Tales and Novels of J. de La Fontaine — Complete

Original

NO city I to Rheims would e'er prefer:

Of France the pride and honour I aver;

The Holy Ampoule * and delicious wine,

Which ev'ry one regards as most divine,

We'll set apart, and other objects take:

The beauties round a paradise might make!

I mean not tow'rs nor churches, gates, nor streets;

But charming belles with soft enchanting sweets:

Such oft among the fair Rhemese we view:

Kings might be proud those graces to pursue.

ONE 'mong these belles had to the altar led,

A painter, much esteemed, and who had bread.

What more was requisite!—he lived at ease,

And by his occupation sought to please.

A happy woman all believed his wife;

The husband's talents pleased her to the life:

For gallantry howe'er he was renowned,

And many am'rous dames, who dwelled around,

Would seek the artist with a double aim:

So all our chronicles record his fame.

But since much penetration 's not my boast,

I just believe—what's requisite at most.

WHENE'ER the painter had in hand a fair,

He'd jest his wife, and laugh with easy air;

But Hymen's rights proceeding as they ought,

With jealous fears her breast was never fraught.

She might indeed repay his tricks in kind,

And gratify, in soft amours, her mind,

Except that she less confidence had shown,

And was not led to him the truth to own.

AMONG the men attracted by her smiles,

Two neighbours, much delighted with her wiles;

Were often tempted, by her sprightly wit,

To listen to her chat, and with her sit;

For she had far the most engaging mien,

Of any charmer that around was seen.

Superior understanding she possessed;

Though fond of laughter, frolick, fun, and jest.

She to her husband presently disclosed

The love these cit-gallants to her proposed;

Both known for arrant blockheads through the town,

And ever boasting of their own renown.

To him she gave their various speeches, tones,

Each silly air: their tears, and sighs, and groans;

They'd read, or rather heard, we may believe,

That, when in love, with sighs fond bosoms heave.

Their utmost to succeed these coxcombs tried,

And seemed convinced they should not be denied;

A common cause they would the business hold,

And what one knew the other must be told.

Whichever first a favour might obtain,

Should tell his happiness to t'other swain.

YE FAIR 'tis thus they oft your kindness treat:

The pleasure that he wished alone is sweet.

LOVE, is no more; of t'other, laid in earth,

We've here no traces scarcely from the birth.

You serve for sport and prey, to giddy youth,

Devoid of talents, principles, and truth.

'Tis right they should suppose, still two are found;

Who take their course continually round.

The first that in your pleasure grounds appears;

I'd have you, on his wings, to use the shears.

OUR lady then, her lovers to deceive,

One day observed—you shall, my friends, this eve;

Drink wine with me:—my husband will away,

And, what's delightful, till to-morrow stay;

We shall ourselves be able to amuse,

And laugh, and sing, and talk as we may choose.

'Tis excellent, cried they: things well you frame;

And at the promised hour, the heroes came.

WHEN introduced, and all supposing clear,

A sudden knocking turned their joy to fear;

The door was barred; she to the window flew;

I think, said she, that's to the master due;

And should it prove to be as I suspect:—

'Tis he, I vow:—fly, hide, he'll you detect;

Some accident, suspicion, or design,

Has brought him back to sleep, I now divine:

OUR two gallants, when dangers round them pressed,

A closet entered, mightily distressed;

To get away 'twere folly to have tried;

The husband came, the roast he quickly spied;

With pigeons too, in diff'rent fashions cooked;

Why, hey! said he, as round about he looked:

What guests have you that supper you prepare?

The wife replied: two neighbours taste our fare:

Sweet Alice, and good Simonetta, mean

To-night, at table with us to be seen;

I'm quite rejoiced to think that you are here:

The company will more complete appear;

These dames will, by your presence, nothing lose;

I'll run and hasten them: 'twill you amuse;

The whole is ready; I'll at once away,

And beg, in coming, they'll no more delay.

Original

THE ladies named were wives of our gallants,

So fond of contraband, and smuggled grants,

Who, vexed to be confined, still praised the dame,

For skewing such address to 'scape from blame.

She soon returned, and with her brought the FAIR,

Who, gaily singing, entered free from care.

The painter them received with bow and kiss;

To praise their beauty he was not remiss;

Their dress was charming; all he much admired;

Their presence frolick, fun, and jest inspired,

Which no way pleased the husbands in the cage,

Who saw the freaks with marks of bursting rage:

The door half open gave a view complete,

How freely he their wives was led to treat.

THINGS thus commenced, the supper next was served;

From playful tricks the painter never swerved,

But placed himself at table 'twist the two,

And jest and frolicking would still pursue.

To women, wine, and fun, said he, I drink;

Put round the toast; none from it e'er must shrink;

The order was obeyed; the glass oft filled

The party soon had all the liquor swilled:

THE wife just then, it seems, no servant kept;

More wine to get, she to the cellar stept.

But dreading ghosts, she Simonetta prayed;

To light her down, she was so much afraid.

THE painter was alone with Alice left,

A country belle, of beauty not bereft:

Slight, nicely made, with rather pretty face,

She thought herself possessed of ev'ry grace,

And, in a country town, she well might get

The appellation of a gay coquette.

THE wily spark, perceiving no one near;

Soon ran from compliment to sweet and dear;

Her lips assailed;—the tucker drew aside,

And stole a kiss that hurt her husband's pride,

Who all beheld; but spouses, that are sage,

No trifles heed, nor peccadillos page;

Though, doubtless, when such meetings are possessed,

The simple kiss gives room to dread the rest;

For when the devil whispers in the ear

Of one that sleeps, he wakes at once to fear.

THE husband, howsoe'er, at length perceived

Still more concessions, which his bosom grieved;

While on the neck a hand appeared to please,

The other wandered equally at ease;

Be not offended, love! was often said;

To frantick rage the sight her sposo led,

Who, beating in his hat, was on the move

To sally forth, his wrath to let them prove,

To thrash his wife, and force her spark to feel

his nervous arm could quickly make him reel.

BE not so silly, whispered t'other Wight;

To stir up noise could ne'er be reckoned right;

Be quiet now: consider where we are;

Keep close, or else you'll all our pleasures mar;

Remember, written 'tis, By others do

The same as you would like they should by you;

'Tis proper in this place we should remain

Till all is hushed in sleep: then freedom gain;

That's my opinion how we ought to act

Are you not half a cuckold now, in fact?

Fair Alice has consented:-that's enough;

The rest is mere compliance, nonsense, stuff!

THE husband seemed the reasons to approve;

Some slight attempts the lady made to move;

No time for more. What then? you ask:—Why, then—

The lady put her cap to rights agen;

No mark appeared suspicion to awake,

Except her cheek a scarlet hue might take.

Mere trifle that; from talking it might spring;

And other causes, doubtless, we could bring.

ONE of the belles, howe'er, who went for wine,

Smiled, on returning, at the blushing sign:

The painter's wife; but soon they filled each glass,

And briskly round the bottle seemed to pass;

They drank the host, the hostess, and the FAIR,

Who, 'mong the three, should first her wishes share.

AT length, a second time the bottle failed;

The hostess' fear of ghosts again prevailed,

And mistress Alice now for escort went,

Though much she wished the other to have sent;

With Simonetta she was forced to change,

And leave the painter at his ease to range.

THIS dame at first appeared to be severe

Would leave the room, and feigned to be sincere;

But when the painter seized her by the gown,

She prudence showed, and feared he'd pull her down;

Her clothes might tear, which led her to remain:

On this the husband scarcely could contain;

He seemed resolved his hiding place to leave;

But instantly the other pulled his sleeve;

Be easy friend, said he, it is but right,

That equal favours we should have to-night,

And cuckoldom should take you to his care,

That we alike in ev'ry thing may fare.

ARE we not brothers in adventure, pray?

And such our solemn promises, to-day.

Since one the painter clearly has disgraced,

The other equally should be embraced.

In spite of ev'ry thing you now advance,

Your wife as well as mine shall have a dance;

A hand I'll lend, if wanting it be found;

Say what you will, I'll see she has her round.

She had it then:—our painter tried to please;

The lady equally appeared at ease;

Full time the others gave, and when they came,

More wine was not required by spark nor dame;

'Twas late, and for the day enough he'd done;

Good night was said: their course the belles had run;

The painter, satisfied, retired to rest;

The gay gallants, who lay so long distressed,

The wily hostess from the closet drew,

Abashed, disconsolate, and cuckolds too;

Still worse to think, with all their care and pain;

That neither of them could his wish obtain,

Or e'en return the dame what she procured

Their wives, whom she so cleverly allured.

HERE ends our tale; the business is complete;

In soft amours success alone is sweet.

* The Saint Ampoule, or Holy Ampulla, a vial said to have

descended from heaven, in which was oil for anointing the

kings of France at the coronation, and formerly kept at Rheims.

THE AMOROUS COURTESAN

Original

I MEAN to state how once an easy fair,

Who oft amused the youth devoid of care,

A tender flame within her heart retained,

Though haughty, singular, and unrestrained.

Not easy 'twas her favours to procure;

Rome was the place where dwelled this belle impure;

The mitre and the cross with her were naught;

Though at her feet, she'd give them not a thought;

And those who were not of the highest class,

No moments were allowed with her to pass.

A member of the conclave, first in rank,

To be her slave, she'd scarcely deign to thank;

Unless a cardinal's gay nephew came,

And then, perhaps, she'd listen to his flame;

The pope himself, had he perceived her charms,

Would not have been too good to grace her arms.

Her pride appeared in clothes as well as air,

And on her sparkled gold and jewels rare;

In all the elegance of dress arrayed,

Embroidery and lace, her taste displayed.

THE god of soft amour beheld her aim;

And sought at once her haughty soul to tame;

A Roman gentleman, of finest form,

Soon in her bosom raised a furious storm;

Camillus was the name this youth had got;

The nymph's was Constance, that LOVE'S arrow shot:

Though he was mild, good humoured, and serene,

No sooner Constance had his person seen,

And in her breast received the urchin's dart,

Than throbs, and trembling fears o'erwhelmed her heart.

The flame she durst declare no other way,

Than by those sighs, which feelings oft betray.

Till then, nor shame nor aught could her retain;

Now all was changed:—her bashfulness was plain.

As none, howe'er, could think the subtle flame

Would lie concealed with such a haughty dame,

Camillus nothing of the kind supposed.

Though she incessantly by looks disclosed,

That something unrevealed disturbed the soul,

And o'er her mind had absolute control.

Whatever presents Constance might receive,

Still pensive sighs her breast appeared to heave:

Her tints of beauty too, began to fail,

And o'er the rose, the lily to prevail.

ONE night Camillus had a party met,

Of youthful beaux and belles, a charming set,

And, 'mong the rest, fair Constance was a guest;

The evening passed in jollity and jest;

For few to holy converse seemed inclined,

And none for Methodists appeared designed:

Not one, but Constance, deaf to wit was found,

And, on her, raillery went briskly round.

THE supper o'er the company withdrew,

But Constance suddenly was lost to view;

Beside a certain bed she took her seat,

Where no one ever dreamed she would retreat,

And all supposed, that ill, or spirits weak,

She home had run, or something wished to seek.

THE company retired, Camillus said,

He meant to write before he went to bed,

And told his valet he might go to rest

A lucky circumstance, it is confessed.

Thus left alone, and as the belle desired;

Who, from her soul, the spark so much admired;

Yet knew not how the subject to disclose,

Or, in what way her wishes to propose;

At length, with trembling accents, she revealed;

The flame she longer could not keep concealed.

Original

EXCEEDINGLY surprised Camillus seemed,

And scarcely could believe but what he dreamed;

Why, hey! said he, good lady, is it thus,

With favoured friends, you doubtful points discuss?

He made her sit, and then his seat regained

Who would have thought, cried he, you here remained;

Now who this hiding place to you could tell?

'Twas LOVE, fond LOVE! replied the beauteous belle;

And straight a blush her lovely cheek suffused,

So rare with those to Cyprian revels used;

For Venus's vot'ries, to pranks resigned,

Another way, to get a colour, find.

CAMILLUS, truly, some suspicions had,

That he was loved, though neither fool nor mad;

Nor such a novice in the Paphian scene,

But what he could at once some notions glean:

More certain tokens, howsoe'er, to get,

And set the lady's feelings on the fret,

By trying if the gloom that o'er her reigned

Was only sly pretence, he coldness feigned.

SHE often sighed as if her heart would break;

At length love's piercing anguish made her speak:

What you will say, cried she, I cannot guess,

To see me thus a fervent flame confess.

The very thought my face with crimson dyes;

My way of life no shield for this supplies;

The moment pure affection 's in the soul,

No longer wanton freaks the mind control.

MY conduct to excuse, what can I say?

O could my former life be done away,

And in your recollection naught remain,

But what might virtuous constancy maintain

At all event, my frankness overlook,

Too well I see, the fatal path I took

Has such displeasure to your breast conveyed,

My zeal will rather hurt than give me aid;

But hurt or not, I'll idolize you still:

Beat, drive away, contemn me as you will;

Or worse, if you the torment can contrive

I'm your's alone, Camillus, while alive.

TO this harangue the wary youth replied

In truth, fair lady, I could ne'er decide,

To criticise what others round may do.—

'Tis not the line I'd willingly pursue;

And I will freely say, that your discourse

Has much surprised me, though 'tis void of force.

To you it surely never can belong,

To say variety in love is wrong;

Besides, your sex, and decency, 'tis clear,

To ev'ry disadvantage you appear.

What use this eloquence, and what your aim?

Such charms alone as your's could me inflame;

Their pow'r is great, but fully I declare,

I do not like advances from the FAIR.

Original

To Constance this a thunder-clap appeared;

Howe'er, she in her purpose persevered.

Said she, this treatment doubtless I deserve;

But still, from truth my tongue can never swerve,

And if I may presume my thoughts to speak,

The plan which I've pursued your love to seek,

Had never proved injurious to my cause,

If still my beauty merited applause.

From what you've said, and what your looks express

To please your sight, no charms I now possess.

Whence comes this change?—to you I will refer;

Till now I was admired, you must aver;

And ev'ry one my person highly praised;

These precious gifts, that admiration raised,

Alas! are fled, and since I felt LOVE'S flame,

Experience whispers, I'm no more the same;

No longer have charms that please your eyes:

How happy I should feel if they'd suffice!

THE suppliant belle now hoped to be allowed

One half his bed to whom her sighs were vowed;

But terror closed her lips; she nothing said,

Though oft her eyes were to his pillow led.

To be confused the wily stripling feigned,

And like a statue for a time remained.

AT length he said:—I know not what to do;

Undressing, by myself, I can't pursue.

Shall I your valet call? rejoined the fair;

On no account, said he, with looks of care;

I would not have you in my chamber seen,

Nor thought that here, by night, a girl had been,

Your caution is enough, the belle replied:

Myself between the wall and bed I'll hide,

'Twill what you fear prevent, and ills avoid;

But bolt the door: you'll then be not annoyed;

Let no one come; for once I'll do my best,

And as your valet act till you're undressed;

To am'rous Constance this permission grant

The honour would her throbbing breast enchant.

THE youth to her proposal gave consent,

And Constance instantly to business went;

The means she used to take his clothes were such,

That scarcely once his person felt her touch;

She stopt not there, but even freely chose

To take from off his feet, both shoes and hose

What, say you:—With her hands did Constance this?

Pray tell me what you see therein amiss?

I wish sincerely I could do the same,

With one for whom I feel a tender flame.

BETWEEN the clothes in haste Camillus flew,

Without inviting Constance to pursue.

She thought at first he meant to try her love;

But raillery, this conduct was above.

His aim, howe'er more fully to unfold,

She presently observed:—'Tis very cold;

Where shall I sleep? said she:

CAMILLUS

Just where you please;

CONSTANCE

What, on this chair?

CAMILLUS

No, no, be more at ease;

Come into bed.

CONSTANCE

Unlace me then, I pray.

CAMILLUS

I cannot: I'm undressed, and cold as clay:

Unlace yourself.—

Just then the belle perceived

A poinard, which anxiety relieved;

She drew it from the scabbard, cut her lace,

And many parts of dress designed for grace,

The works of months, embroidery and flow'r

Now perished in the sixtieth of an hour,

Without regret, or seeming to lament,

What more than life will of the sex content.

YE dames of Britain, Germany, or France,

Would you have done as much, through complaisance?

You would not, I'm convinced: the thing is clear;

But doubtless this, at Rome, must fine appear.

POOR Constance softly to the bed approached,

No longer now supposing she encroached,

And trusting that, no stratagem again

Would be contrived to give her bosom pain.

Camillus said: my sentiments I'll speak;

Dissimulation I will never seek;

She who can proffer what should be denied,

Shall never be admitted by my side;

But if the place your approbation meet,

I won't refuse your lying at my feet.

FAIR Constance such reproof could not withstand,

'Twas well the poinard was not in her hand;

Her bosom so severely felt the smart,

She would have plunged the dagger through her heart:

But Hope, sweet Hope! still fluttered to her view;

And young Camillus pretty well she knew;

Howe'er with such severity he spoke,

That e'en the mildest saint it would provoke;

Yet, in a swain so easy, gentle, kind,

'Twas strange so little lenity to find.

SHE placed herself, as order'd, cross the bed,

And at his feet at length reclined her head;

A kiss on them she ventured to impress,

But not too roughly, lest she should transgress:

We may conjecture if he were at ease;

What victory! to see her stoop to please;

A beauty so renowned for charms and pride,

'Twould take a week, to note each trait described;

No other fault than paleness he could trace,

Which gave her (causes known) still higher grace.

CAMILLUS stretched his legs, and on her breast

Familiarly allowed his feet to rest;

A cushion made of what so fair appeared,

That envy might from ivory be feared;

Then seemed as if to Morpheus he inclined,

And on the pillow sullenly resigned.

At last the sighs with which her bosom heaved,

Gave vent to floods of tears that much relieved;

This was the end:—Camillus silence broke,

And to tell the belle with pleasing accents spoke

I'm satisfied, said he, your love is pure;

Come hither charming girl and be secure.

She t'wards him moved; Camillus near her slid;

Could you, cried he, believe that what I did,

Was seriously the dictates of my soul,

To act the brute and ev'ry way control?

No, no, sweet fair, you know me not 'tis plain:

I truly wish your fondest love to gain;

Your heart I've probed, 'tis all that I desire;

Mid joys I swim; my bosom feels the fire.

Your rigour now in turn you may display;

It is but fair: be bountiful I pray;

Myself from hence your lover I declare;

No woman merits more my bed to share,

Whatever rank, or beauty, sense or life,

You equally deserve to be my wife;

Your husband I'll become; forget the past;

Unpleasant recollections should not last.

Yet there's one thing which much I wish to speak

The marriage must be secret that we seek;

There's no occasion reasons to disclose;

What I have said I trust will you dispose,

To act as I desire: you'll find it best:—

A wedding 's like amours while unconfessed;

One THEN both husband and gallant appears,

And ev'ry wily act the bosom cheers.

Till we, continued he, a priest can find,

Are you, to trust my promises inclined?

You safely may; he'll to his word adhere:

His heart is honest, and his tongue sincere.

TO this fair Constance answered not a word,

Which showed, with him, her sentiments concurred.

The spark, no novice in the dumb assent,

Received her silence fully as 'twas meant;

The rest involved in myst'ry deep remains;

Thus Constance was requitted for her pains.

YE Cyprian nymphs to profit turn my tale;

The god of LOVE, within his vot'ries pale,

Has many, if their sentiments were known,

That I'd prefer for Hymen's joys alone.

My wife, not always to the spindle true,

Will many things in life, not seem to view;

By Constance and her conduct you may see

How, with this theory, her acts agree;

She proved the truth of what I here advance,

And reaped the fruits produced by complaisance,

A horde of nuns I know who, ev'ry night,

Would such adventures wage with fond delight.

PERHAPS it will not be with ease believed,

That Constance from Camillus now received,

A proof of LOVE'S enchanting balmy sweet,

A proof perhaps you'll think her used to meet;

But ne'er till then she tasted pleasures pure;

Her former life no blisses could secure.

You ask the cause, and signs of doubt betray:

Who TRULY loves, the same will ever say.

NICAISE