Fables of La Fontaine — Fables CXLI and CXLII
FABLE CXLI.
THE COBBLER AND THE BANKER.
A Cobbler, who would sing from dawn to dark (A very merry soul to hear and see, As satisfied as all the Seven Wise Men could be), Had for a neighbour, not a paltry clerk, But a great Banker, who could roll in gold: A Crœsus, singing little, sleeping less;
Who, if by chance he had the happiness, Just towards morning, to drop off, I'm told, Was by the Cobbler's merry singing woke.
Loud he complain'd that Heaven did not keep For sale, in market-places, soothing sleep.
He sent, then, for the Cobbler ('twas no joke):-- "What, Gregory, do you earn in the half-year?"
"Half-year, sir!"
said the Cobbler, very gaily;
"I do not reckon so.
I struggle daily For the day's bread, and only hunger fear."
"Well, what a day?
--what is your profit, man?"
"Now more, now less;--the worst thing is those fêtes.
Why, without them--and hang their constant dates!
-- The living would be tidy--drat the plan!
Monsieur the Curé always a fresh saint Stuffs in his sermon every other week."
The Banker laughed to hear the fellow speak, And utter with such <i>naïveté</i> his complaint.
"I wish," he said, "to mount you on a throne;
Here are a hundred crowns, knave--keep them all, They'll serve you well, whatever ill befall."
The Cobbler thought he saw before him thrown All money in the earth that had been found.
Home went he to conceal it in a vault, Safe from discovery and thieves' assault.
There, too, he buried joy,--deep under ground;
No singing now: he'd lost his voice from fear.
[Illustration: THE COBBLER AND THE BANKER.
] His guests were cares, suspicions, vain alarms;
All day he watch'd,--at night still dreading harms: If but a cat stirr'd, robbers he could hear.
At last the poor fool to his neighbour ran;
He had not woke him lately, I'm afraid: "Return my songs and tranquil sleep," he said, "And take your hundred crowns, my generous man."
FABLE CXLII.
THE CAT, THE WEASEL, AND THE LITTLE RABBIT.
A little Rabbit's charming nook A Weasel seized upon one morn;
His household gods with him he took, Jane Rabbit's mansion to adorn.
At break of day departed Jane, To munch amongst the thyme and roses, Returning, at her window-pane-- "Why, there the wicked Weasel's nose is!"
"Oh, gracious goodness!
what is here?
Turned out of my paternal hall!
From this you quickly disappear, Or I'll give all the rats a call."
The Weasel simply said the Earth Always belonged to the first comer;
All other claims were little worth: A sufferance tenant a misnomer.
A little kingdom he had found: "Now, tell me, what more right have you To these domains, this patch of ground, Than Tom or Dick, than Nan or Sue?"
"Usage and custom of the law," The Rabbit said, "give me the place: On sire's and grandsire's claims I stand-- I, who here represent their race."
"A law most wise!
can't be more wise!"
Said cunning Weasel.
"What of that?
Our claims to settle, I devise A reference to our friend the Cat."
It was a Cat of solemn mien-- A very hermit of a Cat:-- A saint, upon whose face was seen Precept and practice, law, and--fat.
The Rabbit here agreed, and then They sought the pious Pussy's home.
"Approach--I'm deaf, he said; and when They came, they told him why they'd come.
"Approach, fear not, for calm is law;
For law no one here ever lacks;"
And, stretching on each side a claw, He broke both litigants' weak backs.
This story calls unto my mind The sad result which often springs From squabbles of a larger kind, Which small grand-dukes refer to kings.
