Part 15
Two Barn-door Fowls in peace spent all their life, Until, at last, love, love lit up the strife: War's flames burst out. O Love! that ruined Troy, 'Twas thou who, by fierce quarrel, banished joy, And stained with blood and crime the Xanthus' tide! Long, long the combat raged 'tween wrath and pride, Until the rumour spread the whole town through, And all the crested people ran to view. Many a well-plumed Helen was the prize Of him who conquered; but the vanquished flies-- Skulks to the darkest and most hidden place,
And mourns his love with a dejected face. His rival, proud of recent victory, Exulting crows, and claims the sovereignty. The conquered rival, big with rage, dilates, Sharpens his beak, and Fortune invocates, Clapping his wings, while, maddened by defeat, The other skulks and plans a safe retreat. The victor on the roof is perched, to crow; A vulture sees the bragger far below. Adieu! love, pride, and glory, all are vain Beneath the vulture's beak;--so ends that reign. The rival soon returns to make his court To the fair dame, and victory to report, As he had half-a-dozen other wives, to say the least, You'll guess the chattering at his wedding feast.
Fortune always rejoices in such blows: Insolent conquerors, beware of those. Still mistrust Fate, and dread security, Even the evening after victory.
FABLE CXXXVII.
THE COACH AND THE FLY.
Up a long dusty hill, deep sunk in sand, Six sturdy horses drew a Coach. The band Of passengers were pushing hard behind: Women, old men, and monks, all of one mind. Weary and spent they were, and faint with heat; Straight on their heads the sunbeams fiercely beat. In the hot air, just then, came buzzing by, Thinking to rouse the team, a paltry Fly. Stings one, and then another; views the scene: Believing that this ponderous machine Is by his efforts moved, the pole bestrides; And now upon the coachman's nose he rides. Soon as the wheels begin again to grind The upward road, and folks to push behind, He claims the glory; bustles here and there, Fussy and fast, with all the toil and care With which a general hurries up his men, To charge the broken enemy again, And victory secure. The Fly, perplexed With all the work, confessed that she was vexed No one was helping, in that time of need. The monk his foolish breviary would read: He chose a pretty time! a woman sang: Let her and all her foolish songs go hang! Dame Fly went buzzing restless in their ears, And with such mockery their journey cheers. After much toil, the Coach moves on at last: "Now let us breathe; the worst of it is past," The Fly exclaimed; "it is quite smooth, you know; Come, my good nags, now pay me what you owe."
So, certain people give themselves great airs, And meddlers mix themselves with one's affairs; Try to be useful, worry more and more, Until, at last, you show the fools the door.
FABLE CXXXVIII.
THE INGRATITUDE AND INJUSTICE OF MEN TOWARDS FORTUNE.
A merchant, trading o'er the seas, Became enriched by every trip. No gulf nor rock destroyed his ease; He lost no goods, from any ship.
To others came misfortunes sad, For Fate and Neptune had their will. Fortune for him safe harbours had; His servants served with zeal and skill.
He sold tobacco, sugar, spices, Silks, porcelains, or what you please; Made boundless wealth (this phrase suffices), And "lived to clutch the golden keys."
'Twas luxury that gave him millions: In gold men almost talked to him. Dogs, horses, carriages, postillions, To give this man seemed Fortune's whim.
A Friend asked how came all this splendour: "I know the 'nick of time,'" he said, "When to be borrower and lender: My care and talent all this made."
His profit seemed so very sweet, He risked once more his handsome gains; But, this time, baffled was his fleet: Imprudent, he paid all the pains.
One rotten ship sank 'neath a storm, And one to watchful pirates fell; A third, indeed, made port in form, But nothing wanted had to sell.
Fortune gives but one chance, we know: All was reversed,--his servants thieves. Fate came upon him with one blow, And made the mark that seldom leaves.
The Friend perceived his painful case. "Fortune, alas!" the merchant cries. "Be happy," says his Friend, "and face The world, and be a little wise."
"To counsel you is to give health: I know that all mankind impute To Industry their peace and wealth, To Fortune all that does not suit."
Thus, if each time we errors make, That bring us up with sudden halt, Nothing's more common than to take Our own for Fate or Fortune's fault.
Our good we always make by force, The evil fetters us so strong; For we are always right, of course, And Destiny is always wrong.
FABLE CXXXIX.
AN ANIMAL IN THE MOON.
Some sages argue that all men are dupes, And that their senses lead the fools in troops; Other philosophers reverse this quite, And prove that man is nearly always right. Philosophy says true, senses mislead, If we judge only by them without heed; But if we mark the distance and reflect On atmosphere and what it will effect, The senses cheat none of us; Nature's wise: I'll give an instance. With my naked eyes I see the sun; how large is it, think you? Three feet at farthest? It appears so, true! But could I see it from a nearer sky, 'Twould seem of our vast universe the eye: The distance shows its magnitude, you see; My hand discovers angles easily. Fools think the earth is flat; it's round, I know; Some think it motionless, it moves so slow. Thus, in a word, my eyes have wisdom got, The illusions of the senses cheat me not. My soul, beneath appearances, sees deep; My eye's too quick, a watch on it I keep; My ear, not slow to carry sounds, betrays; When water seems to bend a stick ten ways, My reason helps me out, and if my sight Lies always, yet it never cheats me quite: If I would trust my senses, very soon They'd tell me of the woman in the moon. What is there really?--No, mistrust your eyes, For what you see are inequalities. The surface of the moon has many regions, Here spread the plains, there mountains rise in legions. In light and shade strange figures you can trace--- An elephant, an ox, a human face. Not long ago, in England men perplexed, Saw, in a telescope, what savants vexed, A monster in this planet's mirror fair; Wild cries of horror filled the midnight air. Some change was pending--some mysterious change, Predicting wars, or a misfortune strange. The monarch came, he favoured learned men; The wondrous monster showed itself again: It was a mouse between the glasses shut-- The source of war--the nibbler of a nut. The people laughed--oh, nation blessed with ease, When will the French have time for toils like these? Mars brings us glory's harvests; still the foe Shrinks down before us, dreading every blow; 'Tis we who seek them, sure that victory, Slave to our Louis, follows ceaselessly His flag; his laurels render us renowned: Yet memory has not left this mortal round. We wish for peace--for peace alone we sigh; Charles tastes the joys of rest: he would in war Display his valour, and his flag bear far, To reach the tranquil joy that now he shares. Would he could end our quarrels and our cares! What incense would be his, what endless fame! Did not Augustus win a glorious name, Equal to Cæsar's in its majesty, And worthy of like reverence, may be? Oh, happy people, when will Peace come down, To dower our nation with her olive-crown?
FABLE CXL.
THE FORTUNE-TELLER.
Opinion is the child of Chance, And this Opinion forms our taste. Against all people I advance These words. I find the world all haste-- Infatuation; justice gone; A torrent towards a goal unseen. We only know things will be done In their own way, as they have been.
In Paris lived a Sorceress, Who told the people of their fate. All sought her:--men; girls loverless; A husband whom his wife thought late In dying; many a jealous woman. Ill-natured mothers, by the score, Came--for they all were simply human-- To hear what Fortune had in store.
Her tricks of trade were hardihood, Some terms of art, a neat address. Sometimes a prophecy proved good, And then they thought her nothing less Than Delphi's Pythoness of yore: Though ignorance itself was she; And made her wretched garret floor Highway for gullibility.
Grown rich, she took a house, and bought A place of profit for her lord. The witch's garret soon was sought By a young girl, who never soared To witchery, save by eyes and voice. But yet they all came, as of old-- The lucky, who in wealth rejoice, And poor--to have their fortunes told.
The regulation had been made For this poor place, by her who late Had been its tenant; and the shade Sybillic hovered o'er its state. In vain the maiden said, "You mock. Read Fate!--I scarcely know my letters!" But though such words, of course, might shock, They never could convince "her betters."
"Predict--divine;--here's gold in pay, More than the learned get together." What wonder if the maid gave way, Despite herself, such gold to gather? For fortune-telling seemed the place All tumble-down, and weird, and broken: A broomstick, for the witches' chase, And many another mystic token;
The witches' sabbath; all suggested The change of body, and of face; And so in Fate fools still invested. But what of her who made the place? She seeks the golden prize to gain, In gorgeous state, like any parrot; But people jeer and pass. In vain; They all go rushing to the garret.
'Tis custom governs everything. I've often seen, in courts of law, Some stupid barrister, who'll bring Briefs such as clever men ne'er saw. All a mistake: his eyes may glisten; They'll take him for some other man: One unto whom the world will listen. Explain me this, now, if you can.
FABLE CXLI.
THE COBBLER AND THE BANKER.
A Cobbler, who would sing from dawn to dark (A very merry soul to hear and see, As satisfied as all the Seven Wise Men could be), Had for a neighbour, not a paltry clerk, But a great Banker, who could roll in gold: A Crœsus, singing little, sleeping less; Who, if by chance he had the happiness, Just towards morning, to drop off, I'm told, Was by the Cobbler's merry singing woke. Loud he complain'd that Heaven did not keep For sale, in market-places, soothing sleep. He sent, then, for the Cobbler ('twas no joke):-- "What, Gregory, do you earn in the half-year?" "Half-year, sir!" said the Cobbler, very gaily; "I do not reckon so. I struggle daily For the day's bread, and only hunger fear." "Well, what a day?--what is your profit, man?" "Now more, now less;--the worst thing is those fêtes. Why, without them--and hang their constant dates!-- The living would be tidy--drat the plan! Monsieur the Curé always a fresh saint Stuffs in his sermon every other week." The Banker laughed to hear the fellow speak, And utter with such naïveté his complaint. "I wish," he said, "to mount you on a throne; Here are a hundred crowns, knave--keep them all, They'll serve you well, whatever ill befall." The Cobbler thought he saw before him thrown All money in the earth that had been found. Home went he to conceal it in a vault, Safe from discovery and thieves' assault. There, too, he buried joy,--deep under ground; No singing now: he'd lost his voice from fear.
His guests were cares, suspicions, vain alarms; All day he watch'd,--at night still dreading harms: If but a cat stirr'd, robbers he could hear. At last the poor fool to his neighbour ran; He had not woke him lately, I'm afraid: "Return my songs and tranquil sleep," he said, "And take your hundred crowns, my generous man."
FABLE CXLII.
THE CAT, THE WEASEL, AND THE LITTLE RABBIT.
A little Rabbit's charming nook A Weasel seized upon one morn; His household gods with him he took, Jane Rabbit's mansion to adorn.
At break of day departed Jane, To munch amongst the thyme and roses, Returning, at her window-pane-- "Why, there the wicked Weasel's nose is!"
"Oh, gracious goodness! what is here? Turned out of my paternal hall! From this you quickly disappear, Or I'll give all the rats a call."
The Weasel simply said the Earth Always belonged to the first comer; All other claims were little worth: A sufferance tenant a misnomer.
A little kingdom he had found: "Now, tell me, what more right have you To these domains, this patch of ground, Than Tom or Dick, than Nan or Sue?"
"Usage and custom of the law," The Rabbit said, "give me the place: On sire's and grandsire's claims I stand-- I, who here represent their race."
"A law most wise! can't be more wise!" Said cunning Weasel. "What of that? Our claims to settle, I devise A reference to our friend the Cat."
It was a Cat of solemn mien-- A very hermit of a Cat:-- A saint, upon whose face was seen Precept and practice, law, and--fat.
The Rabbit here agreed, and then They sought the pious Pussy's home. "Approach--I'm deaf, he said; and when They came, they told him why they'd come.
"Approach, fear not, for calm is law; For law no one here ever lacks;" And, stretching on each side a claw, He broke both litigants' weak backs.
This story calls unto my mind The sad result which often springs From squabbles of a larger kind, Which small grand-dukes refer to kings.
FABLE CXLIII.
THE LION, THE WOLF, AND THE FOX.
A Lion, sickly, weak, and full of years, Desired a remedy against old age ( Impossible 's a word no monarch hears Without directly flying in a rage). He sent for doctors--men of draughts and pills; From far and near, obedient to the call, Came makers-up of recipes and pills: The Fox alone declined to come at all. At court the Wolf malignantly referred To Reynard's absence, whereupon the King-- Whose anger was aroused at what he heard--- Decided on a rather cruel thing. He sent a force to smoke sly Reynard out, And bring him, willy nilly. When he came, The Fox could scarcely entertain a doubt As to whose tongue had put him thus to shame. "I greatly fear, your Majesty," said he, "You think me rude; you wrong me, if you do: For I was on a pilgrimage, you see, And went to offer up my vows for you. I scarcely need inform you I have met Expert physicians whilst I was away, And hope to cure you of your sickness yet, Which comes from coldness of the blood, they say You must, sire, skin a Wolf, and wrap the skin About you close, to get the body warmed; And when the heat has kindled up within The fires of life again, the cure's performed. Our friend, I'm sure, will take immense delight In lending you his coat; so, take it, sire." The Lion supped upon the Wolf that night, And made the skin a part of his attire.
Courtiers, discretion is your safest plan: Malice is sure to find its source again; And, while you do yourself what good you can, Reflect that slandering others is in vain.
FABLE CXLIV.
THE HEAD AND THE TAIL OF THE SERPENT.
The Snake has two parts, it is said, Hostile to man--his tail and head; And both, as all of us must know, Are well known to the Fates below. Once on a time a feud arose For the precedence--almost blows. "I always walked before the Tail," So said the Head, without avail. The Tail replied, "I travel o'er Furlongs and leagues--ay, score on score-- Just as I please. Then, is it right I should be always in this plight? Jove! I am sister, and not slave: Equality is all I crave. Both of the selfsame blood, I claim Our treatment, then, should be the same. As well as her I poison bear, Powerful and prompt, for men to fear. And this is all I wish to ask; Command it--'tis a simple task: Let me but in my turn go first; For her 'twill be no whit the worst. I sure can guide, as well as she; No subject for complaint shall be." Heaven was cruel in consenting: Such favours lead but to repenting. Jove should be deaf to such wild prayers: He was not then; so first she fares; She, who in brightest day saw not, No more than shut up in a pot, Struck against rocks, and many a tree-- 'Gainst passers-by, continually; Until she led them both, you see, Straight into Styx. Unhappy all Those wretched states who, like her, fall.
FABLE CXLV.
THE DOG WHICH CARRIED ROUND HIS NECK HIS MASTER'S DINNER.
Few eyes are against beauty proof; Few hands from gold can keep aloof; Few people guard a treasure well, Or of strict faithfulness can tell. A certain Dog, true, brave, and stout, Carried his master's dinner out. This self-denial pressed him hard, When he had dainty food to guard: Yet long he kept it safe and sound. Well, we are tempted oft, 'tis found, By good things near us! Strange, we learn From dogs, and yet we hopeless turn From men when temperance is in view! One day this Dog, so staunch and true, A mastiff met, who wished to seize The dinner. Not so, if you please. The Dog put down the food, to fight A mighty combat. Left and right Came other dogs,--mere thieves and foes, Who cared not for the hardest blows. Our Dog, who dreaded every stranger, And saw the food was much in danger, Wanted his share. "Come, gentlemen, This rabbit does for me; now, then, You take the rest!" so he leaped on it, And then the others fell upon it. He snapped the best, and then they flew And shared the plunder,--the whole crew. So, sometimes, when they yield a town, And soldiers burghers trample down, Sheriffs and provosts are the worst To rob and pillage, being first:
Pleasant to see them pistoles seize, Filling their purses at their ease! And if, by chance, to one more cool Some scruples come, they call him fool: Then he repents him of the blunder, And is the first to lead the plunder.
FABLE CXLVI.
DEATH AND THE DYING MAN.
Death never yet surprised the sage, Who's always ready for the stage; Knowing each hour that comes may be His passage to eternity. Death's rule embraces every day: Each moment is beneath his sway. We all pay tribute to that lord; We all bow down beneath his sword. The instant the king's child has birth-- And looks forth on this desert earth--- That instant Death may it surprise, And close its scarcely-opened eyes. Beauty, youth, virtue, every day, Death steals so ruthlessly away. One day the world will be his prey: This knowledge is most largely shared; For no event we're less prepared.
A dying man, a century old, Complained to Death, that he was told Too suddenly, before his will Was made; he'd duties to fulfil; "Now, is it just," this was his cry, "To call me, unprepared, to die? No; wait a moment, pray, sir, do; My wife would wish to join me, too. For still one nephew I'd provide: And I have causes to decide. I must enlarge my house, you know. Don't be so pressing, pray, sir, go." "Old man," said Death, "for once be wise; My visit can be no surprise. What! I impatient? In the throng Of Paris who has lived so long? Find me in all France even ten; I should have warned you, you say then? And so your will you would have made, Your grandson settled; basement laid. What! not a warning, when your feet Can scarcely move, and fast retreat Your memory makes, when half your mind And wit is left a league behind? When nearly all fails?--no more hearing-- No taste--all fading, as I'm fearing. The star of day shines now in vain For you: why sigh to view again The pleasures out of reach? Just see Your comrades drop continually, Dead, dying: is no warning there? I put it to you, is this fair? Come, come, old man; what! wrangling still? No matter, you must leave your will; The great republic cares not, sir, For one or no executor."
And Death was right: old men, at least, Should die as people leave a feast, Thanking the host--their luggage trim: Death will not stay to please their whim. You murmur, dotard! look and sigh, To see the young, that daily die; Walk to the grave or run, a name To win of everlasting fame: Death glorious may be, yet how sure, And sometimes cruel to endure. In vain I preach; with foolish zeal, Those most akin to death but feel The more regret in quitting life, And creep reluctant from the strife.
FABLE CXLVII.
THE POWER OF FABLES.
TO M. DE BARILLON.
How can a great ambassador descend To simple tales a patient ear to lend? How could I trifling verses to you bring, Or dare with transient playfulness to sing? For if, sometimes, I vainly tried to soar, Would you not only deem me rash once more? You have more weighty matters to debate Than of a Weasel and a Rabbit's fate. Read me, or read me not; but, oh, debar All Europe banding against us in war. Lest from a thousand places there arise Fresh enemies our legions to surprise. England already wearies of her rest, And views our king's alliance as a jest. Is it not time that Louis sought repose? What Hercules but wearies of his blows At the huge Hydra?--will it show its might, And press again the lately ended fight, By thrusting forth another head to meet, At his strong sinewy arm, a fresh defeat? If your mind, pliant, eloquent, and strong, Could soften hearts, and but avert this wrong, I'd sacrifice a hundred sheep to you-- A pretty thing for a poor bard to do. Have then, at least, the kindness graciously This pinch of incense to receive from me. Accept my ardent vows, and what I write: The subject suits you that I here indite. I'll not repeat the praises Envy owns Are due to you, who need not fear her groans.