Just as of cash, and even of his life,
At the sharp point of murderous knife,
A luckless wayfarer to rob, he sought
The Judge upbraids him with his crime--
He answered: "Sir, from earliest time
I've been a rogue, practised in petty theft;
When buckles, watches, trunks and cloaks,
And swords, I stole from other folks.
Then, fairly launched upon my wild career,
I houses sacked. Now--no compunction left--
On the highways I rob, without a fear.
Let not your worship, then, make such a stir,
That I should rob and slay a traveller--
Nor of the matter make a charge so sore!
I've done such things these forty years, and more."
* * * * *
Do we the bandit's wretched plea allow?
Yet writers give no worthier excuse,
Who justify, by argument of use,
Errors of speech or of expression low--
Urging the long-lived blunders of the past
Against the verdict by sound critics cast.
FABLE LVI.
THE HOUSEMAID AND THE BROOM.
A Housemaid once was sweeping out a room
With a worn-out and very dirty Broom;
"Now, hang you for a Broom!"--said she in wrath--
"For, with the filth and shreds you leave behind
Where'er you go, you 're making, to my mind,
More dirt than you clean up upon your path."
* * * * *
The botchers who, devoid of skill, pretend
The faults of others' writings to amend,
But leave them ten times fuller than before;
Let not these blockheads fear that I shall score
Their paltry backs--I leave their blundering trade
To the apt censure of the serving-maid.
FABLE LVII.
THE LIZARDS.
A Naturalist, cruel as a Turk,
Two Lizards in his garden catches,
And coolly sets himself at work
To anatomize the little wretches.
The plumpest now he has dissected,
And torn the reptile limb from limb;
With microscope he then inspected
Intestines, paws, and tail, and skin;
He pulls apart, for scrutiny,
The loin and belly, neck and eye:
Then takes his pen--again he looks--
A little writes and recapitulates--
The memoranda enters in his books;
To fresh dissection then himself betakes.
Some curious friends, by chance, dropped in to see
The subject of his shrewd anatomy.
One wonders--questions one proposes--
While others yet turn up their noses.
This done, the scientific man
Gave o'er, exhausted with his labors.
The other Lizard jumped and ran,
In his old haunts, to join his neighbors.
To them, in friendly chat, he stated
The matters we have just related.
"You need not doubt it, friends,"--said he,--
"For everything myself did see.
The livelong day this man did spend
Over the body of our friend.
If, in us, attributes so rare
Are worth such pains in writing down,
To call us vermin who shall dare?
'Tis gross abuse--as all must own.
Now, noble brothers, our high station
Let us with dignity maintain, I pray.
Sure, we are worthy great consideration--
Whatever spiteful folks may say."
* * * * *
It is not worth the while to natter
The pride of writers we despise.
'Tis honoring too much the matter,
To condescend to criticize.
Their paltry trash in serious way
To note--your pains will never pay.
Of Lizards to make great account,
Gives them occasion to surmise
Their claims to be of some amount,
In the impartial public's eyes--
"Whatever spiteful folks may say."
FABLE LVIII.
THE WATCHES.
A knot of friends, invited to a feast,
At table sat--a loitering guest,
Who came long after all the rest,
Sought for his tardiness to make excuse:
And, by his comrades for a reason pressed,
Drew out his Watch, and, holding it on high,
Replied--"'Tis you are out of time, not I.
'Tis two precisely--wherefore this abuse?"
"Absurd!" they answered. "Friend, your Watch is slow.
The rest of us came near an hour ago."
"But"--said the loiterer--"what needs argue more?
I trust my Watch, as I have said before."
Now let each wiser man this reference take
To foolish authors, who gross blunders make;
Then quote--in order to make good their stand--
The first authority that comes to hand.
But with our story we will now go on.
The guests all round next eagerly began
To pull their Watches out to test the fact,--
For all men like to prove their words exact;--
One at the quarter stood; at half, another;
One made it six and thirty minutes past;
This fourteen more, that ten less than the last.
No single Watch agreed with any other.
Then, all was doubt and question and vexation.
By luck, their entertainer chanced to be
A great proficient in astronomy.
He, his Chronometer by observation
Carefully set, consulted--and the hour
Was three o'clock and just two minutes more.
Thus he concluded all the disputation:
"To quote opinion and authority
Against the truth, if any one can see
The use--no point needs unsupported be.
For all can surely see, and must admit, forsooth,
Many opinions there may be--but only one is truth!"
FABLE LIX.
THE MOLE AND OTHER ANIMALS.
Some four-footed creatures
Assembled one day,
At the game of the blind man
Together to play.
A Dog and a Monkey,
Brimful of his tricks--
With a Fox, Hare and Eat,
And a Squirrel--made six.
The Monkey, he blinded
The eyes of the whole;
Because of his hands
He had better control.
A Mole heard their frolic;
And said,--"Surely I
For this fun am just fitted--
I think I will try."
He asks to come in;
The Monkey agreed.
Some mischief, I doubt not,
He had in his head.
The Mole, at each step,
Would stumble and blunder.
With his skin-covered eyes,
It was, clearly, no wonder.
At the very first trial,--
As well may be thought,--
Without much ado,
His Moleship was caught.
To be blind-man, of course,
To him it now fell:
And who was there fitted
To act it so well?
But, to get up a sham--
With affected surprise,
Said he,--"What are we doing?
You've not blinded my eyes."
* * * * *
If a creature purblind
Thus pretends he can see,
Will the blockhead confess himself
Stupid--think ye?
FABLE LX.
THE ROPE-DANCER.
As an unpractised urchin lessons took
In dancing, of a veteran of the ring,
On slack or tight rope,--it is all one thing,--
The youngster said,--"Good master, prithee, look;
How this great staff bothers and wearies me,
Which you call balance-pole or counterpoise!
In rope-dancing, what use one can devise
For such a clumsy load, I cannot see.
Why should you wish my motions so to fetter?
I lack not strength, nor yet activity.
For instance, now--this step and posture--see
If I, without the pole, can't do it better.
Look, master, there's not one whit of trouble in it."
As he says this, he throws the pole away--
"What's coming now? What are you doing, pray?"
He's flat upon his back in half a minute!
"At your best friend you grumble--silly wretch,"--
The master said,--"and if you choose to scout
The aid of art and method,--you'll find out
This is not the last tumble you will catch."
FABLE LXI.
THE OWL AND THE TOAD.
A red Owl was sitting quietly
Up in his hole, in a hollow tree,
Where he chanced to catch the curious eye
Of a great Toad that was hopping by.
"Holloa, up there, Sir Solitary!"--
Spoke out the Toad, with accent merry,--
"Poke out your head, and let us see,
Handsome or ugly, whether you be."
"I have never set up for an elegant beau,"--
Answered the Owl to the Toad below.
"To attempt by daylight to make a great show,
Will hardly do for me--well I know.
"And for you, my good sir,--displaying your grace
So jauntily now, in the day's broad face,--
Don't you think it would far better be,
If you hid in another hole, like me?"
Alas! how few of us authors live
By the good advice the Owl doth give!
All the nonsense we write, get printed we must;
Although, to the world, it be dry as the dust.
The lesson, my comrades, is good--let us learn it
It often would be much better to burn it.
But conspicuous toads we rather would be,
Than modest owls in our own hollow tree.
FABLE LXII.
THE OIL-MERCHANT'S ASS.
Once on a time, an Ass,--
An Oilman's hack,--
Bearing upon his back
A huge skin filled with oil,
With foot o'er-worn by toil,
Into his stable sought to pass;
But, stumbling, struck his nose
The cruellest of blows
Upon the door's projecting clamp.
"Now, is it not a shame,"--
Poor Donkey did exclaim,--
"That I, who every day
Carry tuns of oil, my way
Into my own stable cannot find,
More than if I were stone-blind,
For want of one poor lamp?"
* * * * *
Much I fear, that those who glory
In buying books they never read,
Fare as ill,--
And deserve no more;--but, if they will
Grow wiser, let them heed this story.
FABLE LXIII.
THE CONNOISSEURS.
A quarrel rose, both long and loud,
A well-stocked wine-cellar within,
Where wine-bibbers--a goodly crowd--
Tasted and argued, talked and sipped again.
The occasion was, that many tried
Veterans their voices did combine,
With obstinacy, rude and flagrant,
That no such drinks our times supplied,
No such delicious, luscious wine,
As days gone by--so generous, fine,
So ripe, so mellow and so fragrant.
In the opinion of the rest,
The later wines were deemed the best.
Their opponents' theory they abuse;
Their notion termed exaggeration,--
Mere trashy, idle declamation
Picked up from interested Jews,
Who glosing tales for cheatery use.
Of either side the rabid hum
The cellar filled to overflowing;
When an old toper chanced to come--
A famous connoisseur and knowing.
Said he then,--letting slip an oath,--
"By jolly Bacchus, the divine,"--
Among such worthies 'tis a strong one--
"Better than I, for choice of wine,
No one is fitted, by my troth,
To tell the right one from the wrong one.
So cease, good friends, your idle din.
You see that I am from Navarre.
In cask, or bottle, jug or skin,
Hogshead or tub, or earthen jar,
I've tasted of the juice of grape,
Of every kind, in every shape.
To taste, distinguish and to judge,
And surely to lay down the law,
In any vintage, I'll not grudge,
From Xeres' plains to Tudela.
From Malaga unto Peralta,
From the Canary Isles to Malta,
From Valdepeñas to Oporto,
Their wines I know--and many more, too.
I tell you now, 'tis folly great
To think that every cask of wine,
Which on its head bears ancient date,
By age will mellow and refine.
Time cannot make the poor wine good;
If mean it was, in its first hour,
It will be washy still and crude,
In nothing changed, but turning sour.
Worth no jot more this hour, you know,
Than vinegar a century ago.
New wines, from time to time, there are,--
Though some despise for being new,--
Which very safely may compare
With any wines that ever grew.
Those you despise--although surpassed,
Occasionally, in times long past,
By certain vintages--yet may
Tickle the palates of a future day.
Enough--to settle the dispute--
Bad wine I hold in low repute,
And ever do eschew.
But when 'tis good, I drain the flask;
And never vex myself to ask,
If it be old or new."
* * * * *
Many a learned bore
Keeps up a constant bother;
One praising ancient lore--
Modern alone, another.
By no such foolish question vexed,
I take the jolly toper's text;
The good, whate'er it is, I use;
The bad, without a word, refuse.
FABLE LXIV.
THE FROG AND THE HEN.
Once on a time, a noisy Frog
Heard a Hen cackling near his bog;
"Begone!" said he; "your clamor rude
Disturbs our quiet neighborhood.
What's all this shocking fuss about, I beg?"--
"Nothing, dear sir, but that I've laid an egg."
"A single egg! and therefore such a rout?"--
"Yes, neighbor Frog, a single egg, I say.
Are you so troubled, when I'm not put out
To hear your croaking all the night and day?
I boast that I have done some little good, though small;
Hold you your tongue! You do no good at all."
FABLE LXV.
THE BEETLE.
For a fable a subject I have,
Which would do very well,--but for rhymes
To-day my muse is too grave;
As she always will be at odd times--
And the topic for somebody stands,
Whose fancy more cheerily chimes.
For this writing of fables demands
That in verse our ideas should flow;
Which not always are matched to our hands,
A Beetle contemptible, now,
Of said fable the hero I choose;--
For I want one paltry and low.
Of this insect, every one knows
That--although from no filth he refrains--
He will ne'er eat the leaf of a rose.
Here the author should lavish his pains,
While, as well as his talents allow,
This astonishing taste he explains.
To wind up the whole, let him show,
By a sentence pithy and terse,
Just what he could have us to know.
And so let him trick out his verse,
With adornments according to taste;
But this moral conclusive rehearse;
That, as the flowers' beautiful queen
With no coarse, filthy beetle agrees;
So, some tasteless writers no keen
Or delicate fancy can please.
FABLE LXVI.
THE RICH MAN'S LIBRARY.
In Madrid, there was a rich man--and, they say,
That ten times as stupid, as rich, he was too;--
Whose magnificent mansion made ample display
Of furniture gorgeous and costly and new.
"It vexes me much, that a house so complete,"--
To this wealthy dolt, said a neighbor one day,--
"Should a Library lack,--an ornament great,--
So useful and elegant, too, by the way."
"To be sure," said the other, "how strange that the case
To me never occurred; I'll supply the want soon.
There is time enough yet; and, in the first place,
I devote to the purpose the northern saloon.
Send a cabinet-maker to put up some shelves,
Capacious, well finished,--no matter for cost,
Then, in buying some books, we will busy ourselves;--
To make it all perfect, no time shall be lost."
The cases are done; the owner he comes,
Inspects and approves: "And now,"--said the snob,--
"I must go out and look up some twelve thousand tomes.
'Pon my honor, 'twill be a pretty good job.
I am almost discouraged--of money a deal
It will take; and 'tis work for a century, too.
Will it not be much better the cases to fill,
With books made of pasteboard, as good to the view?
Just think now--why not? A painter I know,
For such little jobs precisely the man;
Can write titles out fair, and make pasteboard to show
Like leather or parchment, if any one can."
And now to the work,--books precious and rare,
Both modern and ancient, he caused to be painted;
And, besides printed volumes, he also takes care
To have manuscripts, too, in same guise represented.
The precious old fool then, each day, set apart
Some hours to wander his library round;
Till, learning the titles of many by heart,
He thought himself grown to a scholar profound.
Truly, what better needs the student,--contented
Of books, nothing more than their titles, to know
Than to own a collection right skilfully painted,
Of genuine volumes presenting the show?
FABLE LXVII.
THE VIPER AND THE LEECH.
"A strangely inconsistent crew!"--
Said the Viper to the simple Leech,--
"Men fly from me and seek for you;
Although they get a bite from each."
"All very true,"--the Leech replied,--
"But the two things are different quite.
I bite the sick, to give them aid;
To kill the sound and well, you bite."
Now, gentle reader, with you take
This counsel, as we part:
And always due distinction make,
If from the lash you smart.
Great is the difference between
Correction kind and malice keen.
End of Project Gutenberg's Literary Fables of Yriarte, by Tomas de Iriarte