While with my simple Muse I sing, Louis
Vanquishes Europe,1 plots her fate; and he
A monarch without peer has been.
Favorites of the Sisters Nine, therein
Fables aplenty shall there be,
More powerful than time and Destiny.
XI, 10
· BOOK XII ·
THE COMPANIONS OF ULYSSES
FOR THE DUC DE BOURGOGNE 1
My prince! Sole object of the gods’ concern,
Pray let my incense, on your altars, burn
Its praise perfumed. Pardon me if I choose
To proffer you these tributes from my muse
A trifle late; my labors and my years
Are my excuse. Your mind ever appears
Stronger and stronger, flying, fleet of wing,
Whilst mine grows weak and wanes,2 diminishing
Moment by moment. He who fathered you—
A hero, he!—yearns to fly forth and do
Mars’ work as speedily! And if his hand
Is staid in glory’s quest; if he
Races not after victory
With giant’s pace, yet must one understand
The fault is not his own: our king divine
Restrains him, whom one single month had made
The conquering master of the Rhine.3
No doubt, for such an escapade
Great speed was necessary; but today
It might prove rash… Well, be that as it may,
I natter on… The gods of love and laughter
Frequent your court, and such as they—good sense
And reason—shun too lengthy eloquence;
Whence I suggest that, hereinafter,
You would do well to heed those latter
And pay mind to a certain matter
In which the Greeks were once concerned:
Namely, the time when men to beasts were turned,
Thanks to a lack of circumspection.
Ulysses and his comrades had, for ten
Long years, wandered without direction,
Purposeless, at the winds’ discretion, when
They happened on a shore where Circe4—
Apollo’s daughter, she—held court,
Holding the travelers at her mercy
By feeding them the tastiest sort
Of brew, seasoned with poison; one that had,
First, made them lose their reason, then their features
And human form, until, gone mad,
All had become most different creatures.
Bears, lions, elephants, of massive shape;
Some, like the mole (in Latin, double-gendered!),5
Far smaller. Thus was each one rendered
A proper beast. Nor did any escape
This metamorphosis, except
Ulysses, who, somehow had kept
From drinking of the treacherous draught.
Now, such a hero, glib of tongue, was he,
And fair of mien, that cunningly
He so contrived that the enchantress quaffed
A poison like her own;6 whence she—
As goddesses are wont to do—confessed
To him the passion that consumed her breast.
Too clever not to take advantage of
The revelation of her love,
He makes her promise to release the rest
From their enchantment. “But, can you be sure,”
She will protest, “that they would not endure
Their new condition, and as beasts remain?
Go ask them!” And he does. “My friends, I can
Turn each of you once more into a man.
Speak! Shall I do so?” “What? Am I insane?”
Bellows the lion with his roar.
“Give up the gifts that I have traded for?
Fang and claw have I now, and I would fain
Not lose the strength to use them! I am king!
Shall I become a simple underling,
A simple citizen of Ithaca?
Thank you, my friend. But pshaw! and bah!
I will not change. I am content.”
Ulysses left the lion and went
To ask the bear. “My friend, you used to be
A handsome man! Now look at you!”
The bear growls: “I live fancy-free.
As for my looks, it seems to me
I am like any bear! Or do
You think you have the right, so flippantly
To judge me by yourself? Pish-tush! Pooh-pooh!
You can be sure my lady bear
Finds me just so! Be off! I care
Little for your concern or your lament.
I will not change. I am content.”
Ulysses goes to ask the wolf, expecting
That he too will decline, rejecting
The offer, saying: “Friend, perplexed am I.
A fair young shepherdess’s plaintive cry
Wafts on the wind. She much bewails the fact
That you have gluttonously attacked
Her sheep, and wolfed them down! You, who before
Were her stalwart defender? You, who swore
To save her flock? You, once so kind, so good?
Come, friend! I pray you, leave this wood
And be an upright man once more!” “A what?
Upright?” the wolf responded. “But
Is there such? I think not. I could
Long search in vain for one! You call me vicious,
Pity my victims, but can you ignore
That you yourselves find sheep a dish delicious?
If I should be ‘an upright man once more,’
Should I be less the predator?
You men are worse than wolves with one another,
Stranger to stranger, and brother to brother.
Better a wolf than man malevolent!
I will not change. I am content.”
Ulysses went about, preached, asked the other
Beasts the same question, had the same reply
From great and small: each, by and by,
Would sing the praises of their passions; free
To roam the woods, follow their appetite,
Forsake all human virtues… What they might
Have realized, had they thought sensibly,
Was that they were the slaves of their new state.
My prince, I should have liked to choose a story
That you would find useful to contemplate,
And pleasant too. My repertory
Ought have, more easily, provided such.
Ulysses’ comrades sprang to mind.
Many there are in this world of their kind;
And I would bid you, forasmuch—
Seeing them to their nature base succumb—
Punish them all with your opprobrium.
XII, 1
THE CAT AND THE TWO SPARROWS
FOR MONSEIGNEUR LE DUC DE BOURGOGNE1
A cat and a young sparrow both had been
Long living mid the selfsame household gods—
Basket and cage, with little space between—
And thus, since childhood, pleasantly at odds
Were they, although no harm befell: the bird
Would peck and tweak; the cat would flail his paws
About, and yet his friend incurred
No hurt at all therefrom, because
The cat was very circumspect,
Taking care not to bare his claws.
Less so, the sparrow pecked and pecked
More earnestly. Sire Ratter, though,
Excused his every playful blow:
Friends do not vent their rage, a-shatter,
Against their friends, for such a trifling matter!
And, so long each the other knew, that they
Never let war transform their peaceful play…
One day, a sparrow from the neighborhood
Came by to visit young Pierrot (the sparrow)
&n
bsp; And wise Sire Ratter; but, as quarrels would,
One rose betwixt the birds: sharp sling and arrow
Of insult flew between the two.
As beak to beak they stood, the cat took sides:
“Who is this stranger, who comes and derides
Our friend, attacking with such derring-do?
On Catdom’s honor, no! It shall not be!”
So saying, he joins the fray, and presently
Gobbles him up. “Oh my! I never knew,”
Says he, “what flavor sparrows have! How rich,
How delicate and rare their taste!” With which
He gobbles up the first one too!… Monsieur,
What is the moral that I ought infer
From this? For, lacking one, I fear, a fable
Is less than perfect. Several flout my eyes,
Flitting—betwixt, between—in shadow guise.
But you, Prince, I am certain, have been able
To find them in a trice, contrariwise:
For you, child’s play; whereas my Muse submits.
She and her sisters have not your keen wits.
XII, 2
THE TREASURE-HOARDER AND THE APE
A miser once there was who stored and stored
His wealth. We know, I think, to what extent
Such avaricious temperament
Can lead to folly: gold and silver hoard,
Unspent, and left to rot in idleness,
Serves little use. But I digress…
To keep his treasure safe, monsieur
Lived in a house surrounded by the sea
(Protected on all sides by her
Whom god Poseidon called his spouse). And he
Would gloat, day in day out, nighttime no less,
Lusting—although I find the word
A bit too strong, and him a bit absurd!—
With fondest, tenderest caress,
Counting his ducats, weighing them, and then
Counting them yet once more, and yet again;
For always did he find his count amiss,
The reason for which being this:
An ape—wiser, perhaps, than he, indeed!—
Dwelt by his side. Since tightly lock-and-keyed
His quarters, all our miser’s wealth could lie
Unhidden, spread before the naked eye.
Now, Dom Bertrand,1 of prankish breed,
Daily, would throw a coin or two away,
Flinging them out the open window,
Till, for some reason, one fine day,
Suddenly—Who knows why? Not I!—he grinned (Oh,
Truly a nasty grin!), made up his mind
To throw each blessèd sou into the sea!
No less a pleasant sport, if you ask me,
Than keeping it—though, if I were inclined
To tell you why, you well might find
The explanation rather tedious.
Well, so it goes. One day, our mischievous
Monkey, alone, seizing them, one by one—
Each metal disk Man covets so—
Hurled them with strength and skill. He would have done,
Thus, the whole precious lot, but lo!
Before ducat, doubloon, and all the rest
Could fly, he hears monsieur’s key in the door!
Ah sea, by many a shipwreck treasure blessed,
How close you came to being enriched still more!
I pray God grant long life and health
To financiers who, likewise, waste their wealth!
XII, 3
THE TWO GOATS
When goats have grazed, it is not rare
To have an urge, devil-may-care,
To wander roundabout the pastureland,
Here and there, to explore firsthand
Places where man has rarely been.
If they can find some untrod spot therein,
With neither road nor path, with cliff and hill
Abounding, that is where these ladies will
Choose to go capering;1 and they
Let not a thing stand in their way.
And so two goats of well-credentialed stock,
Each from her corner of the flock,
Broke free, leaving the field below, to stray
Where fortune beckoned. They came to a stream—
Each on one shore—bridged by a wooden beam
Across its waters, bank to bank.
Even two weasels, side by side, would seem
To stand too wide for such a narrow plank
Were they to pass each other. And below,
The river, deep and swift… But still, despite
Their fright,
One of the trembling Amazons will go
And place a toe—a hoof, that is—upon
The beam; at which, the other Amazon
Does likewise… As I watch, it seems to me
I see Philip the Fourth, Louis the Great,
Proceeding to negotiate
Their treaty on that isle.2 I see
Each moving forth, tentatively,
Step by step, both adventuresses
Reaching the middle, nose to nose…
Each one, compelled by her noblesse’s
Prideful demands, neither one acquiesces
To yield one whit. For, so the story goes,
Each has an ancestor of note:
One, a descendant of the goat
That Polyphemus3 gave to Galatea;
The other one, claiming to be a
Relative of the goat that Jupiter
Was suckled by,4 and beast divine, like her.
As each one stands her ground, soon will they fall
Into the stream below, together.
Fate can be cruel, and I doubt whether
This accident of hers was new at all.
XII, 4
FOR MONSEIGNEUR LE DUC DE BOURGOGNE 1
Who had asked Monsieur de la Fontaine for a fable to be entitled “The Cat and the Mouse”2
To please my young prince, whom long-lasting Fame
Enshrines in my works: such, my aim.
But how to write a fable with the name
“The Cat and Mouse”?
Shall I tell, in my verse, of beauteous belle—
Of feature fair, but callous demoiselle—
Who toys with hearts, charms them, then bids farewell,
As cat to mouse?
Shall I portray the games, the whims of Fate—
Goddess who gladly will humiliate
Those whom one thought to be her friends of late—
As cat with mouse?
Shall I sing of a king, Fate’s favorite,
Who stays her wheel and takes command of it;
Who, flouting foes’ strength, skill, and stratagem,
Nevertheless, ever heaps scorn on them,
As cat on mouse?
Ah! But my aim has, as I write, grown clear
Throughout these lines. Yet, if I longer write,
I shall, no doubt, spoil what is written here.
My prince would flout my muse, and twit me, quite,
As Cat does Mouse.
XII, between 4 and 5
THE OLD CAT AND THE YOUNG MOUSE 1
A mouse—young, inexperienced—
Thought he could pit his wit against
A wise old cat, Raminagrobis’ kin.2
“Mercy, I pray,” the mite commenced,
Pleading his case to save his skin.
“Mouse that I am, it must be clear
I make but little difference here.
Surely my hosts—madame, monsieur, et al.—
Won’t starve for what I eat, indeed!
A grain of wheat is all I need;
Why, with a nut I’d be a butterball!
Besides, sir, I’m still much too small.
Save me to feed your children when I’m grown.”
Replied the cat in condescending tone:
“You might as well be talki
ng to the wall!
My, how you err! To ask a cat
To spare you! And a wise, old one at that!
You must think I’m a dunderhead!
Well, you can go harangue the Fates on high.
Children indeed! Don’t worry, they’ll be fed.
Now, rules are rules: come down and die.”
And so he did. Requiescat!
In brief,
The moral of the tale I’ve been presenting?
Youth, sure it must prevail, must come to grief:
Old age is cold and unrelenting.
XII, 5
THE SICK STAG
Off in a land where stags abounded, one
Fell ill. His friends came gathering round him,
Hoping to help; but soon he’s overrun:
Stags by the score—each blessèd mother’s son!—
Stags everywhere, to harass and to hound him.
He begs: “Just let me die, I pray!
No tears! Let Fate do with me what she will…”
But no. When heaven pleased they went their way—
And, heaven help us, not until!
But first they drank a parting glass:
That is, encroaching on the stag’s domain,
They browsed it bare of bush and grass.
Now worse his woe, and mortal now his pain:
Alas, our ailing quadruped,
At length, lies starving… dying… dead.
You doctors of the flesh and soul,
You who should heal us, hale and whole,
How much you make us pay to live or die!
I say my say, and sigh my sigh:
“O tempora…” The old refrain…
No matter; I cry out in vain!
Everyone wants his piece of pie.
XII, 6
THE BAT, THE BUSH, AND THE DUCK
A bat, a bush, a duck—all three,
Well nigh the end of fortune’s tether—
Decide to ply their destiny
Abroad, and place their pittances together.
Brokers and agents—deftly, cleverly—
Managed their trade, their ledgers kept
In perfect balance, saw to their affairs,
Which went quite well. Until, that is, their wares
Passing through deadly straits, were swept
Down to the storehouse deep and ominous
Hard by the realm of Tartarus.
Our trio sighed many a sigh…
No! On reflection, they sighed not a one:
As any merchant knows, if, by and by,
Disaster strikes, when all is said and done
Best no one know the news. Once one has spread it,
The Complete Fables of Jean de La Fontaine Page 30