Le Corbeau, la Gazelle, la Tortue, et le Rat.

 

A Madame de la Sablière

Je vous gardais un Temple dans mes vers :
Il n'eût fini qu'avecque l'Univers.
Déjà ma main en fondait la durée
Sur ce bel Art qu'ont les Dieux inventé,
Et sur le nom de la Divinité
Que dans ce Temple on aurait adorée.
Sur le portail j'aurais ces mots écrits
PALAIS SACRE DE LA DEESSE IRIS ;
Non celle-là qu'a Junon à ses gages ;
Car Junon même et le Maître des Dieux
Serviraient l'autre, et seraient glorieux
Du seul honneur de porter ses messages.
L'Apothéose à la voûte eût paru ;
Là, tout l'Olympe en pompe eût été vu
Plaçant Iris sous un Dais de lumière.
Les murs auraient amplement contenu
Toute sa vie, agréable matière,
Mais peu féconde en ces événements
Qui des Etats font les renversements.
Au fond du Temple eût été son image,
Avec ses traits, son souris, ses appas,
Son art de plaire et de n'y penser pas,
Ses agréments à qui tout rend hommage.
J'aurais fait voir à ses pieds des mortels
Et des Héros, des demi-Dieux encore,
Même des Dieux ; ce que le Monde adore
Vient quelquefois parfumer ses Autels.
J'eusse en ses yeux fait briller de son âme
Tous les trésors, quoique imparfaitement :
Car ce coeur vif et tendre infiniment,
Pour ses amis et non point autrement,
Car cet esprit, qui, né du Firmament,
A beauté d'homme avec grâces de femme,
Ne se peut pas, comme on veut, exprimer.
O vous, Iris, qui savez tout charmer,
Qui savez plaire en un degré suprême,
Vous que l'on aime à l'égal de soi-même
(Ceci soit dit sans nul soupçon d'amour ;
Car c'est un mot banni de votre Cour ;
Laissons-le donc), agréez que ma Muse
Achève un jour cette ébauche confuse.
J'en ai placé l'idée et le projet,
Pour plus de grâce, au devant d'un sujet
Où l'amitié donne de telles marques,
Et d'un tel prix, que leur simple récit
Peut quelque temps amuser votre esprit.
Non que ceci se passe entre Monarques :
Ce que chez vous nous voyons estimer
N'est pas un Roi qui ne sait point aimer :
C'est un Mortel qui sait mettre sa vie
Pour son ami. J'en vois peu de si bons.
Quatre animaux, vivants de compagnie,
Vont aux humains en donner des leçons.
La Gazelle, le Rat, le Corbeau, la Tortue,
Vivaient ensemble unis : douce société.
Le choix d'une demeure aux humains inconnue
Assurait leur félicité.
Mais quoi ! l'homme découvre enfin toutes retraites.
Soyez au milieu des déserts,
Au fond des eaux, en haut des airs,
Vous n'éviterez point ses embûches secrètes.
La Gazelle s'allait ébattre innocemment,
Quand un chien, maudit instrument
Du plaisir barbare des hommes,
Vint sur l'herbe éventer les traces de ses pas.
Elle fuit, et le Rat à l'heure du repas
Dit aux amis restants : D'où vient que nous ne sommes
Aujourd'hui que trois conviés ?
La Gazelle déjà nous a-t-elle oubliés ?
A ces paroles, la Tortue
S'écrie, et dit : Ah ! si j'étais
Comme un Corbeau d'ailes pourvue,
Tout de ce pas je m'en irais
Apprendre au moins quelle contrée,
Quel accident tient arrêtée
Notre compagne au pied léger :
Car, à l'égard du coeur, il en faut mieux juger.
Le Corbeau part à tire d'aile :
Il aperçoit de loin l'imprudente Gazelle
Prise au piège, et se tourmentant.
Il retourne avertir les autres à l'instant.
Car de lui demander quand, pourquoi, ni comment
Ce malheur est tombé sur elle,
Et perdre en vains discours cet utile moment,
Comme eût fait un Maître d'Ecole,
Il avait trop de jugement.
Le Corbeau donc vole et revole.
Sur son rapport, les trois amis
Tiennent conseil. Deux sont d'avis
De se transporter sans remise
Aux lieux où la Gazelle est prise.
L'autre, dit le Corbeau, gardera le logis :
Avec son marcher lent, quand arriverait-elle ?
Après la mort de la Gazelle.
Ces mots à peine dits, ils s'en vont secourir
Leur chère et fidèle Compagne,
Pauvre Chevrette de montagne.
La Tortue y voulut courir :
La voilà comme eux en campagne,
Maudissant ses pieds courts avec juste raison,
Et la nécessité de porter sa maison.
Rongemaille (le Rat eut à bon droit ce nom)
Coupe les noeuds du lacs : on peut penser la joie.
Le Chasseur vient et dit : Qui m'a ravi ma proie ?
Rongemaille, à ces mots, se retire en un trou,
Le Corbeau sur un arbre, en un bois la Gazelle ;
Et le Chasseur, à demi fou
De n'en avoir nulle nouvelle,
Aperçoit la Tortue, et retient son courroux.
D'où vient, dit-il, que je m'effraie ?
Je veux qu'à mon souper celle-ci me défraie.
Il la mit dans son sac. Elle eût payé pour tous,
Si le Corbeau n'en eût averti la Chevrette.
Celle-ci, quittant sa retraite,
Contrefait la boiteuse, et vient se présenter.
L'homme de suivre, et de jeter
Tout ce qui lui pesait : si bien que Rongemaille
Autour des noeuds du sac tant opère et travaille
Qu'il délivre encor l'autre soeur,
Sur qui s'était fondé le souper du Chasseur.
Pilpay conte qu'ainsi la chose s'est passée.
Pour peu que je voulusse invoquer Apollon,
J'en ferais, pour vous plaire, un Ouvrage aussi long
Que l'Iliade ou l'Odyssée.
Rongemaille ferait le principal héros,
Quoiqu'à vrai dire ici chacun soit nécessaire.
Portemaison l'Infante y tient de tels propos
Que Monsieur du Corbeau va faire
Office d'Espion, et puis de Messager.
La Gazelle a d'ailleurs l'adresse d'engager
Le Chasseur à donner du temps à Rongemaille.
Ainsi chacun en son endroit
S'entremet, agit, et travaille.
A qui donner le prix ? Au coeur si l'on m'en croit.

 

 

The Raven, the Gazelle, the Tortoise, and the Rat. (27)

 

To Madame De La Sablière.[28]

A temple I reserved you in my rhyme:
It might not be completed but with time.
Already its endurance I had grounded
Upon this charming art, divinely founded;
And on the name of that divinity
For whom its adoration was to be.
These words I should have written o'er its gate--
TO IRIS IS THIS PALACE CONSECRATE;
Not her who served the queen divine;
For Juno's self, and he who crown'd her bliss,
Had thought it for their dignity, I wis,
To bear the messages of mine.
Within the dome the apotheosis
Should greet th' enraptured sight--
All heaven, in pomp and order meet,
Conducting Iris to her seat
Beneath a canopy of light!
The walls would amply serve to paint her life,--
A matter sweet, indeed, but little rife
In those events, which, order'd by the Fates,
Cause birth, or change, or overthrow of states.
The innermost should hold her image,--
Her features, smiles, attractions there,--
Her art of pleasing without care,--
Her loveliness, that's sure of homage.
Some mortals, kneeling at her feet,[29]--
Earth's noblest heroes,--should be seen;
Ay, demigods, and even gods, I ween:
(The worshipp'd of the world thinks meet,
Sometimes her altar to perfume.)
Her eyes, so far as that might be,
Her soul's rich jewel should illume;
Alas! but how imperfectly!
For could a heart that throbb'd to bless
Its friends with boundless tenderness,--
Or could that heaven-descended mind
Which, in its matchless beauty, join'd
The strength of man with woman's grace,--
Be given to sculptor to express?
O Iris, who canst charm the soul--
Nay, bind it with supreme control,--
Whom as myself I can but love,--
(Nay, not that word: as I'm a man,
Your court has placed it under ban,
And we'll dismiss it,) pray approve
My filling up this hasty plan!
This sketch has here received a place,
A simple anecdote to grace,
Where friendship shows so sweet a face,
That in its features you may find
Somewhat accordant to your mind.
Not that the tale may kings beseem;
But he who winneth your esteem
Is not a monarch placed above
The need and influence of love,
But simple mortal, void of crown,
That would for friends his life lay down--
Than which I know no friendlier act.
Four animals, in league compact,
Are now to give our noble race
A useful lesson in the case.

Rat, raven, tortoise, and gazelle,
Once into firmest friendship fell.
'Twas in a home unknown to man
That they their happiness began.
But safe from man there's no retreat:
Pierce you the loneliest wood,
Or dive beneath the deepest flood,
Or mount you where the eagles brood,--
His secret ambuscade you meet.
The light gazelle, in harmless play,
Amused herself abroad one day,
When, by mischance, her track was found
And follow'd by the baying hound--
That barbarous tool of barbarous man--
From which far, far away she ran.
At meal-time to the others
The rat observed,--'My brothers,
How happens it that we
Are met to-day but three?
Is Miss Gazelle so little steady?
Hath she forgotten us already?'
Out cried the tortoise at the word,--
'Were I, as Raven is, a bird,
I'd fly this instant from my seat,
And learn what accident, and where,
Hath kept away our sister fair,--
Our sister of the flying feet;
For of her heart, dear rat,
It were a shame to doubt of that.'
The raven flew;
He spied afar,--the face he knew,--
The poor gazelle entangled in a snare,
In anguish vainly floundering there.
Straight back he turn'd, and gave the alarm;
For to have ask'd the sufferer now,
The why and wherefore, when and how,
She had incurr'd so great a harm,--
And lose in vain debate
The turning-point of fate,
As would the master of a school,--
He was by no means such a fool.[30]
On tidings of so sad a pith,
The three their council held forthwith.
By two it was the vote
To hasten to the spot
Where lay the poor gazelle.
'Our friend here in his shell,
I think, will do as well
To guard the house,' the raven said;
'For, with his creeping pace,
When would he reach the place?
Not till the deer were dead.'
Eschewing more debate,
They flew to aid their mate,
That luckless mountain roe.
The tortoise, too, resolved to go.
Behold him plodding on behind,
And plainly cursing in his mind,
The fate that left his legs to lack,
And glued his dwelling to his back.
The snare was cut by Rongemail,
(For so the rat they rightly hail).
Conceive their joy yourself you may.
Just then the hunter came that way,
And, 'Who hath filch'd my prey?'
Cried he, upon the spot
Where now his prey was not.--
A hole hid Rongemail;
A tree the bird as well;
The woods, the free gazelle.
The hunter, well nigh mad,
To find no inkling could be had,
Espied the tortoise in his path,
And straightway check'd his wrath.
'Why let my courage flag,
Because my snare has chanced to miss?
I'll have a supper out of this.'
He said, and put it in his bag.
And it had paid the forfeit so,
Had not the raven told the roe,
Who from her covert came,
Pretending to be lame.
The man, right eager to pursue,
Aside his wallet threw,
Which Rongemail took care
To serve as he had done the snare;
Thus putting to an end
The hunter's supper on his friend.
'Tis thus sage Pilpay's tale I follow.
Were I the ward of golden-hair'd Apollo,
It were, by favour of that god, easy--
And surely for your sake--
As long a tale to make
As is the Iliad or Odyssey.
Grey Rongemail the hero's part should play,
Though each would be as needful in his way.
He of the mansion portable awoke
Sir Raven by the words he spoke,
To act the spy, and then the swift express.
The light gazelle alone had had th' address
The hunter to engage, and furnish time
For Rongemail to do his deed sublime.
Thus each his part perform'd. Which wins the prize?
The heart, so far as in my judgment lies.[31]

[27] Bidpaii.
[28] Madame de la Sablière_.--See note to Fable I., Book X.: also Translator's Preface.
[29] Some mortals kneeling at her feet_.--In allusion to the distinguished company which assembled at the house of Madame de la Sablière. See notes on John Sobieski (King John III., of Poland), &c., Fable I., Book X.
[30] Such a fool_.--In allusion to Fable XIX., Book I.
[31] This fable was also first published in the "Works" of De Maucroix
and La Fontaine, 1685. The text of the later issue is slightly
abridged.

Il Corvo, la Gazzella, la Testuggine e il Topo.

 

(Alla signora de La Sablière)

Bello io volevo un Tempio a voi, Signora, in queste
mie carte dedicare,
un Tempio su quell'arte divina fabbricare
che vince il tempo, al vostro bel nome assicurato.
Avrei scritto sull'arco: "Palazzo dedicato
ad Iride celeste".
Iride, non già quella
ch'è di Giunone ancella:
Giove e Giunone a questa saranno, sto per dire,
superbi di servire.
Avrei fatto nel mezzo tra raggi luminosi,
e tra gli dèi d'Olimpo, la vostra Apoteosi.

Dipinti andrìan dei fasti di vostra vita i muri,
segni non già d'oscuri e cupi avvenimenti
ai popoli presenti.
Ma in fondo al Tempio immagino nei dolci tratti il viso,
il guardo, il bel sorriso,
e quella che innamora
bell'arte di piacere che pur se stessa ignora.

A questo altar verrebbero, al solo cenno mio,
mortali, grandi eroi,
ed anche forse un dio.
Sì, ciò che il mondo adora
s'inchinerebbe a voi.

Il Topo, la Testuggine, il Corvo, la Gazzella
vivean insiem d'accordo in bella compagnia.
Un certo angolo oscuro asilo a lor offria
lontano dagli sguardi dell'uomo esploratore;
ma fruga l'uomo in fondo
del ciel, del mar, del mondo,
e nulla sfugge all'occhio indagatore.

Gazzella in bocca a un cane (strumento maledetto
che serve al gran diletto dell'uomo cacciatore)
un dì quasi cadea,
ma così ben fuggì che la sua traccia
perdette il can da caccia.

All'ora della cena disse agli amici il Topo:
- Gazzella ci dimentica, dov'è?
Noi siam soltanto tre.
- O Corvo, avessi l'ali, - soggiunse la Testuggine, -
e subito vorrei
volar, cercar di lei,
se mai cattiva stella
(il cor è un triste astrologo)
nuoce alla bestia dalla gamba snella -.
Il Corvo apre le penne e vola come il vento
e giunge in quel momento
che proprio la Gazzella poveretta
invano dibattevasi in una rete stretta.
Ai suoi compagni subito rivola
il Corvo e in vane chiacchiere
non perde il tempo, in come, in quando, in quamquam,
come farebbe un professor di scuola.

Ma tien tosto consiglio, e in esso vien trattato
che i due che son più lesti
si rechino sul luogo che fu da lui segnato,
e l'altra a casa resti
a custodir la porta. Testuggine è sì lunga
a camminar che ha tempo di morire
la poverina, innanzi ch'ella giunga.

E vanno il Corvo e il Topo là dove la compagna
Capretta di montagna sen giace prigioniera.
Invece d'obbedire
sen volle anche la stupida Testuggine partire
e muove alla sua povera maniera,
colla sua gamba corta
e con quel guscio che sul gobbo porta.

Va Rodicordicelle (il nome è di diritto)
i lacci a rosicchiare della gabbia.
Addio, Gazzella! Quando il cacciator rediva,
il Topo scompariva in una macchia,
il Corvo sopra un albero fuggiva,
Gazzella iva in un bosco ov'è più fitto...
e il cacciator disfoga la sua rabbia
sulla lenta Testuggine che arriva.

- Tu pagherai per tutti, - gridò quell'uomo a modo, -
e della magra zuppa farai squisito il brodo -.
Ciò detto, in un suo sacco la ripone.
Ma il Corvo che sull'albero faceva da spione,
vola nel bosco in fretta
e chiama la Capretta
che uscì per un istante,
e fingendosi un poco zoppicante,
attrasse l'uomo a sé,
che per meglio inseguirla, in terra getta
il sacco e quel che c'è.
Rode la cordicella ancora e disviluppa
il Topo il sacco, e libera la sua minor sorella,
e lungo restò il brodo della zuppa.