Original Fables by Yean de la Fontaine 1
THE TWO MULES
THREE 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 traveler 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!"
The Gardener and His Landlord
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 will 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 takes 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 din dumbfounds the good man. 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 potherbs!
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.
THE MAN AND HIS IMAGE
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 the waist-belts of ladies.
What was he to do— this poor Narcissus? He thought to avoid all such things by going far away from the 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 recognize them as such. As for the brook, that, as everyone knows, stands for the book of maxims, which the Duke de la Rochefoucauld [1] wrote.
This fable was dedicated to the Duke de la Rochefoucauld.
THE ANIMALS SICK OF THE PLAGUE
e 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
THE UNHAPPILY MARRIED MAN
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 expect 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."
THE RAT RETIRED FROM THE WORLD
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.
With affection,
Ruben
