The Crow and the Fox
This is one of La Fontaine's fables that I learned more than 65 years ago in primary school: I can still recite it by heart.
It is not just because somebody gives you compliments that the person will not be stealing from you.
Le Corbeau et le Renard
Maître corbeau, sur un arbre perché,
Tenait en son bec un fromage.
Maître renard, par l’odeur alléché,
Lui tint à peu près ce langage :
Hé ! bonjour, monsieur du corbeau.
Que vous êtes joli ! que vous me semblez beau !
Sans mentir, si votre ramage
Se rapporte à votre plumage,
Vous êtes le phénix des hôtes de ces bois.
À ces mots le corbeau ne se sent pas de joie ;
Et, pour montrer sa belle voix,
Il ouvre un large bec, laisse tomber sa proie.
Le renard s’en saisit, et dit : Mon bon Monsieur,
Apprenez que tout flatteur
Vit aux dépens de celui qui l’écoute :
Cette leçon vaut bien un fromage, sans doute.
Le corbeau, honteux et confus,
Jura, mais un peu tard, qu’on ne l’y prendrait plus.
The Crow and the Fox
Master Crow, perched on a tree,
Held a cheese in its beak.
Master fox, enticed by the smell,
Told him roughly this :
Hey! hello, Mister Crow.
How pretty! how beautiful you look to me!
No lie, if your speech
Is as good as your feathers,
You are the phoenix of the hosts of the woods.
At these words the crow feels immense joy;
And, to show his beautiful voice,
He opens wide his beak, and lets his prey fall.
The fox seized it, and said: My good sir,
Learn that every flatterer
Lives at the expense of the listener:
This lesson is well worth a cheese, no doubt.
The crow, ashamed and confused,
Swore, but a little late, that he wouldn't be caught anymore.
Previous fable: The Circadia and the Ant.
Next fable: The Wolf and the Dog
La Fontaine's Biography, part 1.
La Fontaine (Jean de), the fabulist par excellence, born in Château-Thierry on July 8, 1621, entered the seminary of the Fathers of the Oratory out of idleness, and perhaps without thinking about it, at the age of 19. He left eighteen months later, to escape the subjection of the rules of a regular congregation.
At the age of 22, he was still unaware of his talent for poetry. Malherbe's beautiful ode on the assassination of Henri IV, which he heard being read, made him feel them, and in imitation of Correggio, he exclaimed: "Anch'io sit pittore! And I'm a painter too!"
One of his relatives, named Pintrel, an educated man from whom we have a translation of the Epistles of Seneca, having seen his first essays, encouraged him and made him read the best authors, ancient and modern, French and foreign.
He feeds on the reading of Virgil, Horace, and Terence, of which he translated the Eunuch, his first production. François Rabelais, Clément Marot, Honoré d'Urfé, also delighted him: the one for his jokes, the second for his naivety, the last one for his rural images.
The spirit of simplicity, of candor, of naivete, which pleased him so much in these writers, soon characterized his works and characterized him himself. Never has an author portrayed himself better in his books. Sweet, ingenuous, natural, sincere, credulous, easy, timid, without ambition, without gall, taking everything in good part, he was, says a man of intelligence, as simple as the heroes of his fables. He was a real child, but a child without malice. He spoke little, and not very well unless he happened to be with intimate friends, or the conversation turned on some subject that might excite his genius.
The Duchess of Bouillon, one of Cardinal Mazarin's nieces, exiled to Château-Thierry, had known La Fontaine and had even, it is said, had him write his first tales. Called back to Paris, she brought the poet with her: one of La Fontaine's relatives was an intimate of Nicolas Fouquet. The superintendent's house was opened to him, and he obtained from it a pension, for which he gave a poetic receipt each time he received the money. After the disgrace of his benefactor, whose misfortunes the grateful poet lamented in a touching elegy and perhaps the best we have in our language, and in a less known ode addressed to Louis XIV, whose verses are less beautiful, but bolder, he entered as a gentleman in ordinary with Princess Henrietta of England.
After the death of the princess, he found generous protectors in M. le Prince, in the Prince de Conti, the Duc de Vendôme, and the Duc de Bourgogne; and protectors in the Duchesse de Bouillon, in Mazarin, and in the ingenious Madame de la Sablière, who took him home and took care of his existence.
The parable that "It is not just because somebody gives you compliments that the person will not be stealing from you." is quite true and can be seen in current society as well. True sincerity is hard to find anymore.
Glad to know who still remember the Poems you studied/learning when you were a kid, I also do remember some of them. These Poems are among the good memories we have from our past. Some of them teaches us what is good for us in the future/upcoming life and what is not. In the story you just mentioned in the start of your post @vcelier , The fox act cleverly and crow opened his mouth and dropped what he has in his mouth.
Merci pour cette seconde fable et le début de la biographie du poète, on attend la suite :)
La suite, dès demain, avec le Loup et le Chien.
Aah, ma préférée... Toujours avec la suite de la biographie donc ? J'anticipe un peu ^^
Wao 69 year old peom you remember. You are very intelligent person. I live to read this peom and learn some lesson from it. Someone treat you badly you can treat every humbly. One day this person gives you big respect. Thanks for sharing.
Its a very great memories to recall all these even at this age. Thanks to you for bringing this poem into life again. Nowadays, it never so. So many people learn to pass examinations not to retain on their memories. Glad to hear from you @vcelier
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