Fables of La Fontaine — Fables CXLVII and CXLVIII
TO M.
DE BARILLON.
How can a great ambassador descend To simple tales a patient ear to lend?
How could I trifling verses to you bring, Or dare with transient playfulness to sing?
For if, sometimes, I vainly tried to soar, Would you not only deem me rash once more?
You have more weighty matters to debate Than of a Weasel and a Rabbit's fate.
Read me, or read me not; but, oh, debar All Europe banding against us in war.
Lest from a thousand places there arise Fresh enemies our legions to surprise.
England already wearies of her rest, And views our king's alliance as a jest.
Is it not time that Louis sought repose?
What Hercules but wearies of his blows At the huge Hydra?
--will it show its might, And press again the lately ended fight, By thrusting forth another head to meet, At his strong sinewy arm, a fresh defeat?
If your mind, pliant, eloquent, and strong, Could soften hearts, and but avert this wrong, I'd sacrifice a hundred sheep to you-- A pretty thing for a poor bard to do.
Have then, at least, the kindness graciously This pinch of incense to receive from me.
Accept my ardent vows, and what I write: The subject suits you that I here indite.
I'll not repeat the praises Envy owns Are due to you, who need not fear her groans.
In Athens' city, fickle, vain, of old, An Orator, who dangers manifold Saw crowding on his country, one day went Up in the tribune, with the wise intent, With his skill'd tongue, and his despotic art, Towards a republic to force every heart.
He spoke with fervour 'bout the common weal;
They would not listen: they were hard as steel.
The Orator, to rouse them, had recourse To metaphors of greater fire and force, To sting the basest.
He awoke the dead.
He, Zeus-like, flamed and thunder'd o'er each head: The wind bore all away,--yes, every word.
The many-headed monster had not heard: They ran to see the rabble children play, Or two boys fighting made them turn away.
What did the speaker do?
--he tried once more: "Ceres," he said, "once made, we hear, a tour.
An Eel and Swallow follow'd her: A river gave them some demur.
The Eel it swam: the Swallow flew, Now what I tell you's really true."
And as he utter'd this, the crowd "And Ceres, what did she?"
cried loud.
"Just what she did:--then pious rage Stirr'd him to execrate the age.
What children's tales absorb your mind, Careless of all the woes behind!
Thou only careless Grecian state, What Philip does you should debate."
At this reproach the mob grew still, And listen'd with a better will: Such silence a mere fable won!
We're like the Greeks, all said and done.
And I myself, who preach so well, If any one to me would tell "Le Peau d'Ane," I should, with delight, Listen for half the livelong night.
The world is old, as I have heard, And I believe it, on my word;
Yet still, though old, I'm reconciled To entertain it like a child.
FABLE CXLVIII.
THE BEAR AND THE AMATEUR OF GARDENING.
A certain Mountain Bruin once, they say, Was wont within a lonely wood to stray,-- A new Bellerophon secluded there, His mind had gone, and left his brain-pan bare.
Reason on lonely people sheds no ray;
It's good to speak--better to silent stay: Both in excess are bad.
No animal Was ever seen, or was within a call.
Bear though he was, he wearied of this life, And longed for the world's joy and the world's strife: Then "Melancholy marked him for her own."
Not far from him an old man lived alone: [Illustration: THE BEAR AND THE AMATEUR OF GARDENING.
] Dull as the Bear, he loved his garden well;
Was priest of Flora and Pomona; still, Though the employment's pleasant, a kind friend Is needful, its full charms to it to lend: Gardens talk little, save in my small book.
Weary at last of their mere smiling look, And those his dumb companions, one fine day, Our man set forth upon his lonely way, To seek a friend.
The Bear, with the same thought, Had left his mountain, satisfied with nought.
By chance most strange the two adventurers meet At the same turning.
He's afraid to greet The Bear; but fly he can't. What can he do?
Well, like a Gascon, he gets neatly through: Conceals his fright.
The bear is not well bred;
Still growls, "Come, see me!"
but the other said, "Here is my cottage; pray come in, my lord;
Do me the honour at my frugal board To lunch <i>al fresco.
</i> I have milk and fruit, That will, perhaps, your worship's pleasure suit For once, though not your ordinary fare;
I offer all I have."
With friendly air They're chums already before reaching home;
Still better friends when there they've fairly come.
In my opinion it's a golden rule: Better be lonely than be with a fool.
The Bear, who did not speak two words a day, Left the drudge there to work and toil away.
Bruin went hunting, and brought in the game, Or flapped the blow-flies, when the blow-flies came;
And kept from off his sleeping partner's face Of winged parasites the teasing race.
One day a buzzer o'er the sleeping man Poised, and then settled on his nose,--their plan.
The Bear was crazy: all his chase was vain;
"I'll catch you, thief!"
he cried: it came again.
'Twas said, 'twas done; the flapper seized a stone, And launched it bravely--bravely it was thrown.
He crushed the fly, but smashed the poor man's skull-- A sturdy thrower, but a reasoner dull.
Nothing's so dangerous as a foolish friend;
Worse than a real wise foe, you may depend.
