear'd. her sex, by politeness revered, made her hope, from a gentry devoted to love, for the courtesy due to the tenderest dove; nay, protection chivalric from knights of the yard. that gentry, however, with little regard for the honours and knighthood wherewith they were deck'd, and for the strange lady as little respect, her ladyship often most horribly peck'd. at first, she was greatly afflicted therefor, but when she had noticed these madcaps at war with each other, and dealing far bloodier blows, consoling her own individual woes,-- 'entail'd by their customs,' said she, 'is the shame; let us pity the simpletons rather than blame. our maker creates not all spirits the same; the cocks and the partridges certainly differ, by a nature than laws of civility stiffer. were the choice to be mine, i would finish my life in society freer from riot and strife. but the lord of this soil has a different plan; his tunnel our race to captivity brings, he throws us with cocks, after clipping our wings. 'tis little we have to complain of but man.' [ ] aesop. ix.--the dog whose ears were cropped. 'what have i done, i'd like to know, to make my master maim me so? a pretty figure i shall cut! from other dogs i'll keep, in kennel shut. ye kings of beasts, or rather tyrants, ho! would any beast have served you so?' thus growler cried, a mastiff young;-- the man, whom pity never stung, went on to prune him of his ears. though growler whined about his losses, he found, before the lapse of years, himself a gainer by the process; for, being by his nature prone to fight his brethren for a bone, he'd oft come back from sad reverse with those appendages the worse. all snarling dogs have ragged ears. the less of hold for teeth of foe, the better will the battle go. when, in a certain place, one fears the chance of being hurt or beat, he fortifies it from defeat. besides the shortness of his ears, see growler arm'd against his likes with gorget full of ugly spikes. a wolf would find it quite a puzzle to get a hold about his muzzle. x.--the shepherd and the king.[ ] two demons at their pleasure share our being-- the cause of reason from her homestead fleeing; no heart but on their altars kindleth flames. if you demand their purposes and names, the one is love, the other is ambition. of far the greater share this takes possession, for even into love it enters, which i might prove; but now my story centres upon a shepherd clothed with lofty powers: the tale belongs to older times than ours. a king observed a flock, wide spread upon the plains, most admirably fed, o'erpaying largely, as return'd the years, their shepherd's care, by harvests for his shears. such pleasure in this man the monarch took,-- 'thou meritest,' said he, 'to wield a crook o'er higher flock than this; and my esteem o'er men now makes thee judge supreme.' behold our shepherd, scales in hand, although a hermit and a wolf or two, besides his flock and dogs, were all he knew! well stock'd with sense, all else upon demand would come of course, and did, we understand. his neighbour hermit came to him to say, 'am i awake? is this no dream, i pray? you favourite! you great! beware of kings, their favours are but slippery things, dear-bought; to mount the heights to which they call is but to court a more illustrious fall. you little know to what this lure beguiles. my friend, i say, beware!' the other smiles. the hermit adds, 'see how the court has marr'd your wisdom even now! that purblind traveller i seem to see, who, having lost his whip, by strange mistake, took for a better one a snake; but, while he thank'd his stars, brimful of glee, outcried a passenger, "god shield your breast! why, man, for life, throw down that treacherous pest, that snake!"--"it is my whip."--"a snake, i say: what selfish end could prompt my warning, pray? think you to keep your prize?"--"and wherefore not? my whip was worn; i've found another new: this counsel grave from envy springs in you."-- the stubborn wight would not believe a jot, till warm and lithe the serpent grew, and, striking with his venom, slew the man almost upon the spot. and as to you, i dare predict that something worse will soon afflict.' 'indeed? what worse than death, prophetic hermit?' 'perhaps, the compound heartache i may term it.' and never was there truer prophecy. full many a courtier pest, by many a lie contrived, and many a cruel slander, to make the king suspect the judge awry in both ability and candour. cabals were raised, and dark conspiracies, of men that felt aggrieved by his decrees. 'with wealth of ours he hath a palace built,' said they. the king, astonish'd at his guilt, his ill-got riches ask'd to see. he found but mediocrity, bespeaking strictest honesty. so much for his magnificence. anon, his plunder was a hoard immense of precious stones that fill'd an iron box all fast secur'd by half a score of locks. himself the coffer oped, and sad surprise befell those manufacturers of lies. the open'd lid disclosed no other matters than, first, a shepherd's suit in tatters, and then a cap and jacket, pipe and crook, and scrip, mayhap with pebbles from the brook. 'o treasure sweet,' said he, 'that never drew the viper brood of envy's lies on you! i take you back, and leave this palace splendid, as some roused sleeper doth a dream that's ended. forgive me, sire, this exclamation. in mounting up, my fall i had foreseen, yet loved the height too well; for who hath been, of mortal race, devoid of all ambition?' [ ] bidpaii (_the hermit_). also in lokman. xi.--the fishes and the shepherd who played the flute.[ ] thrysis--who for his annette dear made music with his flute and voice, which might have roused the dead to hear, and in their silent graves rejoice-- sang once the livelong day, in the flowery month of may, up and down a meadow brook, while annette fish'd with line and hook. but ne'er a fish would bite; so the shepherdess's bait drew not a fish to its fate, from morning dawn till night. the shepherd, who, by his charming songs, had drawn savage beasts to him in throngs, and done with them as he pleased to, thought that he could serve the fish so. 'o citizens,' he sang, 'of this water, leave your naiad in her grot profound; come and see the blue sky's lovely daughter, who a thousand times more will charm you; fear not that her prison will harm you, though there you should chance to get bound. 'tis only to us men she is cruel: you she will treat kindly; a snug little pond she'll find ye, clearer than a crystal jewel, where you may all live and do well; or, if by chance some few should find their fate conceal'd in the bait, the happier still are you; for envied is the death that's met at the hands of sweet annette.' this eloquence not effecting the object of his wishes, since it failed in collecting the deaf and dumb fishes,-- his sweet preaching wasted, his honey'd talk untasted, a net the shepherd seized, and, pouncing with a fell scoop at the scaly fry, he caught them; and now, madly flouncing, at the feet of his annette they lie! o ye shepherds, whose sheep men are, to trust in reason never dare. the arts of eloquence sublime are not within your calling; your fish were caught, from oldest time, by dint of nets and hauling. [ ] aesop. xii.--the two parrots, the king, and his son.[ ] two parrots lived, a sire and son, on roastings from a royal fire. two demigods, a son and sire, these parrots pension'd for their fun. time tied the knot of love sincere: the sires grew to each other dear; the sons, in spite of their frivolity, grew comrades boon, in joke and jollity; at mess they mated, hot or cool; were fellow-scholars at a school. which did the bird no little honour, since the boy, by king begotten, was a prince. by nature fond of birds, the prince, too, petted a sparrow, which delightfully coquetted. these rivals, both of unripe feather, one day were frolicking together: as oft befalls such little folks, a quarrel follow'd from their jokes. the sparrow, quite uncircumspect, was by the parrot sadly peck'd; with drooping wing and bloody head, his master pick'd him up for dead, and, being quite too wroth to bear it, in heat of passion kill'd his parrot. when this sad piece of news he heard, distracted was the parent bird. his piercing cries bespoke his pain; but cries and tears were all in vain. the talking bird had left the shore;[ ] in short, he, talking now no more, caused such a rage to seize his sire, that, lighting on the prince in ire, he put out both his eyes, and fled for safety as was wise. the bird a pine for refuge chose, and to its lofty summit rose; there, in the bosom of the skies, enjoy'd his vengeance sweet, and scorn'd the wrath beneath his feet. out ran the king, and cried, in soothing tone, 'return, dear friend; what serves it to bemoan? hate, vengeance, mourning, let us both omit. for me, it is no more than fit to own, though with an aching heart, the wrong is wholly on our part. th' aggressor truly was my son-- my son? no; but by fate the deed was done. ere birth of time, stern destiny had written down the sad decree, that by this sad calamity your child should cease to live, and mine to see. 'let both, then, cease to mourn; and you, back to your cage return.' 'sire king,' replied the bird, 'think you that, after such a deed, i ought to trust your word? you speak of fate; by such a heathen creed hope you that i shall be enticed to bleed? but whether fate or providence divine gives law to things below, 'tis writ on high, that on this waving pine, or where wild forests grow, my days i finish, safely, far from that which ought your love to mar, and turn it all to hate. revenge, i know, 's a kingly morsel, and ever hath been part and parcel of this your godlike state. you would forget the cause of grief; suppose i grant you my belief,-- 'tis better still to make it true, by keeping out of sight of you. sire king, my friend, no longer wait for friendship to be heal'd;.... but absence is the cure of hate, as 'tis from love the shield.' [ ] bidpaii. in knatchbull's english edition the fable is titled "the king and the bird, or the emblem of revengeful persons who are unworthy of trust." it is also in the lokman collection. [ ] _the talking bird_, &c.--"stygia natabat jam frigida cymba."--virg.--translator. xiii.--the lioness and the bear. the lioness had lost her young; a hunter stole it from the vale; the forests and the mountains rung responsive to her hideous wail. nor night, nor charms of sweet repose, could still the loud lament that rose from that grim forest queen. no animal, as you might think, with such a noise could sleep a wink. a bear presumed to intervene. 'one word, sweet friend,' quoth she, 'and that is all, from me. the young that through your teeth have pass'd, in file unbroken by a fast, had they nor dam nor sire?' 'they had them both.' 'then i desire, since all their deaths caused no such grievous riot, while mothers died of grief beneath your fiat, to know why you yourself cannot be quiet?' 'i quiet!--i!--a wretch bereaved! my only son!--such anguish be relieved! no, never! all for me below is but a life of tears and woe!'-- 'but say, why doom yourself to sorrow so?'-- 'alas! 'tis destiny that is my foe.' such language, since the mortal fall, has fallen from the lips of all. ye human wretches, give your heed; for your complaints there's little need. let him who thinks his own the hardest case, some widowed, childless hecuba behold, herself to toil and shame of slavery sold, and he will own the wealth of heavenly grace. xiv.--the two adventurers and the talisman.[ ] no flowery path to glory leads. this truth no better voucher needs than hercules, of mighty deeds. few demigods, the tomes of fable reveal to us as being able such weight of task-work to endure: in history, i find still fewer. one such, however, here behold-- a knight by talisman made bold, within the regions of romance, to seek adventures with the lance. there rode a comrade at his ride, and as they rode they both espied this writing on a post:-- "wouldst see, sir valiant knight, a thing whereof the sight no errant yet can boast? thou hast this torrent but to ford, and, lifting up, alone, the elephant of stone upon its margin shored, upbear it to the mountain's brow, round which, aloft before thee now, the misty chaplets wreathe-- not stopping once to breathe." one knight, whose nostrils bled, betokening courage fled, cried out, 'what if that current's sweep not only rapid be, but deep! and grant it cross'd,--pray, why encumber one's arms with that unwieldy lumber, an elephant of stone? perhaps the artist may have done his work in such a way, that one might lug it twice its length; but then to reach yon mountain top, and that without a breathing stop, were surely past a mortal's strength-- unless, indeed, it be no bigger than some wee, pigmy, dwarfish figure, which one would head a cane withal;-- and if to this the case should fall, the adventurer's honour would be small! this posting seems to me a trap, or riddle for some greenish chap; i therefore leave the whole to you.' the doubtful reasoner onward hies. with heart resolved, in spite of eyes, the other boldly dashes through; nor depth of flood nor force can stop his onward course. he finds the elephant of stone; he lifts it all alone; without a breathing stop, he bears it to the top of that steep mount, and seeth there a high-wall'd city, great and fair. out-cried the elephant--and hush'd; but forth in arms the people rush'd. a knight less bold had surely fled; but he, so far from turning back, his course right onward sped, resolved himself to make attack, and die but with the bravest dead. amazed was he to hear that band proclaim him monarch of their land, and welcome him, in place of one whose death had left a vacant throne! in sooth, he lent a gracious ear, meanwhile expressing modest fear, lest such a load of royal care should be too great for him to bear. and so, exactly, sixtus[ ] said, when first the pope's tiara press'd his head; (though, is it such a grievous thing to be a pope, or be a king?) but days were few before they read it, that with but little truth he said it. blind fortune follows daring blind. oft executes the wisest man, ere yet the wisdom of his mind is task'd his means or end to scan. [ ] bidpaii; also in lokman. [ ] _sixtus_.--pope sixtus v., who simulated decrepitude to get elected to the papal chair, and when elected threw off all disguise and ruled despotically. xv.--the rabbits.[ ] an address to the duke de la rochefoucauld.[ ] while watching man in all his phases, and seeing that, in many cases, he acts just like the brute creation,-- i've thought the lord of all these races of no less failings show'd the traces than do his lieges in relation; and that, in making it, dame nature hath put a spice in every creature from off the self-same spirit-stuff-- not from the immaterial, but what we call ethereal, refined from matter rough. an illustration please to hear. just on the still frontier of either day or night,-- or when the lord of light reclines his radiant head upon his watery bed, or when he dons the gear, to drive a new career,-- while yet with doubtful sway the hour is ruled 'twixt night and day,-- some border forest-tree i climb; and, acting jove, from height sublime my fatal bolt at will directing, i kill some rabbit unsuspecting. the rest that frolick'd on the heath, or browsed the thyme with dainty teeth, with open eye and watchful ear, behold, all scampering from beneath, instinct with mortal fear. all, frighten'd simply by the sound, hie to their city underground. but soon the danger is forgot, and just as soon the fear lives not: the rabbits, gayer than before, i see beneath my hand once more! are not mankind well pictured here? by storms asunder driven, they scarcely reach their haven, and cast their anchor, ere they tempt the same dread shocks of tempests, waves, and rocks. true rabbits, back they frisk to meet the self-same risk! i add another common case. when dogs pass through a place beyond their customary bounds, and meet with others, curs or hounds, imagine what a holiday! the native dogs, whose interests centre in one great organ, term'd the venter, the strangers rush at, bite, and bay; with cynic pertness tease and worry, and chase them off their territory. so, too, do men. wealth, grandeur, glory, to men of office or profession, of every sort, in every nation, as tempting are, and sweet, as is to dogs the refuse meat. with us, it is a general fact, one sees the latest-come attack'd, and plunder'd to the skin. coquettes and authors we may view, as samples of the sin; for woe to belle or writer new! the fewer eaters round the cake, the fewer players for the stake, the surer each one's self to take. a hundred facts my truth might test; but shortest works are always best. in this i but pursue the chart laid down by masters of the art; and, on the best of themes, i hold, the truth should never all be told. hence, here my sermon ought to close. o thou, to whom my fable owes whate'er it has of solid worth,-- who, great by modesty as well as birth, hast ever counted praise a pain,-- whose leave i could so ill obtain that here your name, receiving homage, should save from every sort of damage my slender works--which name, well known to nations, and to ancient time, all france delights to own; herself more rich in names sublime than any other earthly clime;-- permit me here the world to teach that you have given my simple rhyme the text from which it dares to preach. [ ] this fable in the original editions has no other title save--"an address," &c. later editors titled it "les lapins." [ ] _rochefoucauld_.--see fable xi., book i., also dedicated to the duke, and the note thereto. xvi.--the merchant, the noble, the shepherd, and the king's son.[ ] four voyagers to parts unknown, on shore, not far from naked, thrown by furious waves,--a merchant, now undone, a noble, shepherd, and a monarch's son,-- brought to the lot of belisarius,[ ] their wants supplied on alms precarious. to tell what fates, and winds, and weather, had brought these mortals all together, though from far distant points abscinded, would make my tale long-winded. suffice to say, that, by a fountain met, in council grave these outcasts held debate. the prince enlarged, in an oration set, upon the mis'ries that befall the great. the shepherd deem'd it best to cast off thought of all misfortune past, and each to do the best he could, in efforts for the common weal. 'did ever a repining mood,' he added, 'a misfortune heal? toil, friends, will take us back to rome, or make us here as good a home.' a shepherd so to speak! a shepherd? what! as though crown'd heads were not, by heaven's appointment fit, the sole receptacles of wit! as though a shepherd could be deeper, in thought or knowledge, than his sheep are! the three, howe'er, at once approved his plan, wreck'd as they were on shores american. 'i'll teach arithmetic,' the merchant said,-- its rules, of course, well seated in his head,-- 'for monthly pay.' the prince replied, 'and i will teach political economy.' 'and i,' the noble said, 'in heraldry well versed, will open for that branch a school--' as if, beyond a thousand leagues of sea, that senseless jargon could befool! 'my friends, you talk like men,' the shepherd cried, 'but then the month has thirty days; till they are spent, are we upon your faith to keep full lent? the hope you give is truly good; but, ere it comes, we starve for food! pray tell me, if you can divine, on what, to-morrow, we shall dine; or tell me, rather, whence we may obtain a supper for to-day. this point, if truth should be confess'd, is first, and vital to the rest. your science short in this respect, my hands shall cover the defect.--' this said, the nearest woods he sought, and thence for market fagots brought, whose price that day, and eke the next, relieved the company perplex'd-- forbidding that, by fasting, they should go to use their talents in the world below. we learn from this adventure's course, there needs but little skill to get a living. thanks to the gifts of nature's giving, our hands are much the readiest resource. [ ] bidpaii, and lokman. [ ] _belisarius_.--belisarius was a great general, who, having commanded the armies of the emperor, and lost the favour of his master, fell to such a point of destitution that he asked alms upon the highways.--la fontaine. the touching story of the fall of belisarius, of which painters and poets have made so much, is entirely false, as may be seen by consulting gibbon's "decline and fall of the roman empire," chap. xliii.--translator. * * * * * book xi. i.--the lion.[ ] some time ago, a sultan leopard, by means of many a rich escheat, had many an ox in meadow sweet, and many a stag in forest, fleet, and (what a savage sort of shepherd!) full many a sheep upon the plains, that lay within his wide domains. not far away, one morn, there was a lion born. exchanged high compliments of state, as is the custom with the great, the sultan call'd his vizier fox, who had a deeper knowledge-box, and said to him, 'this lion's whelp you dread; what can he do, his father being dead? our pity rather let him share, an orphan so beset with care. the luckiest lion ever known, if, letting conquest quite alone, he should have power to keep his own.' sir renard said, and shook his head, 'such orphans, please your majesty, will get no pity out of me. we ought to keep within his favour, or else with all our might endeavour to thrust him out of life and throne, ere yet his claws and teeth are grown. there's not a moment to be lost. his horoscope i've cast; he'll never quarrel to his cost; but then his friendship fast will be to friends of greater worth than any lion's e'er on earth. try then, my liege, to make it ours, or else to check his rising powers.' the warning fell in vain. the sultan slept; and beasts and men did so, throughout his whole domain, till lion's whelp became a lion. then came at once the tocsin cry on, alarm and fluttering consternation. the vizier call'd to consultation, a sigh escaped him as he said, 'why all this mad excitement now, when hope is fled, no matter how? a thousand men were useless aid,-- the more, the worse,--since all their power would be our mutton to devour. appease this lion; sole he doth exceed the helpers all that on us feed. and three hath he, that cost him nought-- his courage, strength, and watchful thought. quick send a wether for his use: if not contented, send him more; yes, add an ox, and see you choose the best our pastures ever bore. thus save the rest.'--but such advice the sultan spurn'd, as cowardice. and his, and many states beside, did ills, in consequence, betide. however fought this world allied, the beast maintain'd his power and pride. if you must let the lion grow, don't let him live to be your foe. [ ] the fable of the young leopard in the bidpaii collection resembles this. ii.--the gods wishing to instruct a son of jupiter.[ ] for monseigneur the duke du maine. to jupiter was born a son,[ ] who, conscious of his origin, a godlike spirit had within. to love, such age is little prone; yet this celestial boy made love his chief employ, and was beloved wherever known. in him both love and reason sprang up before their season. with charming smiles and manners winning, had flora deck'd his life's beginning, as an olympian became: whatever lights the tender flame,-- a heart to take and render bliss,-- tears, sighs, in short the whole were his. jove's son, he should of course inherit a higher and a nobler spirit than sons of other deities. it seem'd as if by memory's aid-- as if a previous life had made experiment and hid it-- he plied the lover's hard-learn'd trade, so perfectly he did it. still jupiter would educate in manner fitting to his state. the gods, obedient to his call, assemble in their council-hall; when thus the sire: 'companionless and sole, thus far the boundless universe i roll; but numerous other offices there are, of which i give to younger gods the care. i'm now forecasting for this cherish'd child, whose countless altars are already piled. to merit such regard from all below, all things the young immortal ought to know.' no sooner had the thund'rer ended, than each his godlike plan commended; nor did the boy too little yearn his lesson infinite to learn. said fiery mars, 'i take the part to make him master of the art whereby so many heroes high have won the honours of the sky.' 'to teach him music be my care,' apollo said, the wise and fair; 'and mine,' that mighty god replied, in the nemaean lion's hide, 'to teach him to subdue the vices, an envenom'd crew, like hydras springing ever new. the foe of weakening luxury, the boy divine will learn from me those rugged paths, so little trod, that lead to glory man and god.' said cupid, when it came his turn, 'all things from me the boy may learn.' well spoke the god of love. what feat of mars, or hercules, or bright apollo, lies above wit, wing'd by a desire to please? [ ] this title does not exist in the original editions. it appeared for the first time in the edition of . the original heading to the fable is "for monseigneur," &c. [ ] _to jupiter was born a son_.--jupiter here is louis xiv., and his son is the duke du maine to whom the fable is addressed. the duke was the son of louis and madame de montespan. he was born at versailles in ; and when la fontaine wrote this address to him he was about eight years old, and the pupil of madame de maintenon, his mother's successor in the affections of the king. iii.--the farmer, the dog, and the fox.[ ] the wolf and fox are neighbours strange: i would not build within their range. the fox once eyed with strict regard from day to day, a poultry-yard; but though a most accomplish'd cheat, he could not get a fowl to eat. between the risk and appetite, his rogueship's trouble was not slight. 'alas!' quoth he, 'this stupid rabble but mock me with their constant gabble; i go and come, and rack my brains, and get my labour for my pains. your rustic owner, safe at home, takes all the profits as they come: he sells his capons and his chicks, or keeps them hanging on his hook, all dress'd and ready for his cook; but i, adept in art and tricks, should i but catch the toughest crower, should be brimful of joy, and more. o jove supreme! why was i made a master of the fox's trade? by all the higher powers, and lower, i swear to rob this chicken-grower!' revolving such revenge within, when night had still'd the various din, and poppies seem'd to bear full sway o'er man and dog, as lock'd they lay alike secure in slumber deep, and cocks and hens were fast asleep, upon the populous roost he stole. by negligence,--a common sin,-- the farmer left unclosed the hole, and, stooping down, the fox went in. the blood of every fowl was spill'd, the citadel with murder fill'd. the dawn disclosed sad sights, i ween, when heaps on slaughter'd heaps were seen, all weltering in their mingled gore. with horror stricken, as of yore, the sun well nigh shrunk back again, to hide beneath the liquid main. such sight once saw the trojan plain, when on the fierce atrides'[ ] head apollo's awful anger fell, and strew'd the crimson field with dead: of greeks, scarce one was left to tell the carnage of that night so dread. such slaughter, too, around his tent, the furious ajax made, one night, of sheep and goats, in easy fight; in anger blindly confident that by his well-directed blows ulysses fell, or some of those by whose iniquity and lies that wily rival took the prize. the fox, thus having ajax play'd, bore off the nicest of the brood,-- as many pullets as he could,-- and left the rest, all prostrate laid. the owner found his sole resource his servants and his dog to curse. 'you useless puppy, better drown'd! why did you not your 'larum sound?' 'why did you not the evil shun,' quoth towser, 'as you might have done? if you, whose interest was more, could sleep and leave an open door, think you that i, a dog at best, would watch, and lose my precious rest?' this pithy speech had been, in truth, good logic in a master's mouth; but, coming from a menial's lip, it even lack'd the lawyership to save poor towser from the whip. o thou who head'st a family, (an honour never grudged by me,) thou art a patriarch unwise, to sleep, and trust another's eyes. thyself shouldst go to bed the last, thy doors all seen to, shut and fast. i charge you never let a fox see your special business done by proxy. [ ] abstemius. [ ] _atrides_.--atreus, or atrides, king of mycenae, and grandfather of agamemnon. he caused his brother theyestes to banquet on the flesh of his own children. after the repast, proceeds the story, the arms and heads of the murdered children were produced to convince theyestes of what he had feasted on; and at the deed "the sun shrunk back in his course." iv.--the mogul's dream.[ ] long since, a mogul saw, in dream, a vizier in elysian bliss; no higher joy could be or seem, or purer, than was ever his. elsewhere was dream'd of by the same a wretched hermit wrapp'd in flame, whose lot e'en touch'd, so pain'd was he, the partners of his misery. was minos[ ] mock'd? or had these ghosts, by some mistake, exchanged their posts? surprise at this the vision broke; the dreamer suddenly awoke. some mystery suspecting in it, he got a wise one to explain it. replied the sage interpreter, 'let not the thing a marvel seem: there is a meaning in your dream: if i have aught of knowledge, sir, it covers counsel from the gods. while tenanting these clay abodes, this vizier sometimes gladly sought the solitude that favours thought; whereas, the hermit, in his cot, had longings for a vizier's lot.' to this interpretation dared i add, the love of solitude i would inspire. it satisfies the heart's desire with unencumber'd gifts and glad-- heaven-planted joys, of stingless sweet, aye springing up beneath our feet. o solitude! whose secret charms i know-- retreats that i have loved--when shall i go to taste, far from a world of din and noise, your shades so fresh, where silence has a voice? when shall their soothing gloom my refuge be? when shall the sacred nine, from courts afar, and cities with all solitude at war, engross entire, and teach their votary the stealthy movements of the spangled nights, the names and virtues of those errant lights which rule o'er human character and fate? or, if not born to purposes so great, the streams, at least, shall win my heartfelt thanks, while, in my verse, i paint their flowery banks. fate shall not weave my life with golden thread, nor, 'neath rich fret-work, on a purple bed, shall i repose, full late, my care-worn head. but will my sleep be less a treasure? less deep, thereby, and full of pleasure? i vow it, sweet and gentle as the dew, within those deserts sacrifices new; and when the time shall come to yield my breath, without remorse i'll join the ranks of death.[ ] [ ] the original story of this fable is traced to sadi, the persian poet and fabulist, who flourished in the twelfth century. la fontaine probably found it in the french edition of sadi's "gulistan; or the garden of flowers" which was published by andré du ryer in . [ ] _minos_.--chief judge in the infernal regions. [ ] for some remarks upon this fable see translator's preface. v.--the lion, the monkey, and the two asses.[ ] the lion, for his kingdom's sake, in morals would some lessons take, and therefore call'd, one summer's day, the monkey, master of the arts, an animal of brilliant parts, to hear what he could say. 'great king,' the monkey thus began, 'to reign upon the wisest plan requires a prince to set his zeal, and passion for the public weal, distinctly and quite high above a certain feeling call'd self-love, the parent of all vices, in creatures of all sizes. to will this feeling from one's breast away, is not the easy labour of a day; 'tis much to moderate its tyrant sway. by that your majesty august, will execute your royal trust, from folly free and aught unjust.' 'give me,' replied the king, 'example of each thing.' 'each species,' said the sage,-- 'and i begin with ours,-- exalts its own peculiar powers above sound reason's gauge. meanwhile, all other kinds and tribes as fools and blockheads it describes, with other compliments as cheap. but, on the other hand, the same self-love inspires a beast to heap the highest pyramid of fame for every one that bears his name; because he justly deems such praise the easiest way himself to raise. 'tis my conclusion in the case, that many a talent here below is but cabal, or sheer grimace,-- the art of seeming things to know-- an art in which perfection lies more with the ignorant than wise. 'two asses tracking, t'other day, of which each in his turn, did incense to the other burn, quite in the usual way,-- i heard one to his comrade say, "my lord, do you not find the prince of knaves and fools to be this man, who boasts of mind instructed in his schools? with wit unseemly and profane, he mocks our venerable race-- on each of his who lacketh brain bestows our ancient surname, ass! and, with abusive tongue portraying, describes our laugh and talk as braying! these bipeds of their folly tell us, while thus pretending to excel us." "no, 'tis for you to speak, my friend, and let their orators attend. the braying is their own, but let them be: we understand each other, and agree, and that's enough. as for your song, such wonders to its notes belong, the nightingale is put to shame, and lambert[ ] loses half his fame." "my lord," the other ass replied, "such talents in yourself reside, of asses all, the joy and pride." these donkeys, not quite satisfied with scratching thus each other's hide, must needs the cities visit, their fortunes there to raise, by sounding forth the praise, each, of the other's skill exquisite. full many, in this age of ours,-- not only among asses, but in the higher classes, whom heaven hath clothed with higher powers,-- dared they but do it, would exalt a simple innocence from fault, or virtue common and domestic, to excellence majestic. i've said too much, perhaps; but i suppose your majesty the secret won't disclose, since 'twas your majesty's request that i this matter should exemplify. how love of self gives food to ridicule, i've shown. to prove the balance of my rule, that justice is a sufferer thereby, a longer time will take.' 'twas thus the monkey spake. but my informant does not state, that e'er the sage did demonstrate the other point, more delicate. perhaps he thought none but a fool a lion would too strictly school. [ ] this fable is founded upon the latin proverb _asinus asinum fricat_. [ ] _lambert_.--this was michael lambert, master of chamber-music to louis xiv., and brother-in-law to the grand monarque's other great music man, j. b. lulli, who was chapel-music master. vi.--the wolf and the fox. why aesop gave the palm of cunning, o'er flying animals and running, to renard fox, i cannot tell, though i have search'd the subject well. hath not sir wolf an equal skill in tricks and artifices shown, when he would do some life an ill, or from his foes defend his own? i think he hath; and, void of disrespect, i might, perhaps, my master contradict: yet here's a case, in which the burrow-lodger was palpably, i own, the brightest dodger. one night he spied within a well, wherein the fullest moonlight fell, what seem'd to him an ample cheese. two balanced buckets took their turns when drawers thence would fill their urns. our fox went down in one of these, by hunger greatly press'd to sup, and drew the other empty up. convinced at once of his mistake, and anxious for his safety's sake, he saw his death was near and sure, unless some other wretch in need the same moon's image should allure to take a bucket and succeed to his predicament, indeed. two days pass'd by, and none approach'd the well; unhalting time, as is his wont, was scooping from the moon's full front, and as he scoop'd sir renard's courage fell. his crony wolf, of clamorous maw, poor fox at last above him saw, and cried, 'my comrade, look you here! see what abundance of good cheer! a cheese of most delicious zest! which faunus must himself have press'd, of milk by heifer io given. if jupiter were sick in heaven, the taste would bring his appetite. i've taken, as you see, a bite; but still for both there is a plenty. pray take the bucket that i've sent ye; come down, and get your share.' although, to make the story fair, the fox had used his utmost care, the wolf (a fool to give him credit) went down because his stomach bid it-- and by his weight pull'd up sir renard to the top. we need not mock this simpleton, for we ourselves such deeds have done. our faith is prone to lend its ear to aught which we desire or fear. vii.--the peasant of the danube.[ ] to judge no man by outside view, is good advice, though not quite new. some time ago a mouse's fright upon this moral shed some light. i have for proof at present, with, aesop and good socrates,[ ] of danube's banks a certain peasant, whose portrait drawn to life, one sees, by marc aurelius, if you please. the first are well known, far and near: i briefly sketch the other here. the crop upon his fertile chin was anything but soft or thin; indeed, his person, clothed in hair, might personate an unlick'd bear. beneath his matted brow there lay an eye that squinted every way; a crooked nose and monstrous lips he bore, and goat-skin round his trunk he wore, with bulrush belt. and such a man as this is was delegate from towns the danube kisses, when not a nook on earth there linger'd by roman avarice not finger'd. before the senate thus he spoke:-- 'romans and senators who hear, i, first of all, the gods invoke, the powers whom mortals justly fear, that from my tongue there may not fall a word which i may need recall. without their aid there enters nought to human hearts of good or just: whoever leaves the same unsought, is prone to violate his trust; the prey of roman avarice, ourselves are witnesses of this. rome, by our crimes, our scourge has grown, more than by valour of her own. romans, beware lest heaven, some day, exact for all our groans the pay, and, arming us, by just reverse, to do its vengeance, stern, but meet, shall pour on you the vassal's curse, and place your necks beneath our feet! and wherefore not? for are you better than hundreds of the tribes diverse who clank the galling roman fetter? what right gives you the universe? why come and mar our quiet life? we till'd our acres free from strife; in arts our hands were skill'd to toil, as well as o'er the generous soil. what have you taught the germans brave? apt scholars, had but they your appetite for sway, they might, instead of you, enslave, without your inhumanity. that which your praetors perpetrate on us, as subjects of your state, my powers would fail me to relate. profaned their altars and their rites, the pity of your gods our lot excites. thanks to your representatives, in you they see but shameless thieves, who plunder gods as well as men. by sateless avarice insane, the men that rule our land from this are like the bottomless abyss. to satisfy their lust of gain, both man and nature toil in vain. recall them; for indeed we will our fields for such no longer till. from all our towns and plains we fly for refuge to our mountains high. we quit our homes and tender wives, to lead with savage beasts our lives-- no more to welcome into day a progeny for rome a prey. and as to those already born-- poor helpless babes forlorn!-- we wish them short career in time: your praetors force us to the crime. are they our teachers? call them home,-- they teach but luxury and vice,-- lest germans should their likes become, in fell remorseless avarice. have we a remedy at rome? i'll tell you here how matters go. hath one no present to bestow, no purple for a judge or so, the laws for him are deaf and dumb; their minister has aye in store a thousand hindrances or more. i'm sensible that truths like these are not the things to please. i've done. let death avenge you here of my complaint, a little too sincere.' he said no more; but all admired the thought with which his speech was fired; the eloquence and heart of oak with which the prostrate savage spoke. indeed, so much were all delighted, as due revenge, the man was knighted. the praetors were at once displaced, and better men the office graced. the senate, also, by decree, besought a copy of the speech, which might to future speakers be a model for the use of each. not long, howe'er, had rome the sense to entertain such eloquence. [ ] la fontaine got the historical story embodied in this fable from marcus aurelius (as he acknowledges), probably through françois cassandre's "parallèles historiques," , and the translation (from the spanish of guevara) titled the "horloge des princes," which grise and de heberay published at lyons in . [ ] aesop and socrates are usually represented as very ugly. viii.--the old man and the three young ones.[ ] a man was planting at fourscore. three striplings, who their satchels wore, 'in building,' cried, 'the sense were more; but then to plant young trees at that age! the man is surely in his dotage. pray, in the name of common sense, what fruit can he expect to gather of all this labour and expense? why, he must live like lamech's father! what use for thee, grey-headed man, to load the remnant of thy span with care for days that never can be thine? thyself to thought of errors past resign. long-growing hope, and lofty plan, leave thou to us, to whom such things belong.' 'to you!' replied the old man, hale and strong; 'i dare pronounce you altogether wrong. the settled part of man's estate is very brief, and comes full late. to those pale, gaming sisters trine, your lives are stakes as well as mine. while so uncertain is the sequel, our terms of future life are equal; for none can tell who last shall close his eyes upon the glories of these azure skies; nor any moment give us, ere it flies, assurance that another such shall rise, but my descendants, whosoe'er they be, shall owe these cooling fruits and shades to me. do you acquit yourselves, in wisdom's sight, from ministering to other hearts delight? why, boys, this is the fruit i gather now; and sweeter never blush'd on bended bough. of this, to-morrow, i may take my fill; indeed, i may enjoy its sweetness till i see full many mornings chase the glooms from off the marble of your youthful tombs.' the grey-beard man was right. one of the three, embarking, foreign lands to see, was drown'd within the very port. in quest of dignity at court, another met his country's foe, and perish'd by a random blow. the third was kill'd by falling from a tree which he himself would graft. the three were mourn'd by him of hoary head, who chisel'd on each monument-- on doing good intent-- the things which we have said. [ ] abstemius. ix.--the mice and the owl. beware of saying, 'lend an ear,' to something marvellous or witty. to disappoint your friends who hear, is possible, and were a pity. but now a clear exception see, which i maintain a prodigy-- a thing which with the air of fable, is true as is the interest-table. a pine was by a woodman fell'd, which ancient, huge, and hollow tree an owl had for his palace held-- a bird the fates[ ] had kept in fee, interpreter to such as we. within the caverns of the pine, with other tenants of that mine, were found full many footless mice, but well provision'd, fat, and nice. the bird had bit off all their feet, and fed them there with heaps of wheat. that this owl reason'd, who can doubt? when to the chase he first went out, and home alive the vermin brought, which in his talons he had caught, the nimble creatures ran away. next time, resolved to make them stay, he cropp'd their legs, and found, with pleasure, that he could eat them at his leisure; it were impossible to eat them all at once, did health permit. his foresight, equal to our own, in furnishing their food was shown. now, let cartesians, if they can, pronounce this owl a mere machine. could springs originate the plan of maiming mice when taken lean, to fatten for his soup-tureen? if reason did no service there, i do not know it anywhere. observe the course of argument: these vermin are no sooner caught than gone: they must be used as soon, 'tis evident; but this to all cannot be done. and then, for future need, i might as well take heed. hence, while their ribs i lard, i must from their elopement guard. but how?--a plan complete!-- i'll clip them of their feet! now, find me, in your human schools, a better use of logic's tools! upon your faith, what different art of thought has aristotle or his followers taught?[ ] [ ] _a bird the fates_, &c.--the owl was the bird of atropos, the most terrible of the fates, to whom was entrusted the task of cutting the thread of life. [ ] la fontaine, in a note, asserts that the subject of this fable, however marvellous, was a fact which was actually observed. his commentators, however, think the observers must have been in some measure mistaken, and i agree with them.--translator. in fable i., book x., la fontaine also argues that brutes have reasoning faculties. epilogue. 'tis thus, by crystal fount, my muse hath sung, translating into heavenly tongue whatever came within my reach, from hosts of beings borr'wing nature's speech. interpreter of tribes diverse, i've made them actors on my motley stage; for in this boundless universe there's none that talketh, simpleton or sage, more eloquent at home than in my verse. if some should find themselves by me the worse, and this my work prove not a model true, to that which i at least rough-hew, succeeding hands will give the finish due. ye pets of those sweet sisters nine, complete the task that i resign; the lessons give, which doubtless i've omitted, with wings by these inventions nicely fitted! but you're already more than occupied; for while my muse her harmless work hath plied, all europe to our sovereign yields,[ ] and learns, upon her battle-fields, to bow before the noblest plan that ever monarch form'd, or man. thence draw those sisters themes sublime, with power to conquer fate and time.[ ] [ ] _all europe to our sovereign yields_.--an allusion to the conclusion of the peace of nimeguen by louis xiv., in . louis to some extent negotiated the treaty of this peace in person, and having bought the support of the english king, charles ii. (as shown in the note to fable xviii., book vii.) the terms of the treaty were almost his own. the glory of the achievement procured for louis the surname of "le grand." the king's praises upon this account are further sounded by la fontaine in fable x., book xii. [ ] with the epilogue to the xith book la fontaine concluded his issue of fables up to - . the xiith and last book was not added till , the year before the poet's death. see translator's preface. * * * * * book xii. i.--the companions of ulysses. to monseigneur the duke de bourgogne.[ ] dear prince, a special favourite of the skies, pray let my incense from your altars rise. with these her gifts, if rather late my muse, my age and labours must her fault excuse. my spirit wanes, while yours beams on the sight at every moment with augmented light: it does not go--it runs,--it seems to fly; and he from whom it draws its traits so high, in war a hero,[ ] burns to do the same. no lack of his that, with victorious force, his giant strides mark not his glory's course: some god retains: our sovereign i might name; himself no less than conqueror divine, whom one short month made master of the rhine. it needed then upon the foe to dash; perhaps, to-day, such generalship were rash. but hush,--they say the loves and smiles abhor a speech spun out in miles; and of such deities your court is constantly composed, in short. not but that other gods, as meet, there hold the highest seat: for, free and lawless as the rest may seem, good sense and reason bear a sway supreme. consult these last about the case of certain men of grecian race, who, most unwise and indiscreet, imbibed such draughts of poison sweet, as changed their form, and brutified. ten years the heroes at ulysses' side had been the sport of wind and tide. at last those powers of water the sea-worn wanderers bore to that enchanted shore where circe reign'd, apollo's daughter. she press'd upon their thirsty lips delicious drink, but full of bane: their reason, at the first light sips, laid down the sceptre of its reign. then took their forms and features the lineaments of various creatures. to bears and lions some did pass, or elephants of ponderous mass; while not a few, i ween, in smaller forms were seen,-- in such, for instance, as the mole. of all, the sage ulysses sole had wit to shun that treacherous bowl. with wisdom and heroic mien, and fine address, he caused the queen to swallow, on her wizard throne, a poison somewhat like her own. a goddess, she to speak her wishes dared, and hence, at once, her love declared. ulysses, truly too judicious to lose a moment so propitious, besought that circe would restore his greeks the shapes that first they wore. replied the nymph, 'but will they take them back? go make the proffer to the motley pack.' ulysses ran, both glad and sure: 'that poisonous cup,' cried he 'hath yet its cure; and here i bring what ends your shame and pain. will you, dear friends, be men again? pray speak, for speech is now restored.' 'no,' said the lion,--and he roar'd,-- 'my head is not so void of brains! renounce shall i my royal gains? i've claws and teeth to tear my foes to bits, and, more than that, i'm king. am i such gifts away to fling, to be but one of ithaca's mere cits? in rank and file perhaps i might bear arms. in such a change i see no charms.'-- ulysses passes to the bear:-- 'how changed, my friend, from what you were! how sightly once! how ugly now!' 'humph! truly how?' growl'd bruin in his way-- 'how else than as a bear should be, i pray? who taught your stilted highness to prefer one form to every other, sir? doth yours possess peculiar powers the merits to decide, of ours? with all respect, i shall appeal my case to some sweet beauty of the bearish race. please pass it by, if you dislike my face. i live content, and free from care; and, well remembering what we were, i say it, plain and flat, i'll change to no such state as that.' next to the wolf the princely greek with flattering hope began to speak:-- 'comrade, i blush, i must confess, to hear a gentle shepherdess complaining to the echoing rocks of that outrageous appetite which drives you, night by night, to prey upon her flocks. you had been proud to guard her fold in your more honest life of old. pray quit this wolfship, now you can, and leave the woods an honest man.' 'but is there one?' the wolf replied: 'such man, i own, i never spied. you treat me as a ravenous beast, but what are you? to say the least, you would yourself have eat the sheep, which, eat by me, the village weep. now, truly, on your faith confess, should i, as man, love flesh the less? why, man, not seldom, kills his very brother; what, then, are you but wolves to one another? now, everything with care to scan, and rogue with rogue to rate, i'd better be a wolf than man, and need not change my state.' thus all did wise ulysses try, and got from all the same reply, as well from great as small. wild liberty was dear to all; to follow lawless appetite they counted their supreme delight. all banish'd from their thought and care the glorious praise of actions fair. where passion led, they thought their course was free; self-bound, their chains they could not see. prince, i had wish'd for you a theme to choose, where i might mingle pleasantry with use; and i should meet with your approving voice, no doubt, if i could make such choice. at last, ulysses' crew were offer'd to my view. and there are like them not a few, who may for penalty await your censure and your hate.[ ] [ ] _duke de bourgogne_.--louis duke de bourgogne (burgundy), grandson of louis xiv. he was the son of louis de bourbon, the dauphin, to whom la fontaine had dedicated the first collection of his fables. (see note, dedication of book i.) he was born in , and at the time of this dedication was about twelve years of age, and the pupil of fénélon. see translator's preface. [ ] _in war a hero_.--louis, the dauphin, father of the prince addressed. the dauphin was then in command of the army in germany. [ ] this fable was first printed in the _mercure galant_, december, , where it had a few additional lines, which the author cut out on republication in his xiith book. ii.--the cat and the two sparrows.[ ] to monseigneur the duke de bourgogne. contemporary with a sparrow tame there lived a cat; from tenderest age, of both, the basket and the cage had household gods the same. the bird's sharp beak full oft provoked the cat, who play'd in turn, but with a gentle pat, his wee friend sparing with a merry laugh, not punishing his faults by half. in short, he scrupled much the harm, should he with points his ferule arm. the sparrow, less discreet than he, with dagger beak made very free. sir cat, a person wise and staid, excused the warmth with which he play'd: for 'tis full half of friendship's art to take no joke in serious part. familiar since they saw the light, mere habit kept their friendship good; fair play had never turn'd to fight, till, of their neighbourhood, another sparrow came to greet old ratto grave and saucy pete. between the birds a quarrel rose, and ratto took his side. 'a pretty stranger, with such blows to beat our friend!' he cried. 'a neighbour's sparrow eating ours! not so, by all the feline powers.' and quick the stranger he devours. 'now, truly,' saith sir cat, i know how sparrows taste by that. exquisite, tender, delicate!' this thought soon seal'd the other's fate.-- but hence what moral can i bring? for, lacking that important thing, a fable lacks its finishing: i seem to see of one some trace, but still its shadow mocks my chase. yours, prince, it will not thus abuse: for you such sports, and not my muse. in wit, she and her sisters eight would fail to match you with a mate. [ ] the story of this fable seems to come from a fable by furetière, titled "the dog and the cat." antony furetière was more famous as a lexicographer, and through his angry contention with the french academy on the subject of his dictionary, than as a poet. he lived between and . iii.--the miser and the monkey.[ ] a man amass'd. the thing, we know, doth often to a frenzy grow. no thought had he but of his minted gold-- stuff void of worth when unemploy'd, i hold. now, that this treasure might the safer be, our miser's dwelling had the sea as guard on every side from every thief. with pleasure, very small in my belief, but very great in his, he there upon his hoard bestow'd his care. no respite came of everlasting recounting, calculating, casting; for some mistake would always come to mar and spoil the total sum. a monkey there, of goodly size,-- and than his lord, i think, more wise,-- some doubloons from the window threw, and render'd thus the count untrue. the padlock'd room permitted its owner, when he quitted, to leave his money on the table. one day, bethought this monkey wise to make the whole a sacrifice to neptune on his throne unstable. i could not well award the prize between the monkey's and the miser's pleasure derived from that devoted treasure. with some, don bertrand, would the honour gain, for reasons it were tedious to explain. one day, then, left alone, that animal, to mischief prone, coin after coin detach'd, a gold jacobus snatch'd, or portuguese doubloon, or silver ducatoon, or noble, of the english rose, and flung with all his might those discs, which oft excite the strongest wishes mortal ever knows. had he not heard, at last, the turning of his master's key, the money all had pass'd the same short road to sea; and not a single coin but had been pitch'd into the gulf by many a wreck enrich'd. now, god preserve full many a financier whose use of wealth may find its likeness here! [ ] the story is traced to the episode in tristan l'hermite's romance titled "le page disgracie," treating of "the monkey and master robert." l'hermite lived - . iv.--the two goats.[ ] since goats have browsed, by freedom fired, to follow fortune they've aspired. to pasturage they're wont to roam where men are least disposed to come. if any pathless place there be, or cliff, or pendent precipice, 'tis there they cut their capers free: there's nought can stop these dames, i wis. two goats, thus self-emancipated,-- the white that on their feet they wore look'd back to noble blood of yore,-- once quit the lowly meadows, sated, and sought the hills, as it would seem: in search of luck, by luck they met each other at a mountain stream. as bridge a narrow plank was set, on which, if truth must be confest, two weasels scarce could go abreast. and then the torrent, foaming white, as down it tumbled from the height, might well those amazons affright. but maugre such a fearful rapid, both took the bridge, the goats intrepid! i seem to see our louis grand[ ] and philip iv. advance to the isle of conference,[ ] that lies 'twixt spain and france, each sturdy for his glorious land. thus each of our adventurers goes, till foot to foot, and nose to nose, somewhere about the midst they meet, and neither will an inch retreat. for why? they both enjoy'd the glory of ancestors in ancient story. the one, a goat of peerless rank, which, browsing on sicilian bank, the cyclop gave to galataea;[ ] the other famous amalthaea,[ ] the goat that suckled jupiter, as some historians aver. for want of giving back, in troth, a common fall involved them both.-- a common accident, no doubt, on fortune's changeful route.[ ] [ ] this and several others of the fables in the xiith book are taken from the "thèmes" of the duke de bourgogne, afterwards published in robert's "fables inédites." these "thèmes," were the joint composition of fénélon, his pupil the infant duke de bourgogne, and la fontaine, and were first used in the education of the duke. fénélon suggested the story, the pupil put it into prose, and la fontaine versified it. la fontaine is eulogistic of the young duke's "wit" in putting these "thèmes" into prose in fable ix., book xii. [ ] _louis grand_.--louis xiv. see note to epilogue of book xi. [ ] _the isle of conference_.--the pheasants' isle in the river bidassoa, which separates france and spain. it is called the isle of conference on account of several of the conferences, leading to treaties, &c., between the two countries, having been held there. [ ] _the cyclop gave to galataea_.--polyphemus and galataea: _vide_ theocritus, _idyl_ xi. [ ] _amalthaea_.--another story is that amalthaea was not a goat, but a nymph of crete, who fed the infant jupiter with goat's milk. [ ] in the original the last lines differ from those in the version of la fontaine's "oeuvres posthumes," published in , the year after the poet's death. indeed, variations of text are common to most of the fables of the xiith book, on making the same comparison, viz., of the first edition, , and the edition in the "oeuvres posthumes." v.--the old cat and the young mouse. to monseigneur, the duke de bourgogne; who had requested of m. de la fontaine a fable which should be called "the cat and the mouse." to please a youthful prince, whom fame a temple in my writings vows, what fable answers to the name, "the cat and mouse?" shall i in verse the fair present, with softest look but hard intent, who serves the hearts her charms entice as does the cat its captive mice? or make my subject fortune's sport? she treats the friends that make her court, and follow closest her advice, as treats the cat the silly mice. shall i for theme a king select who sole, of all her favourites, commands the goddess's respect? for whom she from her wheel alights. who, never stay'd by foes a trice, whene'er they block his way, can with the strongest play as doth the cat with mice! insensibly, while casting thus about, quite anxious for my subject's sake, a theme i meet, and, if i don't mistake, shall spoil it, too, by spinning out. the prince will treat my muse, for that, as mice are treated by the cat. a young and inexperienced mouse had faith to try a veteran cat,[ ]-- raminagrobis, death to rat, and scourge of vermin through the house,-- appealing to his clemency with reasons sound and fair. 'pray let me live; a mouse like me it were not much to spare. am i, in such a family, a burden? would my largest wish our wealthy host impoverish? a grain of wheat will make my meal; a nut will fat me like a seal. i'm lean at present; please to wait, and for your heirs reserve my fate.' the captive mouse thus spake. replied the captor, 'you mistake; to me shall such a thing be said? address the deaf! address the dead! a cat to pardon!--old one too! why, such a thing i never knew. thou victim of my paw, by well-establish'd law, die as a mousling should, and beg the sisterhood who ply the thread and shears, to lend thy speech their ears. some other like repast my heirs may find, or fast.' he ceased. the moral's plain. youth always hopes its ends to gain, believes all spirits like its own: old age is not to mercy prone. [ ] the story is from abstemius. vi.--the sick stag.[ ] a stag, where stags abounded, fell sick, and was surrounded forthwith by comrades kind, all pressing to assist, or see, their friend, at least, and ease his anxious mind-- an irksome multitude. 'ah, sirs!' the sick was fain to cry, 'pray leave me here to die, as others do, in solitude. pray, let your kind attentions cease, till death my spirit shall release.' but comforters are not so sent: on duty sad full long intent, when heaven pleased, they went: but not without a friendly glass; that is to say, they cropp'd the grass and leaves which in that quarter grew, from which the sick his pittance drew. by kindness thus compell'd to fast, he died for want of food at last. the men take off no trifling dole who heal the body, or the soul. alas the times! do what we will, they have their payment, cure or kill. [ ] "the gazelle" in lokman's fables. vii.--the bat, the bush, and the duck.[ ] a bush, duck, and bat, having found that in trade, confined to their country, small profits were made, into partnership enter'd to traffic abroad, their purse, held in common, well guarded from fraud. their factors and agents, these trading allies employ'd where they needed, as cautious as wise: their journals and ledgers, exact and discreet, recorded by items expense and receipt. all throve, till an argosy, on its way home, with a cargo worth more than their capital sum, in attempting to pass through a dangerous strait, went down with its passengers, sailors, and freight, to enrich those enormous and miserly stores, from tartarus distant but very few doors. regret was a thing which the firm could but feel; regret was the thing they were slow to reveal; for the least of a merchant well knows that the weal of his credit requires him his loss to conceal. but that which our trio unluckily suffer'd allow'd no repair, and of course was discover'd. no money nor credit, 'twas plain to be seen their heads were now threaten'd with bonnets of green;[ ] and, the facts of the case being everywhere known, no mortal would open his purse with a loan. debts, bailiffs, and lawsuits, and creditors gruff, at the crack of day knocking, (importunity shocking!) our trio kept busy enough. the bush, ever ready and on the alert, now caught all the people it could by the skirt:-- 'pray, sir, be so good as to tell, if you please, if you know whereabout the old villanous seas have hid all our goods which they stole t' other night. the diver, to seek them, went down out of sight. the bat didn't venture abroad in the day, and thus of the bailiffs kept out of the way. full many insolvents, not bats, to hide so, nor bushes, nor divers, i happen to know, but even grand seigniors, quite free from all cares, by virtue of brass, and of private backstairs. [ ] aesop. [ ] _with bonnets of green._--such as insolvent debtors were anciently required to wear, in france, after making cession of their effects, in order to escape imprisonment.--translator. the custom also prevailed in italy. viii.--the quarrel of the dogs and cats, and that of the cats and mice. enthroned by an eternal law, hath discord reign'd throughout the universe. in proof, i might from this our planet draw a thousand instances diverse. within the circle of our view, this queen hath subjects not a few. beginning with the elements, it is astonishing to see how they have stood, to all intents, as wrestlers from eternity. besides these four great potentates, old stubborn earth, fire, flood, and air, how many other smaller states are waging everlasting war! in mansion deck'd with frieze and column, dwelt dogs and cats in multitudes; decrees, promulged in manner solemn, had pacified their ancient feuds. their lord had so arranged their meals and labours, and threaten'd quarrels with the whip, that, living in sweet cousinship, they edified their wondering neighbours. at last, some dainty plate to lick, or profitable bone to pick, bestow'd by some partiality, broke up the smooth equality. the side neglected were indignant at such a slight malignant. some writers make the whole dispute begin with favours to a bitch while lying in. whate'er the cause, the altercation soon grew a perfect conflagration. in hall and kitchen, dog and cat took sides with zeal for this or that. new rules upon the cat side falling produced tremendous caterwauling. their advocate, against such rules as these, advised recurrence to the old decrees. they search'd in vain, for, hidden in a nook, the thievish mice had eaten up the book. another quarrel, in a trice, made many sufferers with the mice; for many a veteran whisker'd-face, with craft and cunning richly stored, and grudges old against the race, now watch'd to put them to the sword; nor mourn'd for this that mansion's lord. resuming our discourse, we see no creature from opponents free. 'tis nature's law for earth and sky; 'twere vain to ask the reason why; god's works are good,--i cannot doubt it,-- and that is all i know about it. i know, however, that the cause which hath our human quarrels brought, three quarters of the time, is nought that will be, is, or ever was. ye veterans, in state and church, at threescore years, indeed, it seems there still is need to give you lessons with the birch! ix.--the wolf and the fox. whence comes it that there liveth not a man contented with his lot? here's one who would a soldier be, whom soldiers all with envy see. a fox to be a wolf once sigh'd. with disappointments mortified, who knows but that, his wolfship cheap, the wolf himself would be a sheep? i marvel that a prince[ ] is able, at eight, to put the thing in fable; while i, beneath my seventy snows, forge out, with toil and time, the same in labour'd rhyme, less striking than his prose. the traits which in his work we meet, a poet, it must be confess'd, could not have half so well express'd: he bears the palm as more complete. 'tis mine to sing it to the pipe; but i expect that when the sands of time have made my hero ripe, he'll put a trumpet in my hands. my mind but little doth aspire to prophecy; but yet it reads on high, that soon his glorious deeds full many homers will require-- of which this age produces few. but, bidding mysteries adieu, i try my powers upon this fable new. 'dear wolf,' complain'd a hungry fox, 'a lean chick's meat, or veteran cock's, is all i get by toil or trick: of such a living i am sick. with far less risk, you've better cheer; a house you need not venture near, but i must do it, spite of fear. pray, make me master of your trade. and let me by that means be made the first of all my race that took fat mutton to his larder's hook: your kindness shall not be repented.' the wolf quite readily consented. 'i have a brother, lately dead: go fit his skin to yours,' he said. 'twas done; and then the wolf proceeded: 'now mark you well what must be done, the dogs that guard the flock to shun.' the fox the lessons strictly heeded. at first he boggled in his dress; but awkwardness grew less and less, till perseverance gave success. his education scarce complete, a flock, his scholarship to greet, came rambling out that way. the new-made wolf his work began, amidst the heedless nibblers ran, and spread a sore dismay. such terror did patroclus[ ] spread, when on the trojan camp and town, clad in achilles' armour dread, he valiantly came down. the matrons, maids, and aged men all hurried to the temples then.-- the bleating host now surely thought that fifty wolves were on the spot: dog, shepherd, sheep, all homeward fled, and left a single sheep in pawn, which renard seized when they were gone. but, ere upon his prize he fed, there crow'd a cock near by, and down the scholar threw his prey and gown, that he might run that way the faster-- forgetting lessons, prize and master. how useless is the art of seeming! reality, in every station, is through its cloak at all times gleaming, and bursting out on fit occasion. young prince, to your unrivall'd wit my muse gives credit, as is fit, for what she here hath labour'd with-- the subject, characters, and pith. [ ] a prince.--the infant duke de bourgogne. see note to table iv., book xii. the context shows that la fontaine was over seventy when this fable was written. [ ] _patroclus_.--in the trojan war, when achilles, on his difference with agamemnon, remained inactive in his tent, patroclus, his friend, put on achilles' "armour dread," and so caused dire alarm to the trojans, who thought that achilles had at last taken the field. x.--the lobster and her daughter.[ ] the wise, sometimes, as lobsters do, to gain their ends back foremost go. it is the rower's art; and those commanders who mislead their foes, do often seem to aim their sight just where they don't intend to smite. my theme, so low, may yet apply to one whose fame is very high, who finds it not the hardest matter a hundred-headed league to scatter. what he will do, what leave undone, are secrets with unbroken seals, till victory the truth reveals. whatever he would have unknown is sought in vain. decrees of fate forbid to check, at first, the course which sweeps at last with torrent force. one jove, as ancient fables state, exceeds a hundred gods in weight. so fate and louis[ ] would seem able the universe to draw, bound captive to their law.-- but come we to our fable. a mother lobster did her daughter chide: 'for shame, my daughter! can't you go ahead?' 'and how go you yourself?' the child replied; 'can i be but by your example led? head foremost should i, singularly, wend, while all my race pursue the other end.' she spoke with sense: for better or for worse, example has a universal force. to some it opens wisdom's door, but leads to folly many more. yet, as for backing to one's aim, when properly pursued the art is doubtless good, at least in grim bellona's game. [ ] aesop; also in avianus. [ ] _louis_.--louis xiv. xi.--the eagle and the magpie.[ ] the eagle, through the air a queen, and one far different, i ween, in temper, language, thought, and mien,-- the magpie,--once a prairie cross'd. the by-path where they met was drear, and madge gave up herself for lost; but having dined on ample cheer, the eagle bade her, 'never fear; you're welcome to my company; for if the king of gods can be full oft in need of recreation,-- who rules the world,--right well may i, who serve him in that high relation: amuse me, then, before you fly.' our cackler, pleased, at quickest rate of this and that began to prate. not he of whom old flaccus writes, the most impertinent of wights, or any babbler, for that matter, could more incontinently chatter. at last she offer'd to make known-- a better spy had never flown-- all things, whatever she might see, in travelling from tree to tree. but, with her offer little pleased-- nay, gathering wrath at being teased,-- for such a purpose, never rove,-- replied th' impatient bird of jove. 'adieu, my cackling friend, adieu; my court is not the place for you: heaven keep it free from such a bore!' madge flapp'd her wings, and said no more. 'tis far less easy than it seems an entrance to the great to gain. the honour oft hath cost extremes of mortal pain. the craft of spies, the tattling art, and looks more gracious than the heart, are odious there; but still, if one would meet success, of different parishes the dress he, like the pie, must wear. [ ] abstemius. xii.--the king, the kite, and the falconer.[ ] to his august highness, monseigneur the prince de conti.[ ] the gods, for that themselves are good, the like in mortal monarchs would. the prime of royal rights is grace; to this e'en sweet revenge gives place. so thinks your highness,--while your wrath its cradle for its coffin hath. achilles no such conquest knew-- in this a hero less than you. that name indeed belongs to none, save those who have, beneath the sun, their hundred generous actions done. the golden age produced such powers, but truly few this age of ours. the men who now the topmost sit, are thank'd for crimes which they omit. for you, unharm'd by such examples, a thousand noble deeds are winning temples, wherein apollo, by the altar-fire, shall strike your name upon his golden lyre. the gods await you in their azure dome; one age must serve for this your lower home. one age entire with you would hymen dwell:[ ] o that his sweetest spell for you a destiny may bind by such a period scarce confined! the princess and yourself no less deserve. her charms as witnesses shall serve; as witnesses, those talents high pour'd on you by the lavish sky, outshining 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 prone 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 gods 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? [ ] bidpaii. [ ] _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, , and died in . [ ] _would hymen dwell_.--an allusion to the marriage of the prince with marie-thérèsa de bourbon (mdlle. de blois, the daughter of the king and la vallière), which took place in . xiii.--the fox, the flies, and the hedgehog.[ ] 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 gods, 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. [ ] aesop; also philibert hegemon, and others. xiv.--love and folly.[ ] 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 god!) 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 gods 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 orbs 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 gods were deafen'd with her cries-- jove, nemesis, the stern assize of orcus,--all the gods, 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.[ ] [ ] it is thought that la fontaine owed somewhat of his idea of this fable to one of the poems of louise labbé, "the beautiful ropemaker," as she was called, who lived between and . [ ] 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 . see, for m. de maucroix, note to fable i., book iii. xv.--the raven, the gazelle, the tortoise, and the rat.[ ] to madame de la sablière.[ ] 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,[ ]-- earth's noblest heroes,--should be seen; ay, demigods, and even gods, i ween: (the worshipp'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! for could a heart that throbb'd to bless its friends with boundless tenderness,-- or could that heaven-descended mind which, in its matchless beauty, join'd the strength of man with woman's grace,-- be given to sculptor to express? o iris, who canst charm the soul-- nay, bind it with supreme control,-- whom as myself i can but love,-- (nay, not that word: as i'm a man, your court has placed it under ban, and we'll dismiss it,) pray approve my filling up this hasty plan! this sketch has here received a place, a simple anecdote to grace, where friendship shows so sweet a face, that in its features you may find somewhat accordant to your mind. not that the tale may kings beseem; but he who winneth your esteem is not a monarch placed above the need and influence of love, but simple mortal, void of crown, that would for friends his life lay down-- than which i know no friendlier act. four animals, in league compact, are now to give our noble race a useful lesson in the case. rat, raven, tortoise, and gazelle, once into firmest friendship fell. 'twas in a home unknown to man that they their happiness began. but safe from man there's no retreat: pierce you the loneliest wood, or dive beneath the deepest flood, or mount you where the eagles brood,-- his secret ambuscade you meet. the light gazelle, in harmless play, amused herself abroad one day, when, by mischance, her track was found and follow'd by the baying hound-- that barbarous tool of barbarous man-- from which far, far away she ran. at meal-time to the others the rat observed,--'my brothers, how happens it that we are met to-day but three? is miss gazelle so little steady? hath she forgotten us already?' out cried the tortoise at the word,-- 'were i, as raven is, a bird, i'd fly this instant from my seat, and learn what accident, and where, hath kept away our sister fair,-- our sister of the flying feet; for of her heart, dear rat, it were a shame to doubt of that.' the raven flew; he spied afar,--the face he knew,-- the poor gazelle entangled in a snare, in anguish vainly floundering there. straight back he turn'd, and gave the alarm; for to have ask'd the sufferer now, the why and wherefore, when and how, she had incurr'd so great a harm,-- and lose in vain debate the turning-point of fate, as would the master of a school,-- he was by no means such a fool.[ ] on tidings of so sad a pith, the three their council held forthwith. by two it was the vote to hasten to the spot where lay the poor gazelle. 'our friend here in his shell, i think, will do as well to guard the house,' the raven said; 'for, with his creeping pace, when would he reach the place? not till the deer were dead.' eschewing more debate, they flew to aid their mate, that luckless mountain roe. the tortoise, too, resolved to go. behold him plodding on behind, and plainly cursing in his mind, the fate that left his legs to lack, and glued his dwelling to his back. the snare was cut by rongemail, (for so the rat they rightly hail). conceive their joy yourself you may. just then the hunter came that way, and, 'who hath filch'd my prey?' cried he, upon the spot where now his prey was not.-- a hole hid rongemail; a tree the bird as well; the woods, the free gazelle. the hunter, well nigh mad, to find no inkling could be had, espied the tortoise in his path, and straightway check'd his wrath. 'why let my courage flag, because my snare has chanced to miss? i'll have a supper out of this.' he said, and put it in his bag. and it had paid the forfeit so, had not the raven told the roe, who from her covert came, pretending to be lame. the man, right eager to pursue, aside his wallet threw, which rongemail took care to serve as he had done the snare; thus putting to an end the hunter's supper on his friend. 'tis thus sage pilpay's tale i follow. were i the ward of golden-hair'd apollo, it were, by favour of that god, easy-- and surely for your sake-- as long a tale to make as is the iliad or odyssey. grey rongemail the hero's part should play, though each would be as needful in his way. he of the mansion portable awoke sir raven by the words he spoke, to act the spy, and then the swift express. the light gazelle alone had had th' address the hunter to engage, and furnish time for rongemail to do his deed sublime. thus each his part perform'd. which wins the prize? the heart, so far as in my judgment lies.[ ] [ ] bidpaii. [ ] _madame de la sablière_.--see note to fable i., book x.: also translator's preface. [ ] _some mortals kneeling at her feet_.--in allusion to the distinguished company which assembled at the house of madame de la sablière. see notes on john sobieski (king john iii., of poland), &c., fable i., book x. [ ] _such a fool_.--in allusion to fable xix., book i. [ ] this fable was also first published in the "works" of de maucroix and la fontaine, . the text of the later issue is slightly abridged. xvi.--the woods and the woodman.[ ] a certain wood-chopper lost or broke from his axe's eye a bit of oak. the forest must needs be somewhat spared while such a loss was being repair'd. came the man at last, and humbly pray'd that the woods would kindly lend to him-- a moderate loan--a single limb, whereof might another helve be made, and his axe should elsewhere drive its trade. o, the oaks and firs that then might stand, a pride and a joy throughout the land, for their ancientness and glorious charms! the innocent forest lent him arms; but bitter indeed was her regret; for the wretch, his axe new-helved and whet, did nought but his benefactress spoil of the finest trees that graced her soil; and ceaselessly was she made to groan, doing penance for that fatal loan. behold the world-stage and its actors, where benefits hurt benefactors!-- a weary theme, and full of pain; for where's the shade so cool and sweet, protecting strangers from the heat, but might of such a wrong complain? alas! i vex myself in vain; ingratitude, do what i will, is sure to be the fashion still. [ ] first published in , in the "works" of de maucroix and la fontaine; a statement applying also to several of the remaining fables. xvii.--the fox, the wolf, and the horse.[ ] a fox, though young, by no means raw, had seen a horse, the first he ever saw: 'ho! neighbour wolf,' said he to one quite green, 'a creature in our meadow i have seen,-- sleek, grand! i seem to see him yet,-- the finest beast i ever met.' 'is he a stouter one than we?' the wolf demanded, eagerly; 'some picture of him let me see.' 'if i could paint,' said fox, 'i should delight t' anticipate your pleasure at the sight; but come; who knows? perhaps it is a prey by fortune offer'd in our way.' they went. the horse, turn'd loose to graze, not liking much their looks or ways, was just about to gallop off. 'sir,' said the fox, 'your humble servants, we make bold to ask you what your name may be.' the horse, an animal with brains enough, replied, 'sirs, you yourselves may read my name; my shoer round my heel hath writ the same.' the fox excus'd himself for want of knowledge: 'me, sir, my parents did not educate,-- so poor, a hole was their entire estate. my friend, the wolf, however, taught at college, could read it were it even greek.' the wolf, to flattery weak, approach'd to verify the boast; for which four teeth he lost. the high raised hoof came down with such a blow, as laid him bleeding on the ground full low. 'my brother,' said the fox, 'this shows how just what once was taught me by a fox of wit,-- which on thy jaws this animal hath writ,-- "all unknown things the wise mistrust."' [ ] aesop. xviii.--the fox and the turkeys. against a robber fox, a tree some turkeys served as citadel. that villain, much provoked to see each standing there as sentinel, cried out, 'such witless birds at me stretch out their necks, and gobble! no, by the powers! i'll give them trouble.' he verified his words. the moon, that shined full on the oak, seem'd then to help the turkey folk. but fox, in arts of siege well versed, ransack'd his bag of tricks accursed. he feign'd himself about to climb; walk'd on his hinder legs sublime; then death most aptly counterfeited, and seem'd anon resuscitated. a practiser of wizard arts could not have fill'd so many parts. in moonlight he contrived to raise his tail, and make it seem a blaze: and countless other tricks like that. meanwhile, no turkey slept or sat. their constant vigilance at length, as hoped the fox, wore out their strength. bewilder'd by the rigs he run, they lost their balance one by one. as renard slew, he laid aside, till nearly half of them had died; then proudly to his larder bore, and laid them up, an ample store. a foe, by being over-heeded, has often in his plan succeeded. xix.--the ape. there is an ape in paris, to which was given a wife: like many a one that marries, this ape, in brutal strife, soon beat her out of life. their infant cries,--perhaps not fed,-- but cries, i ween, in vain; the father laughs: his wife is dead, and he has other loves again, which he will also beat, i think,-- return'd from tavern drown'd in drink. for aught that's good, you need not look among the imitative tribe; a monkey be it, or what makes a book-- the worse, i deem--the aping scribe. xx.--the scythian philosopher. a scythian philosopher austere, resolved his rigid life somewhat to cheer, perform'd the tour of greece, saw many things, but, best, a sage,--one such as virgil sings,-- a simple, rustic man, that equal'd kings; from whom, the gods would hardly bear the palm; like them unawed, content, and calm. his fortune was a little nook of land; and there the scythian found him, hook in hand, his fruit-trees pruning. here he cropp'd a barren branch, there slash'd and lopp'd, correcting nature everywhere, who paid with usury his care. 'pray, why this wasteful havoc, sir?'-- so spoke the wondering traveller; 'can it, i ask, in reason's name, be wise these harmless trees to maim? fling down that instrument of crime, and leave them to the scythe of time. full soon, unhasten'd, they will go to deck the banks of streams below.' replied the tranquil gardener, 'i humbly crave your pardon, sir; excess is all my hook removes, by which the rest more fruitful proves.' the philosophic traveller,-- once more within his country cold,-- himself of pruning-hook laid hold, and made a use most free and bold; prescribed to friends, and counsel'd neighbours to imitate his pruning labours. the finest limbs he did not spare, but pruned his orchard past all reason, regarding neither time nor season, nor taking of the moon a care. all wither'd, droop'd, and died. this scythian i set beside the indiscriminating stoic. the latter, with a blade heroic, retrenches, from his spirit sad, desires and passions, good and bad, not sparing e'en a harmless wish. against a tribe so vandalish with earnestness i here protest. they maim our hearts, they stupefy their strongest springs, if not their best; they make us cease to live before we die. xxi.--the elephant and the ape of jupiter. 'twixt elephant and beast of horned nose about precedence a dispute arose, which they determined to decide by blows. the day was fix'd, when came a messenger to say the ape of jupiter was swiftly earthward seen to bear his bright caduceus through the air. this monkey, named in history gill, the elephant at once believed a high commission had received to witness, by his sovereign's will, the aforesaid battle fought. uplifted by the glorious thought, the beast was prompt on monsieur gill to wait, but found him slow, in usual forms of state, his high credentials to present. the ape, however, ere he went, bestow'd a passing salutation. his excellency would have heard the subject matter of legation: but not a word! his fight, so far from stirring heaven,-- the news was not received there, even! what difference sees the impartial sky between an elephant and fly? our monarch, doting on his object, was forced himself to break the subject. 'my cousin jupiter,' said he, 'will shortly, from his throne supreme, a most important combat see, for all his court a thrilling theme.' 'what combat?' said the ape, with serious face. 'is't possible you should not know the case?--' the elephant exclaim'd--'not know, dear sir, that lord rhinoceros disputes with me precedence of the brutes? that elephantis is at war with savage hosts of rhinocer? you know these realms, not void of fame?' 'i joy to learn them now by name,' return'd sir gill, 'for, first or last, no lisp of them has ever pass'd throughout our dome so blue and vast.' abash'd, the elephant replied, 'what came you, then, to do?--' 'between two emmets to divide a spire of grass in two. we take of all a care; and, as to your affair, before the gods, who view with equal eyes the small and great, it hath not chanced to rise.' xxii.--the fool and the sage.[ ] a fool pursued, with club and stone, a sage, who said, 'my friend, well done! receive this guinea for your pains; they well deserve far higher gains. the workman's worthy of his hire, 'tis said. there comes a wealthy squire, who hath wherewith thy works to pay; to him direct thy gifts, and they shall gain their proper recompense.' urged by the hope of gain, upon the wealthy citizen the fool repeated the offence. his pay this time was not in gold. upon the witless man a score of ready footmen ran, and on his back, in full, his wages told. in courts, such fools afflict the wise; they raise the laugh at your expense. to check their babble, were it sense their folly meetly to chastise? perhaps 'twill take a stronger man. then make them worry one who can. [ ] phaedrus, iii., ; also _aesop_. xxiii.--the english fox.[ ] to madame harvey.[ ] sound reason and a tender heart with thee are friends that never part. a hundred traits might swell the roll;-- suffice to name thy nobleness of soul; thy power to guide both men and things; thy temper open, bland and free, a gift that draweth friends to thee, to which thy firm affection clings, unmarr'd by age or change of clime, or tempests of this stormy time;-- all which deserve, in highest lyric, a rich and lofty panegyric; but no such thing wouldst thou desire, whom pomp displeases, praises tire. hence mine is simple, short, and plain; yet, madam, i would fain tack on a word or two of homage to your country due,-- a country well beloved by you. with mind to match the outward case, the english are a thinking race. they pierce all subjects through and through; well arm'd with facts, they hew their way, and give to science boundless sway. quite free from flattery, i say, your countrymen, for penetration, must bear the palm from every nation; for e'en the dogs they breed excel our own in nicety of smell. your foxes, too, are cunninger, as readily we may infer from one that practised, 'tis believed, a stratagem the best conceived. the wretch, once, in the utmost strait by dogs of nose so delicate, approach'd a gallows, where, a lesson to like passengers, or clothed in feathers or in furs, some badgers, owls, and foxes, pendent were. their comrade, in his pressing need, arranged himself among the dead. i seem to see old hannibal outwit some roman general, and sit securely in his tent, the legions on some other scent. but certain dogs, kept back to tell the errors of the pack, arriving where the traitor hung, a fault in fullest chorus sung. though by their bark the welkin rung, their master made them hold the tongue. suspecting not a trick so odd, said he, 'the rogue's beneath the sod. 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[ ] 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 wingèd emigrants sublime from cytherea's isle?[ ] by this, you understand, i mean love's guardian goddess, mazarin.[ ] [ ] abstemius. [ ] _madame harvey_.--an english lady (_née_ 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 embassy in paris, and moved in the highest circles generally of that city; a circumstance which enabled la fontaine to make her acquaintance and secure her as one of his best friends and patrons. she died in . [ ] _your prince_.--charles ii. of england. [ ] _cytherea's isle_.--where venus was worshipped. [ ] _goddess mazarin_.--the duchess de mazarin, niece to the cardinal. she was at this time in england, where she died (at chelsea) in . 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.[ ] 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 shore, and cursed their patron from the deep, and came to be a perfect bore. pride, rashness, and ingratitude, 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,[ ] 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 embassies; 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. [ ] phaedrus, i., . fable xii., book vi., gives another version of the same story. [ ] _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 buttery stopp'd, where scores of rats were clustered, in riotous extravagance, all feasting at the host's expense. to him, arriving there much flustered, 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 carcass 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.[ ] to madame de la mésangère.[ ] 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 godship'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, passenger, 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. in vain her steps her own attendants check'd, and plead that she, at least, should shed, upon her lover dead, some tears of due respect. the rosy god, of cytherea born, she ever treated with the deepest scorn: contemning him, his laws, and means of damage, she drew her train to dance around his image, when, woful to relate, the statue fell, and crush'd her with its weight! a voice forth issued from a cloud,-- and echo bore the words aloud throughout the air wide spread,-- "let all now love--the insensible is dead." meanwhile, down to the stygian tide the shade of daphnis hied, and quaked and wonder'd there to meet the maid, a ghostess, at his feet. all erebus awaken'd wide, to hear that beauteous homicide beg pardon of the swain who died-- for being deaf to love confess'd, as was ulysses to the prayer of ajax, begging him to spare, or as was dido's faithless guest.[ ] [ ] theocritus, idyl xxiii. [ ] _madame de la mésangère._--this lady was the daughter of madame de la sablière.--translator. she was the lady termed la marquise with whom fontenelle sustained his imaginary "conversation" in the "plurality of worlds," a book which became very popular both in france and england. [ ] _dido's faithless guest_.--aeneas, with whom dido, according to virgil and ovid, was in love, but who loved not, and sailed away. xxvii.--the arbiter, the almoner, and the hermit. three saints, for their salvation jealous, pursued, with hearts alike most zealous, by routes diverse, their common aim. all highways lead to rome: the same of heaven our rivals deeming true, each chose alone his pathway to pursue. moved by the cares, delays, and crosses attach'd to suits by legal process, one gave himself as judge, without reward, for earthly fortune having small regard. since there are laws, to legal strife man damns himself for half his life. for half?--three-fourths!--perhaps the whole! the hope possess'd our umpire's soul, that on his plan he should be able to cure this vice detestable.-- the second chose the hospitals. i give him praise: to solace pain is charity not spent in vain, while men in part are animals. the sick--for things went then as now they go-- gave trouble to the almoner, i trow. impatient, sour, complaining ever, as rack'd by rheum, or parch'd with fever,-- 'his favourites are such and such; with them he watches over-much, and lets us die,' they say,-- such sore complaints from day to day were nought to those that did await the reconciler of debate. his judgments suited neither side; forsooth, in either party's view, he never held the balance true, but swerved in every cause he tried. discouraged by such speech, the arbiter betook himself to see the almoner. as both received but murmurs for their fees, they both retired, in not the best of moods, to break their troubles to the silent woods, and hold communion with the ancient trees. there, underneath a rugged mountain, beside a clear and silent fountain, a place revered by winds, to sun unknown, they found the other saint, who lived alone. forthwith they ask'd his sage advice. 'your own,' he answer'd, 'must suffice; who but yourselves your wants should know? to know one's self, is, here below, the first command of the supreme. have you obey'd among the bustling throngs? such knowledge to tranquillity belongs; elsewhere to seek were fallacy extreme. disturb the water--do you see your face? see we ourselves within a troubled breast? a murky cloud in such a case, though once it were a crystal vase! but, brothers, let it simply rest, and each shall see his features there impress'd. for inward thought a desert home is best.' such was the hermit's answer brief; and, happily, it gain'd belief. but business, still, from life must not be stricken since men will doubtless sue at law, and sicken, physicians there must be, and advocates,-- whereof, thank god, no lack the world awaits, while wealth and honours are the well-known baits. yet, in the stream of common wants when thrown, what busy mortal but forgets his own? o, you who give the public all your care, be it as judge, or prince, or minister, disturb'd by countless accidents most sinister, by adverse gales abased, debased by fair,-- yourself you never see, nor _see_ you aught. comes there a moment's rest for serious thought, there comes a flatterer too, and brings it all to nought. this lesson seals our varied page: o, may it teach from age to age! to kings i give it, to the wise propose; where could my labours better close?[ ] [ ] this fable was first printed in the "recueil de vers choisis du p. bouhours," published in , and afterwards given as the last of la fontaine's book xii. * * * * * finis. * * * * * index to the fables. a. abdera, people of, and democritus. viii. . acorn and pumpkin. ix. . aesop and the will. ii. . adder and man. x. . adventurers and talisman. x. . advantage of knowledge. viii. . alcimadure and daphnis. xii. . almoner, arbiter, and hermit. xii. . amaranth and thyrsis. viii. . animal in the moon. vii. . animals, monkey, and fox. vi. . animals sending tribute, &c. iv. . animals sick of the plague. vii. . ant and dove. ii. . ant and fly. iv. . ant and grasshopper. i. . ape of jupiter and elephant. xii. . ape of paris. xii. . arbiter, almoner, and hermit. xii. . ass and dog. viii. . ass and his masters. vi. . ass and horse. vi. . ass and lion, hunting. ii. . ass and little dog. iv. . ass and old man. vi. . ass and thieves. i. . ass bearing relics. v. . ass, dead, and two dogs. viii. . ass in lion's skin. v. . ass loaded with sponges, and the ass loaded with salt. ii. . ass, miller, and son. iii. . asses, two, lion, and monkey. xi. . astrologer who fell into a well. ii. . atheist and oracle. iv. . b. bat, bush, and duck. xii. . bat and two weasels. ii. . bear and gardener. viii. . bear and lioness. x. . bear and two companions. v. . bees and hornets. i. . beetle and eagle. ii. . belly and members. iii. . bird wounded by an arrow. ii. . birds, little, and swallow. i. . bitch and her friend. ii. . boreas and phoebus. vi. . boy and schoolmaster. i. . bulls, two, and frog. ii. . burier and his comrade. x. . bust and fox. iv. . c. camel and floating sticks. iv. . candle, wax. ix. . capon and falcon. viii. . cartman in the mire. vi. . cat and fox. ix. . cat and monkey. ix. . cat and old rat. iii. . cat and rat. viii. . cat and two sparrows. xii. . cat, cockerel, and mouse. vi. . cat, eagle, and wild sow. iii. . cat metamorphosed to a woman. ii. . cat, old, and young mouse. xii. . cat, weasel, and young rabbit. vii. . cats and dogs, &c., quarrel of the. xii. . charlatan. vi. . child and fortune. v. . coach and fly. vii. . cobbler and financier. viii. . cock and fox. ii. . cock and pearl. i. . cockerel, cat, and young mouse. vi. . cocks and partridge. x. . cocks, the two. vii. . combat of rats and weasels. iv. . companions of ulysses. xii. . cook and swan. iii. . cormorant and fishes. x. . corpse and curate. vii. . council held by the rats. ii. . countryman and serpent. vi. . court of the lion. vii. . curate and corpse. vii. . d. dairy-woman and pot of milk. vii. . daphnis and alcimadure. xii. . death and the dying. viii. . death and the unfortunate. i. . death and wood-chopper. i. . democritus and the people of abdera. viii. . depositary, the faithless. ix. . discord. vi. . doctors. v. . dog and ass. viii. . dog and wolf. i. . dog carrying his master's dinner. viii. . dog, farmer, and fox. xi. . dog, lean, and wolf. ix. . dog, little, and ass. iv. . dog who lost the substance for the shadow. vi. . dog with his ears cut off. x. . dogs, cats, &c., the quarrel of the. xii. . dogs, the two, and dead ass. viii. . dolphin and monkey. iv. . dove and ant. ii. . doves, the two. ix. . duck, bat, and bush. xii. . ducks and tortoise. x. . dragon of many heads, and dragon of many tails. i. . dream of the mogul. xi. . drunkard and his wife. iii. . e. eagle and beetle. ii. . eagle and magpie. xii. . eagle and owl. v. . eagle and raven. ii. . eagle, wild sow, and cat. iii. . ears of the hare. v. . earthen pot and iron pot. v. . education. viii. . elephant and ape of jupiter. xii. . elephant and rat. viii. . english fox. xii. . eye of the master. iv. . f. fables, the power of. viii. . falcon and capon. viii. . falconer, king, and kite. xii. . farmer and jupiter. vi. . farmer, dog, and fox. xi. . file and serpent. v. . financier and cobbler. viii. . fish, little, and fisher. v. . fishes and cormorant. x. . fishes and joker. viii. . fishes and shepherd who played the flute. x. . flea and man. viii. . floating sticks and camel. iv. . flies, fox, and hedgehog. xii. . fly and ant. iv. . fly and coach. vii. . folly and love. xii. . fool and sage. xii. . fool who sold wisdom. ix. . forest and woodman. xii. . fortune and the boy. v. . fortune, ingratitude towards. vii. . fortune-tellers. vii. . fortune, the man who ran after, &c. vii. . fowler, hawk, and lark. vi. . fox and bust. iv. . fox and cat. ix. . fox and cock. ii. . fox, farmer, and dog. xi. . fox and goat. iii. . fox and grapes. iii. . fox and raven. i. . fox and sick lion. vi. . fox and stork. i. . fox and turkeys. xii. . fox and wolf. xi. ., xii. . fox and wolf before the monkey. ii. . fox, english. xii. . fox, flies, and hedgehog. xii. . fox, lion, and wolf. viii. . fox, monkey, and animals. vi. . fox, two rats, and egg. x. . fox with his tail cut off. v. . fox, wolf, and horse. xii. . friends, the two. viii. . frog and rat. iv. . frog and two bulls. ii. . frog who would be as big as the ox. i. . frogs and hare. ii. . frogs and sun. vi. ., xii. . frogs asking a king. iii. . funeral of the lioness. viii. . g. gardener and bear. viii. . gardener and his lord. iv. . gardener, pedant, and school-boy. ix. . gazelle, raven, tortoise, and rat. xii. . gnat and lion. ii. . goat and fox. iii. . goat, heifer, sheep, and lion. i. . goat, hog, and sheep. vii. . goat, kid, and wolf. iv. . goats, the two. xii. . gods wishing to educate a son of jupiter. xi. . gout and spider. iii. . grapes and fox. iii. . grasshopper and ant. i. . h. hard to suit, against the. ii. . hare and frogs. ii. . hare and partridge. v. . hare and tortoise. vi. . hare, ears of the. v. . hawk, fowler, and lark. vi. . head and tail of the serpent. vii. . hedgehog, fox, and flies. xii. . heifer, sheep, goat, and lion. i. . hen with golden eggs. v. . hermit, arbiter, and almoner. xii. . heron. vii. . hog, goat, and sheep. viii. . hornets and honey-bees. i. . horoscope. viii. . horse and ass. vi. . horse and stag. iv. . horse and wolf. v. . horse, fox, and wolf. xii. . hunter and lion. vi. . hunter and wolf. viii. . husband, wife, and thief. ix. . i. idol of wood and man. iv. . ill-married. vii. . image, man and his. i. . j. jay and the peacock's feathers. iv. . joker and fishes. viii. . juno and peacock. ii. . jupiter and farmer. vi. . jupiter and the thunderbolts. viii. . jupiter and traveller. ix. . k. kid, goat, and wolf. iv. . king, kite, and falconer. xii. . king and shepherd. x. . king, his son, and the two parrots. x. . king's son, merchant, noble, and shepherd. x. . kite and nightingale. ix. . kite, king, and falconer. xii. . knowledge, the use of. viii. . l. lamb and wolf. i. . lark and her young ones, &c. iv. . lark, fowler, and hawk. vi. . league of the rats. xii. . leopard and monkey. ix. . lion. xi. . lion and ass hunting. ii. . lion, goat, heifer, and sheep. i. . lion and gnat. ii. . lion and hunter. vi. . lion and rat. ii. . lion and shepherd. vi. . lion beaten by man. iii. . lion, court of the. vii. . lion going to war. v. . lion grown old. iii. . lion in love. iv. . lion, monkey, and two asses. xi. . lion, the sick, and fox. vi. . lion, wolf, and fox. viii. . lioness and bear. x. . lioness, funeral of the. viii. . litigants and oyster. ix. . lobster and daughter. xii. . love and folly. xii. . love, lion in. iv. . m. magpie and eagle. xii. . maid. vii. . man and adder. x. . man and flea. viii. . man and his image. i. . man and two mistresses. i. . man and wooden god. iv. . man beating a lion. iii. . man who ran after fortune. &c. vii. . master, the eye of the. iv. . members and belly. iii. . men, the two, and treasure. ix. . merchant and pashaw. viii. . merchant, noble, shepherd, and king's son. x. . mercury and woodman. v. . miller, son, and ass. iii. . mice and cats, quarrel of the, &c. xii. . mice and owl. xi. . miser and monkey. xii. . miser who had lost his treasure. iv. . mogul's dream. xi. . monkey and cat. ix. . monkey and dolphin. iv. . monkey and leopard. ix. . monkey and miser. xii. . monkey, fox, and animals. vi. . monkey judging wolf and fox. ii. . monkey, lion, and two asses. xi. . mother, child, and wolf. iv. . mountain in labour, v. . mouse, cockerel, and cat. vi. . mouse metamorphosed into a maid. ix. . mouse, young, and cat. xii. . mule boasting of his genealogy. vi. . mules, the two. i. . n. nightingale and kite. ix. . nobleman, merchant, shepherd, and king's son. x. . nothing too much. ix. . o. oak and reed. i. . old cat and young mouse. xii. . old man and ass. vi. . old man and his sons. iv. . old man and three young ones. xi. . old woman and two servants. v. . oracle and the atheist. iv. . owl and eagle. v. . owl and mice. xi. . oyster and litigants. ix. . oyster and rat. viii. . p. parrots, the two, the king, and his son. x. . partridge and cocks. x. . partridge and hare. v. . pashaw and merchant. viii. . peacock complaining to juno. ii. . pearl and cock. i. . peasant of the danube. xi. . pedant, schoolboy, and gardener. ix. . philomel and progne. iii. . phoebus and boreas. vi. . pigeons and vultures. vii. . pigeons, the two. ix. . ploughman and his sons. v. . pot of earth and the pot of iron. v. . pot of milk and dairy-woman. vii. . power of fables. viii. . pumpkin and acorn. ix. . q. quarrel of the dogs and cats, &c. xii. . r. rabbit, cat, and weasel. vii. . rabbits. x. . rat and cat. viii. . rat and elephant. viii. . rat and frog. iv. . rat and lion. ii. . rat and oyster. viii. . rat, city, and country rat. i. . rat, old, and cat. iii. . rat retired from the world. vii. . rat, tortoise, raven, and gazelle. xii. . rats and weasels, combat of. iv. . rats, council of the. ii. . rats, league of the. xii. . rats, two, fox, and egg. x. . raven wishing to imitate the eagle. ii. . raven and fox. i. . raven, tortoise, gazelle, and rat. xii. . reed and oak. i. . river and torrent. viii. . robber, husband, and wife. ix. . s. sage and fool. xii. . satyr and traveller. v. . schoolboy, pedant, and gardener. ix. . schoolmaster and boy. i. . sculptor and statue of jupiter. ix. . scythian philosopher. xii. . sea, the shepherd and the. iv. . serpent and countryman. vi. . serpent and file. v. . serpent, head and tail of. vii. . servants, two, and old woman. v. . sheep and wolves. iii. . sheep, heifer, goat, and lion. i. . sheep, hog, and goat. viii. . shepherd and his flock. ix. . shepherd and king. x. . shepherd and lion. vi. . shepherd and sea. iv. . shepherd and wolf. iii. . shepherd, merchant, noble, and king's son. x. . shepherd who played the flute, and fishes. x. . shepherds and wolf. x. . simonides preserved by the gods. i. . socrates, the words of. iv. . sow (wild), cat, and eagle. iii. . sparrows, two, and cat. xii. . spider and gout. iii. . spider and swallow. x. . stag and horse. iv. . stag and vine. v. . stag seeing himself in the water. vi. . stag, sick. xii. . stork and fox. i. . stork and wolf. iii. . sun and frogs. vi. ., xii. . swallow and little birds. i. . swallow and spider. x. . swan and cook. iii. . t. talisman and two adventurers. x. . thieves and ass. i. . thyrsis and amaranth. viii. . tortoise and hare. vi. . tortoise and two ducks. x. . tortoise, gazelle. raven, and rat. xii. . torrent and river. viii. . traveller and jupiter. ix. l . traveller and satyr. v. . treasure and two men. ix. . turkeys and fox. xii. . u. ulysses, companions of. xii. . unfortunate and death. i. . v. vine and stag. v. . vultures and pigeons. vii. . w. wallet. i. . wax-candle. ix. . weasel, cat, and rabbit. vii. . weasel in a granary. iii. . weasels, two, and bat. ii. . weasels and rats, combat of. iv. . widow, the young. vi. . wild sow, eagle, and cat. iii. . will explained by aesop. ii. . wishes. vii. . wolf and dog. i. . wolf and fox. xii. . wolf and fox at the well. xi. . wolf and fox before the monkey. ii. . wolf and horse. v. . wolf and hunter. viii. . wolf and lamb. i. . wolf and lean dog. ix. . wolf and shepherds. x. . wolf and stork. iii. . wolf, fox, and horse. xii. . wolf, goat, and kid. iv. . wolf, lion, and fox. viii. . wolf, mother, and child. iv. . wolf turned shepherd. iii. . wolves and sheep. iii. . woman drowned. iii. . women and the secret. viii. . wood-chopper and death. i. . woodman and forest. xii. . woodman and mercury. v. . this ebook was produced by david widger the tales and novels of j. de la fontaine volume . contains: the spectacles the bucking tub the impossible thing the spectacles i lately vowed to leave the nuns alone, so oft their freaks have in my page been shown. the subject may at length fatigue the mind; my muse the veil howe'er is still inclined, conspicuously to hold to publick view, and, 'mong the sisters, scene and scene pursue. is this too much?--the nicest tricks they play; through soft amours oft artfully they stray, and these in full i'd readily detail, if i were sure the subject would not fail; and that's impossible i must admit, 'twould endless be, the tales appear so fit; there's not a clerk so expeditious found, who could record the stories known around. the sisters to forget, were i to try, suspicions might arise that, by and by, i should return: some case might tempt my pen; so oft i've overrun the convent-den, like one who always makes, from time to time, the conversation with his feelings chime. but let us to an end the subject bring, and after this, of other matters sing. in former times was introduced a lad among the nuns, and like a maiden clad; a charming girl by all he was believed; fifteen his age; no doubts were then conceived; coletta was the name the youth had brought, and, till he got a beard, was sister thought. the period howsoe'er was well employed, and from it agnes profit had enjoyed; what profit?--truly better had i said, that sister agnes by him was misled, and store of ills received; misfortune dire obliged the nun more girdle to require, and ultimately to produce (in spite of ev'ry wish to guard the fact from light) a little creature that our hist'ries say, was found coletta's features to display. great scandal quickly through the convent ran: how could this child arrive?--the sisters 'gan to laugh and ask, if in an evil hour, the mushroom could have fallen with a show'r? or self-created was it not supposed? much rage the abbess presently disclosed; to have her holy mansion thus disgraced! forthwith the culprit was in prison placed. the father to discover next they tried; how could he enter, pass, escape, or hide; the walls were high; the grate was double too; quite small the turning-box appeared to view, and she who managed it was very old:-- perhaps some youthful spark has been so bold, cried she who was superior to the rest, to get admitted, like a maiden dressed, and 'mong our flock (if rightly i surmise) a wicked wolf is lurking in disguise. undress, i say, i'll verify the fact; no other way remains for me to act. the lad disguised was terrified to death; each plan was dissipated with a breath; the more he thought of means from thence to get, the greater were the obstacles he met. at length necessity (the parent found of stratagems and wiles, so much renowned,) induced the youth . . . (i scarcely can proceed) to tie . . . expression here i clearly need; what word will decently express the thought? what book has got it?--where should it be sought? you've heard, in days of yore that human kind, with windows in their bosoms were designed, through which 'twas easy all within to see, and suited those of medical degree. but if these windows useful were believed; 'twas inconvenient in the heart perceived, and women thoroughly disliked the scheme:-- they could not find the means to hide a dream. dame nature howsoe'er contrived a plan:-- one lace she gave the woman, one the man, of equal length, and each enough no doubt, by proper care to shut the ope throughout. the woman much too thick her eyelets placed; and consequently, ne'er was closely laced; the fault was all her own: herself the cause; the man as little merited applause, for coarsely working, soon the hole was shut, from which the remnant lace was left to jut; in fact, on either side, whate'er was done, the laces never equally would run, and we are told, both sexes acted wrong: the woman's was too short; the man's too long. from this 'tis easy, it should seem to guess: what by the youth was tied in this distress the end of lace that by the men was left, when nature ordered them to close the cleft: with thread he fastened it so very well, that all was flat as any nun or belle; but thread or silk, you cannot find a string to hold, what soon i fear will give a spring, and get away, in spite of all you do; bring saints or angels such a scene to view, as twenty nuns in similar array, strange creatures i should think them:--merely clay, if they should at the sight unmoved remain; i speak of nuns, howe'er, whose charms maintain superior rank, and like the graces seem, delightful sisters! ev'ry way supreme. the prioress, this secret to disclose, appeared with spectacles upon her nose; and twenty nuns around a dress displayed; that convent mantua-makers never made, imagine to yourself what felt the youth, 'mid this examination of the truth. the nice proportions and the lily charms soon raised within his bosom dire alarms; like magick operated on the string, and from it, what was tied, soon gave a spring; broke loose at once, just like a mettled steed, that, having slipt its halter, flies with speed; against the abbess' nose with force it flew, and spectacles from her proboscis threw. though she had nearly fallen on the floor, in thus attempting secrets to explore, no jest she thought the accident, 'twas plain, but would with force the discipline maintain. a chapter instantly the lady held; long time upon the circumstance they dwelled. the youthful wolf that caused the direful shock; at length was given to the aged flock, who tied his hands and bound him to a tree face 'gainst the wood, that none his front might see; and while the cruel troop, with rage inflamed, considered of rewards that vengeance framed; while some the besoms from the kitchen brought; and others, in the convent ars'nal sought the various instruments the sisters used to punish when obedience was refused; another double-locked, within a room. the nuns of tender hearts and youthful bloom:-- by chance, a friend to sly gallants appeared, and soon removed, what most our hero feared: a miller mounted on his mule came by, a tight-built active lad with piercing eye; one much admired by all the girls around; played well at kayles:--a good companion found. aha! cried he, what's here?--a nice affair; young man, pray tell me who has placed thee there? the sisters, say'st thou?--hast thou had thy fun, and pleased thy fancy with a wanton nun? art satisfied?--and was she pretty too? in truth, to judge by what appears to view, thou seemest thoroughly a wily wight, that convent belles would relish morn and night. alas! replied the other with a sigh, in vain the nuns my virtue sought to try; 'twas my misfortune:--patience heav'n bestow; for worlds such wickedness i would not know. the miller laughed at what the other spoke; untied his hands, and ev'ry bandage broke. said he, thou ninny, scruples can'st thou find to counteract, and prove to pleasure blind? the business clearly should to me belong; our rector ne'er had thought such conduct wrong, and never would have played the fool like this; fly, haste away, away; i'll thee dismiss, first having nicely set me in thy place; like me thou wert not formed for soft embrace; i'm stout and able:--quarter ne'er will ask; come all, these nuns, i'll execute the task, and many pranks they'll see, unless a freak should happen any way the string to break. the other never asked his wishes twice, but tied him well, and left him in a trice. with shoulders broad the miller you might see; in adam's birth-attire against the tree, await the coming of the aged band, who soon appeared, with tapers in the hand, in solemn guise, and whips and scourges dire: the virgin troop (as convent laws require) in full procession moved around the wight; without allowing time to catch his sight, or giving notice what they meant to do: how now! cried he:--why won't you take a view? deceived you are; regard me well i pray; i'm not the silly fool you had to-day, who woman hates, and scruples seeks to raise: employ but me, and soon i'll gain your praise; i'll wonders execute; my strength appears; and; if i fail, at once cut off my ears. at certain pleasant play i'm clever found; but as to whips--i never was renowned. what means the fellow? cried a toothless nun; what would he tell us? hast thou nothing done? how!--art thou not our brat-begetter?--speak; so much the worse:--on thee our rage we'll wreak, for him that's gone we'll make thee suffer now; once arms in hand, we never will allow such characters full punishment to miss; the play that we desire is this and this; then whips and scourges round him 'gan to move, and not a little troublesome to prove the miller, writhing with the poignant smart, cried loudly:--i'll exert my utmost art, good ladies, to perform what is your due; the more he bawled, the faster lashes flew. this work so well the aged troop achieved, he long remembered what his skin received. while thus the master chastisement had got; his mule was feeding on the verdant spot. but what became of this or that, at last, i've never heard, and care not how it past. 'tis quite enough to save the young gallant, and more particulars we do not want. my readers, for a time, could they obtain a dozen nuns like these, where beauties reign, would doubtless not be seen without their dress! we do not always ev'ry wish express. the bucking-tub if once in love, you'll soon invention find and not to cunning tricks and freaks be blind; the youngest 'prentice, when he feels the dart, grows wondrous shrewd, and studies wily art. this passion never, we perceive, remains in want from paucity of scheming brains. the god of hearts so well exerts his force, that he receives his dues as things of course. a bucking-tub, of which a tale is told, will prove the case, and this i'll now unfold; particulars i heard some days ago, from one who seemed each circumstance to know. within a country town, no matter where, its appellation nothing would declare, a cooper and his wife, whose name was nan, kept house, and through some difficulties ran. though scanty were their means, love thither flew; and with him brought a friend to take a view; 'twas cuckoldom accompanied the boy, two gods most intimate, who like to toy, and, never ceremonious, seek to please go where they will, still equally at ease; 'tis all for them good lodging, fare, or bed; and, hut or palace, pleasantly they tread. it happened then, a spark this fair caressed, and, when he hoped most fully to be blessed, when all was ready to complete the scene, and on a point:--if naught should intervene not named howe'er will quite enough suffice, when suddenly the husband, by surprise, returned from drinking at an ale-house near, just when, just when:--the rest is pretty clear. they curst his coming; trouble o'er them spread; naught could be done but hide the lover's head; beneath a bucking-tub, in utmost haste, within the court, our gay gallant was placed. the husband, as he entered, loudly cried, i've sold our bucking-tub. the wife replied, what price, i pray?--three crowns rejoined the man; then thou'rt a silly ass, said mistress nan; to-day, by my address, i've gained a crown, and sold the same for twenty shillings down: my bargain luckily the first was made; the buyer, (who of flaws is much afraid) examines now if ev'ry part is tight; he's in the tub to see if all be right. what, blockhead, would'st thou do without thy wife? thou huntest taverns while she works for life; but necessary 'tis for her to act, when thou art out, or naught would be exact. no pleasure ever yet received have i; but take my word, to get it now i'll try. gallants are plenty; husbands should have wives; that, like themselves, lead gay or sober lives. i prythee softly, wife, the husband said; come, come, sir, leave the tub, there's naught to dread; when you are out, i'll ev'ry quarter scrape, then try if water from it can escape; i'll warrant it to be as good as nice, and nothing can be better worth the price. out came the lover; in the husband went; scraped here and there, and tried if any vent; with candle in his hand looked round and round, not dreaming once that love without was found. but nothing he could see of what was done; and while the cooper sought to overrun the various parts, and by the tub was hid, the gods already noticed thither slid; a job was by the deities proposed, that highly pleased the couple when disclosed; a very diff'rent work from what within the husband had, who scraped with horrid din, and rubbed, and scrubbed, and beat so very well, fresh courage took our gay gallant and belle; they now resumed the thread so sadly lost, when, by the cooper's coming, all was crossed. the reader won't require to know the rest; what passed perhaps may easily be guessed. 'tis quite enough, my thesis i have proved; the artful trick our pair with raptures moved. nor one nor t'other was a 'prentice new; a lover be:--and wiles you'll soon pursue. the impossible thing a demon, blacker in his skin than heart, so great a charm was prompted to impart; to one in love, that he the lady gained, and full possession in the end obtained: the bargain was, the lover should enjoy the belle he wished, and who had proved so coy. said satan, soon i'll make her lend an ear, in ev'ry thing more complaisant appear; but then, instead of what thou might'st expect, to be obedient and let me direct, the devil, having thus obliged a friend, he'll thy commands obey, thou may'st depend, the very moment; and within the hour thy humble servant, who has got such pow'r, will ask for others, which at once thou'lt find; make no delay, for if thou art so blind, thou comprehend'st, thy body and thy soul the lovely fair no longer shall control, but satan then upon them both shall seize, and with them do-whatever he may please: 'gainst this the spark had not a word to say; 'twas pleasing to command, though not obey. he sallied forth the beauteous belle to seek, and found her as he wished:--complying-meek; indulged in blisses, and most happy proved, save that the devil always round him moved. whatever rose within the whirl of thought he now commanded:--quickly it was brought; and when he ordered palaces to rise, or raging tempests to pervade the skies, the devil instantly obeyed his will, and what he asked was done with wondrous skill. large sums his purse received;--the devil went just where commanded, and to rome was sent, from whence his highness store of pardons got; no journey long, though distant was the spot, but ev'ry thing with magick ease arose, and all was soon accomplished that he chose. so oft the spark was asked for orders new, which he was bound to give the fiend at view, that soon his head most thoroughly was drained, and to the fair our lover much complained, declared the truth, and ev'ry thing detailed, how he was lost, if in commands he failed. is't this, said she, that makes thee so forlorn? mere nothing!-quickly i'll remove the thorn; when satan comes, present his highness this, which i have here, and say:--you will not miss to make it flat, and not its curl retain on which she gave him, what with little pain she drew from covert of the cyprian grove, the fairy labyrinth where pleasures rove, which formerly a duke so precious thought; to raise a knightly order thence he sought, illustrious institution, noble plan, more filled with gods and demi-gods than man. the lover to the crafty devil said:- 'tis crooked this, you see, and i am led to wish it otherwise; go, make it straight; a perfect line: no turn, nor twist, nor plait. away to work, be quick, fly, hasten, run; the demon fancied it could soon be done; no time he lost, but set it in the press, and tried to manage it with great success; the massy hammer, kept beneath the deep, made no impression: he as well might sleep; howe'er he beat: whatever charm he used:-- 'twas still the same; obedience it refused. his time and labour constantly were lost; vain proved each effort: mystick skill was crossed; the wind, or rain, or fog, or frost, or snow, had no effect: still circular 'twould go. the more he tried, the ringlet less inclined to drop the curvature so closely twined. how's this? said satan, never have i seen such stubborn stuff wherever i have been; the shades below no demon can produce, that could divine what here would prove of use: 'twould puzzle hell to break the curling spring, and make a line direct of such a thing. one morn the devil to the other went: said he, to give thee up i'll be content; if solely thou wilt openly declare what 'tis i hold, for truly i despair; i'm victus i confess, and can't succeed: no doubt the thing's impossible decreed. friend satan, said the lover, you are wrong; despondency should not to you belong, at least so soon:--what you desire to know is not the only one that's found to grow; still many more companions it has got, and others could be taken from the spot.