The wizard turned her to a maid,
A damsel fifteen years of age, so fair
That even Priam’s son would dare
Perform yet many a greater escapade
Than he essayed for Helen!1 Awed by this
Most untoward metamorphosis,
The Brahman thus addressed her loveliness:
“My child, yours but to acquiesce
And choose a spouse. For wedded bliss
Would such an honor be with you
That many a suitor is there who would woo
You gladly!” “Let the strongest doer
Of deeds,” says she, “be the successful wooer.”
Hearing which, then, the Brahman, on his knees,
Cries to the skies: “Sun, hear my earnest pleas!
You are the one, sire, of my daughter’s choosing!”
“Not so,” replies the Sun, refusing.
“The cloud that, dark and thick, one sees
Yonder, is stronger far than I. For he
Can hide my face. I would advise that she
Grace him therefore.” The Brahman thus addresses
The floating cloud: “Are you the mate for her?”
“Alas, not so! Would that I were!
But friend, I cannot,” he confesses,
“Resist the north wind or withstand
His will, pursuing me from land to land!”
Angry, the Brahman cries: “Then let
The wind come wed my fair coquette!”
Willing, the wind comes winging. But, brash boor,
Before the blowhard proffers his amour,
A mountain stops him in his track. The ball—
Or shuttlecock, if you prefer—will fall
To him, but he will send it back. “For sure,”
Says he, “I prize the honor you would do me.
But you, I fear, must hear my caveat:
Should I do battle with the merest rat,
Folly it were, for he could gnaw right through me!”
At the word “rat” the damsel pricked
Her ears. Rat was the one she picked.
A rat!… For such is woman’s love.
(But best not say too much thereof!)
She prefers lovers from whence she has sprung.
This fable proves the point. And yet, among
Its elements, a deal of sophistry
Can be perceived if rather closely one
Studies the text. Could one prefer the Sun
To any human spouse? And fleas, though small,
Can bite a giant! And the rat, withal,
Ought to have sent the belle to choose the cat.
The cat, the dog; the dog, the wolf; whereat,
Pilpay2 would, by a route circuitous,
Have reached straight to the Sun, who, joyous, thus
Would wed the maid. As for my diagnosis
Of both our Brahman and metempsychosis,
I hold them false: man, mouse, worm—all, perforce—
Must draw their souls from the same common source,
All of like matter, but—a-foot, a-slither—
Roaming the earth diversely, yon and hither.
How could that flesh, so finely wrought, not force
Its guest to seek the Sun, go thither
And join in matrimony? But
Instead, a vulgar rat was what
It chose! And so I feel, upon reflection,
That souls—mice’s and maids’—are of confection
Most varied: each returns to where it starts,
Following heaven’s law and predilection.
Deal with the Devil’s magic arts:
You will sway no one from his soul’s direction.
IX, 7
THE MADMAN WHO SELLS WISDOM
Let madmen not approach, let them not reach you.
No wiser lesson might I teach you,
No better counsel than this one:
To flee the empty-headed twit, and run
Far from his side. The court abounds in these,
And the Prince fancies the inanities
They hurl at knaves and ninnies, and the fun
They make of others quite as daft as they.
A madman went about the city squares,
Shouting, trying to hawk his wares,
Crying that he sold wisdom. And his prey—
Credulous folk—all flocked to buy their shares
In earnest wise. He grimaced, howled,
And, as he rolled his eyes and scowled,
He gave each one his money’s worth: to wit,
A healthy slap and an arm’s length of cord.
Most of them flew into a rage, deplored
His folly. But, what was the use of it?
They were the more inane. Rather, they ought
Have laughed, said not a word, and gone
Off with the slap and cord they bought.
Were they to reason the phenomenon,
They should have been thought mad, and would have been
Hooted and jeered. Can one find sense
In what, by chance, an addled mind invents?
One of the dupes, though, when thus taken in,
Goes to a wise man, who, with little doubt,
In time reasons the matter out.
Says he, in manner sage, passing pontific:
“True hieroglyphic symbols have we here,
Each with a meaning most specific:
This cord’s length is the distance you had best
Leave betwixt you and madmen, lest
The latter grace your face with like caress.
Much though I hate to contradict you
Friend, he most surely has not tricked you.
Wisdom it is he sells, and nothing less!”
IX, 8
THE OYSTER AND THE ADVERSARIES
A pair of pilgrims, on a sandy beach,
Happen upon an oyster, which the tide
Had just washed in and laid before them. Each
Gobbles it with his glance, covetous-eyed,
Waggles a finger. But, as for the right
Of tooth, forsooth—or, so to speak, of bite—
Ah, that will be the cause of hot debate.
Already one of them is bending
Low to pick up the prize, when: “Wait,
My friend,” the other cries, contending.
And, with a shove: “The one who saw it
First gets to gulp that dish! The other need
But watch!” His friend replies: “Agreed!
It’s mine! My sight, thank God, is perfect!” “Pshaw! It
Isn’t as fine as mine! I saw it first!”
“Perhaps, but me, I smelled it long before!…”
As thus they quibbled, carped, conversed,
Pierre1 the peasant lopes along the shore.
“Come, be the judge,” they say. With that, the lout
Opens the oyster, sucks the insides out,
Swallows it down… Our pilgrim pair,
Watching, aghast, stand gaping there,
Whereat Pierre, in quite the judgely tone,
Burbles: “Messieurs, the court’s decision? Well…
For each of you, gratis, an oyster shell!”
So, please beware, all you too prone
To plead your cause. Today, not yours the gain.
The judge will keep the fees; and, for your pain,
You get the empty sack, no victuals;
No ball to bowl with, just the skittles.2
IX, 9
THE WOLF AND THE SCRAWNY DOG
I told about a baby carp before—
Fit to be fried, and little more—
Caught by a fisherman, ready to kill it
And fling it, forthwith, in his skillet.1
My fable showed that it is folly pure
To scoff at fortune’s offering until it
Offers us something better. No, for sure,
A carplet in the hand, I would opine,
Is worth two in the sea! That tale of mine
Proved it, though both the fish and fisherman
Acted as it behooved them: one, to dine;
And one, to save his skin and flee the pan!
Now let me, with this tale, endeavor
To add more proof… A wolf there was,
As stupid as that fisherman was clever:
Catching a stray dog in his claws,
He bore the prize away. The dog, thereon,
Points out how small he is, how thin and wan:
“Better Your Lordship wait, because
None will he be the worse for tarrying.
Shortly my master will be marrying
His only daughter off. No scrawny pup
Will I be then, but plump and fattened up!”
The wolf believes him, and he leaves
Him there. A day or two go by, and then
Friend wolf returns, looks for his prey again.
After a couple of qui vive?’s
Friend dog, at home, snarls through the gate. Says he:
“The warder and myself will be
Joining you shortly.” Now, said warder
Happens to be a monstrous hound, the kind
That sends wolves packing in short order!
Suspecting which, our wolf is ill inclined
To loll about! And, dull of mind
Though fleet of paw, he flees. Me, I’m afraid
He’s one wolf who has yet to learn his trade!
IX, 10
ALL IN MODERATION
Animal, Man, or vegetation:
No living thing on this our sphere
But fails to act in moderation,
Wisely, as Nature’s overseer
Would have us do. But do we? Never!
Whether for bale or benefit, whichever!
To prove my point: fair Ceres’1 gift of grain
Often will overspread the fallow plain
In such a lush excess that much will lie
Unnourished and, in time, must die.
(Trees too, delightful luxuries!)
To save the wheat God let the sheep
Feed on its wealth of superfluities.
But they (the sheep) were ill inclined to keep
Their appetite in check: they gorged, they glutted,
Such that, I think you’ll find, they gutted
All of the grain; whereat God let
The wolves feed on the sheep: “Go, eat a few…”
They ate them all, as wolves will do—
Or tried, at least, with wolfly etiquette.
To carry out the wolves’ chastisement
God turned to Man. But he (the latter),
Prone only to his aggrandizement,
Spurning God’s orders, promptly made the matter
Really no better, even worse. And all
Are guilty: humans great and humans small,
Humans of every stripe and station.
Listen to Man the Overweening:
“Yes,” he cries, “all in moderation,”
Only to prove he doesn’t know the meaning.
IX, 11
THE TAPER
According to a general opinion,
Bees have their lodgings in the gods’ dominion.
The first—so we are told, at least—
Went up to Mount Hymettus,1 there to feast
And gorge upon the treasures that
Abound in that sweet, zephyr-blessed,
Ambrosia-glutted habitat.
But when the daughters of the heavens would wrest
The last drop of that liquor from their rich,
Lushly walled chambers—all of which,
Simply expressed, means that when, in
The hives there was no honey left, and when
Nothing but wax remained—at such time, then,
Men found it fitting to begin
Fashioning many a candle, wrought therefrom,
And taper too. Now, one of them had come
To envy bricks, hardened in flame, for these
Resist the years, unbending. Well, in sum,
Another foolhardy Empedocles,2
He leaps therein! How ill his reasoning,
For nothing is the same as everything:
With no philosophy to guide his thought,
Our waxen twit—Empedocles the Lesser!—
Melts in the flames, as melt he ought,
No less a fool than was his predecessor.
IX, 12
JUPITER AND THE TRAVELER
Danger most surely would the gods enrich
If we remembered vows it has us make!
But once the peril passes, all that which
We swore to do for heaven’s sake
Is soon forgot: our thoughts turn to this world.
“Jove is a kindly creditor”—so says
The impious one. “He serves no processes!”
“Oh? What is thunder? And that lightning hurled
To earth? What are they, if not warnings then?”
To illustrate… A traveler was abroad
During a storm. With more than one “amen,”
He swore to give the Titan-slaying god
A hundred oxen. He owned not a one.
In truth, he might as well have done
Such with a hundred elephants: it would
Have cost no more. Instead, when next he stood
By the shore, safe, he burned a bone or two.
The smoke therefrom duly arose,
And, as it reached Jupiter’s nose,
The traveler said: “Jove, friend, thus do
I raise to you my offering. These scents
Of ox I send ought please Your Eminence.
The fumes are what I owe you, and my vow
Is now fulfilled!” Jupiter laughed. His laughter
Was but a mere pretense. For after
A few more days he had his vengeance. How?
By sending him a dream that said
That such-and-such a treasure would be found
In such-and-such a place. The traveler sped
Thither to find it. As he looked around,
Lo! What he found there was a pack of thieves,
Set to attack! With scarce a sou, he told
The knaves that they would have a sack of gold—
A hundred talents! None of them believes
His tale that such a treasure lies
Buried close by. With deadly whack,
“What do you take us for?” one of them cries,
“A pack of fools?” And as our hero dies:
“To Hades with you! Pluto take your sack!”
IX, 13
THE CAT AND THE FOX
Cat and Fox, like two little holy men,
Were on a pilgrimage. Now then,
In point of fact, they were two real Tartuffes;1
Two Pathelins2 and worse; two hairy-pawed
Miscreants both; and, if the proofs
Be needed, be advised that they, by fraud
And feint, were paying their expenses
By filching many a fowl, many a cheese,
And other similar offenses.
The road was long, and our sham devotees
Argued, to pass the time. (For argument
Is of great use therefor: without it,
One would but sleep, I fear, no doubt about it.)
And, having argued to their hearts’ content,
They criticized each other. The attack
Commenced with Fox addressing Cat: “Compère,
Clever as you pretend to be, are there
As many tricks and ruses in your sack
As the full hundred that I have in mine?”
“I have one,” Cat replies, “but I opine
That it is worth a thousand.” Forth and back,
And back and forth goes the dispute. But soon
A pack of hounds has made them change their tune.
“Dig in your sack, my
friend,” says Cat.
“Let your sly brain yield up a stratagem
To save you! Here is mine.” With that,
He clambers up a tree. “Ahem, ahem,”
He sighed, as Fox went circling round and round
Into a hundred holes, where many a hound—
Fierce brethren of Brifaut3—first lost then found him…
He flies… He flees… At last, the bassets ground him.
Hunters come smoke him out and, on the spot,
Two dogs of lithe and limber limb,
With one leap, straightway strangle him.
A sack of tricks—whole blasted clever lot!—
Wastes your time: This one? That one? Or the rest?
Better have one, but let it be the best.
IX, 14
THE HUSBAND, THE WIFE, AND THE THIEF
A loving husband—a monsieur
Much in love with his wife, no less!—
Despite the blissful hours he spent with her,
Yet sadly suffered sore distress:
Never with gentle glance, caress,
Sweet smile, fond whispers would she ply him,
Nor words of heavenly love to glorify him.
He was her husband, after all.
He ought be happy with his lot
And not berate the gods withal
For what he has or has not got,
Or if the spice of love does not
Season the pleasures of the married state.
In short, such was the nature of his wife
That never once in all her life
Had she embraced him. As he moaned his fate
One night, a thieving malefactor
Bursts on the scene, interrupts his complaint.
Terrified, sure that he all but attacked her,
The poor wife, losing all restraint,
Leaps to seek safety in her husband’s arms.
“Friend thief,” the latter cries, “if not for you,
Never should I have known these wifely charms.
Much do I owe you, and much shall I do
For you in turn. Take what you need,
Whatever. Take the whole house too!”
Thieves are not bashful, and, indeed,
This one obliged. From this tale I infer
That, of the passions that can stir
The heart, fear is the strongest. It lays low
Even our worst aversion. Sometimes, though,
Love conquers it. Witness my favorite story,
About a Spaniard, model amatory,
Who burned his house in his enthusiastic
Rage to embrace his lady so that he
Might bear her safely through the flames!… Ah me!
How courtly, that! How Spanish! How bombastic!
The Complete Fables of Jean de La Fontaine Page 24