Part 14
A Malady that Heaven sent On earth, for our sin's punishment-- The Plague (if I must call it right), Fit to fill Hades in a night-- Upon the animals made war; Not all die, but all stricken are. They scarcely care to seek for food, For they are dying, and their brood. The Wolves and Foxes crouching keep, Nor care to watch for timorous Sheep. Even the very Turtle-doves Forget their little harmless loves. The Lion, calling counsel, spoke-- "Dear friends, upon our luckless crown Heaven misfortune has sent down, For some great sin. Let, then, the worst Of all our race be taken first, And sacrificed to Heaven's ire; So healing Mercury, through the fire, May come and free us from this curse, That's daily growing worse and worse. History tells us, in such cases For patriotism there a place is. No self-deception;--plain and flat Search each his conscience, mind you that. I've eaten several sheep, I own. What harm had they done me?--why, none. Sometimes--to be quite fair and true-- I've eaten up the shepherd too. I will devote myself; but, first, Let's hear if any has done worst. Each must accuse himself, as I Have done; for justice would let die The guiltiest one." The Fox replied-- "You are too good to thus decide.
Your Majesty's kind scruples show Too much of delicacy. No What! eating sheep--the paltry--base, Is that a sin? You did the race, In munching them, an honour--yes, I'm free, your highness, to confess. And as for shepherds, they earn all The evils that upon them fall: Being of those who claim a sway (Fantastic claim!) o'er us, they say." Thus spoke the Fox the flatterer's text. The Tiger and the Bear came next, With claims that no one thought perplexed. In fact, more quarrelsome they were, The fewer grew the cavillers there. Even the humblest proved a saint: None made a slanderous complaint. The Ass came in his turn, and said, "For one thing I myself upbraid. Once, in a rank green abbey field, Sharp hunger made me basely yield. The opportunity was there; The grass was rich; the day was fair. Some demon tempted me: I fell, And cleared my bare tongue's length, pell-mell." Scarce had he spoken ere they rose In arms, nor waited for the close. A Wolf, half lawyer, made a speech, And proved this creature wrong'd them each And all, and they must sacrifice This scurvy wretch, who to his eyes Was steep'd in every wickedness. Doom'd to the rope, without redress, "Hang him at once! What! go and eat An Abbot's grass, however sweet! Abominable crime!" they cry; "Death only clears the infamy."
If you are powerful, wrong or right, The court will change your black to white.
FABLE CXXVI.
THE RAT WHO RETIRED FROM THE WORLD.
There is a legend of the Levantine, That once a certain Rat, weary of strife, Retired into a Dutch cheese, calm, serene, Far from the bustle and the cares of life. In solitude extreme, dim stretching far and wide, The hermit dwelt in all tranquillity, And worked so well with feet and teeth inside, Shelter and food were his in certainty. What need of more? Soon he grew fat with pride; God showers his blessings upon those who pay Their vows to him in faith. There came, one day, A pious deputy, from Ratdom sent, To beg some trilling alms, because their town-- Ratopolis--was leaguered with intent Most deadly; they, without a crown, Had been obliged to fly,--so indigent Was the assailed republic. Little ask The scared ambassadors--the succour sure, In a few days: the loan was no hard task. "My friend," the hermit cried. "I can endure No more the things of this world. What have I, A poor recluse, to give you, but a prayer? I yield you patiently unto His care." And then he shut the door, quite tranquilly.
Who do I mean, then, by this selfish Rat? A monk?--no, sir; a dervish is more fat. A monk, where'er in this world he may be, Is always full, you know, of charity.
FABLE CXXVII.
THE HERON.
One day, on his stilt legs, walked, here and there, A Heron, with long neck and searching beak; Along a river side he came to seek. The water was transparent, the day fair, Gossip, the Carp, was gambolling in the stream: The Pike, her neighbour, was in spirits, too. The Heron had no trouble, it would seem, But to approach the bank, and snap the two; But he resolved for better appetite To calmly wait:--he had his stated hours: He lived by rule. At last, there came in sight Some Tench, that exercised their finny powers. They pleased him not, and so he waited still, Scornful, like rat of whom good Horace wrote. "What! eat a tench?--I, who can take my fill, Munch such poor trash?"--he'll sing another note. The tench refused, a gudgeon next came by: "A pretty dish for such as me, forsooth! The gods forgive me if I eat such fry: I'll never open beak for that:"--and yet, in truth, He opened for far less. The fish no more Returned. Then Hunger came;--thus ends my tale. He who'd rejected dishes half a score, Was forced, at last, to snap a paltry snail.
Do not be too exacting. The cleverer people are The sooner pleased, by far. We all may lose by trying for too much;-- I have known such. Hold nothing in contempt, and the less so, If you are needing help, for know In that trap many fall, not only birds, Like Herons, to whom now I gave some words. Listen, my fellow-men,--another fable: Some lessons can be found amid your lords.
FABLE CXXVIII.
THE MAN BADLY MARRIED.
Oh, that the good and beautiful were wedded! From early morrow I will seek the pair; But since they are divorced, the addle-headed Alone would track them long through sea or air. Few beauteous bodies shelter beauteous souls; So don't be angry if I cease pursuit. Marriages many I have seen. The goals To which men strive my fancies seldom suit.
The full four-fourths of men rush reckless on, And brave the deadliest risks;--four-fourths repent. I'll produce one who, being woe-begone, Found no resource but sending where he'd sent Before his hopeless wife, jealous and miserly, Peevish and fretful;--nothing was done right. They went to bed too soon--rose tardily; The white was black, the black was staring white; The servants groaned, the master swore outright. "Monsieur is always busy;--he, of course, Will think of nothing--squanders everything." So much of this, in fact. Monsieur, par force , Weary of all this squabble, and the sting, Sends her back to the country and her friends,-- Phillis, who drives the turkeys, and the men Who watch the pigs, and very soon she mends. Grown calmer, he writes for her kindly then:-- "Well, how did time pass? was it pleasant there? How did you like the country innocence?" "It's bearable," she said; "the only care That vexed me was to see the vile pretence Of industry. Why, those base, lazy patches Let the herds starve;--not one of them has sense To do their proper work, except by snatches." "Come, madam," cried the husband in a rage, "If you're so peevish that folk out all day Weary of you, and long to see the stage That bears you from them anywhere away, What must the servants feel who, every hour, Are chased about by your outrageous tongue! And what the husband, who is in your power By night and day? Adieu! May I be hung If I again recall you from the farm; Or if I do, may I atone the sin By having Pluto's gloomy realms within Two wives like you, a shrew for either arm."
FABLE CXXIX.
THE MAIDEN.
A certain Maiden, somewhat proud, A husband sought from out the crowd Of suitors. Handsome he's to be, and bold, Agreeable, young, and neither cold Nor jealous. Wealth she wished, and birth, Talent; in fact, all things on earth. Who could expect to have them all? Fortune was kind and helped to call Lovers of rank and eminence. She thought them mean and wanting sense-- "What! I accept such people? Pish!
You're doting, if that is your wish. Look at the paltry creatures. See, Mark how they grin, and ogle me." One's vulgar; he who dares propose Has, goodness gracious! such a nose; This is too short, and that too tall, Something distinctly wrong in all. Affected girls are hard to please, Though lovers sue them on their knees. After the best were spurned, there came The humbler people of less name. She mocked them, too, unmercifully-- "To greet such men is good of me; Perhaps they think my chance is poor, Even to venture near my door; But, Heaven be thanked, I pass my life, Although alone, quite free from strife." The Belle was with herself content; But age came soon, the lovers went. A year or two passed restlessly; Then comes chagrin, and by-and-by She feels that every hurrying day Chases first smiles, then love away. Soon wrinkles make her almost faint, And try a thousand sorts of paint; But all in vain, when past one's prime, To shun that mighty robber, Time: A ruined house you can replace, But not the ruins of a face. Her pride abates--her mirror cries, "A husband get if you are wise;" Her heart, too, echoes what is said-- E'en prudes are willing to be wed. A curious choice, at last, she made, And not a grand one, I'm afraid; Her choice was what most men called foolish: A clumsy boor, ill-shaped and mulish.
FABLE CXXX.
THE WISHES.
In the Mogul's dominions far away, Certain small spirits there are often found, Who sweep the house and dig the garden ground, And guard your equipage by night and day: If you but touch their work, you spoil the whole. One of these spirits near the Ganges, then, Toiled at the garden of a citizen; And with a silent skill worked heart and soul. He loved his master and his mistress, too, The garden most. The Zephyrs (Heaven knows), Friends of the genii, as the story goes, Perhaps assisted him, whate'er he'd do. He toiled unceasingly to show his zeal, Loaded his host with gifts, a brimming store, Boundless of pleasure; indeed, wished no more To leave those friends for whom he thus could feel. Fickle such spirits are, yet true was he; His brother genii, joining in a plot, The chief of their republic quickly got, From some caprice or jealous policy, To order him to go to Norway straight. To guard a hut covered with changeless snows, From India straight to Lapland. Ere he goes The Spirit with his master holds debate: "They make me leave you, yet I know not why; For some forgotten fault, and I obey; But be the time a month, or but a day, I'll grant you now Three Wishes ere I fly-- Three, and no more. It is not hard, I know, For man to wish--how easy, we all see." They wished Abundance, and then presently Abundance came; fast from her full hands flow The golden streams, barns brim with piles of wheat; The cellars with rich casks are almost burst: How to arrange the stores--that is the worst; What ceaseless care! what toil of hands and feet! Thieves plot against them, nobles will still borrow; The Prince heaps taxes: hapless is their fate; Their sorrow, too much fortune, luck too great. They say, "Take from us wealth, let's wake to-morrow Poor as before. Happy the indigent; Poverty's better than such wealth," their cry: "Treasures, begone, take wings at once, and fly; Of that so foolish wish we both repent. Come, Moderation, mother of Repose, Friend of good sense, O Moderation, come!" She comes once more unto her former home; The door behind her joyfully they close. Two wishes gone, and not so luckily, Their lot was that of those who dream away Life in vain sighings, stealing, day by day, Time better spent in honest industry. The Spirit smiled at them; ere taking flight, While yet his wings were spread, the one wish more They asked; and this time Wisdom--that's a store That never can embarrass, day or night.
FABLE CXXXI.
THE VULTURES AND THE PIGEONS.
Mars one day set the sky on fire: A quarrel roused the wild birds' ire-- Not those sweet subjects of the spring, Who in the branches play and sing; Not those whom Venus to her car Harnesses; but the Vulture race, With crooked beak and villain face. 'Twas for a dog deceased--that's all. The blood in torrents 'gins to fall; I only tell the sober truth, They fought it out with nail and tooth.
I should want breath for the detail, If I told how with tooth and nail They battled. Many chiefs fell dead, Many a dauntless hero bled; Prometheus on his mountain sighed, And hoped Jove nearly satisfied. 'Twas pleasure to observe their pains-- 'Twas sad to see the corpse-strewn plains. Valour, address, and stratagem, By turns were tried by all of them; By folks so brave no means were lost To fill each spare place on the coast Of Styx. Each varied element Ghosts to the distant realm had sent. This fury roused, at last, deep pity, Within the pigeons' quiet city; They--of the neck of changing hue, The heart so tender and so true-- Resolved, as well became their nation, To end the war by mediation. Ambassadors they chose and sent, Who worked with such a good intent, The Vultures cried, "A truce," at last, And wars red horrors from them cast. Alas! the Pigeons paid for it; Their heart was better than their wit; The cursed race upon them fell, And made a carnage terrible; Dispeopled every farm and town, And struck the unwise people down.
In this, then, always be decided: Keep wicked people still divided; The safety of the world depends On that--sow war among their friends; Contract no peace with such, I say, But this is merely by the way.
FABLE CXXXII
THE COURT OF THE LION.
His Majesty Leo, in order to find The extent of his varied and ample dominions, Had summoned his vassals of every kind, Of all colours and shapes, and of divers opinions. A circular, signed by His Majesty's hand. Was the means of conveying the King's invitation-- He promised festivities regally grand (With an evident eye to self-glorification). His palace was open, of course, to the throng; What a place!--a mere slaughter-house, putting it plainly, Where visitors met with an odour so strong, That they strove to protect their olfactories vainly. The Bear in disgust put a paw to his nose; He had scarcely the time to repent his grimaces; For Leo at once in a fury arose, And consigned the poor brute to the Styx, to make faces. The Monkey, true courtier, approved of the deed-- Said the palace was fit for a king's habitation, And thought neither amber nor musk could exceed The rich odour that gave him such gratification. His fulsome behaviour had little success; He was treated the same as the previous aspirant (His Leonine Majesty, let us confess, Was Caligula-like, and a bit of a tyrant). The Fox trotted up, very servile and sly; Said the monarch, "No shuffling, but answer me frankly; Beware how you venture to give your reply: Do you notice that anything smells rather rankly?" But Reynard was more than a match for his king, And replied that his cold being rather a bad one, He could not at present distinguish a thing By its odour, or even assert that it had one. There's a hint for plain-speakers and flatterers here-- You should ne'er be too servile nor over-sincere; And to answer sometimes in a round-about way, Is a dozen times better than plain yea or nay.
FABLE CXXXIII.
THE MILK-MAID AND THE MILK-PAIL.
Perette, her Milk-pail balanced on her head, Tripped gaily and without hindrance down the road, So slim and trim, and gay she nimbly sped. For more agility, with such a load, She'd donned her shortest kirtle and light shoes. And as she went she counted up her gains-- Her future gains--with her twice one, twice twos. How long division racked her little brains! "First buy a hundred eggs, then triple broods; With care like mine the money soon will grow;
No fox so clever in our neighbour's woods But must leave me enough, as well I know, To buy a pig, 'twill fatten very soon; I buy him large, and for a good round sum I sell him, mark you that some afternoon; A cow and calf into our stable come; Who'll prevent that? that's what I mean to say. I see the calf skipping among the herd." Then Perette skipped for joy. Alack-a-day! Down came the milk, I give you my sworn word: Adieu cow, calf, pig, chicken, all the rest. She left with tearful eye her fortune lost, And ran to tell her husband, dreading lest He'd beat her, when in anger tempest tossed. The neighbours, doubling up with laughter, Called her the Milk-pail ever after.
Who has not raised his tower in Spain, And in a cloud-land longed to reign? Picrocolles, Pyrrhus have so done, Sages or fools, just like this one. All dream by turns; the dream is sweet; The world lies prostrate at our feet: Our souls yield blindly to the vision, Ours beauty, honour, fields Elysian. 'Tis I alone the bravest smite, The dethroned Sophy owns my might; They choose me king, in crowds I'm led; Gold crowns come raining on my head. A fly soon wakes me up once more, And I am Big John, as before.
FABLE CXXXIV.
THE CURATE AND THE CORPSE.
A Dead man, on his mournful way. To his last lodging went one day. A Curé, bustling gaily, came In due form, to inter the same. Deceased was in a coach, with care Packed snugly from the sun and air; Clad in a robe, alas! ye proud, Summer or winter, called a shroud; To change it no one is allowed. The pastor sat the dead beside, Reciting, without grief or pride, Lessons, responses, and those done, The funeral psalms; yes, every one. Good Mr. Dead-man, let them chant, The salary is all they want. The Curé Chouart shut the eyes Of his dead man, lest he surprise The priest who snatched from him a prize. His looks they seemed to say, "My friend, From you I'll have, before I end, This much in silver, that in wax," And many another little tax; That soon would bring our good divine A small cask of the choicest wine; His pretty niece a new silk gown, And Paquette something from the town. Just as his pleasant thoughts took flight, There came a crash... Curé, good night! The leaden coffin strikes his head. Parishioner, lapped up in lead, Politely you went first, you see, Now comes the priest for company.
Such is our life, as in this tale: See Curé Chouart counting on his fee, Like the poor girl with the milk-pail.
FABLE CXXXV.
THE MAN WHO RUNS AFTER FORTUNE, AND THE MAN WHO WAITS FOR HER.
Is there a man beneath the sun, Who does not after Fortune run? I would I were in some snug place, And high enough to watch the race Of the long, scuffling, struggling train That hunt Dame Fortune all in vain. The phantom flies from land to land, They follow with an outstretched hand. Now they have almost caught her. No; She's vanished like the April bow. Poor creatures! Pity them, I do: Fools deserve pity--the whole crew, By no means rage--"You see, we hope; That cabbage-planter made a Pope. Are we not quite as good?" they cry. "Twenty times better," my reply. "But what avails your mighty mind, When Fortune is so densely blind? Besides, what use the Papacy? It is not worth the price, may be." Rest, rest; a treasure that's so great 'Twas once for gods reserved by Fate; How rarely fickle Fortune sends Such gifts unto her trusting friends. Seek not the goddess, stay at home; Then like her sex she's sure to come. Two friends there lived in the same place, Who were by no means in bad case. One sighed for Fortune night and day: "Let's quit our sojourn here, I pray," He to the other said, "You know, Prophets in their own country go Unhonoured; let us seek elsewhere." "Seek!" said the other; "I'll stay here. I wish no better land or sky: Content yourself, and I will try To sleep the time out patiently." The friend--ambitious, greedy soul!-- Set out to reach the wished-for goal; And on the morrow sought a place Where Fortune ought to show her face, And frequently--the Court, I mean; So there he halts, to view the scene; Still seeking early, seeking late, The hours propitious to Fate; But yet, though seeking everywhere, He only found regret and care. "It's of no use," at last he cried; "Queen Fortune elsewhere must abide; And yet I see her, o'er and o'er, Enter by this and that man's door: And how, then, is it I can never Meet her, though I seek her ever?" These sort of people, I'm afraid, Ambition find a losing trade. Adieu, my lords; my lords, adieu; Follow the shadow ruling you. Fortune at Surat temples boasts; Let's seek those distant Indian coasts, Ye souls of bronze who e'er essayed This voyage; nay, diamond arms arrayed The man who first crossed the abyss. Many a time our friend, I wis, Thought of his village and his farm, Fearing incessantly some harm From pirates, tempests, rocks and sands, All friends of death. In many lands Man seeks his foeman, round and round, Who soon enough at home is found. In Tartary they tell the man That Fortune's busy at Japan: Then off he hurries, ne'er downcast. Seas weary of the man at last, And all the profit that he gains Is this one lesson for his pains: Japan, no more than Tartary, Brought good to him or wealthy fee. At last he settles it was shame To leave his home, and takes the blame. Then he returns: the well-loved place Makes tears of joy run down his face. "Happy," he cries, "the man at ease, Who lives at home himself to please; Ruling his passions, by report Knowing alone of sea or Court, Or Fortune, of thy empire, Jade, Which has by turns to all displayed Titles and wealth, that lead us on From rising to the setting sun; And yet thy promises astray Still lead us to our dying day. Henceforth I will not budge again, And shall do better, I see plain." While he thus schemed, resolved, and planned, And against Fortune clenched his hand, He found her in the open air At his friend's door, and sleeping there.
FABLE CXXXVI.
THE TWO FOWLS.