Part 9

A Man loved, heart and soul, his favourite Cat; She was his pet, his beauty, and all that. Her mewing was so sweet, and was so sad:-- He was far madder than the mad. This man, then, by his tears and praying, By wizard charms and much soothsaying, Wrought things so well, that Destiny, One fine day, changed the Cat into a Woman (A change uncommon). And they were married, soon as they could be. Mad friends became mad lovers then; And not the fairest dame e'er known Had ever such affection shown To him she'd chosen from all men. The love-blind fool, delighted with his bride, Found not a trace of Cat was left at all, No scratch or caterwaul; He fondles her, she him: she is his pride; She is the fairest of her kind, A perfect woman, to his mind. One night some mice came gnawing at the curtain; It broke the lady's sleep, that's certain; At once she leaped upon her feet-- To cats revenge is very sweet-- And on all-fours she ran to seize Those creatures always prone to tease; But she was changed--in shape and wit-- They did not care for her a bit This aberration on her part Was grief perpetual to his heart. It never ceased to be the way Whenever mice were out at play; For when a certain time has gone, The jug is seasoned; and the cloth gets wrinkles. In vain we try to alter what is done, The warning bell unheeded tinkles. Things will not change again; one knows There is no way to end the matter, Neither by pitchforks nor by blows; Though Habit you should beat and tatter. You'll not be master of the place, Saddle or bridle--how you will; For if the door's slammed in its face, It comes back o'er the window-sill.

FABLE XLVI.

PHILOMEL AND PROGNE.

Progne, the Swallow, set forth from her dwelling, And, leaving the cities afar, took flight For the grove that Philomel chose for telling Her ancient griefs to the listening night. "Sister," said Progne, "I have not met you For nearly the space of a thousand years. Why are we parted? I cannot forget you, Nor banish our Thracian trials and tears. Come, leave this wood; it is dark and lonely." "What haunt could be pleasanter?" Philomel asked. "And is it," said Progne, "for animals only, Or peasants at best, that your efforts are tasked? With a note so rich 'tis a thousand pities To scatter its charms to the desert air. Come, quit this grove to delight our cities, And waste no longer a gift so rare. These woods, my sister, must oft remind you Of all the sorrow King Tereus wrought. Leave, leave the terrible days behind you, And give to the past not a tearful thought." "'Tis the memory, dear, of our Thracian troubles," Said Philomel, sadly, "that bids me stay; For the sight of humanity only doubles The grief of the times that have passed away!"

FABLE XLVII.

THE LION AND THE ASS.

The King of Animals a battue made Upon his birthday, bent to fill his bags. The Lion's game is not with sparrows played; But boars of bulk, and good-sized portly stags. For an ally in this affair, He had an able minister. The Ass, with Stentor's voice, served as his hunting-horn; The Lion hid deep 'mid the thickest wood, And ordered him to bray loud as he could; So that the clamour shrilly borne, Might drive from every nook and lair Those not initiated to the sound. The hideous tempest came; the air Shook with the dreadful discord; round It flew, and scared the fiercest forest creatures; They fled with terror-stricken features. And fell into the ready snare, Where the King Lion stood to meet his prey. "Have I not served thee brave and true?" The Ass said, taking to himself the palm. "Yes," quoth the Lion, grave and calm, "'Twas nobly brayed; I own to you, Had I not known your name and race, I had been almost frightened too!" Had he been rash, the Ass, his rage Would not have hidden, I'll engage. Just was the rallying, though severe; For who can bear a bragging Ass? It does not fit their rank or class, And very ill becomes their business here.

FABLE XLVIII.

THE CAT AND THE OLD RAT.

I've read in some old Fabulist, I know, A second Nibblelard, of Cats The Alexander, and of Rats The Attila, struck many a fatal blow; And this exterminating creature Was quite a Cerberus by nature. (The author writes) For miles away, This Cat was feared; he'd vowed, they say, To clear the world of mice, And in a trice. The disks within a jar hung gingerly, "The death to Rats:" the traps, and gins, and springs, The nooses, poisons, and such things, Were nothing to this Cat, but merely toys. Soon as he heard no longer stir or noise, The mice being prisoned in each hole, Cheek and jowl; So that it was in vain to hope for prey, He tried another "lay." Shammed death, laid down fast holding by a cord; A trickster, eager for the horde-- The mice, good folk, deem he is hung For stealing meat or cheese, tight strung For scratching some one, or for breaking done. At last they think the monster's sand is run; His funeral will be quite a gala day. Then out they slowly creep, First one small nose, and then another, Next a young mouse, then an old brother, And then they scurry back in fright; But four step once more to the light, And lastly all come out to play, And now begins another sort of treat:

The dead Cat falls upon his nimble feet, Snaps up the slowest, head and tail. "Ha! ha!" he gobbling cried, "It could not fail, My ruse de guerre ; no holes avail To save these creatures, and I warn them now, They all will come to the same mouth, I trow." His prophecy came true--the master of his art, A second time played well his part. His fur he whitened o'er with flour, That very hour, And hid within A white meal bin. No bad contrivance, every one must own. The Rats could not leave well alone; One Rat was wary, shy to venture out, And pry about-- Man of the world, and master of finesse , He'd lost his tail in battle, too, And half a dozen tricks he knew. "This mass of white may be all sham, I guess," He cried, still shunning the Cat's ambuscade: "Beneath the stuff I fear some trap is laid; No matter if it's flour or no, It may be so; But sack or not, still I won't venture near." 'Twas neatly said, his prudence and his fears I much approve; Experience told him true, Suspicion's Safety's mother, And Wisdom's foster brother.

FABLE XLIX.

A WILL INTERPRETED BY ÆSOP.

If what they say of Æsop's truth, He was the oracle of Greece indeed; And all the Areopagus, in sooth, Was not so wise. And here, if you would plead For proof, I'll give one, in a pleasant tale, My friends and readers to regale.

A certain man had daughters three, Each of a different turn of mind: The one a toper, loving company; The second, fond of all coquetry; The third a miser, and to save inclined. The man left them, by will and deed, As laws municipal decreed, Half his estate, divided equally; And to their mother just the same: But only in her power to claim When all the daughters had their own And nothing more but that alone. The father dead, the daughters ran To read the will--they were not slow To con it; yet, do what they can, They could not understand it--no. What did he wish?--yes, that's the question That took a good deal of digestion. 'Each one that had her part, no more, Should to her mother pay it o'er.' It was not quite the usual way, With no gold left, to go and pay: What meant their worthy father, then? They run and ask the black-gowned men, Who turn the case for many days-- Turn it a hundred thousand ways; Yet after all, in sheer vexation, Throw down their wigs in perturbation. At last the judge advised the heirs At once to settle the affairs. As to the widow's part, the counsels say A third each sister's bound to pay, Upon demand, unless she choose to take A life annuity, for quietness' sake, Beginning from the day her husband died, And so they all decide. Then in three lots they part the whole estate: In number one the plate; The mighty cellars; summer-houses built Beneath the vine; The stores of rich Malvoisin wine; The spits, the bowls of silver gilt, And all the tribes of slaves who wait;-- In short, the perfect apparatus, That gives an epicure his social status. The second lot comprises All that a flirting girl surprises: Embroiderer's, and many a lady's maid, Jewels, and costly robes;--be sure The town house, and the furniture, And stately eunuchs, rich arrayed. Lot three comprises farming-stock, Pastures and houses, fold and flock; Labourers and horses, stores and herds. This done, they fix, with many words, That since the lottery won't select What each one would the most affect, The eldest have what she likes best, Leaving the same choice to the rest. In Athens it fell out, This pleased the motley rout, Both great and small. The judge was praised by all; Æsop alone derided The way they had decided. After much time and pains, they'd gone, he thought, And set the wishes of the man at nought. "If the dead came to life," he said, "Athens aloud he would upbraid. What! men who cherish subtlety, To blunder o'er a will so stupidly!" Then quickly he divides, And thus the sage decides:-- To each he gave the part Least grateful to her heart: Pressing on them what they most hate. To the coquette the cups and bowls Cherished and loved by thirsty souls; The toper had the farm; still worse than that, The miser had the slaves and dresses. This is the way, Æsop confesses, To make the sisters alienate Their shares of the bequeathed estate; Nor would they longer single tarry, But run post haste, and quickly marry; So very soon the father's gold, set free, Would to the mother come, with certainty, Which was the meaning of the testament. The people wondered, as they homeward went, That he alone should have more brains Than all the lawyers and their trains.

FABLE L.

THE LION IN LOVE.

TO MADEMOISELLE SEVIGNE.

Lady, whose charms were meant to be A model for the Graces three; Lend graciously your gentle ear, And but one simple fable hear; You'll see, without profound alarm, A Lion quelled by Cupid's arm. Love rules with such a tyranny, Happy those shunning slavery; Who the harsh monarch only know By song and poem, not by blow.

When I dare speak of love to you, Pardon the fable, no whit true, That gives me courage to bring it, Perhaps with more of zeal than wit, A simple offering, rough and rude, Of my devoted gratitude. In times when animals could speak, The Lion came intent to seek Mankind's alliance--wherefore not? Since beasts had then by nature got Courage, intelligence, and skill; A bearing, too, by no means ill. Now hear what happened, if you will: A Lion of a noble race Saw in a vale a pretty face, A shepherdess's, understand, And instantly he claimed her hand. The father, prudent and pacific, Preferred a suitor less terrific: To give his daughter seemed too bad, Yet how refuse so wild a lad? If he refused, perhaps there'd be A marriage still clandestinely. The maiden liked her dashing wooer, Her boisterous, reckless, blustering suer, And playing with the creature's main, Combed it, and smoothed it o'er again; The prudent father, half afraid To spurn the lover of the maid, Said, "But my daughter's delicate, Your claws may hurt your little mate; And when you fondle and caress, Lion, you'll tear her and her dress; Permit me, sir, to clip each paw, It shall be done without a flaw, And, by-the-by, in the meanwhile, Your teeth 'twould be as well to file; Your kisses then would be less rough, And her's far sweeter--that's enough." The Lion, blinded by affection, Obeyed the artful man's direction; Toothless and clawless, he grew prouder (A fortress without guns or powder). They loosed the mastiff on him soon, And he was butchered before noon. O Love! O Love! when bound by you, Prudence, to thee we say, Adieu!

FABLE LI.

THE FOX AND THE GOAT.

A Fox once travelled, and for company His friend, a large-horned Goat, had he, Who scarce could see an inch beyond his nose, While Reynard every trick and quibble knows. Thirst drove these folks, it so befell, To seek the bottom of a well. After they'd had their bout of drinking, Says Reynard, "Comrade, I am thinking How we can best get out from here; Put up your feet and horns--no fear-- Rear up against the wall, my friend, And I'll climb up--our troubles end. One spring upon your horns will do; And I once out can rescue you." "Now, by my beard! I like the plan," The other said, "you're one that can; Such folks as you see clear through things, Some never learn the secret springs; I never should have found it out, Though I had groped a year about." The Fox once free, the Goat compelled To learn a sermon--the text's "patience." "If Heaven," he said, "had only held It right to give thee and thy dull relations Half as much sense as beard-- (But then it hasn't, I'm afeard); Still use your efforts, my dear sir--no perturbations. Certain affairs of state Will hardly let me longer wait; In everything 'tis well to mind the end, In future think of that, my friend."

FABLE LII.

THE SHEPHERD AND THE SEA.

Beside his fold, and free from every care, A Shepherd, Amphitrite's neighbour, lived for years; Small was his fortune, yet while skies were fair, He was contented, vexed by cares nor fears. At last the treasures cast upon the shore Tempted the man; he bartered flock and fold, And sent forth ships to bring him back the more; But tempests sank the vessels and the gold. Once more he went to watch the silly sheep, No longer master as he had been long, When his own flocks he used to ward and keep, And poets called him Tircis in their song; Now he was Pierrot, and that was all. After some time he, once more well to do, Had flocks again to answer to his call; One day when winds were low, and vessels drew Safely towards the shore and home, the Shepherd stood Upon the sunny cliff: "Fair nymphs," he cried, "Seek some one else, I pray you be so good; Ma foi , you don't catch me with any tide."

This story is not merely meant to please; It's sober truth, I say, and serves to show That pence are better if all safe, you know, Than pounds of promises; when once at ease, Remain content, and closely shut your ears To Circe's wiles, resist her wanton smiles. Ambition and the Sea, avoid them both, They're full of miseries and racking fears; For one who wins there's twenty thousand don't. Rely on that; the winds and thieves are loth To lose their prey (and trust to them)--they won't.

FABLE LIII.

THE DRUNKARD AND HIS WIFE.

Each one's his faults, to which he still holds fast, And neither shame nor fear can cure the man; 'Tis apropos of this (my usual plan), I give a story, for example, from the past. A follower of Bacchus hurt his purse, His health, his mind, and still grew each day worse; Such people, ere they've run one-half their course, Drain all their fortune for their mad expenses. One day this fellow, by the wine o'erthrown, Had in a bottle left his senses; His shrewd wife shut him all alone In a dark tomb, till the dull fume Might from his brains evaporate. He woke and found the place all gloom, A shroud upon him cold and damp, Upon the pall a funeral lamp. "What's this?" said he; "my wife's a widow, then!" On that the wife, dressed like a Fury, came, Mask'd, and with voice disguised, into the den, And brought the wretched sot, in hopes to tame, Some boiling gruel fit for Lucifer. The sot no longer doubted he was dead-- A citizen of Pluto's--could he err? "And who are you?" unto the ghost he said. "I'm Satan's steward," said the wife, "and serve the food For those within this black and dismal place." The sot replied, with comical grimace, Not taking any time to think, "And don't you also bring the drink?"

FABLE LIV.

KING GASTER AND THE MEMBERS.

Had I but shown a proper loyalty, I had begun my book with royalty. The Belly is a king, it's true, And in a certain point of view His wants the other members share. Well, once to work for him they weary were; Each one discussed a better plan,-- To live an idle gentleman, Like Monsieur Gaster, Their lord and master. "Without us he must feed on air; We sweat and toil, and groan with care, For whom? for him alone; we get no good, And all our thought's to find him food: We'll strike, and try his idle trade." 'Twas done as soon as said. The hands refused to grasp, the legs to walk, The eyes to open, and the tongue to talk; Gaster might do whate'er he could.-- 'Twas a mistake they soon repent With one consent. The heart made no more blood, and so The other members ceased to glow; All wanted strength, And thus the working men at length Saw that their idle monarch, in his way, Toiled for the common weal as well as they. And this applies to royalty, It takes and gives with fair equality; All draw from it their nourishment: It feeds the artisan, and pays the magistrate, Gives labourers food, and soldiers subsidies, Distributes in a thousand places Its sovereign graces; In fact, supports the State.

Menenius told the story well, When discord in the senate fell, And discontented Commons taunted it For having power and treasure, honour, dignity, While all the care and pain was theirs, Taxes and imposts, all the toils of war, The blood, the sorrow, brand and scar. Without the walls already do they band, Resolved to seek another land. Menenius was able, By this most precious fable, To bring them safely back To the old, honest track.

FABLE LV.

THE MONKEY AND THE DOLPHIN.

It was a custom with the Greeks For travellers by sea to take Monkeys and fancy dogs, whose tricks Would pastime in fair weather make. A vessel with such things on deck, Not far from Athens, went to wreck; But for the Dolphins all had drowned. This animal is friend to man: The fact in Pliny may be found; So must be true, say what you can.

A Dolphin half the people saves, Even a Monkey, by-the-by, He thought a sailor, from the waves He kindly helped: the creature sly, Seated upon the Dolphin's back, Looked very grave and wise; good lack! One would have really almost sworn T'was old Arion, all forlorn. The two had nearly reached the land, When just by chance, and such a pity! Fish asks, "Are you from Athens grand?" "Yes; oh, they know me in that city; If you have any business there, Employ me; for it is truly where My kinsfolk hold the highest place. My second cousin is Lord Mayor." The Dolphin thanked him with good grace: "And the Piræus knows your face? You see it often, I dare say?" "See him! I see him every day; An old acquaintance; that is so." The foolish chatterer did not know Piræus was a harbour, not a man. Such people, go where'er you can, You meet within a mile of home, Mistaking Vaugirard for Rome, People who chattering dogmatise Of what has never met their eyes. The Dolphin laughed, and turning round The Monkey saw, and straightway found He'd saved mere shadow of humanity; Then plunged again beneath the sea, And search amid the billows made For one more worthy of his aid.

FABLE LVI.

THE EAGLE, THE WILD SOW, AND THE CAT.

An Eagle lodged its young within a hollow tree; A Sow lived at the foot; a Cat between the two. Friendly they were, good neighbours, the whole three,-- Between the mothers there was no to-do. At last the Cat malignant mischief made; She climbed up to the Eagle: "Ma'am, our peace Is ended, death," she says, "is threatening; I'm dismayed. We perish if our children die; she'll never cease, That Sow accursed. See! how she grubs and digs, And mines and burrows, to uproot our oak; She hopes to ruin us and ours, to feed her pigs When the tree falls--Madam, it is no joke! Were there but hopes of saving one, I'd go and quietly mourn alone." Thus sowing fear broadcast, she went With a perfidious intent, To where the Sow sat dozily. "Good friend and neighbour," whispered she, "I warn you, if you venture forth, The Eagle pounces on your family; Don't go and spread the thing about, Or I shall fall a victim to her wrath." Having here also sown wild fears, And set her neighbours by the ears, The Cat into her hole withdrew; The Eagle after would not fly To bring home food; the poor Sow, too, Was still more fearful and more shy. Fools! not to see that one's first care Is for one's self to find good fare; Both stayed at home, still obstinate, To save their young from cruel fate. The royal bird, she feared the mine; The Sow, a pounce upon her swine; Hunger slew all the porcine brood, And then the eaglets of the wood; Not one was left--just think of that! What a relief to Madame Cat!

A treacherous tongue sows misery By its pernicious subtlety; Of all the ills that from Pandora's box arose, Not one brought half so many woes As foul Deceit; daughter of Treachery.

FABLE LVII.

THE MISER WHO LOST HIS TREASURE.

It's use that constitutes possession wholely; I ask those people who've a passion For heaping gold on gold, and saving solely, How they excel the poorest man in any fashion? Diogenes is quite as rich as they. True Misers live like beggars, people say; The man with hidden treasure Æsop drew Is an example of the thing I mean. In the next life he might be happy, true; But very little joy in this he knew;