BOOK III.

I.—THE MILLER, HIS SON, AND THE ASS1

TO M. DE MAUCROIX.2

BECAUSE the arts are plainly birthright matters,
For fables we to ancient Greece are debtors;
But still this field could not be reap'd so clean
As not to let us, later comers, glean.
The fiction-world hath deserts yet to dare,
And, daily, authors make discoveries there.
I'd fain repeat one which our man of song,
Old Malherbe, told one day to young Racan.'
Of Horace they the rivals and the heirs,
Apollo's pets, my masters, I should say,-
Sole by themselves were met, I'm told, one day,
Confiding each to each their thoughts and cares.
Racan begins:-'Pray end my inward strife,
For well you know, my friend, what's what in life,
Who through its varied course, from stage to stage,
Have stored the full experience of age;

What shall I do ? 'Tis time I chose profession.
You know my fortune, birth, and disposition.

The story of this fable has been used by most of the fabulists, from Æsop downwards.

2 În the original editions this fable is dedicated " A. M. D. M.” which initials stand for "To M. De Maucroix," Canon of Rheims, an early and late friend and patron of the poet. See Translator's Preface.

3 Old Malherbe and young Racan.-French poets. Malherbe was born in 1556, and died in 1628. La Fontaine owed to Malherbe's works the happy inspiration which led him to write poetry. See Translator's Preface. Honorat de Bueil, Marquis de Racan, was born at La Roche Racan in 1589. As a poet he was a pupil of Malherbe. His works were praised by Boileau, and he was one of the earliest members of the French Academy.

Ought I to make the country my resort,

Or seek the army, or to rise at court?

There's nought but mixeth bitterness with charms;
War hath its pleasures; hymen, its alarms.

'Twere nothing hard to take my natural bent,—

But I've a world of people to content.'

'Content a world!' old Malherbe cries; who can, sir? Why, let me tell a story ere I answer.

'A miller and his son, I've somewhere read,
The first in years, the other but a lad,—
A fine, smart boy, however, I should say,—
To sell their ass went to a fair one day.
In order there to get the highest price,

They needs must keep their donkey fresh and nice;
So, tying fast his feet, they swung him clear,
And bore him hanging like a chandelier.
Alas! poor, simple-minded country fellows!

The first that sees their load, loud laughing, bellows,
"What farce is this to split good people's sides?
The most an ass is not the one that rides!"
The miller, much enlighten'd by this talk,
Untied his precious beast, and made him walk.
The ass, who liked the other mode of travel,
Bray'd some complaint at trudging on the gravel;
Whereat, not understanding well the beast,
The miller caused his hopeful son to ride,
And walk'd behind, without a spark of pride.
Three merchants pass'd, and, mightily displeased,
The eldest of these gentlemen cried out,

"Ho there! dismount, for shame, you lubber lout!
Nor make a foot-boy of your grey-beard sire;

Change places, as the rights of age require."

To please you, sirs," the miller said, "I ought."

So down the young and up the old man got.

Three girls next passing, "What a shame!" says one, "That boy should be obliged on foot to run, While that old chap, upon his ass astride, Should play the calf, and like a bishop ride!" "Please save your wit," the miller made reply, "Tough veal, my girls, the calf as old as I.”

But joke on joke repeated changed his mind;
So up he took, at last, his son behind.

Not thirty yards ahead, another set

Found fault.

"The biggest fools I ever met,”
Says one of them, “such burdens to impose.
The ass is faint, and dying with their blows.
Is this, indeed, the mercy which these rustics
Show to their honest, faithful, old domestics?
If to the fair these lazy fellows ride,

"Twill be to sell thereat the donkey's hide!

"Zounds!" cried the miller, "precious little brains
Hath he who takes, to please the world, such pains;
But since we're in, we'll try what can be done."
So off the ass they jump'd, himself and son,
And, like a prelate, donkey march'd alone.
Another man they met. "These folks," said he,
"Enslave themselves to let their ass go free-
The darling brute! If I might be so bold,
I'd counsel them to have him set in gold.

Not so went Nicholas his Jane 1 to woo,

Who rode, we sing, his ass to save his shoe." "Ass! ass!" our man replied; "we're asses three! I do avow myself an ass to be;

But since my sage advisers can't agree,

Their words henceforth shall not be heeded;
I'll suit myself." And he succeeded.

'For you, choose army, love, or court;
In town, or country, make resort;
Take wife, or cowl; ride you, or walk;
Doubt not but tongues will have their talk.'

Nicholas and his Jane.-An allusion to an old French song.

II. THE MEMBERS AND THE BELLY.'

PERHAPS, had I but shown due loyalty,
This book would have begun with royalty,
Of which, in certain points of view,
Boss Belly is the image true,

In whose bereavements all the members share :
Of whom the latter once so weary were,
As all due service to forbear,

On what they called his idle plan,
Resolved to play the gentleman,
And let his lordship live on air.
'Like burden-beasts,' said they,
'We sweat from day to day;
And all for whom, and what ?
Ourselves we profit not.

Our labour has no object but one,
That is, to feed this lazy glutton.
We'll learn the resting trade
By his example's aid.'

So said, so done; all labour ceased;
The hands refused to grasp, the arms to strike;
All other members did the like.

Their boss might labour if he pleased!
It was an error which they soon repented,
With pain of languid poverty acquainted.
The heart no more the blood renew'd,
And hence repair no more accrued
To ever-wasting strength;
Whereby the mutineers, at length,

Æsop. Rabelais also has a version: Book III. ch. 3.

2 Boss.-A word probably more familiar to hod-carriers than to lexicographers; qu. derived from the French bosseman, or the English boatswain, pronounced bos'n? It denotes a "master" of some practical "art." Master Belly, says Rabelais, was the first Master of Arts in the world.-TRANSLATOR. The name used by La Fontaine is "Messer Gaster." To which he puts a footnote stating that he meant "L'estomac. He took the name from Rabelais, Book IV., ch. 57, where it occurs thus:-"Messer Gaster est le premier maître ès arts de ce monde. Son mandement est nommé: Faire le fault, sans delay, ou

mourir."

Saw that the idle belly, in its way,

Did more for common benefit than they.
For royalty our fable makes,

A thing that gives as well as takes
Its power all labour to sustain,

Nor for themselves turns out their labour vain.
It gives the artist bread, the merchant riches;
Maintains the diggers in their ditches;
Pays man of war and magistrate;
Supports the swarms in place,
That live on sovereign grace;
In short, is caterer for the state.
Menenius' told the story well:
When Rome, of old, in pieces fell,
The commons parting from the senate.
'The ills,' said they, that we complain at
Are, that the honours, treasures, power, and dignity,
Belong to them alone; while we
Get nought our labour for

But tributes, taxes, and fatigues of war.'
Without the walls the people had their stand
Prepared to march in search of other land,
When by this noted fable
Menenius was able

To draw them, hungry, home
To duty and to Rome.2

III. THE WOLF TURNED SHEPHERD.'

A WOLF, whose gettings from the flocks
Began to be but few,
Bethought himself to play the fox

In character quite new.

1 Menenius.-See Translator's Preface.

2 Rome. According to our republican notions of government, these people were somewhat imposed upon. Perhaps the fable finds a more appropriate application in the relation of employer to employed. I leave the fabulists and the political economists to settle the question between them.-TRANSLATOR.

The story of this fable is traced to Verdizotti, an Italian poet who lived about 1535-1600.