He runs the city.” “Oh, I say!
Piraeus too?” “Piraeus? Why,
We’re bosom comrades, he and I.
In fact, I see him every day.”
“Piraeus? You and he… You’re what?”
Bemused, the dolphin queries: “But…”
The ape, confusing man with place,
Was one of those unnumbered race
Who, never straying far from home,
Don’t know their Vaugirard3 from Rome;
But who, undaunted, prate apace
On sights unseen.
The dolphin turns,
Looks, eyes him, smiles, and finally learns
His man’s a monkey, nothing more;
Tosses him back, still prattling, raving,
Into the sea; goes looking for
Some human creature worth the saving.
IV, 7
THE MAN WITH THE WOODEN IDOL
A pagan had an idol carved in wood;
A god with ears, but one that stood
Deaf to his prayers, despite the gifts he bore him.
No matter: he was sure, one day, he could—
And would—repay the riches heaped before him:
Food, drink, fine beasts… Bulls crowned and garlanded…
No god was ever so well fed.
The idol, though, continued to ignore him:
Never the merest trace of fortune’s treasure.
What’s more, whenever Fate dealt out displeasure—
Storm or whatever—he would reap his share.
And though, in time, his purse grew bare,
Still, nonetheless, his god received full measure.
That is, until his patience reached its bounds:
With iron bar he batters, pounds,
Breaks the ungrateful god to bits.
What does he find amid the rubble?
A pile of gold! “You wretch!” he cries. “For all my trouble
I never got one sou! Well, now we’re quits!
You’re just like Man and all his bloody lot;
You need the stick before you’ll give one jot!
Go find some other worshipper to feed you.
Myself, the more I gave, the less I got.
It’s good I saw the light. Now I don’t need you.”
IV, 8
THE JAY DRESSED IN THE PEACOCK’S FEATHERS
There was a peacock molting. Straightaway,
A jay put on the feathers he had shed
And, self-important, cocked a haughty head.
Another peacock saw our jay—
Strutting among the flock in his disguise—
Who, forthwith, found himself unmasked, undone,
Hooted, jeered, jibed by each and everyone,
And plucked in most uncommon wise.
Back home, his fellow jays no less despised him,
Scorned him, and promptly ostracized him.
One also sees—wherever one may turn—
The human jay: the shameless plagiarist.
But let him be; I’ll not insist.
Surely that’s none of my concern.
IV, 9
THE CAMEL AND THE FLOATING STICKS
No doubt the first to see a camel
Fled from the unfamiliar mammal.
The second dared draw near; the third, less wary,
Fitted a halter to the dromedary.
Things that first seem extraordinary1
Little by little grow less so. And thus
What once was fierce and strange to us
In time becomes an everyday affair.
Which brings me to my tale. Sometime, somewhere,
Some sentinels at water’s edge espied—
Out there, adrift upon the distant tide—
Something that one and all agreed
Must surely be a mighty ship indeed.
Next moment it was just a boat;
And then a skiff; then smaller still;
And smaller, smaller yet, until
They saw that it was just some sticks afloat.
Many there are, I fear, who share that lot:
They look impressive from afar; up close, they’re not.
IV, 10
THE FROG AND THE RAT
Merlin it was who said: “Chicane, and be
Chicaned in turn!”1 (A lovely word,
“Chicane.” I wish it weren’t so rarely heard
These days. It always sounds to me
So forceful, full of strength, compelling…)
At any rate, back to the tale I’m telling.
Down by a swamp, fat and content,
A gluttonous rat—a heathen he, who knew
Nothing of Advent, even less of Lent!—
Was passing time in carefree merriment,
When lo!, a frog came croaking by. “Good day to you!
Pardon me if I interrupt;
But sire, I think it’s time you supped
Chez moi. Come, I’ll prepare a festive celebration.”
His Rodentship accepts the invitation.
No need to ask him twice. And yet, the frog
Harangues him with her monologue:
Ah! What fine things he’ll tell the future generation!
How nice the water… All the sights to see…
The swamp… Its people… Their society…
The government of the res publica
Aquatica…
“I’ll go! I’ll go!” One problem, though: the rat
Is no great swimmer. “Bah! No problem, that!”
Replies the frog. So saying, she takes some straw,
Tying it tightly round his paw
And round her foot. Then to the swamp! Once there,
Our kind and generous commère
Tugs at her guest, trying her best to drag him under.
(Morality be damned!) And little wonder:
Already in her mind she’s sinking
Her eager teeth into his flanks, and thinking
“How tasty!”… Rat resists… Frog tugs…
Rat curses her, invokes the gods… Frog shrugs…
And on the struggle rages, till a hawk on high,
Casting voracious eye
Upon our rotund rat,
Swoops down, sweeps up his prey—
With frog attached!—whereat
He bears the pair away
To feast on dish of fish and meat.2
Such are the wages of deceit.
Carefully though the trickster lay
His snare, it may take but a minute
To catch him in it.
IV, 11
THE TRIBUTE SENT BY THE ANIMALS TO ALEXANDER
There was a fable in Antiquity
Whose moral I know not, so be forewarned,
Reader, and try to find what it may be.
Here is the fable, unadorned.
Wishing that naught remain free here below,
A son of Jove, by name one Alexander,
Sent Fame abroad to cast the word—to, fro—
That lo! it was the will of the commander—
New emperor, he—that every being should come
Straightway to him, bow down before him,
And thus, thereby, duly adore him:
All creatures human, creatures dumb,
Elephants, worms, each race of bird,
Whatever their persuasion, form, and feather—
Everyone, in a word, together.
The goddess of a hundred mouths was heard
Spreading the edict far and wide,
Wherewith she fairly terrified
All those who had none but themselves obeyed,
And who were now passing afraid
Lest other laws should rule them. Side by side,
They all assembled in the desert, where,
After each cried opinions con and pro,
It was decided one should go
To offer tribute. As chargé d’affaires,
The ape was chosen, to whom each one se
nt
A note suggesting just what it ought be.
Money, they all concurred; and, happily,
A generous prince, whose domain, opulent,
Contains many a gold mine, offers it.
The question now is how, perforce,
To send the tribute requisite.
Ass and Mule volunteer. Both are thought fit,
And will be joined by Camel and by Horse.
Thus do the four set out, with Ape, one more,
To act as the ambassador.
The caravan, proceeding on its course,
At length meets Seigneur Lion. They
Are most distressed thereat. “I say,”
Says he, “how fortunate that we should meet!
I shall be pleased to join your band. It had
Been my intent to bear my share complete.
Light though it be, still, I would be quite glad
Were you to take it on, one fourth to each.
I should be free, then, if—before we reach
Our goal—we were attacked by highwaymen
And were obliged to fight.” Now then,
To contradict a lion is not done,
Nor ought it be; thus they invite
His Majesty, and everyone
Accepts him, now quite burdenless. Despite
Jove’s hero—who, for better or for worse
Had been the tribute’s destination—
Our lion feasted from the public purse,
And none dared voice the slightest protestation…
In time they came upon a meadow, fair
As fair could be, by brooklet bounded, where
Cool zephyrs blew, and blooms, abounding,
Grew in the air. And many a sheep grazed there…
Sire Lion, in a voice ill-sounding,
Feigned that, indeed, he felt unwell; he
Moaned, groaned, complained that in his belly
There burned a raging fire. “Please, carry on,”
Says he. “I shall stay here and find
An herb to ease my pain,” he whined.
“Go! Waste no time!… But first, before you go,
Give me my portion of the tribute, should
It be that I have need of it.” And so
The sacks are opened. As the lion stood
Watching, he gave a joyous shout: “Oh my!
What do I see spread out before me? Why,
Look at the gold to which my gold gave birth,
Grown almost to its mother’s size!
By the gods! What a blessèd fortune’s worth!
And mine!” So there, before the others’ eyes,
He seized the whole confounded lot—
Or almost all of it, if not
Every last bit!… Ape and his retinue
Look on, amazed, and know not what to do.
Without a word, they took the road once more
And brought their case to Jove’s son, but it bore
No fruit. What could he too have done?
When lion wars with lion, naught is won:
The proverb says: “Pirate on pirate brother
Fights the wrong foe.” Best he should find another.
IV, 12
THE HORSE WHO SOUGHT REVENGE ON THE STAG
The horse has not served Man since time began.
Back in our forest days, dark days of yore,
When, perforce, ass, mule, horse—and Man—
Lived but on acorns, little more,
We had no need for such as saddle,
Harness for war, bit, pack, or all
Our costly carriage folderol
Fit for today’s fine fiddle-faddle.
Back then, it came to pass a certain horse,
Fresh from a squabble with a stag, though fleet
Of hoof, yet failed to catch him; thought it meet,
In his duress, to have recourse
To Man; begged him to help him with his skill.
Man gave his jaws a bit; fashioned some reins;
Jumped on his back, and urged him on until
The stag lay caught. After the kill,
Thanking the man for all his pains:
“I’m much obliged,” the stallion says, and goes
To leave, back to his wild domains. “Adieu.”
“Nay nay,” the man replies. “Let me propose,
Friend, that you ought remain with me. Here, you
Will have naught but the finest board and bed.”
What does it matter how well fed
Or how well bedded one might be
If, for the boon, one pays his liberty?
The horse soon learned he’d lost his head:
Too late! Already built, the stable
Was to become his final home: unable
Ever to break his bonds, there would he end
His days. How much more prudent if
He had but overlooked his silly tiff.
For all the pleasure vengeance brings, to spend
A fee so high is folly. Fie! It
Isn’t worth what we hold most dear to buy it.
IV, 13
THE FOX AND THE BUST
Nobles are often merely theatre masks.
The vulgar masses, awed, bow low. The ass’s
Judgment is formed by what he sees: he asks
No more; whereas the fox, probes, passes
Before, behind, beside… all round. And when
He finds them to be naught but show,
Then does he utter once again
A most appropriate bon mot;
One he once said, if I recall,
About a hero’s bust wrought by some master,
Larger than life, but hollow—quite—withal:
“A handsome head; but brains? No, none at all.”
How many a noble is mere empty plaster!
IV, 14
THE WOLF, THE SHE-GOAT, AND THE KID & THE WOLF, THE MOTHER, AND THE CHILD
A she-goat, off to graze, hoping to eat
Enough new grass to fill her teat—
Sagging, alas, and milk-bereft—
Locked tight the door and promptly left,
Mindful to warn her kid: “Be sure
To keep the door shut, mon amour,
Unless you hear the password first:
‘Fie on the wolves’ vile race accursed!’”
It happened that the wolf passed by,
Heard the words; in his head rehearsed
Them carefully; and, drawing nigh
The dwelling place a moment later,
Seeing the she-goat gone, will imitate her,
Crying: “Fie on the wolves!”—thus thinking that
He will gain entry to the habitat—
“Open the door!” The kid peeks through a slit,
However, answering the hypocrite:
“Hold out your paw unbloodied first. Then will
I open it, but not until.”
Now, paw unbloodied is an item rare
For wolves, and so back he slinked to his lair.
Had he believed proof counterfeit, our kid
Would be undone, done in. Instead, he did
Just what, indeed, he should have done:
Two proofs are better, surely, than but one.
That wretched wolf puts me in mind
Of still another of his kith and kind,
An even worse belabored friend of his,
Who was entrapped and died. Here is
His tale: A villager dwelt out beyond
The town, and Messire Wolf lurked by his door,
Casting a yearning glance, most fond,
On suckling calves, lambs, ewes, turkeys galore—
And more—that came and went. He would abscond
Happily with his share, but gets not one!
Tired of the waiting, all at once he hears
A child shouting with angry tears,
And hears the mother warn her son
To hold his tongue, or he can bet
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That she will feed him to the wolf! The beast,
Thanking the gods for such a windfall feast,
Stands by in wait. The child shrieks louder yet,
Whereat the mother coos: “Be still, my pet!
No need to fret. If he comes by we will
Catch the big, nasty wolf and kill
Him dead!” “What’s that? Kill me, she said?
Ha! Does she take me for some dunderhead,
Some creature crass? I wish she would decide!”
Wherewith our mutton-eater cried:
“Let him come to the woods and gather nuts!
And, with no ifs, no ands, no buts,
We’ll see!” Just then, the dwelling door flings wide.
A hound accosts the wolf, pitchfork and spike
Surround him on all sides, prepare to strike.
“What are you doing there?” one asks; and he
Explains the whole affair. “Misery me!”
Exclaims the mother. “Eat my baby? Why,
Do you think, maybe, that I bore him
To satisfy your appetite? My, my!”
And so they beat the wolf, gash, gore him.
A peasant slit the quadruped
Straightway from his right leg and head,
Which the squire from the lintel hung
With proverb writ in Picard tongue:
“Sire Wolf, be not so easily beguiled
By mother quick to scold her naughty child.”
IV, 15 & 16
A REFLECTION FROM SOCRATES
A house was being built for Socrates.
Each passerby who stops, espies it—
Inside and out—is quick to criticize it.
Loudly his loyal devotees
Lament: “For such a man, lodgings like these?
Why, one can scarcely turn around!
Such paltry quarters for a man renowned
Round and about!” But Socrates replies:
“Nay, nay! Myself, I pray, contrariwise—
Small though they be—that they not be
Even too large for my true friends!” And he
Was right, withal, despite the modest size.
True friends? Though every man pretends to be one,
Rarely, if ever, do we really see one.
IV, 17
THE OLD MAN AND HIS SONS
Alone, all power is but a feeble force.
Listen to how our Phrygian slave’s1 discourse
Reasoned thereon. And, if I add to it
A bit of mine, think not, pray, that the source
Of it is jealous envy of his wit.
The Complete Fables of Jean de La Fontaine Page 11