The Two Mules (Prose Fable)

There were two heavily-laden mules making a journey together. One was carrying oats and the other bore a parcel of silver money collected from the people as a tax upon salt. This, we learn, was a tax which produced much money for the government, but it bore very hard upon the people, who revolted many times against it.

The mule that carried the silver was very proud of his burden, and would not have been relieved of it if he could. As he stepped out he took care that the bells upon his harness should jingle well as became a mule of so much importance.

Suddenly a band of robbers burst into the road, pounced upon the treasure mule, seized it by the bridle, and stopped it short. Struggling to defend itself the unhappy creature groaned and sighed as it cried: "Is this then the fate that has been in store for me: that I must fall and perish whilst my fellow traveller escapes free from danger?"

"My friend," exclaimed the mule that carried only the oats, and whom the robbers had not troubled about, "it is not always good to have exalted work to do. Had you been like me, a mere slave to a miller, you would not have been in such a bad way now!"

Jean de La Fontaine

Jean de La Fontaine was a renowned French fabulist and poet. Born on July 8, 1621, he is best known for his 'Fables,' which have been admired for their witty and insightful depiction of human nature and society. La Fontaine's fables are considered classics of French literature and have had a long-lasting impact on both the literary world and popular culture. He passed away on April 13, 1695.

Jean de La Fontaine

Alice Sick

Jean de La Fontaine, Simple Poetry

The Sick Lion And The Fox.

Jean de La Fontaine, Simple Poetry

The Impossible Thing

Jean de La Fontaine, Simple Poetry

The Wolf And The Fox (Prose Fable)

Jean de La Fontaine, Simple Poetry

English

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The Two Mules.

Two mules were bearing on their backs,
One, oats; the other, silver of the tax.^[1]
The latter glorying in his load,
March'd proudly forward on the road;
And, from the jingle of his bell,
'Twas plain he liked his burden well.
But in a wild-wood glen
A band of robber men
Rush'd forth upon the twain.
Well with the silver pleased,
They by the bridle seized
The treasure-mule so vain.
Poor mule! in struggling to repel
His ruthless foes, he fell
Stabb'd through; and with a bitter sighing,
He cried, 'Is this the lot they promised me?
My humble friend from danger free,
While, weltering in my gore, I'm dying?'
'My friend,' his fellow-mule replied,
'It is not well to have one's work too high.
If thou hadst been a miller's drudge, as I,

Jean de La Fontaine

The Mule Boasting Of His Genealogy.

^[1]

A prelate's mule of noble birth was proud,
And talk'd, incessantly and loud,
Of nothing but his dam, the mare,
Whose mighty deeds by him recounted were, -
This had she done, and had been present there, -
By which her son made out his claim
To notice on the scroll of Fame.
Too proud, when young, to bear a doctor's pill;
When old, he had to turn a mill.
As there they used his limbs to bind,
His sire, the ass, was brought to mind.
Misfortune, were its only use
The claims of folly to reduce,
And bring men down to sober reason,
Would be a blessing in its season.

Jean de La Fontaine

The Donkey And His Panniers. A Fable.

        --"fessus jam sudat asellus,
        "parce illi; vestrum delicium est asinus."
        VERGIL. Copa.


A donkey whose talent for burdens was wondrous,
    So much that you'd swear he rejoiced in a load,
One day had to jog under panniers so ponderous,
    That--down the poor Donkey fell smack on the road!

His owners and drivers stood round in amaze
    What! Neddy, the patient, the prosperous Neddy,
So easy to drive thro' the dirtiest ways
    For every description of job-work so ready!

One driver (whom Ned might have "hailed" as a "brother")^[1]
    Had just been proclaiming his Donkey's renown
For vigor, for spirit, for one thing or other--
    When, lo! mid his praises the Donkey came down!
But how to upraise...

Thomas Moore

The Miser And The Monkey.

^[1]

A man amass'd. The thing, we know,
Doth often to a frenzy grow.
No thought had he but of his minted gold -
Stuff void of worth when unemploy'd, I hold.
Now, that this treasure might the safer be,
Our miser's dwelling had the sea
As guard on every side from every thief.
With pleasure, very small in my belief,
But very great in his, he there
Upon his hoard bestow'd his care.
No respite came of everlasting
Recounting, calculating, casting;
For some mistake would always come
To mar and spoil the total sum.
A monkey there, of goodly size, -
And than his lord, I think, more wise, -
Some doubloons from the window threw,
And render'd thus the count untrue.
The padlock'd room permitted
Its owner, when he quitted,
To leave h...

Jean de La Fontaine

The Miller, His Son, And The Ass

^[1]

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.^[3]
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...

Jean de La Fontaine

The Burier And His Comrade.

A close-fist had his money hoarded
Beyond the room his till afforded.
His avarice aye growing ranker,
(Whereby his mind of course grew blanker,)
He was perplex'd to choose a banker;
For banker he must have, he thought,
Or all his heap would come to nought.
'I fear,' said he, 'if kept at home,
And other robbers should not come,
It might be equal cause of grief
That I had proved myself the thief.'
The thief! Is to enjoy one's pelf
To rob or steal it from one's self?
My friend, could but my pity reach you,
This lesson I would gladly teach you,
That wealth is weal no longer than
Diffuse and part with it you can:
Without that power, it is a woe.
Would you for age keep back its flow?
Age buried 'neath its joyless snow?
With pains of getting, care...

Jean de La Fontaine