Tales and Novels of J. de La Fontaine Part 3

THE PEASANT AND HIS ANGRY LORD

ONCE on a time, as hist'ry's page relates, A lord, possessed of many large estates, Was angry with a poor and humble clod, Who tilled his grounds and feared his very nod.

Th' offence (as often happens) was but small, But on him, vowed the peer, his rage should fall-- Said he, a halter, rascal, you deserve; You'll never from the gallows-turnpike swerve: Or, soon or late you swinging will be found Who, born for hanging, ever yet was drowned?

Howe'er you'll smile to hear my lenient voice; Observe, three punishments await your choice; Take which you will.--The first is, you shall eat, Of strongest garlick, thirty heads complete; No drink you'll have between, nor sleep, nor rest; You know a breach of promise I detest.

Or, on your shoulders further I propose, To give you, with a cudgel, thirty blows.

Or, if more pleasing, that you truly pay, The sum of thirty pounds without delay.

THE peasant 'gan to turn things in his mind:-- Said he, to take the heads I'm not inclined; No drink, you say, between; that makes it worse; To eat the garlick thus, would prove a curse.

Nor can I suffer on my tender back, That, with a cudgel, thirty blows you thwack.

Still harder thirty pounds to pay appeared; Uncertain how to act, he hanging feared.

The n.o.ble peer he begged, upon his knees, His penitence to hear, and sentence ease.

But mercy dwelled not with the angry lord Is this, cried he, the answer?--bring a cord.

The peasant, trembling lest his life was sought; The garlick chose, which presently was brought.

UPON a dish my lord the number told; Clod no way liked the garlick to behold.

With piteous mien the garlick head he took, Then on it num'rous ways was led to look, And grumbling much, began to spit and eat, just like a cat with mustard on her meat, To touch it with his tongue he durst not do; He knew not how to act or what pursue.

The peer, delighted at the man's distress, The garlick made him bite, and chew, and press, Then gulp it down as if delicious fare; The first he pa.s.sed; the second made him swear; The third he found was every whit as sad, He wished the devil had it, 'twas so bad.

In short, when at the twelfth our wight arrived, He thought his mouth and throat of skin deprived.

Said he, some drink I earnestly intreat; What, Greg'ry, cried my lord, dost feel a heat; In thy repasts dost love to wet thy jaws?

Well! well! I won't object; thou know'st my laws; Much good may't do thee; here, some wine, some wine!

Yet recollect, to drink, since you design, That afterward, my friend, you'll have to choose The thirty blows, or thirty pounds to lose.

But, cried the peasant, I sincerely pray, Your lords.h.i.+p's goodness, that the garlick may Be taken in the account, for as to pelf, Where can an humble lab'rer, like myself, Expect the sum of thirty pounds to seize?

Then, said the peer, be cudgelled if you please; Take thirty thwacks; for naught the garlick goes.

To moisten well his throat, and ease his woes, The peasant drank a copious draught of wine, And then to bear the cudgel would resign.

A SINGLE blow he patiently endured; The second, howsoe'er, his patience cured; The third was more severe, and each was worse; The punishment he now began to curse; Two l.u.s.ty wights, with cudgels thrashed his back And regularly gave him thwack and thwack; He cried, he roared, for grace he begged his lord, Who marked each blow, and would no ease accord; But carefully observed, from time to time, That lenity he always thought sublime; His gravity preserved; considered too The blows received and what continued due.

AT length, when Greg'ry twenty strokes had got, He piteously exclaimed:--if more's my lot I never shall survive! Oh! pray forgive, If you desire, my lord, that I should live.

Then down with thirty pounds, replied the peer, Since you the blows so much pretend to fear; I'm sorry for you; but if all the gold Be not prepared, your G.o.dfather, I'm told, Can lend a part; yet, since so far you've been, To flinch the rest you surely won't be seen.

THE wretched peasant to his lords.h.i.+p flew, And trembling cried--'tis up! the number view!

A scrutiny was made, which nothing gained; No choice but pay the money now remained; This grieved him much, and o'er the fellow's face; The dewy drops were seen to flow apace.

All useless proved:--the full demand he sent, With which the peer expressed himself content.

Unlucky he whoe'er his lord offends!

To golden ore, howe'er, the proud man bends:

'TWAS vain that Gregory a pardon prayed; For trivial faults the peasant dearly paid; His throat enflamed--his tender back well beat-- His money gone--and all to make complete, Without the least deduction for the pain, The blows and garlick gave the trembling swain.

THE MULETEER

THE Lombard princes oft pervade my mind; The present tale Boccace relates you'll find; Agiluf was the n.o.ble monarch's name; Teudelingua he married, beauteous dame, The last king's widow, who had left no heir, And whose dominions proved our prince's share.

No Beauty round compare could with the queen; And ev'ry blessing on the throne was seen, When Cupid, in a playful moment, came, And o'er Agiluf's stable placed his flame; There left it carelessly to burn at will, Which soon began a muleteer to fill, With LOVE'S all-powerful, all-consuming fire, That naught controls, and youthful b.r.e.a.s.t.s desire.

THE muleteer was pleasing to the sight: Gallant, good-humoured, airy, and polite, And ev'ry way his humble birth belied; A handsome person, nor was sense denied; He showed it well, for when the youth beheld, With eyes of love, the queen, who all excelled, And ev'ry effort anxiously had made, To stop the flames that would his heart invade; When vain it proved, he took a prudent part:--

WHO can, like Cupid, manage wily art?

Whate'er stupidity we may discern, His pupils more within a day can learn, Than MASTERS knowledge in the schools can gain, Though they in study should ten years remain; The lowest clown he presently inspires, With ev'ry tendency that love requires; Of this our present tale's a proof direct, And none that feel--its truths will e'er suspect:

THE am'rous muleteer his thoughts employed; Consid'ring how his wish might be enjoyed.

Without success to certainty were brought, Life seemed to him not worth a slender thought; To hazard ev'ry thing; to live or die!

Possession have!--or in the grave to lie!

THE Lombard custom was, that when the king, Who slept not with his queen, (a common thing In other countries too), desired to greet His royal consort, and in bed to meet, A night-gown solely o'er his back he threw, And then proceeded to the interview, Knocked softly at the door, on which a fair, Who waited on the queen with anxious care, Allowed the prince to enter; took his light, (Which only glimmered in the midst of night,) Then put it out, and quickly left the room:-- A little lantern to dispel the gloom, With waxen taper that emitted rays-- In diff'rent countries various are their ways!

OUR wily, prying, crafty muleteer, Knew well these forms were current through the year: He, like the king, at night himself equipped, And to the queen's superb apartment slipped.

His face concealed the fellow tried to keep; The waiting dame was more than half asleep; The lover got access:--soon all was clear; The prince's coming he had but to fear, And, as the latter had, throughout the day, The chase attended an extensive way, 'Twas more than probable he'd not be led, (Since such fatigue he'd had,) to quit his bed.

PERFUMED, quite neat, and lively as a bird, Our spark (safe entered) uttered not a word.

'Twas often customary with the king, When state affairs, or other weighty thing, Displeasure gave, to take of love his fill, Yet let his tongue the while continue still.

A singularity we needs must own, With this the wife was long familiar grown.

OUR am'rous wight more joys than one received, If our narrator of the tale's believed; (In bed a muleteer is worth three kings, And value oft is found in humble things.) The queen began to think her husband's rage Had proved a stimulus such wars to wage, And made him wond'rous stout in pleasure's sport, Though all the while his thoughts were-'bout the court.

WITH perfect justice Heav'n its gifts bestows; But equal talents all should not compose.

The prince's virtues doubtless were designed, To take command, and govern o'er mankind.

The lawyer, points of difficulty views, Decides with judgment, and the truth pursues.

In Cupid's scenes the muleteer succeeds:-- Each has his part:--none universal meeds.

WITH pleasures feasted, our gallant retired, Before the morn fresh blushes had acquired.

But scarcely had he left the tender scene, 'Ere king Agiluf came to see his queen, Who much surprise expressed, and to him said: My dear, I know your love, but from this bed, You'll recollect how recently you went, And having wonders done, should be content.

For heav'n's sake, consider more your health; 'Tis dearer far to me than Croesus' wealth.

WITHIN the royal breast suspicions rose, But nothing then the monarch would disclose.

He instantly withdrew without a word; His sentiments to speak had been absurd, And to the stable flew, since he believed The circ.u.mstances, which his bosom grieved, Whate'er mysterious doubts might then appear, Proceeded from some am'rous muleteer.

WHEN round the dorture he began to creep, The troop appeared as if dissolved in sleep, And so they truly were, save our gallant, Whose terrors made him tremble, sigh, and pant: No light the king had got; it still was dark; Agiluf groped about to find the spark, Persuaded that the culprit might be known, By rapid beating of the pulse alone.

The thought was good; to feel the prince began, And at the second venture, found his man, Who, whether from the pleasures he'd enjoyed, Or fear, or dread discov'ry to avoid, Experienced (spite of ev'ry wily art,) At once quick beating of the pulse and heart.

In doubt how this adventure yet might end, He thought to seem asleep would him befriend.

MEANWHILE the king, though not without much pains, Obtained the scissors used for horses' manes.

With these, he said, I'll mark the fond gallant, That I may know again the one I want.

THE monarch from the muleteer with care, In front, snipt off a bulky lock of hair.

This having done, he suddenly withdrew; But carelessly away the trophy threw; Of which the sly gallant advantage took, And thus the prince's subtle project shook; For instantly began our artful spark, His fellow servants like himself to mark.

WHEN day arrived the monarch was surprised, To see each muleteer alike disguised; No hair in front of either now was seen; Why, how is this? said he: What can it mean?

Fifteen or more, if I believe my sight, My wife has satisfied this very night.