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
Many old cats, cunning, subtle, and sharp, and bearing a grudge against
the whole race of mice beside, lay in wait for them, caught them, and
cleared them out of the house, much to the advantage of the master of
the establishment.
So, returning to my moral, one cannot find under heaven any animal, any
being, any creature who has not his opponent. This appears to be a law
of nature. It would be time wasted to seek for a reason. God does well
whatever he does. Beyond that I know nothing; but I do know that people
come to high words over nothing three times out of four. Ah, ye human
folk! even at the age of sixty you ought to be sent back to the
schoolmaster.
XL
THE WOLF AND THE FOX
(BOOK XII.--No. 9)
A fox once remarked to a wolf, "Dear friend, do you know that the utmost
I can get for my meals is a tough old cock or perchance a lean hen or
two. It is a diet of which I am thoroughly weary. You, on the other
hand, feed much better than that, and with far less danger. My foraging
takes me close up to houses; but you keep far away. I beg of you,
comrade, to teach me your trade. Let me be the first of my race to
furnish my pot with a plump sheep, and you will not find me ungrateful."
"Very well," replied the obliging wolf. "I have a brother recently dead,
suppose you go and get his skin and wear it." This the fox accordingly
did and the wolf commenced to give him lessons. "You must do this and
act so, when you wish to separate the dogs from the flocks." At first
Reynard was a little awkward, but he rapidly improved, and with a little
practice he reached at last the perfection of wolfish strategy. Just as
he had learned all that there was to know a flock approached. The sham
wolf ran after it spreading terror all around, even as Patroclus
wearing[19] the armour of Achilles spread alarm throughout camp and
city, when mothers, wives, and old men hastened to the temples for
protection. "In this case, the bleating army made sure there must be
quite fifty wolves after them, and fled, dog and shepherd with them, to
the neighbouring village, leaving only one sheep as a hostage.
This remaining sheep our thief instantly seized and was making off with
it. But he had not gone more than a few steps when a cock crew near by.
At this signal, which habit of life had led him to regard as a warning
of dawn and danger, he dropped his disguising wolf-skin and, forgetting
his sheep, his lesson, and his master, scampered off with a will.
Of what use is such shamming? It is an illusion to suppose that one is
really changed by making the pretence. One resume's one's first nature
upon the earliest occasion for hiding it.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 19: At the Siege of Troy. He was mistaken for Achilles.]
[Illustration: A guide for the footsteps of love.]
XLI
LOVE AND FOLLY
(BOOK XII.--No. 14)
Everything to do with love is mystery. Cupid's arrows, his quiver, his
torch, his boyhood: it is more than a day's work to exhaust this
science. I make no pretence here of explaining everything. My object is
merely to relate to you, in my own way, how the blind little god was
deprived of his sight, and what consequences followed this evil which
perchance was a blessing after all. On the latter point I will decide
nothing, but will leave it to lovers to judge upon.
One day as Folly and Love were playing together, before the boy had lost
his vision, a dispute arose. To settle this matter Love wished to lay
his cause before a council of the gods; but Folly, losing her patience,
dealt him a furious blow upon the brow. From that moment and for ever
the light of heaven was gone from his eyes.
Venus demanded redress and revenge, the mother and the wife in her
asserting themselves in a way which I leave you to imagine. She deafened
the gods with her cries, appealing to Jupiter, Nemesis, the judges from
Hades, in fact all who would be importuned. She represented the
seriousness of the case, pointing out that her son could now not make a
step without a stick. No punishment, she urged, was heavy enough for so
dire a crime, and she demanded that the damage should be repaired.
When the gods had each well considered the public interest on the one
hand and the complainant's demands upon the other, the supreme court
gave as its verdict that Folly was condemned for ever more to serve as a
guide for the footsteps of Love.
XLII
THE FOREST AND THE WOODCUTTER
(BOOK XII.--No. 16)
A woodcutter had broken or lost the handle of his hatchet and found it
not easy to get it repaired at once. During the time, therefore, that it
was out of use, the woods enjoyed a respite from further damage. At last
the man came humbly and begged of the forest to allow him gently to take
just one branch wherewith to make him a new haft, and promised that then
he would go elsewhere to ply his trade and get his living. That would
leave unthreatened many an oak and many a fir that now won universal
respect on account of its age and beauty.
The innocent forest acquiesced and furnished him with a new handle. This
he fixed to his blade and, as soon as it was finished, fell at once upon
the trees, despoiling his benefactress, the forest, of her most
cherished ornaments. There was no end to her bewailings: her own gift
had caused her grief.
Here you see the way of the world and of those who follow it. They use
the benefit against the benefactors. I weary of talking about it. Yet
who would not complain that sweet and shady spots should suffer such
outrage. Alas! it is useless to cry out and be thought a nuisance:
ingratitude and abuses will remain the fashion none the less.
XLIII
THE FOX AND THE YOUNG TURKEYS
(BOOK XII.--No. 18)
Some young turkeys were lucky enough to find a tree which served them as
a citadel against the assaults of a certain fox. He, one night, having
made the round of the rampart and seen each turkey watching like a
sentinel, exclaimed, "What! These people laugh at me, do they? And do
they think that they alone are exempt from the common rule? No! by all
the gods! no!"
He accomplished his design.
The moon shining brilliantly seemed to favour the turkey folk against
the fox. But he was no novice in the laying of sieges, and had recourse
to his bag of rascally tricks. He pretended to climb the tree; stood
upon his hind legs; counterfeited death; then came to life again.
Harlequin himself could not have acted so many parts. He reared his tail
and made it gleam in the moonshine, and practised a hundred other
pleasantries, during which no turkey could have dared to go to sleep.
The enemy tired them out at last by keeping their eyes fixed upon him.
The poor birds became dazed. One lost its balance and fell. Reynard put
it by. Then another fell and was caught and laid on one side. Nearly
half of them at length succumbed and were taken off to the fox's larder.
To concentrate too much attention upon a danger may cause us to tumble
into it.
XLIV
THE APE
(BOOK XII.--No. 19)
There is an ape in Paris to whom a wife was once given; and he,
imitating many another husband, beat the poor creature to such an extent
that she sighed all the breath out of her body and died.
Their son uttered the most doleful howls as a protest to this terrible
business.
The father laughs now. His wife is dead and he already has found other
lady companions, whom, no doubt, he beats in the same way; for he haunts
the taverns and is frequently tipsy.
Never expect anything good from people who imitate, whether they be apes
or authors. Of the two the worst kind is the imitating author.
XLV
THE SCYTHIAN PHILOSOPHER
(BOOK XII.--No. 20)
A certain austere philosopher of Scythia, wishing to follow a pleasant
life, travelled through the land of the Greeks, and there he found in a
quiet spot a sage, one such as Virgil has written of; a man the equal of
kings, the peer almost of the gods, and like them content and tranquil.
The happiness of this sage lay entirely in his beautiful garden. There
the Scythian found him, pruning hook in hand, cutting away the useless
wood from his fruit trees; lopping here, pruning there, trimming this
and that, and everywhere aiding Nature, who repaid his care with usury.
"Why this wrecking?" asked the philosopher. "Is it wisdom thus to
mutilate these poor dwellers in your garden? Drop that merciless tool,
your pruning hook. Leave the work to the scythe of time. He will send
them, soon enough, to the shores of the river of the departed."
"I am taking away the superfluous," answered the sage, "so that what is
left may flourish the better."
The Scythian returned to his cheerless abode and, taking a bill-hook,
cut and trimmed every hour in the day, advising his neighbours to do
likewise and prescribing to his friends the means and methods. A
universal cutting-down followed. The handsomest boughs were lopped; his
orchard mutilated beyond all reason. The seasons were disregarded, and
neither young moons nor old were noted. In the end everything languished
and died.
This Scythian philosopher resembles the indiscriminating Stoic who cuts
away from the soul all passions and desires, good as well as bad, even
to the most innocent wishes. For my own part, I protest against such
people strongly. They take from the heart its greatest impulses and we
cease to live before we are dead.
[Illustration]
XLVI
THE ELEPHANT AND JUPITER'S APE
(BOOK XII.--No. 21)
Once in the olden times the elephant and the rhinoceros disputed as to
which was the more important, and which should, therefore, have empire
over the other animals. They decided to settle the point by battle in an
enclosed field.
The day was fixed, and all in readiness, when somebody came and informed
them that Jupiter's ape, bearing a caduceus, had been seen in the air.
The fact of his holding a caduceus[20] proved him to be acting as
official messenger from Olympus, and the elephant immediately took it
for granted that the ape came as ambassador with greetings to his
highness. Elated with this idea he waited for Gille, for that was the
name of the ape, and thought him rather tardy in presenting his
credentials. But at length Master Gille did salute his excellency as he
passed, and the elephant prepared himself for the message. But not a
word was forthcoming.
It was evident that the gods were not giving so much attention to these
matters as the elephant supposed.
What does it matter to those in high places whether one is an elephant
or a fly?
The would-be monarch was reduced to the necessity of opening the
conversation himself. "My cousin Jupiter," he began, "will soon be able
to watch a rather fine combat from his supreme throne, and his court
will see some splendid sport."
"What combat?" asked the ape rather severely.
"What! Do you not know that the rhinoceros denies me precedence: that
the Elephantidae are at war with the Rhinocerotidae? You surely know these
families: they have some reputation."
"I am charmed to learn their names," replied Master Gille. "We are
little concerned about such matters in our vast halls."
This shamed and surprised the elephant. "Eh! What, then, is the reason
of your visit amongst us?"
"Oh, it was to divide a blade of grass between two ants. We care for
all. As for your affair, nothing has been said about it in the council
of the gods. The little and the great are equal in their eyes."
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 20: The wand or official staff of Hermes.]
XLVII
THE LEAGUE OF RATS
(BOOK XII.--No. 26)
There was once a mouse who lived in terrible fear of a cat that had lain
in wait watching for her. She was in great anxiety to know what she
could do to escape the threatening danger.
Being prudent and wise she consulted her neighbour, a large and
important rat. His lordship the rat had taken up his abode in a very
good inn, and had boasted a hundred times that he had no fear for either
tom-cat or she-cat. Neither teeth nor claws caused him any anxious
thought.
"Dame Mouse," said this boaster, "whatever I do, I cannot, upon my word,
chase away this cat that threatens you without some help. But let me
call together all the rats hereabouts and I'll play him a sorry trick or
two."
The mouse curtsied humbly her thanks and the rat ran with speed to the
head-quarters; that is to say to the larder, where the rats were in the
habit of assembling. Arriving out of breath and perturbed in mind he
found them making a great feast at the expense of their host.
"What ails you?" asked one of the feasters. "Speak!"
"In two words," answered he, "the reason for my coming among you in
this way is simply that it has become absolutely necessary to help the
mice; for Grimalkin is abroad making terrible slaughter among them.
This, the most devilish of cats, will, when she has no mice left, turn
her attention to the eating of rats."
"He says what is true," cried they all. "To arms, to arms!" Nothing
could stem the tide of their impetuosity; although, it is said, a few
she-rats shed tears. It was no matter. Every one overhauled his
equipment, and filled his wallet with cheese. To risk life was the
determination of all. They set off, as if to a fete, with happy minds
and joyful hearts.
Alas, for the mouse! These warriors were a moment too late. The cat had
her already by the head. Advancing at the double the rats ran to the
succour of their good little friend; but the cat swore, and stalked away
in front of the enemy, having no intention of surrendering her prey.
At the sound of the cat's defiance, the prudent rats, fearing ill fate,
beat a safe retreat without carrying any further their intended
onslaught. Each one ran to his hole, and whenever any ventured out again
it was always with the utmost caution to avoid the cat.
XLVIII
THE ARBITER, THE HOSPITALLER, AND THE HERMIT
(BOOK XII.--No. 28)
Three saints, all equally zealous and anxious for their salvation, had
the same ideal, although the means by which they strove towards it were
different. But as all roads lead to Rome, these three were each content
to choose their own path.
One, touched by the cares, the tediousness, and the reverses which seem
to be inevitably attached to lawsuits, offered, without any reward, to
judge and settle all causes submitted to him. To make a fortune on this
earth was not an end he had in view.
Ever since there have been laws, man, for his sins, has condemned
himself to litigation half his lifetime. Half? three-quarters, I should
say, and sometimes the whole. This good conciliator imagined he could
cure the silly and detestable craze for going to law.
The second saint chose the hospitals as his field of labour. I admire
him. Kindly care taken to alleviate the sufferings of mankind is a
charity I prefer before all others.
The sick of those days were much as they are now--peevish, impatient,
and ever grumbling. They gave our poor hospitaller plenty of work. They
would say, "Ah! he cares very particularly for such and such. They are
his friends, hence we are neglected."
But bad as were these complaints they were nothing to those which the
arbiter had to face. He got himself into a sorry tangle. No one was
content. Arbitration pleased neither one side nor the other. According
to them the judge could never succeed in holding the balance level. No
wonder that at last the self-appointed judge grew weary.
He betook himself to the hospitals. There he found that the
self-sacrificing hospitaller had nothing better to tell of his results.
Complaints and murmurs were all that either could gain.
With sad hearts they gave up their endeavours and repaired to the silent
wood, there to live down their sorrows. In these retreats, at a spot
sheltered from the sun, gently tended by the breezes, and near a pure
rivulet, they found the third saint, and of him they asked advice.
"Advice," said he, "is only to be sought of yourselves; for who, better
than yourselves, can know your own needs? The knowledge of oneself is
the first care imposed upon mankind by the Almighty. Have you obeyed
this mandate whilst out in the world? If there you did not learn to know
yourselves, these tranquil shades will certainly help you; for nowhere
else is it possible. Stir up this stream. Do you now see yourselves
reflected in it? No! How could you, when the mud is like a thick cloud
between us and the crystal? But let it settle, my brothers, and then you
will see your image. The better to study yourselves live in the
desert."
The lonely hermit was believed and the others followed his wise counsel.
It does not follow that people should not be well employed. Since some
must plead; since men die and fall ill, doctors are a necessity and so
also are lawyers. These ministers, thank God, will never fail us. The
wealth and honours to be won make one sure of that. Nevertheless, in
these general needs one is apt to neglect oneself. And you, judges,
ministers, and princes, who give all your time to the public weal; you,
who are troubled by countless annoyances and disappointments,
disheartened by failure and corrupted by good fortune--you do not see
yourselves. You see no one. Should some good impulse lead you to think
over these matters, some flatterer breaks in and distracts you.
This lesson is the ending of this work. May the centuries to come find
it a useful one. I present it to kings. I propose it to the wise. What
better ending could I make?
LETCHWORTH
THE TEMPLE PRESS
PRINTERS