Part 3
The assembly, astounded, was puzzled to guess Why these two should so strange an opinion profess. Could it be that they both were bulky and strong, Or that both boasted necks so remarkably long?
Or that Ostrich was known as a simpleton rare, While the other had surely no wisdom to spare? Of their mutual ugliness were they both jealous, Or that each could display a protuberance callous?
Or can it be--"Pooh!" said Reynard the sly; "Are you all at a loss? then so am not I. From Barbary both, of the desert, each brother, As his fellow-countryman, praises the other."
* * * * *
Shrewdly our Fox the riddle has read; Of writers in plenty the same may be said, Who, to test a man's genius, ask where he was bred.
FABLE XXXIV.
THE CROW AND THE TURKEY.
A bitter contest once did spring,-- No matter how the fact I know,-- On their respective speed of wing, Between a Turkey and a Crow.
Which first would reach the appointed station, Sure you can tell, as well as I, Without much grave consideration, If you have ever seen them fly.
"Look here," the loitering Turkey cries To Crow, half vanished out of view; "The thought will to my mind arise That you are black and ugly too.
Moreover, I have always heard,"-- She shouts still louder after him,-- "You are a most unlucky bird, Foreboding naught but evils grim.
Begone from sight, disgusting beast! You fairly do my stomach turn; Making your foul, revolting feast On carrion corpse that dogs would spurn."
"All this is nothing to the case," Answered the Crow, far off in air; "The only question now in place Is of our flight a trial fair."
* * * * *
When envious detractors find In wise men's works, no welcome faults, They satisfy their spiteful mind By base and personal assaults.
FABLE XXXV.
THE SILKWORM AND THE CATERPILLAR.
At the very same time, when the gaunt Dromedary And Ostrich, so ugly, each other bepraised, In terms so unmeasured and extraordinary, That the other brutes thought them both utterly crazed, Till the Fox told the reason, and their wonder dispelled-- In that same assembly arose a discussion Concerning the Silkworm, artificer skilled In producing of works of such wonderful fashion.
A silken cocoon some one brought them to see; They examine--their plaudits are hearty and loud. And, even the Mole, though as blind as could be, Concedes it to be a masterpiece proud. But an old Caterpillar, who his spite could not stifle, Muttered out of a corner, "This fuss was absurd. Their wondrous cocoon was a pitiful trifle; Its admirers all ninnies," he coolly averred.
The beasts at each other looked round in amaze. "How comes it," say they, "that this creature forlorn, What the rest of us all are uniting to praise, He alone, wretched worm, takes upon him to scorn?" Then up jumped sly Reynard and said, "On my soul, 'Tis easy enough the reason to show; His mortified rancor he cannot control; He makes cocoons too, though they 're worthless, we know."
* * * * *
Laborious Genius! when, stung by the sneer Of the envious wretch who would rob you of glory, The loss of your well-deserved laurels you fear, Then take my advice and tell him this story.
FABLE XXXVI.
THE PURCHASE OF THE ASS.
Yesterday through our street An Ass did pass, In trappings most complete-- A gorgeous Ass. Saddle and halter too Were both bran new; With tassels yellow Or red as rose. Besides the fellow Wore plumes and bows Of ribbons bright. Bells tinkle light As on he paced; And many a prank And rare device, With carving nice, The shears had traced On breast and flank.
His cunning master,-- As I was told,-- A Gypsy jockey, The creature sold To a weak blockhead; And they said The Donkey Colt Had cost the dolt But a mere song. In haste along The exulting buyer Drove home the beast,-- His pride to feast, While friends admire His bargain rare.
"Let me inquire, Neighbor,"--says one,-- "If blood and bone, Good as his clothes, Your purchase shows." Whereon, with care, The showy gear And harness line To strip he goes. Beneath the saddle-- At first go off-- They find his withers With warts all rough, Like musket balls. Along the spine, And on his shoulders, Six dreadful galls Appal beholders. Nothing to say Of two great gashes, That hidden lay Under the girt; And an old hurt, From cruel lashes, Clean to the bone, Into a tumor Inveterate grown. In bitter humor, "Ah, precious gull!"-- The hapless owner said,-- "Donkey more dull A thousand fold Than this brute cull, I have my money paid For trumpery vile, Through Gypsy wile."
* * * * *
Now faith, this queer affair I often note. Well it applies To friends of mine, Who, at great price, Buy books, that shine In bindings rich and rare, But are not worth a groat.
FABLE XXXVII.
THE OX AND THE GRASSHOPPER.
As in a field the sturdy Ox was ploughing, A Grasshopper, close by him, shrilly sang out; "Ah! what a crooked furrow, friend, you're making! Then the Ox answered,--"Sure, my little lady, If every other furrow were not drawn straight, You never would perceive that this was crooked; Stop, then, reproaches so unjust and futile; For well I serve my master, and he heeds not A single failure, in so much accomplished."
* * * * *
Now let the captious critic that presumeth,-- Vain Grasshopper, the useful Ox reproaching,-- To drag to light, from works of sterling merit, Some petty blemish, take to himself our meaning.
FABLE XXXVIII.
THE MACAW AND THE MARMOT.
A brilliantly-colored Macaw, A wandering clown, near the spot Where she hung in a balcony, saw-- A Savoyard, more likely than not.
He was showing--a penny to gain-- An animal ugly and squat; Which he lauded in high-sounding strain The creature, it was a Marmot.
The absurd little beast, at his word, Came out of his box into sight; When unto him said our gay bird: "This matter amazes me quite,
That men give their money, to see Such a comical creature as you, When they freely may look upon me, Clad in plumage of exquisite hue.
You may be, for aught that I know, Some creature of value untold; But for me, 'tis enough that you show Yourself to all comers, for gold."
* * * * *
A scribbler, who heard the remark, Hung his head, and went sneaking away Because, for his low, dirty work, He was kept by a printer in pay.
FABLE XXXIX.
THE PORTRAIT.
A spreading contagion, defacing our tongue With phrases outlandish, our critics bemoan. But some fools have their notions of purity hung Upon obsolete terms superseding our own. Living words they despise as a vulgar intrusion, And forgotten ones rake from oblivion's gloom. For a word of advice on such stupid conclusion, In phrase like their own, we here must find room; In two dialects, jostling in motley confusion.
Of our own times a Painter--who jealousy felt That some portraits antique, of a day long bygone From the connoisseurs won both lauding and gelt-- Determined to make some antiques of his own. So essaying, one day, the portrait to limn Of a certain rich man, in high estimate held, He deemed that a dress of antiquity grim Would give to his limning the impress of eld.
For a second Velasquez he counted to stand-- When the traits of the sitter, to perfect content, Having deftly depicted--with grave collar and band, And glittering gauds, he a costume besprent That had figured, whilom, as stately and grand.
To his patron the work he carries with speed. He, his form thus yclad with wonderment saw; By such odd gear full sorely astounded, I rede,-- Though the face of the portrait showed dainty and braw.
This antick his patron, to quip him, devised-- The Painter a guerdon to grant, to his gree--In a chest, as heir-loom from his ancestry prized, Some old coins had been lying for centuries three; Of the first of the Charles' and fifth Ferdinand, Of Philip the second and Philip the third: A purse full of these he placed in the hand Of the Painter abashed--but ne'er said a word.
"With these coin--or, as certes, I rather might say-- These medals, to market if I chance for to his,"-- Quoth our limner,--"when victuals I needed, I pray, How, with such, could I chaffer my cheer to supply?
"But sith," said the other, "you've pranked me out there In a guise, that was once brave and lordly,--'tis true, But which no living man but a beadle would wear; As you 've painted me, so I have paid you. Take your picture again, and paint round my throat A cravat, instead of that collar and band--Yon satin slashed doublet exchange for my coat, And my rapier, too, for that basket-hilt brand; Not one, in the city's whole compass, there is Who, in trappings like these, would guess at my phiz. Paint me like myself, and the price I'll lay down In good money, current in country or town."
* * * * *
Hold, now. If we laugh at the farcical notion Of this modern Painter, and deem it so droll, Why may we not laugh at the Author's devotion, His ideas who drapes in antiquity's stole;-- Who shocks us with phrases all mouldy with age; Thinks oddity graceful;--and purity's self Considers his style, when he darkens his page With expressions forgotten and laid on the shelf;-- And believes that no term by pure taste is forbid, If it only were good in the time of the Cid?
FABLE XL.
THE TWO INNS.
Coming to a little town, The mountain's skirts within, Two youthful travellers, seeking rest, Looked round them for an Inn.
Of two rival Inns, the host, Each, with a thousand offers, Did the wayfarers accost.
To give offence to neither Was their natural desire; So, in the house of either, Apartments one doth hire.
Of the mansions twain, Each guest chooseth, for himself, In which he will remain.
To a house that stretched Around its ample courts. Its broad front palatial, One traveller resorts.
A quartered scutcheon shone Over the lofty gate, Sculptured deep in stone.
Less grand the other Inn Appeared unto the sight, But, comfort and good cheer within Its patron's trust requite.
Chambers, its walls did screen, Of pleasant temperature, All light, and bright, and clean.
But its rival, the huge palace, With its architecture bold, Was narrow, dark and dirty, And miserably cold.
A portal tall and sightly,-- Within inclement garrets, With tiled roof covered slightly.
Its inmate comfortless, Did a weary sojourn make; And bewailed unto his comrade, Next day, his sad mistake.
His friend thus answer gives: "In like manner many a book Its reader's hopes deceives."
FABLE XLI.
THE TEA-PLANT AND SAGE.
From China, once, the Tea-plant coming, Met with the Sage upon his way. "Friend,"--said the latter,--"whither roaming?"
"For Europe, where for me they pay A generous price,"--quoth Tea,--"I'm bound."
"And I,"--said Sage,--"to China's market go; Where I am held in reverence profound For beverage or for medicine, you know. In Europe no good fortune waits on me; A worthless herb, not comparable to thee, But quite too common there--to shine. I to your home am sent, and you to mine. Good luck attend you to my native shore! For never yet was any nation known, But gold and praises will profusely pour On foreign products, while it slights its own."
* * * * *
This sarcasm some abatement may admit, For varying fancies are the soul of trade; But, of the comment, application fit, In literary borrowings, may be made. For what, in general, doth good service render, In special cases sometimes proves a blunder.
Now, I am sure that I can Spaniards show, Who will eternally be quoting Whole pages out of Tasso or Boileau; Yet never think or care to know What language Garcilaso wrote in.
FABLE XLII.
THE CAT, THE LIZARD, AND THE CRICKET.
Creatures there are, of wondrous skill To rid themselves of every ill, By use of vegetable specific-- Their sound construction organic Preserving by their lore botanic. They know all herbs medicinal--diuretic, Narcotic, purgative, emetic, Febrifuge, styptic and prolific, Cephalic, too, and sudorific.
A Cat, theoretic and empirical, There was,--a pedant most rhetorical,-- That talked in lofty style, magniloquent As any grave professor eloquent,-- Seeking for vegetables salutiferous, Said to a Lizard,--"Ah! what pangs mortiferous I must, to cure this turgidness hydropsical, Swallow some essence of leaves heliotropical."
Lizard, at this bombastic speech astounded,-- That with big terms professional resounded,-- Naught better knew what Puss did gabble on, Than if she spoke in tongue of Babylon. But the ridiculous charlatan, he saw, With Sunflower leaves was stuffing out her maw. "Aha!"--said he,--"learned Signora Dropsical, I know now what's your essence heliotropical!"
A silly Cricket heard the dialogue; And, though he knew naught of this catalogue Of words so overwhelming and so curious, Honored the Cat with an eulogium glorious. For some there are who pomp for merit take; And, of what's clear and simple, mockery make.
* * * * *
Lovers of phrases hyperbolical, And turgid aphorisms diabolical, Exhausting all the dictionary's store Of giant-worded and bombastic lore,-- Though meaningless and inappropriate all,-- Upon your mouthing verbiage dogmatical Reflects this polysyllabic apologue enigmatical.
FABLE XLIII.
THE CONCERT OF THE BEASTS.
Attention--noble auditory! While the rebeck I tune; And be prepared with plaudits soon, When ye have heard my story.
Certain of the subject beasts Of the mighty Lion's court An entertainment musical, To make his Royal Highness sport Upon his birth-day festival, Devised,--to grace the occasion gay, And pleasure to insure, They organized an orchestra To make success secure. As often it doth happen, Little wisdom was displayed, In choosing actors competent, That understood their trade.
Naught was said about the Nightingale, Of the Blackbird not a word; Of Lark or Linnet no one thought, Or the Canary-bird. Singers, much less accomplished But more self-satisfied, Took upon themselves the charge The music to provide. Before the time appointed To electrify all hearts, Each musician loudly vaunted How they would play their parts. At length the choir the prelude Commenced within the hall, Before the expectant multitude,-- Adroit performers all-- Two lusty Crickets treble sang; Frog and locust took their place To do up the contra-alto; Hog and Donkey grunted base; While, to make up the melody, Two Hornets brisk the tenor try. With what delicious cadence And accent delicate The orchestra resounded, Sure I need not here repeat; I'll only say, that most Stopped up their ears, at once; But, from deference to their host, Their annoyance sought to hide, At the barbarous dissonance, That echoed far and wide.
Frog saw, by the wry faces, That no bravo's cheering shout Or glad applause awaited them; And sprang the choir from out. "The stupid Ass is out of tune Most shockingly," said he.
"No--'tis the treble," Donkey brayed, "That mars the harmony."
"The Hog, he fairly spoils the whole," A squeaking Cricket cried.
"No, no!"--said Chucky,--"on my soul, I say the Locust, worse than all, Out of all time and tune doth squall."
"That speech becomes you very ill! Mind what you say!"--in accents shrill, Locust angrily replied. "'Tis plain that those confounded tenors, The Hornets, are the real sinners!"
The Lion silenced the dispute: "Before the concert was begun Each puffed-up and conceited brute Was bragging loud--yea, every one; And challenged confident applause, As if, to him alone, were due, The honor of the harmony Produced by your melodious crew. Now the experiment is made, And your incompetence betrayed-- On your own shares, ye all are dumb, In this outrageous pandemonium, And, to avoid presumptuous shame, Each on his neighbor lays the blame. Now get ye gone--and from my sight Forever banished be. The day beware, that e'er ye dare Again to sing to me!"
* * * * *
Such, Heaven grant to be The issue of the fray, When writers, two or three, Their scanty wits uniting,-- If the book should make its way Each arrogates the praise; If not--the blame he lays On his comrade's wretched writing.
FABLE XLIV.
THE SWORD AND THE SPIT.
Sheer, sharp and trusty, tempered well, A Sword, as good as from the skilful hand Of famous smith Toledan ever fell, The shock of many a combat did withstand. In turn, it several masters truly served, And brought them safe through dangers many. Though better fate it well deserved, At auctions sold for paltry penny, Some luckless chance--who ever would have thought it?-- At last, into an inn's dark corner brought it. There--like an useless thing--upon a pin Hung up, it ate itself away In useless rust, until the maid, one day, By order of the innkeeper, her master,-- A precious blockhead, too, he must have been,-- Into the kitchen took it,--sad disaster!-- To spit a hen. Degrading--shame upon her!-- What once had been a blade of proof and honor.
While this was going on within the inn, A certain stranger, newly come to court,-- A clown, that would a modish life begin,-- Did to a cutler for a sword resort. The cutler saw that, for the case in hand, The sword was but an idle ornament; And, if the hilt could but inspection stand, No matter what the blade might be--so sent His booby customer, for the time, away;-- "A sword should ready be another day." The rogue, then, takes an old and battered spit, Which, in his kitchen, service long had done; He cleans, and polishes, and sharpens it; And sells it to the unsuspecting clown,-- In such transactions miserably raw,-- For the good sword of Thomas d'Ayala. An arrant knave, as gallows e'er did cure,-- The innkeeper as great a blockhead,--sure.
* * * * *
With equal knavery and stupidity, May not we charge these vile translators Who, with their works, in wretched rivalry, We see infesting all the world of Letters? One, with bad versions, famous writers fits-- Thus turning noble swords to vulgar spits. Another clothes vile works in sounding words; Then, seeks to sell his spits for trusty swords.
FABLE XLV.
THE UNFORTUNATES.
A man who, from his birth, was dumb And deafer than a mole, Some trifle to arrange was set With a blind man, cheek by jowl.
The blind man spoke by signs Which the mute did plainly mark; When, in like way, he said his say, His friend was in the dark.
In this odd predicament, They, for friendly aid, accost A passing comrade of them both, Who his right arm had lost.
The gestures of the mute He explained in language good; And the blind man, from his mouth, The whole matter understood.
To close this curious scene And conference singular, A contract it behoved Of the bargain to prepare.
"Friends,"--said the one-armed man--, "I must here give up the task; But the schoolmaster will come And write it, if you ask."
"How can a cripple lame,"-- Said the blind man,--"hither come? Why, he can hardly stir. We must go to him at home."
The cripple then the compact To paper did transfer; The blind and maimed man dictate; The mute was messenger.
For this purpose any two Were enough,--and even more. But, of such a hapless crew, It took no less than four.
* * * * *
Were it not that in Alcarria, A little while ago. This very matter happened,-- As a thousand gossips know,-- It might have been surmised That, some one contrived the story, To hit off the plan devised By weak aspirants for glory, Who club their pens and brains Some wondrous work to try, By their united pains, Which would each alone defy.
FABLE XLVI.
THE COCKS.
A Cock, that was well known As a champion brave and stout, And a Chicken but half grown Squabbled something about,-- But what, to me's unknown,-- And, after furious din, At last got up a very pretty battle; In which the chick such fight did show, And the old one around so sharply rattle, That, with a loud, exultant crow, He claimed the honors of the field to win. Then the seraglio's vanquished lord,-- His rival out of hearing of his tongue,-- Said, "Ah! in time he'll make a pretty bird, But, now, poor fellow, he is very young."
No more he dared himself to match With the young hero; but again With an old Cock he had a scratch,-- Of many fights, a veteran,-- Who hardly left him plume or crest. Whereon he muttered to the rest, "The fine old fellow!--surely it would be Unfair to thrash so old a chap as he."
* * * * *
Let him that will in strife engage On any question literary, Pay less attention to the age Than talents of his adversary.
FABLE XLVII.
THE MONKEY AND THE MAGPIE.
To her friend, the crafty Monkey, Said a Magpie,--"If you'll go With me unto my dwelling, I've some pretty things to show. For, sure you know, I've skill A thousand things to steal. You shall see them, if you will, Where I my hoard conceal In my chest." Replied her friend: "I'll wait on you with pleasure." So their course forthwith they bend To see the Magpie's treasure.
And there, my lady Magpie Proceeded to produce, First, an old colored garter, Then a hoop that ladies use,-- Two petty coins, a buckle, Of a knife a shabby handle, A blade of broken scissors, And a little bit of candle, The battered tip of scabbard Worn out in ancient war, A scrap of gauze and half a comb, Three pegs of a guitar,-- With an endless lot of knick-knacks, That good for nothing were.
"What think you now, friend Monkey? Don't you envy me my pelf? Upon my word, no other bird Is so wealthy as myself." A shrewd grimace the Monkey made, And to Magpie answered she: "This is all an idle story, And your wealth mere trumpery. In your faithful chest you bury Every petty, straggling waif; Not that they all are worth a groat, But because it keeps them safe. Look at my jaws, dear gossip; You see, beneath them here, I have two nice snug magazines, Or chops, if you prefer.