The Original Fables of La Fontaine: Rendered into English Prose by Fredk. Colin TilneyLa Fontaine, Jean de
General
The Original Fables of La Fontaine: Rendered into English Prose by Fredk. Colin Tilney
La Fontaine, Jean de
Fables, French -- Translations into English
A young country woman named Perrette set out one morning from her little
dairy-farm with a pail of milk which she cleverly balanced upon her head
over a pad or cushion. She hurried with sprightly steps to the market
town, and so that she might be the less encumbered, wore a kirtle that
was short and light--in truth a simple petticoat--and shoes low and
easy. As she went, her thoughts ran upon the price to be gained for her
milk, and she schemed a way to lay out the sum in the purchase of one
hundred eggs. She was sure that with care and diligence these would
yield three broods. "It would be quite easy to me," she said, "to raise
the chicks near the house. The fox would be clever who would not leave
me enough to buy one pig. A pig would fatten at the cost of a little
bran, and when he had grown a fair size I should make a bargain of him
for a good round sum. And then, considering the price he will fetch,
what is to prevent my putting into our stable a cow and a calf? I can
fancy how the calf will frisk about among the sheep!" Thereupon Perrette
herself frisked for joy, transported with the picture of her affluence.
Over toppled the milk! Adieu to calf and cow and pig and broods! This
lady of wealth had to leave, with tearful eyes, her dissipated fortunes,
and go straight to her husband framing excuses to avoid a beating.
[Illustration: Overtoppled the milk.]
The farce became known to the whole countryside, and people called
Perrette by the name of "Milkpail" ever after.
Who has never talked wildly? Who has never built castles in Spain? Wise
men as well as milkmaids; sages and fools, all have waking dreams and
find them sweet! Our senses are carried away by some flattering
falsehood, and then wealth, honours, and beauty seem ours to command.
Alone with my thoughts I challenge the bravest. I dethrone monarchs and
the people rejoicing crown me instead, showering diadems upon my head.
Then lo! a little accident happens to bring me back to my senses, and I
am Poor Jack as before.
XI
THE PRIEST AND THE CORPSE
(BOOK VII.--No. 11)
There was a funeral. The dead body was progressing sadly towards its
last resting place; and following rather gladly, was the priest who
meant to bury it as soon as possible.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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