Fables of La Fontaine — Fables CCIII and CCIV

THE TWO PARROTS, THE MONARCH, AND HIS SON.

A Parrot and his child, 'tis said, On royal dishes daily fed, Having the affections won Of a monarch and his son.

An equal age made either pair Affection for each other bear.

The fathers gravely loved each other;

And their chicks, though wild and young, At school or play, together clung, As fondest brother unto brother.

That a parroquet thus by the son of a king Should be loved, need we say, was a wonderful thing.

Now the fates had endowed this young heir to the throne With a love for all creatures that he called his own;

And a Sparrow, by arts which caused prudes to despise her, Had contrived how to make this great Monarch's son prize her.

And so it chanced, alack!

one day.

That the rivals twain, at play, Fell into a desperate rage;

And the youthful Parrot, stung By some taunt the Sparrow flung, Attacked, and sent her dying to her cage.

And then the Prince, with equal fury seized, The slayer snatched, and in a death-grip squeezed.

Soon to the Parrot-father's ears The tidings came, and then the air Was tortured by his wild despair;

But nought availed, or moans or tears, For his child was lying still-- Inanimate, with voiceless bill.

Then from his woe the bird awoke, And, with a cruel, double stroke, Tore out the wretched Prince's eyes.

This done, unto a pine he flies, And on its topmost branch he knows What joy from satiate vengeance flows.

Runs, then, the King to him, and cries, "Come down, my friend, our tears are vain;

In love let's bury woe and hate.

This wretchedness, 'tis very plain, Comes from my son; or, rather, Fate Had long since writ her stern decree, Your son should die, and mine not see, And that we parents twain should live disconsolate."

On this the father bird replied-- "Too great a wrong us twain divide;

Nor can I think he'll smother hate, Who heathenishly speaks of Fate.

But whether it be Providence Or Fate that rules our lives, I'm sure That I will never move from hence Till tempted by some wood secure.

I know that in a kingly breast Vengeance for a time may rest;

But kings are also like the gods, And, soon or late, you feel their rods.

I can scarcely trust you far, Though sincere you think you are;

But you are losing time below, For with my will I'll never go.

And trust me, hate, like love, is best By absence lullabied to rest."

FABLE CCIV.

THE PEASANT OF THE DANUBE.

To judge by appearances only is wrong, The maxim is true, if not very new, And by means of a mouse I have taught it in song;

But to prove it at present I'll change my note, And with Æsop and Socrates, also, I'll quote A boor whom Marcus Aurelius drew, And left us a portrait both faithful and true.

The first are old friends; but the other, unknown, Is sufficiently well in this miniature shown.

His chin was clothed with a mighty beard, And all his body so thickly furred, That much he resembled a grizzly bear-- One that had never known mother's care;

[Illustration: THE PEASANT OF THE DANUBE.

] 'Neath eyebrows shaggy, two piercing eyes Glared in a way more fierce than wise;

Whilst ill-shaped lips and a crooked nose, The sum of his facial beauties close.

A girdle of goat-skin formed his dress, With small shells studded for comeliness.

This sturdy youth, at a time when Rome Spoiled many a race of its native home, Was sent as a sort of deputation, By Danubian towns, to the Roman nation.

Arriving after toilsome travels, The rustic thus his tale unravels: "O Romans!

and you, reverend sires, Who sit to list to my desires, First, let me pray the gods, that they May teach me what I ought to say, And so direct my ignorant tongue, That it may utter nothing wrong!

Without their intervention must Be all things evil, all unjust.

Unless through them we plead our cause, 'Tis sure we violate their laws.

In witness of this truth perceive How Roman avarice makes us grieve;

For 'tis not by its arms that Rome Has robbed us both of peace and home;

'Tis we ourselves, ill ways pursuing, Have worked at length our own undoing.

Then, Romans, fear that Heaven, in time, To <i>you</i> may send the wage of crime, And justice, in <i>our</i> vengeful hands Placing its destructive brands, Hurl swift o'er you the endless waves Of war, and make you fettered slaves!

Why, why should we be slaves to you?

What is't that you can better do Than the poor tribes you scourge with war?

Why trouble lives that tranquil are?

Before you came we fed in peace Our flocks and reaped our fields' increase.

What to the Germans have you taught?

Courageous they and quick of thought, Had avarice been their only aim, They might have played a different game, And now have held the world in chains;

But, ah!

believe me, they would not Have scourged your race with needless pains, Had victory been now their lot.

The cruelties by your prefects wrought Can scarce be ever borne in thought;

Us e'en your Roman altars scare, For your gods eyes are everywhere.

The gods, alas!

'Tis thanks to you That nought but horror meets their view, That they themselves are scoffed and jeered at, And all but avarice is sneered at.

Of all the cruel men you sent To rule our towns, not one's content.

They seize our lands, they make us toil, And e'en our little huts they spoil.

Oh, call them back.

Our boors refuse To till the fields for others' use.

We quit our homes, and to the mountains fly, No tender wife now bears us company;

With wolves and bears we pass our lives away, For who would children rear for Rome to slay?

And, oh!

the terrors of your prefects bring One added horror; for a hateful thing, Unknown before, has now spread far and wide Throughout our native land--Infanticide!

Call back your men, or else the German race From day to day in vice will grow apace.

But why should I come here to make appeal?

The self-same vices spoil your commonweal: At Rome, as on the Danube's banks, the way To gain a scrap of justice is to pay.

I know my words are rude, and only wait Humbly to suffer candour's usual fate."

The half wild peasant paused, and all, Astonished that such words could fall From lips uncouth, and that such sense, Large-heartedness, and eloquence, Could dwell within a savage man, Proclaimed him a Patrician.

The Danube's prefects were recalled, And others in their place installed.

And more than this, the Senate made A copy of the Peasant's speech, All future orators to teach How to tell truth, convince, persuade.

But sad to tell, not long at Rome Had eloquence like this its home.

FABLE CCV.