 Dedication and Preface of Fables in Rhyme for Little Folks by Jean de Lafontaine, translated by W. T. Larnard, read for Librevox.org by Karen Savage. Dedication. To all little Americans with the hope that they may become better acquainted with our friends the French. A Preface for Parents. Lafontaine composed the most entertaining fables ever written in any language and made them a model of literary perfection, yet our translators and compilers have somehow neglected him. His fables are lyric poetry of a high order, and this alone has doubtless been a barrier to a better acquaintance with his work when transferred to our own tongue. Done into prose, the fables are no longer Lafontaine, but take their place with the many respectable dull translations which English readers try to admire because they are classics, though the soul that made them such has been separated from the dead body. It has seemed to me that while the full enjoyment of Lafontaine must always be reserved for those who can read him in French, it might be possible at least to convey something of his originality and blithe spirit through the medium of light verse. In making the attempt I am fully aware of my temerity and the criticism it will invite. To excuse the one and to meet the other I have taken refuge in the term adaptation, even though the word applies only in part to my paraphrases. Some of the fables in this book are translations in a true sense, and keep closely to the text. From others I have erased such political, mythological and literary allusions in which Lafontaine abounds, as are either obsolete or unintelligible to a child. But my chief literary sin, if sin it be, is twofold. In the first place I have departed wholly from the metrical arrangements of the originals, substituting therefore a variety of forms in line and stanza that more accord with the modern and American ear. In the second place I have had the hardy-hood, as in the lion and the gnat, to modify the elegance of the original with phrases more appropriate to our contemporary beasts. Animal talk, I feel sure, has lost something of its stateliness since the days when our French author overheard it. The owl is no less pedantic, perhaps, but the lion certainly has declined in majesty, along with our human kings. For these offenses Lafontaine, who forgave everyone, is bound to forgive me. The most good-humoured Frenchman he could condone all faults but dullness. That offense against French fundamental principles invariably put him to sleep, whether the bore who button-hold him was a servant of the saubonne, or just an ordinary ass. One thing more. This little collection from his two hundred and forty fables is meant, first of all, for children. In assembling it, no fable was admitted that has not been approved by generations of the young and old. No apologue addressed to the mature intelligence alone, or frame to fit the society of his day, is here included. Many books which men have agreed to call classics are seldom taken down from the shelves. It is otherwise with Lafontaine. His fables were eagerly read by the great men and women of his time, and are still read and enjoyed all the world over. The causes of this lasting popularity are not obscure. From the earliest period, whether in India, Greece, Arabia, or Rome, the fable has pleased and instructed mankind. It told important truths, easily perceived, in an entertaining way. And often said more in a few words, than could be said through any other kind of writing. Now, no one person is the author of the fables we know so well. Esop did not write the fables bearing his name. There is even reason to believe that Esop is himself a fable. At any rate, the things ascribed to him are the work of many hands, and have undergone many changes. These old stories of animals began to be written so long ago, and the history of them is so vague and confusing, that only in recent years have scholars at last been able to trace them, and to fix their authorship. The significant thing to keep in mind is that for twentieth-century readers the best fables are not merely the best ones ever written, but the best ones rewritten. In other words, the fable was for centuries an old story in a rough state, and the writers who have made it most interesting are the writers who told it over again in a manner that makes it art. A Greek named Babrius, of whom almost nothing is known, is remembered because he collected and versified some of the so-called fables of Esop. A Roman slave named Babrius also put these fables into Latin verse, and his work today is a textbook in archaeologists. Among modern writers it was reserved for Lafontaine to take these ancient themes and make them his own, just as Molière, taking his own wherever he found it, borrowed freely from the classics for his greatest plays. Just as Shakespeare reformed forgotten tales with the glow and splendour of surpassing genius, so Lafontaine told to India, Greece, Italy, and furnishing the old fables and facetious tales refreshed them with his originality. Some of them were his own inventions, but for the most part they were Esop and Phaedrus made over by poetic art, and vivified with a wit and humour characteristically French. But if Lafontaine's fame endures, it is not alone that he was the greatest lyric poet of a great literary period. Apart from the wit and fancy of his creations, apart from the philosophy, wisdom, and knowledge of human nature that so delighted Molière, Bois-Lors, and Racine, his fables disclose the goodness and simplicity of one who lived much with nature, and cared nothing for the false splendours of the court. Living most of his life in the country, the woods and streams and fields had been a constant source of inspiration. He saw animals through the eyes of a naturalist and poet, and when he came to make them talk, the little fishes talked like little fishes, not like whales. With Shakespeare's banished Frenchman in the Forest of Arden, he finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything. An anecdote often told of him aptly illustrates his habit of mind. He was late in coming to a fashionable dinner, and his excuse was this. I hope you will pardon me," he said. I was detained at the funeral of an ant, and I could not come until the ceremony was over. This was not a pleasantry, but the truth. He had been watching an anthill, and was so absorbed in observing a dead ant carried off by the living colonists for burial that he had forgotten his engagement. The first six volumes of the fables, published in 1668, when he was forty-seven, and in Paris, were an immediate and brilliant success, at a time when French genius was in full flower. But the literary men of that golden age got their pecuniary reward not from the public, but from patrons. Later in life, when Lafontaine, at last, was graciously recognised by the grand monarch, he appeared before the royal presence to receive his due. Even then, with his usual absent-mindedness, he forgot to bring the book he was to present, and left behind him in the carriage the purse of gold the king bestowed upon him. However, the fables brought him in much fame and friendship. Everybody loved Lafontaine. Favourite of great lords and ladies, the court of Louis XIV could not make him otherwise the natural. Poor and improvident, poverty had no pangs for him. No sorrow ever gave him a sleepless hour. To the last he lived up to his nickname, Bonhomme. And it is the gentle and good man who is always looking out at us from the fables he refashioned for all time. William Trowbridge Larnard, New York, July 1918. End of dedication and preface. This recording is in the public domain. The Frog Who Wished to Be as Big as the Ox, from Fables in Rime for Little Folks by Jean de Lafontaine, translated by W. T. Larnard. There was a little frog whose home was in a bog, and he worried, because he wasn't big enough. He sees an ox and cries, that's just about my size. If I stretch myself, say, sister, see me puff. So he blew, blew, blew, saying, sister, will that do? But she shook her head, and then he lost his wits. For he stretched and puffed again, till he cracked beneath the strain, and burst, and flew about in little bits. End of The Frog Who Wished to Be as Big as the Ox. This recording is in the public domain. Recording by Ben Ebel, Columbus, Ohio, mycastnotes.blogspot.com. The Grasshopper and the Ant, from Fables in Rime for Little Folks by Jean de Lafontaine, translated by W. T. Larnard. The Grasshopper, singing all summer long, now found winter stinging, and ceased in his song. Not a morsel or crumb in his cupboard, so he shivered and ceased in his song. Miss Ant was his neighbor, to her he went, O, you're rich from labor, and I've not assent. Lend me food, and I vow I'll return it, though at present I have not assent. The Ant's not a lender, I must confess. Her heart's far from tender, to one in distress. So she said, Pray, how passed you the summer, that in winter you come to distress. I sang through the summer, Grasshopper said, but now I am glimmer, because I have no bread. So you sang, sneer the Ant, that relieves me. Now it's winter, go dance for your bread. End of The Grasshopper and the Ant, this recording is in the public domain. Recording by Ben Ebel, Columbus, Ohio, mycastnotes.blogspot.com. The Cat and the Fox, from Fables in Rime for Little Folks by Jean de Lafontaine, translated by W. T. Larnard. The Cat and the Fox once took a walk together, sharpening their wits with talk about the weather, and as they're walking sharpened appetite, too. They also took some things they had no right to. Cream, that is so delicious when it thickens, pleased the Cat best. The Fox liked little chickens. With stomachs filled, they presently grew prouder, and each began to try to talk the louder, bragging about his skill and strength and cutting. Poo, said the Fox, you ought to see me running. Besides, I have a hundred tricks. You, Cat, you. What can you do when Mr. Dog comes at you? To tell the truth, the Cat said, though it grieves me, I've but one trick, yet that's enough, believe me. There came a pack of foxhounds, yelping, banging. Pardon me, said the Cat. I can't be staying. This is my trick, and up a tree he scurried, leaving the Fox below a trifle worried. In vain he tried his hundred tricks and ruses, the sort of thing that Mr. Dog confuses, doubling and seeking one hole than another, smoked out of each until he thought he'd smother. At last, as he once more came out of cover, two nimble dogs pounced on him. All was over. End of The Cat and the Fox. This recording is in the public domain. Recording by Ben Ebel, Columbus, Ohio, mycastnotestopblogspot.com. The Hen with the Golden Eggs, from Fables and Ryan for Little Folks, by Jean de Lafontaine, translated by W. T. Larnard. To this lesson in greed, pray, little ones, heed. Each day, we are told, a most wonderful hen laid an egg made of gold for this meanest of men. So greedy was he, he was not satisfied. What is one egg to me, I want all this inside. He cut off her head and began to explore, but the poor hen was dead and could lay eggs no more. End of The Hen with the Golden Eggs. This recording is in the public domain. Recording by Ben Ebel, Columbus, Ohio, mycastnotestopblogspot.com. The Dog and His Image, from Fables and Ryan for Little Folks, by Jean de Lafontaine, translated by W. T. Larnard. Read for LibriVox.org by Karen Savage. The Dog and His Image. A foolish dog who carried in his drawer a juicy bone, looked down into a stream, and there he saw another one. Splashed! In he plunged. The image disappeared. The meat he had was gone. Indeed, he nearly sank and barely reached the bank. End of The Dog and His Image. This recording is in the public domain. The Acorn and the Pumpkin, from Fables and Ryan for Little Folks, by Jean de Lafontaine, translated by W. T. Larnard. Read for LibriVox.org by Karen Savage. The Acorn and the Pumpkin. Once there was a country pumpkin who observed a great big pumpkin to a slender stem attached. While upon an oak tree nourished, little Acorns grew and flourished. Said he, that's badly matched. If, despite my humble station, I'd a hand in this creation, pumpkins on the oaks would be, and the Acorn light and little, on this pumpkin stem so brittle would be placed by clever me. Then, fatigued with so much thought, he rest beneath the oak tree's sort. He soon in slumber found repose, but alas, an Acorn falling on the spot where he lay sprawling, hit him plump upon the nose. Up he jumped, a wiser pumpkin. Gosh, he said, suppose a pumpkin came a-falling on my face. After all, if I had made things, I'll allow that I'm afraid things might be somewhat out of place. End of The Acorn and the Pumpkin. This recording is in the public domain. Learned. Recording by Alanna Jordan. The Raven and the Fox. Mr. Raven was perched upon a limb, and Reynard the Fox looked up at him. For the Raven held in his great big beak, a morsel the Fox would go far to seek. Said the Fox in admiring tones, my word, Sir Raven, you are a handsome bird. Such feathers, if you would only sing, the birds of these woods would call you king. The Raven, who did not see the joke, forgot his voice was just a croak. He opened his beak in his foolish pride, and down fell the morsel the Fox had spied. Ha, ha, said the Fox, and now you see, you should not listen to flattery. Vanity, sir, is a whore advice. I'm sure the lesson is worth the price. End of Fable. This recording is in the public domain. The City Mouse and the Country Mouse. From Fables and Rhyme for Little Folks by Jean de Lafontaine, translated by W. T. Larnard, read for LibriVox.org. The City Mouse and the Country Mouse. A City Mouse with ways polite, a Country Mouse invited to sit with him and spend the night, said Country Mouse, delighted, and sure that proved a royal treat with everything that's good to eat. Alas, when they had just begun to gobble their dinner, a knock was heard that made them run, the City Mouse seemed thinner, and as they scampered and turned tail, he saw the Country Mouse grow pale. The knocking ceased. A false alarm. The City Mouse grew braver. Come back, he cried. No, no, the farm, where all-not-quaker-quaver suits me, replied the Country Mouse. You're welcome to your city house. End of The City Mouse and the Country Mouse. This recording is in the public domain. Recording by Brianna Roup, Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin, briannabird.vlogspot.com. The Lion and the Knat. From Fables and Rhyme for Little Folks by Jean de Lafontaine, translated by W. T. Larnard, read for LibriVox.org. Recording by Alana Jordan. The Lion and the Knat. The Lion, when said to the Knat, you brat. Clear out just as quick as you can now, scat. If you meddle with me, I will not guarantee that you won't be slammed perfectly flat, dizzy. Said the Knat, because you're called king, you thing, you fancy that you will make me take wing. Why, an ox weighs much more, yet I drive him before, when I get good and ready to sting, now roar. Then loudly his trumpet he blew, and whoo, how fiercely and fast at his foe he flew. From the tail to the toes he draws blood as he goes, then he starts into sting and to chew his nose. Sir Lion was mad with the pain and vain. He roared and he foamed and he shook his mane. All the beasts that were nigh fled in fear from his cry, but the Knat only stung him again in the eye. He looked and laughed as he saw, ha-ha, the lion self-torn by his tooth and claw, so his majesty's hide with his own blood was dyed, said the Knat, shall I serve you up raw or fried? It's finished, the lion's loud roar is oar. He's bitten and beaten, he's sick and sore, but a spider's web spread, trap the Knat as he sped with the news he will never fight more. He's dead. End of fable this recording is in the public domain. The crime for Little Fox by Jane de la Fontaine, translated by W. T. Larned, read for Librivox Orc. The Dove and the Ant An ant who in a brook would drink fell off the bank. He tried to swim and felt his courage sink. This ocean seemed so wide, but for a dove who flew above he would have drowned and died. The friendly dove within her beak, a bridge of grass stem bore. On this the ant, though worn and weak, contrived to reach the shore, said he, the tact of this kind act I'll cherish ever more. Behold, a barefoot wretch went by with slingshot in his hand, said he, you'll make a pigeon pie that will be kind of grand. He meant to murder the gentle bird who did not understand. The ants and stung him on the heel, so quick to see the sling. He turned his head and missed a meal, the pigeon pie took wing. And so the dove lived on to love, beloved by everything. End of The Dove and the Ant This recording is in the public domain. The Fox and the Grapes from Fables in Rhyme for Little Fox by Jean de la Fontaine, translated by W. T. Larn, read for LibriVox.org The Fox and the Grapes Rosie and Rhype and ready to box, the grapes hang high over the hungry fox. He pricks up his ears and his eye he cocks. Rhype and Rosie yet so high, he gazes at them with a greedy eye and knows he must eat and drink or die. When the jump proves to be beyond his power, Poo says the fox, let the pigs devour fruit of that sort, these grapes are sour. End of The Fox and the Grapes The S in the Lion's Skin From Fables in Rhyme for Little Fox by Jean de la Fontaine, translated by W. T. Larn, read for LibriVox.org The S in the Lion's Skin An S in the Lion's Skin arrayed, made everybody fear, and this was queer, because he was himself afraid. Yet everywhere he strayed, the people ran like deer. Aha, he is betrayed. No lion has that long and hairy ears. Old Martin spied the tip, and country folk, who are not in the secret of the joke, with open mouth and eyes, stare at Old Martin's prize. A lion led to mill with neck in yoke. End of The S in the Lion's Skin The Fox and the Stork From Fables in Rhyme for Little Fox by Jean de la Fontaine, translated by W. T. Larn, read for LibriVox.org The Fox and the Stork Old Father Fox, who was known to be mean, invited Dame Stork into dinner. There was nothing but soup that could scarcely be seen. Soup never would serve any thinner. And the worst of it was, as I'm bound to relate, Father Fox dished it up on a flat china plate. Dame Stork, as you know, has a very long beak, not a crumb or drop could she gather. Had she pecked at the plate every day in the week. But as for the Fox, sly old Father, with his tongue-lapping soup at a scandalous rate, he licked up the last bit and polished the plate. Pretty soon Mr. Stork spread a feast of her own. Father Fox was invited to share it. He came and he saw, and he gave a great groan. The Stork had known how to prepare it. She had meant to get even and now was her turn. Father Fox was invited to eat from an urn. The urn's mouth was small and it had a long neck. The food in it smelled most delightful. Dame Stork, with her beak in, proceeded to peck. But the Fox found this fasting is frightful. Home he sneaked. On his way there he felt his ears burned, when he thought of the Stork and her tall, tricky urn. End of The Fox and the Stork The Monkey and the Cat from Fables and Rhymes for Little Folks by Jean de la Fontaine, translated by W.T. Land, read from livervox.org. The Monkey and the Cat. Jocko the Monkey, mouse his chum, the Cat, had the same master, both with sleek and fat and mischievous. If anything went wrong, the neighbours were not blamed, be sure of that. Jocko, said was something of a thief, mouse her, if truth be told, was just as leaf. Much stolen cheese as chased the midnight mouse, the praise bestowed on either must be brief. One day these rogues stretched flat before the fire, saw chestnuts roasting. Ah, could we conspire? To jerk them out, said Jocko, from the coals. We smashed the shells and have our hearts desire. Come on, brother mouse her, this date is your turn, to do some bold and desperate thing to earn, a reputation you, who are so quick, snatch out the nuts before they start to burn. Alas, that eye and monkey was not made to play with fire, but you were not afraid, so mouse her please, like mini-capped old man, with pretty words, slide Jocko with a bathe. Into the fire he put practice poor, out came a chestnut clinging to his paw. Another and another as they dropped, Jocko devoured them, whether roast or raw. A servant enters, off the rubber's run, Jocko, you may be sure enjoyed the fun, but mouse's paw is sadly singed for what? Just to get the nuts for Jocko, he got none. End of The Monkey and the Cat. This recording is in the public domain. The Hair and the Tortoise, from Fables and Rime for Little Folks, by Jean de la Fontaine. Translated by W. T. Larnid. Red for LibriVox.org. The Hair and the Tortoise. Said the tortoise one day to the hare. I'll run you a race, if you dare. I'll bet you cannot arrive at that spot as quickly as I can get there. Quote the hare, you are surely insane. Pray what has affected your brain? You seem pretty sick. Call a doctor in quick, and let him prescribe for your pain. Never mind, said the tortoise, let's run. Will you bet me? Why certainly. Done. While the slow tortoise creeps, Mr. Hare makes four leaps, and then loafs around in the sun. It seemed such a one-sided race, to win was almost a disgrace. So he frolucked about, then at last he set out, as the tortoise was nearing the place. Too late, though he sped like a dart, the tortoise was first. She was smart. You can surely run fast, she remarked, yet you're last. It is better to get a good start. End of The Hair and the Tortoise. This recording is in the public domain. The Hair and the Tortoise, from Fables and Rime for Little Folks, by Jean de la Fontaine. Translated by W. T. Larnid. RedfordLibervox.org. Recording by Megan Kunkel. The Hair and who is hard to please. A long-legged hare and with long neck and beak, set out for a stroll by the bank of a creek. So clear was the water, that if you looked sharp, you could see the pike-caper around with the carp. The hare and might quickly have speared enough fish, to make for his dinner a capital dish. But he was a very particular bird, his food fixed just so, at the hours he preferred. And hence he decided it was better to wait, since his appetite grew, when he subbed rather late. Pretty soon he was hungry, and stopped to the bank, where some pond fish were leaping, a fish of low rank. Baa-baa! said the bird, sub on these? No, not I. I'm known as a heron, as such I live high. Then some gadgets swam past that were tempting to see, but the herons said haughtily, no, not for me. For those I'd not bother to open my beak, if I had to hang round come next Friday a week. Thus begged the big bird, but he's bound to confess, that he opened his elegant beak for much less. Not another fish came. When he found all else fail, he was happy to happen, upon a fat snail. End of the hare and who is hired to please, this recording is in the public domain. The raven who would rival the eagle, from fables and rhyme for lowl-folks, by Jean de la Fontaine. Translated by W.T. Larned. RedfordLibervox.org. The raven who would rival the eagle. An eagle swooped from out the sky, and carried off a sheep. A raven seeing him said, I could do that too if I should try. His meal comes mighty cheap. Of all that well-fed flock was one, as fat as fat could be. The raven rose and lit upon her back, she seemed to weigh a ton, so very fat was she. And oh, her wool was wondrous thick, it would have made a mat. The raven's claws are caught and stick, he's played himself a pretty trick, to fly with one so fat. Bah, bah, ca, ca, crybird and beast. The shepherd comes at last. Sir raven who would find a feast, is from the woolly one released, and in a cage kept fast. End of the raven who would rival the eagle. This recording is in the public domain. The miller, his son, and the ass. From Fables and Rime for Little Folks, by Jean de la Fontaine. Translated by W.T. Larnet for Libervox.org. Recording by Alanna Jordan. The miller, his son, and the ass. A miller and son once set out for the fair, to sell a fine ass they had brought up with care, and the way that they started made everyone stare. To keep the ass fresh so the beast would sell dear, on a pole they slung him, it surely seemed queer. He looked up, with heels up, like some huge chandelier. One person who passed them cried out in great glee. Was there ever anything so silly, said he? Can you guess who the greatest ass is of those three? The miller at once put the brute on the ground, and the ass who had liked to ride tether way round, complained in language of curious sound. No matter. The miller now made his son ride, while he followed after, or walked alongside. Then up came three merchants, the eldest one cried. Get down from there young fellow! I never did see such manners, a greybeard walks where you should be. He should ride, you should follow, just take that from me. Dear sirs, quote the miller, I'd see you content. He climbed to the saddle, on foot the boy went. Three girls passed, said one. Do you see that old gent? There he sits, like a bishop. I say it's a shame, while that boy trudging after seems more than half lame. Little girl, said the miller, go back once you came. Yet this young creature so worked on his mind, that he wanted no woman to call him unkind, and he said to his son, seat yourself here, behind. With the ass bearing double, they jogged on again, and once more metacritic, who said, it is plain, only dunces would give their poor donkey such pain. He will die with their weight. It's a shame, and a sin. For their faithful servant they care not a pin. They'll have nothing to sell at the fair but his skin. Dear me, said the miller, what am I to do? Must I suit the whole world, and the world's father too? Yet it must end some time, so I'll see the thing through. Both father and son now decided to walk, while the ass marched in front with a strut, and a stalk. Yet the people who passed them continued to talk. Said one to another, look there, if you please, how they wear out their shoes, while their ass takes his ease. Were there ever, do you think, three asses such as these? Said the miller, you're right, I'm an ass, it is true. Too long have I listened to people like you, but now I am done with the whole kid and crew. Let them blame me, or praise me, keep silent, or yell. My goings and comings they cannot compel. I will do as I please, so he did, and did well. End of Fable End of Fables and Rhyme for Little Folks by Jean de La Fontaine, translated by W.T. Larnan. This recording is in the public domain.