The Original Fables of La Fontaine by Jean de la Fontaine
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Jean de la Fontaine >> The Original Fables of La Fontaine
TALES FOR CHILDREN FROM MANY LANDS
EDITED BY F.C. TILNEY
[Illustration: The heart of Thyrsis left.]
THE ORIGINAL FABLES OF LA FONTAINE
RENDERED INTO ENGLISH PROSE
BY
FREDK. COLIN TILNEY
WITH COLOURED ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR
LONDON: J.M. DENT & SONS LIMITED
NEW YORK: E.P. DUTTON & COMPANY
PREFACE
If deep wisdom, gentle satire, polite cynicism, and, above all,
irresistible humour are qualities which make a book attractive then La
Fontaine's _Fables_ should be in the hands of all. Their charm is
two-fold; for whilst they induce pleasurable reflection in the reader
they delight him by the gaiety of their subject matter.
Notwithstanding the fact that the spell of La Fontaine's verse
necessarily disappears when another tongue is employed, his English
translators, both Elizur Wright and Walter Thornbury, have courageously
attempted to do him justice in prosody. In this little book no such
effort has been made, chiefly for the reason that, for any but the
unusually gifted, to snatch at rhythm and rhyme is often to let drop the
apt and ready word as AEsop's mastiff dropped his dinner. But there is a
further excuse for the present writer. Verse has little attraction for
children unless it jingles merrily, and that is a thing as impossible as
it is undesirable where the claims of a philosophic original make
restrictions. Since the spirit is more likely to survive if the letter
is not exacting, it is difficult to see why custom looks askance upon
prose versions of poetry. But this little book may escape such censure
on the ground of its being but a selection from the complete _Fables_ of
La Fontaine. It presents only those of which the great fabulist was
himself the originator. A selection of some sort being imperative there
seemed to be a simple and easy choice in the condition of absolute
originality; particularly as the older fables are given in another
volume of this series.
This translation (in which I gratefully acknowledge the assistance of my
friend Mrs. A.H. Beddoe) is neither "free" nor literal. It sometimes
amplifies a thought, much as a musician might amplify the harmonies upon
a master's figured bass. But even this is rarely done, and then only
with a view to the youthful reader's pleasure and profit. With that
view, further, the social and political introductions to the fables have
been omitted, as well as the scientific discourses and the allusions to
the unfortunate wars of Louis XIV. and other historical matters, all of
which would have neither meaning nor interest but for "grown-ups" of a
certain class.
F.C. TILNEY.
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE TWO MULES 13
THE HARE AND THE PARTRIDGE 15
THE GARDENER AND HIS LANDLORD 17
THE MAN AND HIS IMAGE 20
THE ANIMALS SICK OF THE PLAGUE 22
THE UNHAPPILY MARRIED MAN 25
THE RAT RETIRED FROM THE WORLD 27
THE MAIDEN 29
THE WISHES 31
THE DAIRY-WOMAN AND THE PAIL OF MILK 34
THE PRIEST AND THE CORPSE 36
THE MAN WHO RAN AFTER FORTUNE AND THE MAN WHO
WAITED FOR HER IN HIS BED 38
AN ANIMAL IN THE MOON 42
THE FORTUNE-TELLERS 44
THE COBBLER AND THE FINANCIER 47
THE POWER OF FABLE 50
THE DOG WHO CARRIED HIS MASTER'S DINNER 52
THYRSIS AND AMARANTH 54
THE RAT AND THE ELEPHANT 56
THE HOROSCOPE 57
JUPITER AND THE THUNDERBOLTS 60
EDUCATION 62
DEMOCRITUS AND THE PEOPLE OF ABDERA 64
THE ACORN AND THE PUMPKIN 67
THE SCHOOLBOY, THE PEDANT, AND THE OWNER OF A GARDEN 69
THE SCULPTOR AND THE STATUE OF JUPITER 71
THE OYSTER AND THE PLEADERS 73
THE CAT AND THE FOX 75
THE MONKEY AND THE CAT 77
THE TWO RATS, THE FOX, AND THE EGG 79
THE DOG WITH HIS EARS CROPPED 86
THE LIONESS AND THE SHE-BEAR 88
THE RABBITS 90
THE GODS WISHING TO INSTRUCT A SON OF JUPITER 93
THE LION, THE MONKEY, AND THE TWO ASSES 95
THE WOLF AND THE FOX IN THE WELL 98
THE MICE AND THE SCREECH-OWL 100
THE COMPANIONS OF ULYSSES 102
THE QUARREL BETWEEN THE DOGS AND THE CATS AND BETWEEN
THE CATS AND THE MICE 106
THE WOLF AND THE FOX 109
LOVE AND FOLLY 111
THE FOREST AND THE WOODCUTTER 113
THE FOX AND THE YOUNG TURKEYS 115
THE APE 117
THE SCYTHIAN PHILOSOPHER 118
THE ELEPHANT AND JUPITER'S APE 120
THE LEAGUE OF RATS 122
THE ARBITER, THE HOSPITALLER, AND THE HERMIT 124
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
THE HEART OF THYRSIS LEAPT Frontispiece
"YOU BOASTED OF BEING SO SWIFT" Facing page 14
OVER TOPPLED THE MILK " 35
THE GARRET WAS STILL A SIBYL'S DEN " 46
DELIBERATELY SWALLOWED THE OYSTER " 74
"WHY CANNOT YOU BE SILENT ALSO?" " 88
DESCENDED BY HIS GREATER WEIGHT " 98
A GUIDE FOR THE FOOTSTEPS OF LOVE " 111
The poet Jean de la Fontaine was born at Chateau-Thierry on July 8,
1621. He was a kindly, merry, and generous man and much beloved. His
fables were written in verse and were published in three collections at
different times of his life. Many were new versions of existing fables;
but those of his later years were more often original inventions.
All in this book are of La Fontaine's own invention, although several
have since appeared in collections of AEsop's fables without the
acknowledgment that is La Fontaine's due.
He died on April 13, 1695, at the age of seventy-three.
[Illustration]
I
THE TWO MULES
(BOOK I.--No. 4)
There were two heavily-laden mules making a journey together. One was
carrying oats and the other bore a parcel of silver money collected from
the people as a tax upon salt. This, we learn, was a tax which produced
much money for the government, but it bore very hard upon the people,
who revolted many times against it.
The mule that carried the silver was very proud of his burden, and would
not have been relieved of it if he could. As he stepped out he took care
that the bells upon his harness should jingle well as became a mule of
so much importance.
Suddenly a band of robbers burst into the road, pounced upon the
treasure mule, seized it by the bridle, and stopped it short.
Struggling to defend itself the unhappy creature groaned and sighed as
it cried: "Is this then the fate that has been in store for me: that I
must fall and perish whilst my fellow traveller escapes free from
danger?"
"My friend," exclaimed the mule that carried only the oats, and whom the
robbers had not troubled about, "it is not always good to have exalted
work to do. Had you been like me, a mere slave to a miller, you would
not have been in such a bad way now!"
[Illustration: You boasted of being so swift.]
II
THE HARE AND THE PARTRIDGE
(BOOK V.--No. 17)
Never mock at other people's misfortune; for you cannot tell how soon
you yourself may be unhappy. AEsop the sage has given us one or two
examples of this truth, and I am going to tell you of a similar one now.
A hare and a partridge were living as fellow-citizens very peacefully in
a field, when a pack of hounds making an onset obliged the hare to seek
refuge. He rushed into his form and succeeded in putting the hounds at
fault. But here the scent from his over-heated body betrayed him.
Towler, philosophising, concluded that this scent came from his hare,
and with admirable zeal routed him out. Then old Trusty, who never is at
fault, proclaimed that the hare was gone away. The poor unfortunate
creature at last died in his form.
The partridge, his companion, thought fit to soothe his last moments
with some scoffing remarks upon his fate. "You boasted of being so
swift," she said "What has come to your feet, then?"
But even as she was chuckling her own turn came. Secure in the belief
that her wings would save her whatever happened, she did not reckon upon
the cruel talons of the hawk.
III
THE GARDENER AND HIS LANDLORD
(BOOK IV.--No. 4)
A man who had a great fondness for gardening, being half a countryman
and half town-bred, possessed in a certain village a fair-sized plot
with a field attached, and all enclosed by a quickset hedge. Here sorrel
and lettuce grew freely, as well as such flowers as Spanish jasmine and
wild thyme, and from these his good wife Margot culled many a posy for
her high days and holidays.
This happy state of things was soon troubled by the visits of a hare,
and to such an extent that the man had to go to his landlord and lodge a
complaint. "This wretched animal," he said, "comes here and stuffs
himself night and morning, and simply laughs at traps and snares. As for
stones and sticks they make no difference whatever to him. He must be
enchanted."
"Enchanted!" cried the landlord. "I defy enchantment! Were he the devil
himself old Towler would soon rout him out in spite of his tricks. I'll
rid you of him, my man, never fear!"
"And when?" asked the man.
"Oh, to-morrow, without more delay!"
The affair being thus arranged, on the morrow came the landlord with all
his following. "First of all," he said, "how about breakfast? Your
chickens are tender I'll be bound. Come here, my dear," he added,
addressing the man's daughter, and then, to her father, "When are you
going to let her marry? Hasn't a son-in-law come on the scene yet? My
dear fellow, this is a thing that positively must be done you know,
you'll have to put your hand in your pocket to some purpose." So saying
he sat down beside the damsel, took her hand, held her by the arm, toyed
with her fichu, and took other silly and trifling liberties which the
girl resented with great self-respect, whilst the father grew a little
uneasy in his mind.
Nevertheless, the cooking went on. There was quite a run on the kitchen.
"How ripe are your hams? They look good."
"Sir," replied the flattered host, "they are yours."
"Oh, really now! Well I'll take them, and that right gladly."
The landlord and his family, his dogs, his horses, and his men-servants,
all take breakfast with hearty appetites. He assumes the host's place
and privileges, drinks his wine and caresses his daughter. After this a
crowd of hunters take seats at the breakfast table.
Now everybody is lively and busy with preparations for the hunt. They
wind the horns to such purpose that the good man is dumbfounded by the
din. Worse than that they make terrible havoc in the poor garden.
Good-bye to all the neat rows and beds! Good-bye to the chickory and the
leeks! Good-bye to all the pot-herbs!
The hare lies hidden under the leaves of a great cabbage, but being
discovered is quickly started, whereupon he rushes to a hole--nay, worse
than a hole, a great and horrible gap in the poor hedge, made by the
landlord's order, so that they might all burst out of the garden in fine
style; for it would have looked ridiculous for them to ride out at the
gate.
The poor man objected. "This is fine fun for princes, no doubt----"; but
they let him talk, whilst dogs and men together did more harm in one
hour than all the hares in the province would have done in a century.
Little princes, settle your own quarrels amongst yourselves. It is
madness to have recourse to kings. You should never let them engage in
your wars, nor even enter your domains.
IV
THE MAN AND HIS IMAGE
(BOOK I.--No. 11)
Once there was a man who loved himself very much, and who permitted
himself no rivals in that love. He thought his face and figure the
handsomest in all the world. Anything in the shape of a mirror that
could show him his own likeness he took care to avoid; for he did not
want to be reminded that perhaps he was over-rating his beauty. For this
reason he hated looking-glasses and accused them of being false. He made
a very great mistake in this respect; but that he did not mind, being
quite content to live in the happiness the mistake afforded him.
To cure him of so grievous an error, officious Fate managed matters in
such a way that wherever he turned his eyes they would fall on one of
those mute little counsellors that ladies carry and appeal to when they
are anxious about their appearance. He found mirrors in the houses;
mirrors in the shops; mirrors in the pockets of gallants; mirrors even
as ornaments on waist-belts of ladies.
What was he to do--this poor Narcissus? He thought to avoid all such
things by going far away from haunts of mankind, where he should never
have to face a mirror again. But in the woods to which he retreated a
clear rivulet ran. Into this he happened to look and--saw himself again.
Angrily he told himself that his eyes had been deluded by an idle fancy.
Henceforth he would keep away from the water! This he tried his utmost
to do; but who can resist the beauty of a woodland stream? There he was
and remained, always with that which he had determined to shun.
My meaning is easily seen. It applies to everybody; for everybody takes
some joy in harbouring this very error. The man in love with himself
stands for the soul of each one of us. All the mirrors wherein he saw
himself reflected stand for the faults of other people, in which we
really see our own faults though we hate to recognise them as such. As
for the brook, that, as every one knows, stands for the book of maxims
which the Duke de la Rochefoucauld[1] wrote.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: This fable was dedicated to the Duke de la Rochefoucauld.]
V
THE ANIMALS SICK OF THE PLAGUE
(BOOK VII.--No. 1)
One of those dread evils which spread terror far and wide, and which
Heaven, in its anger, ordains for the punishment of wickedness upon
earth--a plague in fact; and so dire a one as to make rich in one day
that grim ferryman who takes a coin from all who cross the river Acheron
to the land of the dead--such a plague was once waging war against the
animals. All were attacked, although all did not die. So hopeless was
the case that not one of them attempted to sustain their sinking lives.
Even the sight of food did not rouse them. Wolves and foxes no longer
turned eager and calculating eyes upon their gentle and guileless prey.
The turtle-doves went no more in cooing pairs, but were content to avoid
each other. Love and the joy that comes of love were both at an end.
At length the lion called a council of all the beasts and addressed them
in these words: "My dear friends, it seems to me that it is for our sins
that Heaven has permitted this misfortune to fall upon us. Would it not
be well if the most blameworthy among us allowed himself to be offered
as a sacrifice to appease the celestial wrath? By so doing he might
secure our recovery. History tells us that this course is usually
pursued in such cases as ours. Let us look into our consciences without
self-deception or condoning. For my own part, I freely admit that in
order to satisfy my gluttony I have devoured an appalling number of
sheep; and yet what had they done to me to deserve such a fate? Nothing
that could be called an offence. Sometimes, indeed, I have gone so far
as to eat the shepherd too! On the whole, I think I had better render
myself for this act of sacrifice; that is, if we agree that it is a
thing necessary to the general good. And yet I think it would be only
fair that every one should declare his sins as well as I; for I could
wish that, in justice, it were the most culpable that should perish."
"Sire," said the fox, "you are really too yielding for a king, and your
scruples show too much delicacy of feeling. Eating sheep indeed! What of
that?--a foolish and rascally tribe! Is that a crime? No! a hundred
times no! On the contrary your noble jaws did but do them great honour.
As for the shepherd, it may be fairly said that all the harm he got he
merited, since he was one of those who fancy they have dominion over the
animal kingdom." Thus spake the fox and every other flatterer in the
assembly applauded him. Nor did any seek to inquire deeply into the
least pardonable offences of the tiger, the bear, and the other mighty
ones. All those of an aggressive nature, right down to the simple
watch-dog, were something like saints in their own opinions.
When the ass stood forth in his turn he struck a different note: nothing
of fangs and talons and blood. "I remember," he said, "that once in
passing a field belonging to a monastery I was urged by hunger, by
opportunity, by the tenderness of the grass, and perhaps by the evil one
egging me on, to enter and crop just a taste, about as much as the
length of my tongue. I know that I did wrong, having really no right
there."
At these words all the assembly turned upon him. The wolf took upon
himself to make a speech proving without doubt that the ass was an
accursed wretch, a mangy brute, who certainly ought to be told off for
sacrifice, since through his wickedness all their misfortunes had come
about. His peccadillo was judged to be a hanging matter. "What! eat the
grass belonging to another? How abominable a crime! Nothing but death
could expiate such an outrage!" And forthwith they proved as much to the
poor ass.
Accordingly as your power is great or small, the judgments of a court
will whiten or blacken your reputation.
VI
THE UNHAPPILY MARRIED MAN
(BOOK VII.--No. 2)
If goodness were always the comrade of beauty I would seek a wife
to-morrow; but as divorce between these two is no new thing, and as
there are so few lovely forms that enshrine lovely souls, thus uniting
both one and the other delight, do not take it amiss that I refrain from
seeking such a rare combination.
I have seen many marriages, but not one of them has held out allurements
for me. Nevertheless, nearly the whole four quarters of mankind
courageously expose themselves to this the greatest of all hazards,
and--the whole four quarters usually repent it.
I will tell you of one who, having repented, found that there was
nothing for it but to send home again his quarrelsome, avaricious, and
jealous spouse. She was one whom nothing pleased; for her, nothing was
right. For her, one rose too late; one retired too early. First it was
this, then it was that, and then again 'twas something else. The
servants raged. The husband was at his wit's end. "You think of nothing,
sir." "You spend too much." "You gad about, sir." "You are idle."
Indeed she had so much to say that, in the end, tired of hearing such a
termagant, he sent her to her parents in the country. There she mixed
with those who minded the turkeys and pigs until she was thought to be
somewhat tamed, when the husband sent for her again.
"Well, my dear, how have you been getting on? How did you spend your
time? Did you like the simple life of the country?"
"Oh, pretty well!" she said, "but what annoyed me was to see the
laziness of those people. They are worse there than here. They showed no
care whatever for the herds and flocks they were supposed to mind. I
didn't forget to let them know what I thought of them. Of course, they
didn't like it, and they all hated me in the end."
"Ah! my dear. If you fell foul of people whom you saw for but a moment
or so in the day and when they returned in the evening--if you made them
tired of you; what will the servants in this house become, who must have
you railing at them the whole day long? And what will your poor husband
do whom you expected to have near you all day and night too? Return to
the village, my dear. Adieu! and if during my life the idea should
possess me to have you back again, may I, for my sins, have two such as
you for ever at my elbows in the world to come."
[Illustration]
VII
THE RAT RETIRED FROM THE WORLD
(BOOK VII.--No. 3)
The ancients had a legend which told of a certain rat who, weary of the
anxieties of this world, retired to a cheese, therein to live in peace.
Profound solitude reigned around the hermit. He worked so hard with his
feet and his teeth that in a few days he had a spacious dwelling and
food in plenty. What more could he desire? He thrived well, growing
large and fat. Blessings are showered upon those who are vowed to
simplicity and renunciation!
One day a deputation from Rat-land waited upon him, begging that out of
his abundance he would grant a slight dole towards fitting out a journey
to a strange country where the rats hoped to get succour in their great
war against the cat-tribe. Ratopolis was besieged, and owing to the
poverty of the beleaguered republic they were forced to start with empty
wallets. They asked but little, believing that in a few days help would
arrive. "My friends," said the hermit, "earthly affairs no longer
concern me. In what way could a poor recluse assist you? What could he
do but pray for the help you need! My best hopes and wishes you may be
assured of." With these words this latest among the saints shut his
door.
Whom have I in mind, do you think, when I speak of this rat, so sparing
of his help? A monk?--Oh, no! A dervish rather, for a monk, I suppose,
is at all times charitable.
VIII
THE MAIDEN
(BOOK VII.--No. 5)
A certain damsel of considerable pride made up her mind to choose a
husband who should be young, well-built, and handsome; of agreeable
manners and--note these two points--neither cold nor jealous. Moreover,
she held it necessary that he should have means, high birth, intellect;
in fact, everything. But whoever was endowed with everything?
The fates were evidently anxious to do their best for her, for they sent
her some most noteworthy suitors. But these the proud beauty found not
half good enough. "What, men like those! You propose them for me! Why
they are pitiable! Look at them--fine types, indeed!" According to her
one was a dullard; another's nose was impossible. With this it was one
thing; with that it was another; for superior people are disdainful
above all things.
After these eligible gentlemen had been dismissed, came others of less
worth, and at these too she mocked. "Why," said she, "I would not bemean
myself to open the door to such. They must think me very anxious to be
married. Thank Heaven my single state causes me no regrets."
The maiden contented herself with such notions until advancing age made
her step down from her pedestal. Adieu then to all suitors. One year
passed and then another. Her anxiety increased, and after anger came
grief. She felt that those little smiles and glances which, at the
bidding of love, lurk in the countenances of fair maidens were day by
day deserting her. Finally, when love himself departed, her features
gave pleasure to none. Then she had recourse to those hundred little
ruses and tricks of the toilet to repair the ravages of time; but
nothing that she could do arrested the depredations of that despicable
thief. One may repair a house gone to ruin: but the same thing is not
possible with a face!
Her refined ladyship now sang to a different tune, for her mirror
advised her to take a husband without delay. Perhaps also her heart
harboured the wish. Even superior persons may have longings! This one at
last made a choice that people would at one time have thought
impossible; for she was very pleased and happy in marrying an ugly
cripple.
IX
THE WISHES
(BOOK VII.--No. 6)
When the Great Mogul held empire, there were certain little sprites who
used to undertake all sorts of tasks helpful to mankind. They would do
housework, stable-work, and even gardening. But if one interfered with
them, all would be spoilt.
One of these friendly sprites cultivated the garden of a worthy family
living near the Ganges. His duties were performed deftly and
noiselessly. He loved not only his master and mistress, but the garden
also. Possibly the zephyrs, who are said to be friends of the sprites,
helped him in his tasks. At any rate he did his very best, and never
ceased in his efforts to load his hosts with every pleasure. To prove
his zeal he would have stayed with these people for ever, in spite of
the natural propensity of his kind for waywardness. But his mischievous
fellow-sprites fell to plotting. They induced the chief of their band to
remove him to another field of labour. This the chief promised and,
either by caprice or by policy, finally brought about. Orders came that
the devoted worker should set out for the uttermost part of Norway,
there to take charge of a house which at all times of the year was
covered with snow. So from being an Indian, the poor thing became a
Laplander.