Part 25
A Philosopher once, who, in Scythia born, Had somewhat, with study, his brain-pan outworn, Made his mind up, for pleasure and profit, to seek Repose for a time in the land of the Greek; And there he made friends with a man of the kind Whom Virgil so well in the Georgics defined: A man who's a king, for himself he controls, And a god, for he blends his own will with men's souls. He found him with pruning-knife grasped in his hand, Pruning here, snipping there, in all parts of his land, As tranquil as Jove; here he cut off a twig, There lopped off a branch to make others more big; For Nature, experience had taught him, is prone To waste in rash gifts all the wealth of her throne. The Scythian, brought up in town, was downcast, And looked at the ruinous waste quite aghast, And exclaimed, "My dear friend, lay your pruning hook down, And let Nature, judicious, take care of her own; For, at best, you are taking much pains to deflower The fruits which Time's tooth will but too soon devour." The old man replied, with a rustical grace, "I cut useless ones off to give useful ones space." Struck by wisdom like this, with no moments delay, The Scythian homewards at once took his way; And no sooner had got there but took up a bill, And at cutting and hewing showed wonderful skill: Hewed branches, snipped twigs, and persuaded his neighbours To share in his rude horticultural labours. The result is soon told: hacking trees without reason, In summer or spring--taking no thought of season-- Must lead to results which no words can belie; For the trees thus instructed instinctively die. Now, the Scythian stands for a symbol of those Who wish all the pathways of pleasure to close; Who'd hoot at ambition, forbid a new dress, And from lexicons banish the sweet word, caress. For myself, though by custom not given to swearing, I'll say that, by Jove, such old dolts there's no bearing; They wish us to choke whilst we've plenty of breath, And whilst full of life's vigour to simulate death.
FABLE CCXXXVI.
DAPHNIS AND ALCIMADURA.
( An Imitation of Theocritus. )
TO MADAME DE LA MESANGERE.
Amiable daughter of a mother fair, For whom a thousand hearts are torn with care; Yours are the hearts whom friendship holds in fee, And those that Love keeps firm in fealty. This preface I divide 'tween her and you, The brightest essence of Parnassus dew. I have the secret to perfume for you More exquisitely sweet. I'll tell thee, then; But I must choose, or I shall fail again:
My lyre and voice will need more power and skill; Let me, then, praise alone a heart that's still Full of all noble sentiments,--the grace, the mind, Which need no master but the one we find Blooming above you. Guard those roses well, And do not let the thorns o'ergrow, ma belle . Love will the same thing say, and better, too; Those who neglect him, Cupid makes to rue: As you shall see. Alcimadure the fair Despised the god who rules the earth and air. Fierce and defiant, she roam'd through the wood, Ran o'er the meadows, danced as none else could, Obeyed caprice alone,--of beauty queen, Most cruel of the cruel; she had been For long beloved by Daphnis: of good race Was the poor lad, who doated on her face,-- Loved for her very scorn--nay, more, I vow, Than had she loved him with an equal glow; Yet not a look she gave, nor word to cheer, Nor his complaints would ever even hear. Weary of the pursuit, prepared to die, Down at her door despair had made him lie. Alack! he wooed the winds;--she, blithe and gay, Still kept her door shut,--'twas her natal day; And to her beauty's throne she spread fair flowers, The treasures of the garden, and spring hours. "I hoped before your very eyes," he cried, "Had I not been so hateful, to have died. How can I wonder that you do deny This last sad pleasure of fidelity? My father I have charged my heritage To offer at your feet: the pasturage, And all my flocks,--my dog, of dogs the best; And my companions will, then, with the rest, Found a small temple, where continually Your image, crowned with flowers, shall ever be. My simple monument shall be near it, And this inscription on the stone I've writ-- 'Of love poor Daphnis died. Stop, passer by! Weep, and say he was slain by cruelty Of fair Alcimadura.'" The Fates at last Cut the thin thread, and his vexed spirit passed. The cruel maiden came forth, proud and gay: In vain her friends beseech her but to stay A moment, on the course to shed one tear; She still insulted Cupid, without fear: Bringing that very evening o'er the plain, To dance around the statue, all her train. The image fell, and crushed her with its weight. Then from the cloud thus spoke the voice of Fate: "Love, and delay not: the hard heart is dead." The shade of Daphnis raised its pallid head, And on the banks of Styx stood shuddering; While all vast Erebus, with wondering, Heard to the shepherd the fair homicide Excuse her cruelty and foolish pride. But as to phantom Ajax Ulysses sued, And Dido's death the guilty lover rued, So from the maiden's shadow turned the swain, And did not words of mercy to her deign.
FABLE CCXXXVII.
THE ELEPHANT AND JUPITER'S MONKEY.
An Elephant had words, one day, With a Rhinoceros, they say. They settled they would fight it out. But, while the matter was about, Jove's Monkey, like a Mercury, came: Giles was, historians say, his name. The Elephant, a brute ambitious, Was pleased to find the heaven propitious. Eager for fame, he smiled to see So dignified an embassy. But Giles, though wise in all essentials, Is slow presenting his credentials. At length he comes to pay respect, Yet still shows somewhat of neglect; Speaks not a word: no single mention Of the great deities' attention. What care those living in the skies If perish Elephants or flies? The potentate's compelled to speak: "My cousin, Jupiter, this week Will see, from his Olympic throne, A pretty combat, as he'll own; And his Court, too, will see it partly." "What combat?" said the Monkey, tartly. "Pooh!" said the Elephant; "you know 'Bout the Rhinoceros, and the blow; 'Tis property that we dispute. In a long, tedious Chancery suit Elephantor and Rhinocere Are warring, as you've heard up there." "I'm pleased to learn their names, good sir," Said Master Giles; "but, King, you err If you think we of such things heed." The Elephant, surprised indeed, Said, "Who, then, come you now to aid?" "I come to part a blade of grass Between some ants. To every class Our cares of sovereignty extend. As for your wars, my noble friend, The gods have not heard of them yet; Or, if they have, they do forget. The small and great are, in Jove's eye, Guarded with like equality."
FABLE CCXXXVIII.
THE MADMAN AND THE PHILOSOPHER.
A Certain Madman, as the story goes, Threw stones at a Philosopher, one day. The latter said, "My friend, I don't suppose You care to work so hard, without your pay. Here, take this crown; how deeply I regret I cannot better recompense your trouble! Go, pelt yon gentleman, and you may get A larger sum--perhaps as much as double." Pleased at the chance, our fool begins to throw Big stones at a patrician; but, instead Of giving gold, the lackeys mauled him so, That they departed leaving him half dead.
Such fools there are in kingly courts, Who raise the laugh at your expense; But can you check their silly sports, Or stop their loud impertinence? If any words or any blows Of yours are powerless to hush them, Just get them to be rude to those Who have sufficient force to crush them.
FABLE CCXXXIX.
THE FROGS AND THE SUN.
The daughters of the mud obtained Help from the star-king, while he reigned. Nor war, nor any like disaster, Could harm them under such a master. His empire was the most serene! The pond-queens (Frogs, I really mean: For why not give their honourable name?) Against their benefactors plotted; shame, Imprudence, pride, and base ingratitude, Good Fortunes children, roused the restless brood. They could not sleep a wink (to trust their cry): They would have stirred the world to mutiny Against the eye of nature--the great sun. It had begun to burn them: he must run To arms, and gather all his powerful band, Or he'd be driven from his own fair land. The croaking embassies would go Through all the regions, to and fro, To make the whole world hear their case, And gather pity from each place. All the world seemed bent on this, That four marshes took amiss. Still this rash complaint went on: Still this grumbling at the sun. Yet in vain the noise and riot,-- Frogs must, after all, be quiet; For, if the sun is once inflamed, They will very soon be tamed, And the Frog Republic will Find they've calculated ill.
FABLE CCXL.
THE ARBITRATOR, ALMONER, AND HERMIT.
Three saints, by holy fervour fired, To gain the heights of heaven aspired; But, as the well-known proverb says, Rome can be reached by various ways, So these by different methods planned To gain the shores of Canaan's land. One, touched by the expense and care Which luckless suitors have to bear, Offered cases to determine Without a fee, or wig, or ermine. Since human laws were first began, Lawsuits have been the curse of man; Absorbing half, three-fourths, or all Of days which, at the best, are small. To cure a state of things so vicious, Our Umpire thought his plan judicious. The second of our saints declares The sick sole object of his cares; And I praise him: in truth, to me This seems the truest charity. But sick men, troublous then, as now, Our good man vexed enough, I vow. Capricious, restless, petulant, Each moment brings a separate want; And, if no other fault they find, They cry, "To such and such he's kind: Spends all his days and nights in caring For them, and leaves us here despairing." But these complaints were small to those Which harassed, every day, the heart Of him who, well-intentioned, chose To act the Arbitrator's part. The plaintiff and defendant, both, T' adopt his sentences were loth; And swore, with all their might and main, His partiality was plain. By such abuse as this disgusted, The Umpire and the Almoner Each unto each his woes entrusted; And each agreed he could not bear To be so shamefully mistrusted. This being so, they sought a glade Which neither suns nor winds invade, And there, beneath a rugged mountain, Beside a clear and babbling fountain, They found their friend the Hermit saint; So each one having made his plaint, Asked his advice. "Your own pursue," Replied their friend; "for who but you Can know your several wants? To know One's self makes gods of man below. And let me ask you, have you found This knowledge where vast crowds abound? No; trust me, it can only be The fruit of sweet tranquillity. Shake but the water in your vase, And you no longer see your face; But let it once more still remain, And straight your likeness comes again. 'Midst worldly scenes you'll never learn The love for which we all should yearn. Believe me, friends, the desert's best For him who'd study his own breast."
To each the Hermit's words seemed good, And, henceforth, each one sought the wood.
Of course, there's always work to do, Whilst men still sicken, and still sue, For lawyers and for doctors; and They'll never perish from the land, Thank mighty Jove, as long as fees And honours greet their services. But in such common toils the mind Can seldom its true likeness find. Oh, you, who give your lives away, And serve the public every day,-- You, princes, judges, magistrates, Exposed to all the angry fates,
Who, when no other ill oppresses, Are slain by Judas-like caresses,-- To you yourselves are all unknown; And if some moment is your own, For self-reflection, ere it flies 'Tis spoilt by hateful flattery's lies.
This lesson shall conclude these pages; May it be blessed to future ages! To Kings I give it, to the wise commend: How could my volume better end?
End of Project Gutenberg's The Fables of La Fontaine, by Jean de la Fontaine