Also by Bruce Boone: L A F O N T A I N E

M Y W A L K WITH B O B
CENTURY OF CLOUDS

Also by Robert Gliick:

ANDY
METAPHYSICS
FAMILY POEMS
E L E M E N T S O F A C O F F E E SERVICE

B R U C E B O O N E
R O B E R T G L U C K

B L A C K STAR SERIES

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CONTENTS

Translations/Alterations/La Fontaine 7
A Mutilation ( F u t u r e A p p e a l e d t o ) 10
To Monseigneur 12
Book 12 # 5 14
Excerpts from a Letter to his Wife 16
Copyright © 1981 Black Star Series
Cover and illustrations by Tom Thompson T h e Two Pigeons 18
Death 23
Black Star Series:
16 Clipper St. Wonders in Aesop's Life 25
San Francisco Pig, G o a t , S h e e p 28
CA 94114
Book 1 # 6 29
Library of Congress Catalog Card No. 81-90653 Essay/Lack of C o m m o n Understanding 30
ISBN 0-9607630-0-7
B o b and Bruce's Version of La Fontaine's Version
Publication of this book funded in part by a grant from the National Endowment
for the Arts. of a Medieval Boccaccio Story 33
Lion, Wolf, Fox 38
Essay/I Blame 40
Philosophy 42
A Peasant Offends his L o r d : M o n e y Talks 44
Mystical Aspirations 48
F a b l e ; Excerpt from a Letter 50
T h e R a t a n d t h e Oyster 52
H u s b a n d , Wife, Thief 54
The Abbess 55
T h r e e Wishes 60
Perukes 63
Athenaeus's Story 66
Rondo 67
T h e Shrimp a n d her D a u g h t e r 70
 TRANSLATIONS/ALTERATIONS/LA FONTAINE

D o e s L a F o n t a i n e patronize his animals? There's always

this rush through the details (but in our translations we've
altered that s o m e ) so he can use them. Back in our own
century we're m o r e at h o m e with this word. Friendship,
family, love—there's n o t m u c h among us that can't b e ex-
ploited. So w h o are we to rebuke Joyce H a b e r when she
calls her b o o k The Users'? T h e high gloss cover shows, well,
a cigarette being ground out by a bejeweled h a n d . Holly-
wood has c o m e a long way from animal stories like t h e
Fables or the Stories & Tales, hasn't it? Otherwise where
would our writers like Joyce H a b e r b e ? You could think of
others I imagine.
True, h e wanted t o identify with t h e m . H e wanted t o go
back to those forests and waters he inherited. H e might
have been in charge of t h e m , like his dad before him. B u t
t h e list of these alternate lives goes o n . F o r instance, h e
could have stayed with the Oratorians and been a priest,
taught dirty little boys their A B C ' s and wiped their noses.
A n inventory of ghostly might-have-beens. Instead, he
pleased a brilliant C o u r t (sometimes) and wrote aslant
about m o n e y and power. Dying, he repudiated his earlier
convictions. Blasphemy had gone out of style. Throughout
his worldly life we'd love to think h e still valued these ani-
mals, was t r u e t o his childhood loves, his sense of wonder.
W h a t h a p p e n e d was different, but not altogether. A s
most of us know, a writer's ego is deep and complex.
 H e r e ' s Montaigne, an admired predecessor and writer t o o , who w e r e r a p e d know t h a t t h e joke is on them, they've
thinking o u t loud. ' W h a t d o I k n o w ? ' Is it so d u m b a b e e n used a n d thrown away. T a n t pis, says M . d e L a
question? T h e r e are worlds o u t t h e r e , he continues, terri- F o n t a i n e — t h e monster.
fying worlds a-whirling a n d a-whirling, like o u r egos. T h e Should w e r e t u r n to — d o g s , cats, mice, pigeons, lions
c o m m o n mind sees but the outside skin, while inside— and geese? T h e s e k e e p coming b a c k ; they remind m e of
a h h o r r o r s ! — t h e cogs, t h e wheels! W e join o u r friend L a s o m e t h i n g — w h a t selfishness might be in another time,
F o n t a i n e in answering: T h e fox, the lion, t h e goat and the without cruelty, exploitation. It's beyond knowing. Now
lamb, what chance h a v e simple animals like t h e s e ? Sup- foxes in waistcoats speak verse.
pressing his better p a r t , animals, L a Fontaine takes t h e
p a t h of self-advancement; h e joins t h e bourgeoisie. T o
save his soul, h e makes a s t i p u l a t i o n — T i l show things as
they are.'
L a Fontaine thinks he is smart. Since h e has shown us
h o w r o t t e n society is, nothing else is required from him.
Should h e join t h e Revolution? Why, he thinks, every-
thing I ' v e written has b e e n for t h e Revolution. T h e y have
such peasant mentalities, why don't they understand
this? — a n d so o n . W h e n L a F o n t a i n e excuses himself this
way, we ought to turn our heads to spare him. We're not all
O t t o R e n e Castillos, Meridel L e Sueurs, J o h n R e e d s . If
nothing else t h a n from self-interest, we should b e m o r e
kind.
O n the other hand kindness is n o t ignorance. T h a t
should b e k e p t in mind too. O u r author's viewpoint is
social darwinistic—nature r e d in tooth and claw. Which he
called a cat a n d m o u s e game. T h e r e are feathers flying a n d
bits of claw or blood. A s things settle, you see t h e r e are
s o m e hens missing in the coop. In their convent, the nuns

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A MUTILATION (FUTURE A P P E A L E D TO) packages. Why d o t h e Cartesians continue

their blind speculations? This bird's
'Now here's one I like!' a piece of clockwork, cog and wheel and nothing
O r — ' S t o p m e if you've h e a r d this,' but else? L e a r n from a philosopher with m o r e
this story's the exception. It's to t e a c h — N a t u r e . - N a t u r e ' s your true'guide.
vouched for by Science and actually ' E a t ' e m when you get 'em — o r they
h a p p e n e d . You judge. run off. Too m a n y ? Pack 'em in the cooler.'
My judgment's h a r s h ?
A tree is cut down o n account of age — Wasn't t h e e r a ? T h i n k before condemning.
too much rot. It's the owl's hiding place. T h e lucky ones of the century ate the
Inside they find lovely Duchesse pears, the best there were.
spiders and nasty bugs of all kinds', W e b r e a t h e d clean air, took walks. O u r
lizards and of course mice. T h e mice writing hasn't b e e n surpassed. O u r p o o r
have huge gluttonous tummies and n o feet. were easily forgotten; we never knew them.
W h y ? O u r learned owl's plied t h e m O n my d e a t h b e d I thought of the E s t a t e
with grain; he's forced nutritious seed rather t h a n H e a v e n . My last Will was this —
down gullets a n d mutilated their little legs. R e a d my poems.
W h y not admit it? This bird reasoned.
Here's what h a p p e n e d . H e hunted t h e m .
W h e n caught, they'd escape. T h e owl's
distressed. For a remedy, he cripples t h e m .
Fine! Now Mr. Owl
can perch at leisure. His larder's
full. E a t them at o n c e ? H e a l t h problems
surely follow. O n e by o n e then. He's
on owl Easy Street now. L e s s o n ? This
bird's prudence and ours are the same—
and intelligence often comes in small

10 11

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 T O MONSEIGNEUR LE DUC D E B O U R G O G N E B u t imperceptibly the elaborate figure
W H O A S K E D M. D E LA FONTAINE F O R A FABLE embraces my design: I'd ruin it with a longer story,
T O B E CALLED ' T H E CAT A N D T H E MOUSE.' then the young prince would m a k e a game of m e
like t h e cat a n d t h e mouse.
To please the young p r i n c e — F a m e
blueprints his temple in my writings—•
how should I compose a fable called

Should I mention a 'belle' in this stanza:

quiet, good m a n n e r s , but nonetheless cruel
to h e a r t s — s m a l l , numerous rodents — toying
with them like

Should I remind you of t h e W h e e l of F o r t u n e ?

Every day an example, F o r t u n e treats her best
friends like ( T h e D u e de B o u r g o g n e b e c a m e
D a u p h i n when his father died in 1711, only
to die himself a year l a t e r — i t was r u m o r e d
that he h a d b e e n poisoned by his cousin
u
the D u e d'Orleans.)

Should I show you t h e King who breaks h e r w h e e l ?

F o r t u n e toadies to him like t h e rest of us, frames
compliments. He's not stymied by a hostile world,
his j o k e s are mazes for the exalted when it pleases him.

12 13

&
 B O O K 12 # 5 Is this a discourse for the Old and Powerful?
Cat and O l d , p a r d o n y o u ? Hardly.
A young m o u s e , poor, n o experience D e s c e n d t o your d e a t h . G o t o t h e nether world.
in the field, believed imploring Die. A n d for this defeat
and giving reasons would convince: h a r a n g u e t h e Spinning Sisters. My kittens
will catch plenty of mice to eat.
Let m e live
— a mouse H e pauses, cleans his chops. His fur's plain
of my size brown, set off by a gold button and a bit of *
and upkeep — velvet. H e shuns rings a n d wears jewels only
do I b u r d e n on his shoebuckles, his garters, and his hat,
this h o u s e ? which is trimmed in Spanish needlepoint
D o I starve and t o p p e d with a white plume. H e turns to us
the innkeeper and says:
and his wife?
A grain of wheat As for this fable, here's the moral that applies:
feeds m e . A n u t W h o flatter themselves, believe they can have everything?
fills m e u p — Mice.
look at
11
m y ribs.
D o n ' t you want
'1 I this m e a l to get fat
i for Messrs. Vos Enfants?
I

Thus the trapped m o u s e parleyed with the cat

T h e other says:

14 15

f
 EXCERPTS F R O M A L E T T E R T O HIS WIFE m e . T h a t to m y mind is t h e main p o i n t . . .
. . . and how this Richelieu changed my feelings. H o w ad-
Did you ever want other t h a n t h e old Chansons'! R o l a n d mirable the C h a t e a u is! Consider your obligation. Scarcely
at the pass, the Knights of the R o u n d Table. You could a quarter of an h o u r remains before midnight and we must
never hear t h e m often enough. This of ours merits your certainly leave before sunrise, though the lateness of t h e
perusal. T h e r e will b e therein doubtful incidents. My obli- hour promises an early rising. T h e s e last desirable mo-
gation is to season them so that in their fashion they will m e n t s — a n d how precious^ they a r e ! — I spend in giving
please. Yours is to always praise my intention, even when it you an account of all that has h a p p e n e d , sluggish child of
fails. If you find this account to your taste, perhaps after- sleep that I am. Let others talk of sacrificing to their wives.
wards you'll read others, m o r e serious. You have n o wish I surpass t h e s e husbands. B u t you will acquit yourself in
to play and you d o n ' t w o r k , and outside t h e time you spend wishing m e as m a n y good nights as I have now had b a d
with your w o m e n friends, only novels divert you. This is ones and will still before this journey has ended.
a purse soon emptied. You've read the old ones a n d you Richelieu, this 3rd of September
know t h e m by heart. Few new ones are good, and you feel
yourself becoming dry. I pray you consider the usefulness
of accustoming yourself to the history of places a n d per-
sons. You may thereby find the means of ridding your life
of its listlessness and desiccation. With this proviso only —
that you form n o intention therein of r e m e m b e r i n g any-
thing, much less parading that knowledge. Surely the sign
of a woman is n o t scholarship or learning, and to appear so
is far worse. We left Paris this 23rd of A u g u s t . . .
. . . t h e o n e from Poitiers who called herself a countess.
She seemed young enough and had a reasonable figure.
She disguised her n a m e a n d had c o m e t o plead a case of
separation from her husband. This promised well enough
and I would have found much therein for mutual games
I 4 and pleasantry, had beauty b e e n added. She did not touch

l!l 17
16
1 '
 THE TWO PIGEONS
Two pigeons loved each other with a tender love.
O n e pigeon tired of h o m e and thought of distant
journeys, trips, vacations, pilgrimages, something new.
T h e other said, 'Brother, do you want to leave your
b r o t h e r ? A b s e n c e is the bitterest evil.
Cruel o n e ! —(masculine g e n d e r ) — u n l e s s trials,
tribulations, dangers, sorrows change your heart
u clears,
a little. If spring was h e r e —wait for spring winds.
What's the rush ? A crow brought news of disaster
to a certain bird. I see falcons, nets —
it's raining! H a s m y brother everything he wants,
food,
abed?'
This speech troubles o u r traveler's h e a r t
b u t a restless spirit carries the day. H e says,
' D o n ' t cry. T h r e e days and I'll r e t u r n . I'll return
and tell my b r o t h e r adventures in detail. W h o hasn't
18
seen anything has n o story. Til delight you with
renderings of this journey. I'll say, "I was there,
this and that h a p p e n e d " — a n d you'll think you a r e there
yourself.' So they cry
together and say good-bye.
O u r traveler sets out. A cloud obliges him to seek
r e f u g e — o n l y o n e tree in the area, not a good o n e either,
so t h e storm m a k e s C h a p t e r O n e of t h e trip. T h e sky
h e departs shivering. A s best h e can, he dries his body,
dripping with rain, in a field of waving grain,
when h e sees a pigeon. H e thinks company, flies to it—
he's t a k e n . T h e wheat has masked the lying bait of a trap.
T h e trap's w o r n , so with his wing, his feet, his beak,
the bird breaks it. H e loses a feather in the process.
T h e n a certain cruel-clawed Mr. Vulture spots our
unhappy hero w h o , dragging some string and bits of the
trap, looks like an escaped convict. H e ' s ready to swoop
w h e n , in his t u r n , an eagle with extended wings
takes t h e vulture. O u r pigeon seizes his chance,
19
 flies off, settles haltingly n e a r a miserable cottage Then n e e d and desire grew slack: I'm restless, excitable,
with a sigh of relief that now his trials are ended. distracted. ( A h , when he laid a finger on my chest

B u t a little brat (kids have n o mercy) aims his sling
and with o n e blow knocks m o r e t h a n half the life
out of the wretched bird (feminine gender) who, cursing
her curiosity, dragging her wing, dragging h e r foot,
my heart flamed out.) Will I ever feel beauty that stuns
me?
A n d now the darkest t h o u g h t : H a v e
I passed the time of love?

half dead and half lame, makes a bee-line back to her nest.
Picture o u r feathered friends' reunion. I leave it to you

to imagine the pleasures these sisters will create

to m a k e up for all their woes. Sisters, brothers,
lovers,

happy lovers — d o you intend to go traveling? E v e n if

'For love, he felt as he watched the Puerto Rican boys un-
the shores are familiar, be. for each other a world.
loading soda p o p for t h e G e m Spa on his new corner, love
was all in life that m a t t e r e d ; without it, there was no point
Be a world, count all else as nothing. I myself have loved.
in having lived at all. A n d so the last Sunday evening of
We studied a new language where a word was a journey
August 1969 found him sitting on his stoop like a m o n k
w h o comes finally to the shrine of Santiago de Cpmpos-
across the body's m a p — w h e r e a word was the story
tela—devoted not to Christ, in whom he no longer be-
of that pleasure in the grammar of flesh and blood,
lieved, but to love.'

beloved shepherd. T h e n we parted. First I suffered

Giuliano read this to us from a popular novel as his exam-
the aching musculature of all that tenderness unused.
ple of the meaning of life. We were doubtful, almost

i
20 21
 unkind, but w h o ' d h a v e the heart to challenge such ex-
travagant piano music. I still felt t h e pain of separation and
was also susceptible.
A resemblance —in T h e Two Pigeons' L a F o n t a i n e wrote:
'I myself h a v e loved; against the treasures of t h e L o u v r e ,
against the firmament, t h e celestial vault, I would never
change t h e woods, t h e gardens h o n o r e d by h e r step, lit by
the eyes of the beloved shepherdess on whose account I
pledged my first oaths and served t h e son of Cytherea.'
1
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22
DEATH
A vaguely abstract person once called on death. 'Death,'
quoth h e , 'how attractive you s e e m ! Why don't you come
and end my sufferings?' D e a t h , t h e 17th Century gentil-
homme, stood at the door and walked in. *Eeek!' squeals
that abstract-type p e r s o n . ' T a k e away this dreadful thing.
K e e p away, D e a t h ; D e a t h , d o n ' t come closer 1 -' T h e n
there's t h e great philosopher Maecenas who said this —
' D e f o r m m e , ravage m e , m a k e m e stupid as a Scythian,
m a k e m e armless, legless and sightless. B u t please don't
t a k e away my sweet life.'
L a F o n t a i n e seems a bit troubled by these stories. H e re-
marks that they lack something. A friend tells him h e
should b e m o r e concrete, so he adds this. A n itinerant col-
lector of w o o d was weighed down by his bundle. Trudging
along his gloomy way h e finally reaches the door of his mis-
erable hovel. H e slips t h e b u n d l e from his shoulder and
considers life's sorrows. H a s h e h a d any pleasure since
coming into life? He's been p o o r e r than poor — the dregs
of t h e earth. Sleep, b r e a d ? He's hardly h a d any. T h e n
there's soldiers, creditors, taxes, king. N o end in sight. So
death doesn't delay when he's called. 'Death,' says the
m a n , 'just help m e rearrange this bundle. I w o n ' t k e e p you
a m o m e n t . ' A n ornamental flourish concludes:
23
 We call for death — W O N D E R S IN AESOP'S LIFE
but there's still breath.
'I'll survive, I'll survive! A e s o p was in a quandary. H e was well known for his
I'm alive!' cleverness, b u t how would he get out of this? Figs are
brought in for lunch, t h e n stolen, and the Phrygian slave is
T h e Duchess having died, says St. Simon, they took out.
suspected. Speech difficulties first hindered, they s a y -
her heart and put, the entrails in a reliquary urn. T h e n at
t h e n saved. C a n a m u t e accuse those w h o accuse h i m ? In-
high mass people began to notice a peculiar odor. T h e serv-
sult's added to this injury. He's so ugly, it's said, only his
ice was interrupted with a loud report which sprayed the
face tells t h e t r u t h . W h e n strong m e n see him, they doubt
contents over the whole chapel. In the ensuing rush for the
themselves—women flee him. A s the laughter dies down,
doors, a n u m b e r of our elegant court ladies were trampled.
here's L a F o n t a i n e getting at the serious business of draw-
T h e King led t h e rest to safety.
ing morals. ' B u t the badly shaped bottle held rare wine,' he
tells us. Next t h e masterful exposition—generations of sul-
len French schoolchildren will sit glumly through this on
generations of sullen stone benches. A e s o p , it seems, de-
fended himself. H e h a d t h e m bring in a bowl of w a r m w a t e r
and put two fingers to his throat. W h a t followed, did. T h e
ground in front of A e s o p is covered with—only w a r m
water. T h e n A e s o p makes signs for the steward and other
servants to b e brought in. T h e others follow suit and then
it's the steward's turn. H e does the same, and in the pool of
water on t h e floor are the barely digested figs, still pink in
color. E v e r y o n e marvels. W h a t a wonderful story!—a
rationalist's miracle tale. Will the wily L a Fontaine vouch
for its t r u t h ? B u t — h e protests—it's enough that t h e story
is charming!

24 25
 My muse drank purest water
rendering in a divine language
the sounds of those on e a r t h ,
who speak nature's speech.
Translator for divers peoples
I m a d e t h e m the protagonists
in my drama. For all things
speak in this universe, and
everything has its language.
A n o t h e r anecdote explains Aesop's vocation as a story-
teller. In the original it goes on and o n , so I'll give you a
shortened version. S o m e gods visit the earth in disguise.
Aesop's kind to them. H e gives t h e m lunch a n d sends t h e m
along. Swooning, he has a vision in which he sees F o r t u n e
in front of him. She presses down on his thick tongue and
undoes it, giving him the ability for which he is to b e c o m e
famous, storytelling. This Aesop realizes what side his bread
is buttered o n ! His pulse races. Good-bye, ignominy, other
Phrygian slaves!—and he begins to speculate. ' N o w I can
say what I think,' he says. ' I suppose I'll be rich and famous.'
It I A meditative pause ensues. 'When I die,' he continues, 'will
some town build a pyramid for m e ? T h a t might be interest-
ing, I might like that.' A n d t h e n . . . ?
H e r e ' s something about Pasolini. A young m a n , a some-
time prostitute, decides to show t h e world he's n o t like gay
m e n , his clients. H e shoots Pasolini, o r maybe knifes him.
E v e r y o n e is stunned for a few days, and for a while the
26
L
murder shocks everyone who reads about the incident.
Then it's forgotten. L a t e r in o u r own country the two re-
writers of L a F o n t a i n e , B o b and B r u c e , go see a movie. It's
Pasolini's Arabian Nights. Isfahan, blowing all blue with
lovely white filigrees. T h e backdrop, a serious Ethiopian
desert, brown with green oases delicately marking transi-
tions. Into this beauty, standing about waiting to be ad-
mired, steps the message: sleep with m e , deliver this note,
ballad, love p o e m t o m y sister, cousin, father. But don't
open t h e garden door, which, by the way, you will find im-
mediately behind the arbor. B e sure and follow these in-
structions t o t h e letter, or I'll have you thrown from t h e
high tower. W i t h o u t notice, this violence glides into the
story. It's accepted, becomes part of it. It's an honor to all
concerned.
Listen to what L a F o n t a i n e says about Aesop's end.
W h e n A e s o p told a m e a n story about the citizens of
Delphi, they t o o k revenge.
You a r e like sticks floating on water.
A t a distance you are considerable,
U p close you are not.
So they pushed him from a high cliff. A god punished them
with a plague. To placate t h e god, they built A e s o p a mon-
u m e n t , a pyramid.
In the time before sleep—in restlessness, in consider-
ation of a greater scheme of things—I often think of this
story. I h o p e for a better world, I think of change.
27
 PIG, GOAT, SHEEP
A goat and a sheep, with a fat pig, are
packed into the same cart going to m a r k e t .
They aren't out for their health, I can
tell you that. T h e y ' r e off to b e sold.
Mr. Pig cries all t h e way as if he had a h u n d r e d
butchers at his heels. It's a deafening noise.
T h e other animals, gentler creatures, decent
sorts, were astonished at his cries: Resist, resist!
They see nothing to fear. Next,
Driver says to P i g — W h a t are you yelling for?
You'll b r e a k our eardrums. What's the m a t t e r
with you, where are your m a n n e r s ? You should
take a lesson from this well-behaved couple!
Look at Mr. S h e e p — h a s he said a w o r d ? He's
got breeding! He's got problems—shoots back
Mr. Pig. If h e knew what was happening, he'd
be yelling like I am at t h e t o p of my lungs.
A n d this other polite p e r s o n — s h e ' d be screaming
like a banshee. G o a t supposes she'll be milked,
Sheep thinks he'll be fleeced—if they
only knew! Let's just say I've got my suspicions.
A n d m e ? T h e only thing I've got going
for m e is pig meat. I'm a goner. Good-bye
forever, happy piggy days; bye-bye to
my o n e animal life.
Mr. Pig reasoned subtly and'well. Only
what good did it d o h i m ?
28
> BOOK 1 # 6
Heifer, G o a t , L a m b their sister
and Lion — S t r e n g t h — t h e neighborhood master —
formed a syndicate, t h e purpose of it: _
to pool in c o m m o n property and profit.
G o a t makes a killing — snares a deer —this entails
a conference. G o a t reports right away.
They convene — Lion adds on his fingernails
and says, T h e r e are four to share the prey.
In four portions he butchered the deer
and claimed t h e first as executive officer.
A n d , he says, the reason it's my one
why, it's because my name's Lion.
N o o n e h a d anything to say.
T h e second, by right, is my right—I protest
dear colleagues—is the right of the strongest.
T h e most valiant—myself—claims the third part.
If you so much as touch the rest
I'll rip out your heart.
29
 too daringly, an incautious solemnness when the king tells
ESSAY a j o k e , a n d you a r e relegated t o t h e outer darkness. A
survival instinct says the world is not a very safe place. A n
Lack of. c o m m o n understanding is so interesting t h a t who alligator could eat y o u ; still smiling for the camera you
would b o t h e r with h a r m o n y ? T h a t lack's most resonant ex- back off a cliff, contract a tropical spore, choke on a
pression is formalism, which the two squirrels, the two fishbone. So be careful, b e ready, b e calm, be strong, be
mice, t h e two cats, t h e two goats, t h e two wolves, t h e two sensible. Carry a jacket when you go out. That's received
lions who wrote this b o o k love, but not m o r e than they wisdom. Still, imagine a world that applies, touching close
love you. as the night when we generously fold ourselves into each
Sincerely? O h R e a d e r , w e n e e d n o o t h e r proof t h a n other's bodies.
your regal impetuosities, your ardent and lively temper, I blame equally those who take on themselves to praise,
the intelligence, courage, and magnanimity which are your and those who t a k e on themselves to blame, and those who
unfailing characteristics. W e venture to provide you with
merely a m u s e themselves, and I can only approve of those
certain tales. These fictions are a species of history in which
who seek with tears.
n o o n e is flattered. T h e r e is n o protection u n d e r which we
could place t h e m m o r e illustrious t h a n your own. T h e taste
and judgment shown by you in all things, together with
o u r desire t o obey you and a r d o r t o please you, h a v e m a d e
the whole world your admirer. W e n o longer have need to
consult Apollo, the nine Muses, or any of the deities who
dwell on Parnassus. N a t u r e has e n d o w e d you with every
gift which it could bestow: skill in adjudging intellectual
things; also knowledge of the laws which govern them. We
see you as a conqueror of w h o m o n e could say yet m o r e
fitly than of Alexander that you are about to hold a Parlia-
m e n t of the Universe.
Court life has got m e thinking. If w e ' r e p o o r in middles
we explore edges, manners, names, t h e tense space be-
tween gestures. Isn't it like a fairy t a l e : a h a n k y flourished

31
30

I t
r
BOB A N D BRUCE'S VERSION OF
LA FONTAINE'S VERSION OF
A M E D I E V A L BOCCACCIO STORY

Here's the story of B r o t h e r Philip's Geese. L a Fontaine

began it this w a y :

Ladies, I k n o w you'll love what comes next.

S o m e call it sexist. I don't. T h e y ' r e completely
wrong. T h e y even call m e a racist un peu, a
partisan of the ruling class. M e , La Fontaine,
one of the leading liberals of my day, a sexist?
Puh-lease! A n d I'll get to those other snide in-
n u e n d o e s a little later. Meantime let m e tell you
this. I've d r e a m e d of w o m e n . I've lived, eaten,
b r e a t h e d w o m e n . I've d r u n k t h e m u p like nectar
all my life. So take your tired accusations else-
where, literary ladies. I know where I'm loved
and by whom. B u t the rest, w o m e n and ladies
w h o m I truly love, the majority in fact, t a k e this
story as a tribute. It's an honor. W h o could com-
p a r e with m e in their love for you?

A strange prologue, if it is one. A n d it's true, we've doc-

i * tored it. In it you h a v e a hint of patriarchal insensitivities,
gross and glaring faults. W h e n the charm fails, it's our
fault! If good shows through, we willingly credit La Fon-
taine. W h a t can you d o with t h e literature of t h e p a s t ? Save

33
 it? It's often disgusting; and how impossible to accept any-
one's blind spots, particularly the past's. So here and there
we altered. We apply cosmetics, m a k e a brighter picture.
It's not better, only different. If it's better for us, that will all
change in a hundred years. Trust history on this, not us.
You always live with your times. We h o p e you like it.
Once t h e r e was a young man who lived in a beautiful,
magical forest. It was paradise on earth. T h e trees glowed
with a soft inner light. T h e flowers were jewels and their
petals gleamed bright as precious metals. In such metallic
beauty the young man might well have languished and
grown unaccountably aristocratic if it h a d n ' t been for the
delightful birds there. H o w wonderful they were, and
a b u n d a n t ! Their melodies cheered him constantly. All his
pleasure was in their song, though he h a d n ' t yet got to
understand their language.
H o w did the young man get to this enchanted place ? Ac-
cording to La Fontaine it was through the father. This pious
man suffered a great blow—the loss of his wife—and grew
immensely sad on account of it. T h e child's m o t h e r died at
childbirth, you see, and out of grief the father fled with him
to a r e m o t e forest. T h e result was, t h e father became a mis-
ogynist. T h e fact of the m a t t e r is he really resented his wife
for leaving him in this way. So he began to h a t e her. Then
he hated all women. Twisted with hatred he flees the world
and becomes a hermit. B u t he takes t h e son along with him.
That's the way the story starts. B u t the forest turns out to
be magical in another respect as well. T a m e animals be-
34
friend and love t h e youth. Now this young man had every
reason to be satisfied with his destiny, yet in the end he was
not, as you will see. T h e young man's father, by t h e way,
had started calling hirnself B r o t h e r Philip — to show he had
nothing to do with the old life he had abandoned.
How should my son live his life?—"thought Brother
Philip. H e thinks and thinks and ponders the question —
the less he knows about the world, the better! H e begins
the child's education then and there, avoiding delicate mat-
ters that might lead the son astray. H e doesn't mention
women. Says nothing at all about sex. H e serves the child
portions of knowledge with a long spoon — the o n e you're
supposed to use when supping with the devil. A n d that's a
subject much on Philip's mind these days. H e remembers
how the devil tested St. A n t h o n y in the desert, how he sent
dancing girls to the holy cave to try the saint's patience. In
the day he sees vague shapes and forms in thickets. H e im-
agines the deeds of impious men.
H e fits his instruction to the child's years—as legend has
it—and at five teaches him flowers' names and what animals
are c a l l e d . . . and the language of birds too. H e makes sure
his son knows he was born in hell, for fear is the first impor-
tant lesson to teach children. A t ten he tells him a bit about
the wide w o r l d — b u t not too wide because here again,
D o n ' t trust w o m e n is this man's motto. O n his fifteenth
birthday, for a final lesson, the young man learns all about
G o d , his angels and his saints. There's nothing left to know.
Six years go by and the young man is twenty-one. He's
35
r
i
K

an adult. His father thinks it's time to t a k e him into town. with delight. 'Father, father dearest, let's leave our forest
Here's what t h e p a r e n t thinks: I'm old and could die at any g$d live with these marvelous birds. We'll wear what they
time, my son wouldn't have a protector. So I'll teach him a $$ear and sing what they sing and be with them forever.
skill I know well —begging. It's a skill that's easily taught Igather dear, can't we be gooses t o o ? '
to young and old, though the trick of it is pleasing people. W h o can resist an enchanted forest? Or the first appear-
T h a n k heavens I've mastered that virtue. With a little self- ance of sensuality? Charms like this""soften the edges of
knowledge I know t h i s — B r . Philip can cadge a florin fast- things. H e follows his joy where it leads him.
er t h a n you can say ' G o o d St. J a m e s of Compostela, cure
my Sophie of her bandyleg and t a k e away the foul noise-
some winds from my unpleasant neighbor Jehan.' A n d
the hermit decides that very day he'll teach his son all
he knows. So they set off and soon they see the shining
walls of the city. It's splendidly built and filled with every
sort of rarity. T h e prince lives t h e r e , the whole court is
in residence. O u r young rustic, a hermit's son, is posi-
tively dazzled. ' W h o are t h e s e ? ' he asks, dumfounded.
'They're courtiers,' is the answer. ' T h a t , what's t h a t ? ' 'It's a
palace.' ' A n d t h o s e ? ' — timidly. 'They're statues,' says the
father. In the middle of this discussion a seraglio of w o m e n
passes by t h e m . E a c h is covered with lovely swathes of the
finest cloth. B e n e a t h their long garments you can see won-
derful dyed-leather zones studded with precious jewels.
Silver and gold adorn their full gussets and from the peaks
of tall conical hats flutter and shimmer scarves of every
color. T h e young m a n is stricken, a death-like pallor seizes
him. ' W h a t are these, dear father, wearing the beautiful
clothes!' 'Nothing,' says t h e old m a n , alarmed. ' T h e y ' r e a
bird called goose, that's all.' T h e young man's face suffuses

36 37
r
LION, WOLF, F O X
T h e King tried this advice: Monsieur Wolf is flayed
and dismembered. T h e monarch wears him and sups on
T h e lion reached the e n d of the line; despair and old him.
age reached him at the same time. It's an abuse to promise
what can't be delivered—to kings or anyone.

H e sent out messengers to each species for their A t last, the fruit taken after his soup bloated his stom-
doctors (each has its o w n ) and they arrived from every
ach, dulled his digestion and took the edge off his appetite
locale. T h e fox excuses himself, no explanations. T h e wolf
for the first time in his life. T h e King had never known
slanders his absent comrade. (Courtiers—stop destroying
h u n g e r ; however late circumstances sometimes delayed
yourselves!) His Majesty c o m m a n d s t h e m to smoke out
his dinner. I h e a r d him say several times that his appetite
the fox. H e comes, and knowing the wolf is behind all
was whetted with the first spoonfuls of soup, and he ate
this he says:
so prodigiously, so substantially, and so equably morning
and evening that o n e never tired of watching him. Such
Sire,
quantities of water and fruit, unrelieved by spirits, turned
Let not a hardly sincere report his blood to gangrene by diluting it. It was further thinned
Misrepresent my absence at court. by his nightly sweating, and this was recognized as the
I was on a pilgrimage and m a d e a vow cause of death at autopsy. His organs were all so beautiful
For your health, using the journey to kow-tow and healthy that it can safely be said he could have passed
To professionals and experts in the field. the century mark. Most surprising of all were his stomach
I consulted and consulted. You can be healed. and his bowels, which were twice the length and volume
You only lack h e a t — a long age slayed of an ordinary man's.
it in you. Apply the skin of a wolf flayed
Alive, still hot and smoking. This cure's
A tonic for failing natures.
Monsieur Wolf will provide, from
Courtiers, in your career nothing is forgiven.
T h e goodness of his heart, your robe-de-chambre.

38
39
 ESSAY and m o r e appreciating his feet which have not deserted
him even t h o u g h he h a d given u p on them. He's also begin-
/ blame equally those who take on themselves to praise, ning to view his antlers as rather superficial. H e thinks to
A stag loved himself mirrored in a fountain, t h e beauty .himself, he thinks to us, T o p i c sentences without para-
of his antlers: 'My right profile, my left profile, my fore- graphs, p e n n a n t s without a victory, n o , worse, burdens
h e a d rises aristocratically t o t h e r h o d o d e n d r o n s , t h e purity weighing m e d o w n , tangling m e in t h e bushes.'
of, the nobility of, the loftiness of, the heightened reality
o f . . . ' H e m u r m u r e d , 'Stunning craftsmanship, remarkable
achievement.'
and those who take on themselves to blame, T h e n t h e stag
noticed his spindly ankles retreating in the depths. H e
could hardly look at t h e m ! T h e proportion's off! I hate my
feet! Never in the history of the universe did noble quali-
ties conclude so trivially, basely, vilely, contemptibly, ab-
jectly, what a disgrace.'
and those who merely amuse themselves, 'You never
w a n t e d other t h a n R o m a n t i c stories of t h e knights of t h e
R o u n d Table etc., but this of ours merits your perusal. My
obligation—to season them so they can in their fashion
please you. Y o u r s — t o praise my intentions even when they
fail. A n d if you find t h e account t o your taste, p e r h a p s
afterwards you will read others, m o r e serious.'
and I can only approve of those who seek with tears.
B a n g ! — T h e report rings out. D o e s M. de L a Fontaine
look u p apprehensively from his writing table? T h e ser-
vants have worn millenarian smiles all day. Strange. A n d
t h e stag breaks for the forest, followed n o t too distantly by
foaming greyhounds and hunters. A t every step he's m o r e

40 41

BB ^ 5
 r
PHILOSOPHY
A n d the noblest of our achievements?
A mysterious stranger—feminine — comes to town and Serenity.
sets u p shop, if you can call it that. A dilapidated over- Pleasure, Happiness, Serenity—enameled flowers of a
stuffed armchair, teetering table with a doily. O n it, a crys- century.
tal ball. That's it, except for a w o o d e n chair for the clients:
I t e m , a banker. He's suspicious of t h e footman since he's
noticed his wife's scarf in t h e man's sleeve.
I t e m , o n e r o u e , elderly, with a big bank account. T h e
question—is it enough for an aspiring actress with her
carriage and four?
I t e m , t h e decent m o t h e r of h e r errant son. H o w long will
he w a n d e r in fields of dubious h o n o r ?
O n e by one they come to see the oracle.
She has t h e m where she wants t h e m . In n o time at all she
acquires fortune and reputation, in that order. Rich, she
retires to the country, takes up religion.
M a d a m Seer has a successor, Monsieur Giovanni from
Italy. H e gives advice to the lovelorn, three flights u p , and
would you please pay at t h e time of the visit?
In judicial chambers once, says L a Fontaine, I saw a
rumpled r o b e with a great reputation. People took it for
M a s t e r - W h a t ' s - H i s - N a m e , t h e lawyer, with a pack of
clients dogging his heels. Ask m e why.
W h e r e is t h e conclusion? What's missing?
Pleasure.
W h a t ' s the end of our days?
Happiness.

42
43
 A P E A S A N T OFFENDS HIS L O R D : M O N E Y TALKS
'Lick t h e shine off my b o o t s ! ' A n d
T y p e s like you warrant a n o o s e ! ' A n d
'That's how you'll picturesquely die,
but I a m good, so choose from these three
punishments: either eat thirty garlics
without drinking and without resting
or submit to thirty blows with a club
or (here he makes a face like a man from
the finance company on business) pay m e
a h u n d r e d ecus!' T h e peasant's caught
between a rock and a hard place, h e
meditates: Thirty garlics without a drink —
a h ! a punishment from a fairy tale!
I never learned to eat them cold.
O n t h e other h a n d , thirty medieval blows!
W o r s t is the h u n d r e d ecus.
H e diplomatically falls to his knees
and grovels: F o r God's sake, Mercy!
His L o r d snaps: Bring on a rope.
y T h e peasant chooses garlic
and his L o r d c o m m a n d s that some be gathered,
especially strong ones, t h e strongest.
His master counts thirty in a dish.
T h e peasant puts the largest without relish
in his m o u t h like a cat whose fish
is coated with a vile sauce moutarde.
44
T h e first goes down, the second goes down,
at the third he says: T h e devil eats the next.
By the time he swallows twelve
he's shouting: H e l p ! my throat's on fire!
Quick, he gasps, a drink! His Lord stands
above h i m : A h Squire Bad B r e a t h ,
you're breaking my heart. I see with your
supper you enjoy a little liquid refreshment.
Bring on the wine! B u t my friend, excuse
m e , after that you'll have to choose
between a beating or a h u n d r e d ecus.
Just a minute, says the peasant, can't you take
twelve garlics from thirty blows?
A s for the money, Master, the sum's too great,
where would a p o o r person such as myself find it?
You're breaking my heart, t h e Lord replies.
To steel himself the vassal lodges
a long draught in his gut, fortifies his innards
and then suffers blow n u m b e r one with notable
constancy. A t the second he says:
G r a n t m e patience, Sweet Jesus,
through all my trials.
T h e third is brutal: he clenches his teeth,
then leaps u p as his body lurches over.
A t the fourth a terrible grimace,
at the fifth a scream.
But he's a long way from the end.
45
 Such a cruel event has never b e e n s e e n : It's a sorry thing to aggravate your Master.
Two grinning apes stand t h e r e — e a c h with a club — This peasant debased himself for nothing,
they deliver blows that bear their full weight and for a crime that was perhaps trivial —
and measure o u t each o n e succinct as a minuet o u r story calls the offense intangible —
with d u e attention both to rhythm and pitch. he felt his gullet enflame,
T h e victim has only o n e refrain: his purse emptied, his shoulders blistered,
Mercy! B u t characteristically without any inroad in the hundred ecus,
t h e L o r d has t h e m lay on m o r e finely still. not for t h e garlic, not for the beating,
Like a Louis Q u a t o r z e music master he for in this story o u r text is money talks,
judges their effect and retains his gravity for in this text our story is coin of the realm.
always murmuring that he's entirely
too kind. His eyes are ancestral stones.
T h e peasant notes these eyes and fears
f 1 for his life. After twenty he cries:
For God's Sake Stop — I can't t a k e any more.
His L o r d barks: A h u n d r e d ecus,
cold cash. I know your type, greedy, stingy, miserly, tight-
fisted and cheap. I ' m sorry for you.
Just between us, if you don't have it
your pal H a r r y could bail you out.
A r e you ready to hang for so small a fault?
T h e peasant, hardly daring to answer,
runs and gets his entire savings:
It's all I've got.
It's examined, they bring in t h e scales,
now he's breaking out in a sweat,
now he's making the most terrible grimace yet.
W h a t good does it d o ? H e pays his debt.

« r 46 47
 MYSTICAL ASPIRATIONS
A citizen of Peking h a d this d r e a m .
A rich brocaded m a n came to him, chancellor
of an empire. I n his a r m s — h a p p i n e s s .
T h e citizen sees another figure, a hermit,
he's surrounded by living flame, a cope. One's
in hell, the other's blessed. D r e a m e r
awakens and suspects some puzzle, an o m e n .
H e consults o n e w h o knows. Why the surprise,
the interpreter tells him. Your dream
is full of sense. Unless my small learning fail,
your d r e a m is from G o d . This chancellor, still
on e a r t h , sought out solitude. T h e t o r m e n t e d
hermit a t t e n d e d courts of chancellors.
Let m e add to t h e interpreter's speech.
H o w I valued t h e secluded life while I was
still alive —like you are now, dear friends.
Seclusion's a cool spring that never fails.
It's a secret channel to life and youth. It's
the bright morning-glory, glistening with an
early dew. Solitude, my always enduring love!
Will I ever see the forests and mountains of my
y o u t h ? — t h e retreats of my schooldays when I fled
t h e madding crowd to the green heart of this world.
48
Fair Quiet, have I found, thee here,
A n d innocence, thy sister dear!
Mistaken long, I sought you then
In busy companies of men.
T h e nectarine and curious peach,
Into my hands themselves do reach.
Stumbling on melons, as I pass
Enslaved with flowers, I fall on grass.
W h a t wouldn't I give to realize this promise!
B u t I'm afraid it's a flight of fancy.
I'm hopelessly, horribly, in debt. I work my
fingers to the b o n e , writing. A n d for w h a t ? D o
/ have a country estate to look forward t o ?
My woolen stockings have holes in t h e m ,
ladies and gentlemen. Not the silks and
satins of your noble lords and most gracious bishops!
My b o o k s ? O h , a few classics, Latin and Greek —
a Clement M a r o t that's a bit out of fashion now
and maybe an atheist tract or two. N o t that
I ' m complaining! B u t will I ever see this
paradise of m i n e ? Unlikely; but not less desirable
either. What is there to say? I'll vow
m o r e sacrifices, promise further prayers.
W h o lives without d r e a m s ? W h e n m y last h o u r
comes, the end of my days, I'll die
with no regrets. I've lived as I could.
49
 FABLE; EXCERPT FROM A LETTER
form n o intention therein of remembering anything much
less parading t h a t knowledge. T h e sign of a w o m a ^ s n t
F a b l e : A m a n once loved a cat, says L a Fontaine, he cholarship or^learning and to a p p e a r ^ is far w T e We
loved h e r from her endearing m e o w t o her completely left P a n s o n the 23rd of this m o n t h . . .
u n i q u e way of asking for Cat Chow. His life revolved
a r o u n d his pet's whims. T h e n h e gets a n idea, a n d a little
hocus-pocus follows — the usual mish-mash storytellers re-
sort to when they can't m a k e a transition. Let's just say,
says our story, that the next day she's a real w o m a n . W h e n
he gets u p next morning, t h e antics of the two are not to b e
believed. H e thinks he's a suitor; she's t h e morning a n d
evening star, light of his life. What's left of the feline?
She's still his one-and-only when t h r e e mice begin gnawing
at a damask tablecloth. Spouse is on her feet tout de suite!
b u t the attempt's a failure. Mice return, t a k e u p a position.
This time, thanks be to Jove, success! T h e mice cross the
River Styx. Lesson: plus qa change, plus c'est la mime
chose.
E x c e r p t : You never wanted other than R o m a n t i c stories,
t h e knights of t h e r o u n d table etc., b u t this of ours merits
perusal. Certainly t h e r e will b e therein doubtful inci-
dents . . . A n d if you find this account t o your liking,
perhaps afterwards you'll read others, m o r e s e r i o u s . . .
You've r e a d the old ones, you know t h e m by heart. Few of
the new ones are good and you feel ill at ease. I beg you t o
consider the utility of accustoming yourself to a history of
persons, places. Thereby you will find the means of ridding
your life of listlessness—with this proviso only, that you

50
 THE RAT AND THE OYSTER open. H e begins a short speech. 'What's this?
F o o d , if I'm not mistaken! A n d to j u d g e from its color
A field rat, not oversupplied with brains, I'd say I ' m going to eat very well.'
decides to leave h o m e . H e deserves m o r e from life. Thereupon—filled with high h o p e s — M a s t e r R a t
Field, grain, s h e a f — t h e y all get left behind. inches closer to t h e shell, sticks his neck out
t H e leaves M o m and D a d , the hole in the ground. and feels himself caught in a trap. T h e oyster's
' H a v e I got po-tentialities!' Conscious he's pleasing suddenly shut u p , and that's the end of this story.
us, he smiles from ear to ear. 'Am I in E u r o p e ?
A r e n ' t those the Swiss Alps and those the Russian
Caucasus over t h e r e ? ' Every molehill's a
mountain to him. After several days he comes to
a place where N e p t u n e , the ocean god, has
piled u p oysters on t h e shore. First he thinks
they're galleons with high sides. 'I pity my
father,' h e says, 'who never left the family
burrow. I've already seen the ocean's wonders.'
T h e n he declaims, ' W e passed through deserts'—
sighing — 'but we didn't drink.' T h e rat got
this citation from a local schoolmaster but got it
wrong. H e wasn't o n e of those provincial rodents
to waste time gnawing on books in dusty libraries.
But among the oysters so prudently closed u p
he finds o n e o p e n , stretching and yawning in t h e
sun, caressed by a passing zephyr, breathing in
great draughts of fresh air. In and out, in
and out, glowing with pleasure. T h e oyster's
fat and white and appears of a non-pareil taste.
A t a distance the rat sees this oyster gaping

52 53
t
HUSBAND, WIFE, THIEF
H e : I'm in love, in love with you, true to you and
basking in your fidelity, but no caress, n o whisper,
no glance, no friendly word reveals, n o touch, n o
smile, that you care for me. If love gives no pleas-
ure in the pleasure we feel in love, where's t h e
profit? We haven't even slept together.
H e r e a thief interrupts their suffering. T h e w o m a n
is so scared she flies to her husband's arms.
She: Thief, without you we would have remained at
odds. A s a reward take these knives — they're m a d e
from coin silver. Take everything in the house —
take the house.
Thief: T h a n k you, I will. Thieves aren't delicate
o r noble. F r o m this story I gather our strongest
passion is fear. It conquered your aversion, it can
conquer love.
T h e King of Spain: That's a fact. I burnt down my
house to m a k e love with my wife, carried her away
through the flames. A t bedtime my wife and I still
like to remind each other of this soulful story. We
thought you'd like the being-carried-away part of it.
54
T H E ABBESS
Follow o n e example: it could raise up or debase. Which
happens here is not my business. O n e of you will say, ' T h e
Abbess used it well.' Another—inevitably—'badly,' de-
pending on who you are. T h e same goes for the story as a
whole and as I said, it's your affair. I'll just pursue my plot
outline and show in general—by what occurred in a certain
flock of n u n s — t h a t most of us are sheep. Let one go by and
a "hundred follow. What's stronger than ideology?
Sheepy reader, I repeat it, I repeat to emphasize
W h e n it comes to decision making we muttonize.
D o we really risk our personal necks charging off alone?
We mill around chewing and looking at each other and
looking and looking and especially not forgetting to chew.
Now I'm reminded of an interesting example of this in
Rabelais and I h o p e you won't mind if I defer my principal
account in favor of this illustration. Panurge wanted to
consult the oracle. H e set sail, having something on his
m i n d — I don't k n o w — s o m e t h i n g was upsetting him. A n
idiot sails by, his profile marks him for a true Donkey.
D o n k e y in his ship carries sheep. P a n u r g e : W r a p them
u p — I ' l l buy t h e m . Fool: You're certainly high-pressured.
D o you think I could set a fair price and sell my herd on
the high seas? P a n u r g e : Price is n o object. Sell me one,
gold or silver. O n e was sold, Panurge throws it over, the
others follow. A s the book puts it, the Devil if o n e sheepy
55
h soul remained. T h e Jack-Ass grabs the ram by the n e c k -
R a m drags him off. Friend Idiot, Bye-bye.
In a cup with no handles Jie goes to drink and die.
F u n n y ? R e t u r n i n g to our s u b j e c t — t h i s prologue carries
m e along, because contempt for w o m e n shares a c o m m o n
mind with ordinary relations of buying and selling. So I
haven't really strayed too far recounting the Master's anec-
d o t e about sheep, for ours also concerns a flock.
O n e passed, then another, then another, t h e n another
A n d each o n e passed and pressed against each other
until we see that bastion guarding t h e m at last pass also.
That's mainly how t h e story is told, now t h e particulars.
A certain Abbess h a d a certain illness, nicknamed 'Pale
Colors' by the village; a dangerous illness, which cut t h e
bloom of the prettiest and buried their attractions. O u r in-
valid's face was wan
A s t h e portrait of a D u t c h saint in Lent.
She was a noble lady of great refinement.
T h e medical profession consulted and examined. W h e n
asked, it replied: Soon M a d a m will fall into a slow fever
and t h e n she'll die. Without question this sickness will de-
vour her u n l e s s . *. t h e Unless is strange. That is, unless her
reverence submit her desire to the extremity of its limit in
the presence of a person of t h e masculine gender. Hippo-
56
crates doesn't mince words. ' L o r d ! ' replied the utterly
scandalized M a d a m Abbess, ' W h a t are you trying to s a y ? '
'We say,' the Profession replied, 'it's an assured thing that
you will die unless you secure an able and athletic body. H e
must be good,at it, that's the main point,
If he's n o t good he Won't be useful to you.
If he's not good, M a d a m will require two.'
This was even w o r s e ; how could her community observe
her doing such a thing and approve? Shame and adversity,
we note, share a causal relationship.
Sister Agnes says, ' M a d a m , believe them. Of course the
prescription is an evil thing unless it tastes like death. You
perform a h u n d r e d r e m e d i e s — s h o u l d this o n e shock and
repulse y o u ? ' Tt's easy for you to say, Agnes,' the Abbess
replied. ' N o w this, by G o d , would you do i t ? ' Agnes put
herself in Madam's place and said, 'Wellll, yesssss.' A n d
she thought, T h e Victorian era is just a twinkle in her eye.'
Agnes wore a small tight smile that was getting ready to
take off for parts unknown. She went on to say, 'Your
health is so precious to m e that should it be necessary to
suffer that enormity for you I could only wish that in this
testimony of my affection not o n e of us within this convent
should go before me.' A thousand archaic thank yous hav-
ing been given by the Abbess to Sister Agnes, the Doctors
said good-bye, washed their hands of the case and declined
a follow-up appointment. T h e entire convent plunged into
57
 a state of depression. Sister Agnes, who was not in this re-
gard the least sensitive, and moreover very intelligent, said
to her sisters, 'Refined inhibition before G o d is the only
thing that constrains her.
For Sweet Charity's sake who will display
To M a d a m A b b e s s the E x a m p l e and t h e W a y ? '
O n e and all approved of this opinion, praised the idea,
acknowledged its genius. N o t o n e shows the least coldness,
n o t one, not the N u n , N u n e t t e , M o t h e r Superior, the old
o n e , not the Counselor. A m a n d a t e goes o u t summoning
Friars of every order, black and white, even Friars colored
grey like wolves. T h e squadron, says our story, was n o t
small, as o n e , says L a Fontaine, can readily believe, while
I, say I, w o n d e r uneasily about the word 'readily.' D o e s
h e mean that n o man would think twice about taking ad-
vantage of Agnes and her friends? La Fontaine's progres-
sive anti-clericalism does not move me. Isn't it like revolu-
tionary sentiments t h a t mask contempt for w o m e n and
gays? O u r story says that t h e zealous monks took second
place to n o n e of the nuns in their desire to m a k e M a d a m
less a s h a m e d , or in their desire that she possibly even
have in her soul the least proscription against even her
V own desires, even.
Scarcely has the first of these sheep m a d e the leap when
her sister follows, then a third enters the race. They crowd
forward in order not to b e the least to display their zeal
58
and fervor to M a d a m Abbess, just like the Fool's sheep
w h o threw themselves overboard, as I just told you, as
I've always told you. Caution always was my theme and to
emphasize it I've filled barnyards, pastures and woods full
of imprudent b r o k e n animal bodies—stray gullets, bitten-
off toes, severed ears—although the sneep leaped toward
death and the nuns toward a life of mixed emotions. What
can I say? Finally t h e distaste that the Abbess felt yields
before so m a n y examples. T h e invalid chooses a young
m a n to perform the operation. She becomes rose, becomes
carnation, dawn, and any other delightful thing you can
imagine. 17th Century flowers budded and blew nicely.
O gentle cure, O r e m e d y of giving, remedy friend of the
majority of creation,
Friend of people, Friend of nature
Friend of everything except points of honor.
Points of h o n o r are another sickness of which in her writ-
ings M a d a m Medicine is silent.
H o w many evils life has!
59
 T H R E E WISHES
T h e servant elves who live on t h e banks of t h e Ganges
are full of surprises. They'll t a k e out the trash, beat your
carpets in spring, plant turnips to last the whole year. But
lay a finger on this work and it's ruined. A benefit? You'll
see.
O n e of t h e m took care of a citizen's house. All this hap-
p e n e d on the plain outside Calcutta. T h e elf wasn't noisy
and was cheerful and clever too. H e ' d work every day till
he dropped. 'Won't you do o n e m o r e room,' said his
employers a n d — ' c a n ' t you m a k e o n e m o r e m e a l ? ' For
some the grass is greener apparently. B u t now an official in
t h e elf union fears unpaid overtime. H e sends him on his
way. W h a t an idiot to work for nothing! A n d our little
friend's on his way to the land of eternal snow, Norway.
S o m e life. First you're in India and before you know it
you're a Laplander. Before h e leaves for the N o r t h e r n
climes, the elf gives notice. ' I have to relocate,' h e says
politely. ' B u t in recompense you may m a k e t h r e e wishes;
I'll guarantee them:'
Is wishing a reward or p u n i s h m e n t ? Well, it certainly
isn't novel. First they choose wealth. A s Cornucopia the
Goddess pours out her bushels of. glittering ecus, their
barns spill over with grain, their wine cellars burst. T h e y ' r e
rich. Beyond all their dreams they're rich. B u t how to put
this windfall in o r d e r ? T i m e , worries, tax forms to fill
o u t — t h e s e become problems. Is this the famous ' e m b a r -
60
rassment of riches' they speak of? T h e n thieves plot. Lords
borrow. T h e king taxes. They become miserable in excess
of good fortune. T h e n they complain—
O h t a k e away this b u r d e n of wealth, dereliction would
be so much better and blessed are the poor. Take your
French leave, wealth, be banished Pelf f
Surplus Value!
L u c r e ! O h G o d of Dullness and
Rosicrucian Spirit of amiable banality.
B u t you, luck of t h e m a n in the street (here they swallow
hard and gulp), of unspoiled workers and sweaty peasants,
won't you quickly return to us? T h e repentant sinners then
e m b r a c e the lean and hungry god with open arms. In my
opinion — I interject — they should start a little business
somewhere and m a k e some money. A t this our pliant elf
laughs heartily. But I almost forgot. For their final wish this
peculiar couple chose wisdom—
Wisdom! the treasure that won't let you
down. In fact it buoys you up. It took
them to the land of the Blessed, with St.
Mary and Plato and Rene" Descartes, and with a
Limoges compote on the right hand and a
harpsichord on the left—the light of
philosophy bathed these citizens—and behind
t h e m the sky, the noble purples of Poussin.
61
 PERUKES

O n e day La Fontaine is trying to think of a new subject,

o n e that won't rock the boat. Sex is definitely out for him,
since priests and hypocrites h a v e got him condemned be-
fore. Should he try the theme of friendship? But when he
praised the high dramatic art of ChampmeI6, didn't the
snickers come fast and furious? Still, La Fontaine thinks
it's worth a try: It's clear there have been successes with the
topic."Shouldn't I add my n a m e t o the list? Cicero writing
his sublime De Amicitia in ancient R o m e . What a wonder-
ful piece, so lofty, so respectable! Aside from the Orations;
he'd deserve praise for that o n e effort. A n d Montaigne! —
writing in the quiet Gascon countryside about a friend who
died young. N o w t h e words c o m e back. ' I n the friendship
whereof I s p e a k ' — t h e passage still moves m e — ' o u r souls
mingle and blend in a fusion so complete that the seam that
joins them disappears and is found no more. If pressed to
say why I loved him I'd reply, because it was him, because it
was me.' A writer of stature, of genuine w o r t h ! — t h i n k s
L a Fontaine.
'
T h e king grows more repressive every day—and the
court goes along with him. Apparently, the times have
changed. Isn't it a mark of wisdom for the writer to reflect
those changes? M a y b e I should write about t h e delights of
passion restrained for instance. Or I could always picture
the charms of philosophical discourse—that's quite pop-
ular too. H e r e L a Fontaine pauses and jots down a few

63
i-i
thoughts. 'Two friends,' notes t h e writer, 'they're b o t h vir-
T h e second friend will ask: H a v e you lost m o n e y ? Take
tuous, both have blameless lives.' 'Well, it's a start,' he
this p u r s e — i t ' s filled with drachmas. Did you fight? I have
thinks encouragingly. T wonder how t h e two might l o o k ? my sword —let's go right now. O r are you suffering be-
Should o n e be older and the other younger for i n s t a n c e ? ' cause of love? Why don't you take o n e of m y servants
B u t h e r e the canny Frenchman scents danger — he's on the t h e n ? T o ' a l l this the first friend will-have one answer:
alert for trouble now. 'Yet with a difference in age, they T h a n k you, he'll say. I dreamed you appeared to me. You
think of sex, invariably,' — and h e resolves for t h e m t o b e looked a little pale.
equal in years. 'Just to be on the safe side,' adds La Fon-
taine, T'll have t h e m talk philosophy day in and day o u t ,
I'll m a k e them perfect gentlemen.'
So now t h e subject of his poem's decided. W h a t about a
complication? A n d doesn't every p o e m h a v e t o h a v e a
m o r a l ? — i n s t r u c t i o n ? A n d then the ending, the most im-
p o r t a n t of all. H e weighs the choices. T h e n : I'll choose a
d e b a t e form, I think, it's really t h e style I love best. A n d
when their contest is e n d e d , I'll have them appeal to u s :
R e a d e r , which of us two was the better friend? Deferring
to their betters in taste and understanding, they a d d : You
decide! My plan's an excellent o n e , thinks L a Fontaine
confidently, and I might as well be frank about it, it's o n e
m o r e proof of the genius I ' m famous for, m y glory.
B u t now it's time for L a Fontaine to get down to the nuts
and bolts of his story. H e has to choose this o r that detail at
every point in the plot, at every point in t h e diction he h a s
to select o n e phrase over another. But that's what a writer's
a r t consists in — enlightened choices. So L a F o n t a i n e de-
cides: O n e friend will be upset, but I w o n ' t reveal exactly
why. He'll wake up at night, run to the-other one's house.

64 65
 ATHENAEUS'S STORY RONDO

Two Greeks compared backsides— (The Duchess of Bouillon)

their sex isn't clear. Which
A s for Your Highness, m a d a m , I don't know what I
should t a k e the prize? A n expert's
could write you that would be worthy and cheer you. It
called in, kudos given.
seemed to m e poetry would acquit itself better than simple
T h e older has the honors—
prose, and it seemed right to give you a Parnassian n a m e . I
barely. T h e contest's judge
gave you an Olympian^one once. Couldn't these words be
d e m a n d s p a y m e n t — w h y n o t ? Judge's
set t o music? —
sibling likes t h e younger, they
pair off. In beauty's trials isn't Olympus has her beauties, her well known charms,
it apples and oranges? So each B u t o h ! they're terribly, terribly distant.
gives pleasure to each, all around. M o r t a l suitors fail on t h e instant —
To c o m m e m o r a t e the judgment they vow She'll s u r r e n d e r — t o divine ones! — h e r arms.
to build a chapel—to Callipygian
Venus, the o n e with t h e fine ass, (Mademoiselle de ChampmeJ6)
also called Apollo. T h e n a m e
I'm in a famous place, mademoiselle. Now guess whether
of their philosophic sect I don't
I ' m thinking of you or not. I who in the most brilliant
r e m e m b e r , but their religion would
court wouldn't forget y o u ! Doubtless he's spoken with you,
b e mine.
c h a r m e d by you as h e is. This would b e a great relief for
the pain I feel in no longer seeing you. D o e s he know I've
followed his advice to the letter? A n d in perfect fidelity
to both sloth and sleep. O u t of gratitude he ought to have
sent m e news of you a n d him. I forgive him uncondition-
ally. T h e pleasures of your company fill our hearts and all
other impressions fail.
You're right to say it, mademoiselle. My b o r e d o m would

66 67
 h a v e galloped o n a h e a d of m e before I lost sight of t h e last
village steeple. This is so t r u e t h a t until my r e t u r n t o Paris
m y melancholy w o n ' t b e dissipated.
H e ' s down in t h e m o u t h again, tragic'LA FONTAINE;
H e ' s b e e n moping s i n c e W h i t s u n in pity's l a c k ;
W h a t can cure or teach him comedy's m a s k
A g a i n t o u s e ? W o n d r o u s CHAMPMELE.
H e r e ' s t h e list of w h a t fails t o m o v e m e since you k e e p hap-
piness a b o u t you privately o n your p e r s o n : woods, fields,
streams a n d all n y m p h s of t h e m e a d o w s . D o n ' t you k n o w
t h e r e a s o n I w a n t t o l e a v e ? I ' m busy with my affairs a n d
d o n ' t k n o w w h e n it'll end. Disgusting — m o r t g a g e s , prop-
erty a r r a n g e m e n t s , endless columns of figures! N o w if I
have language, it's your business. T h a t I can surely claim.
T h o u g h not d e c l a i m — I ' m hardly t h e actress you are. I
w o u l d n ' t try.
Would you ask M o n s i e u r R a c i n e if h e ' d write t o m e ? I ' d
t a k e it as a kindness, I assure you. I h o p e he'll speak of
your comedic triumphs. If h e d i d n ' t t u r n t h e m t o your ac-
c o u n t — a n d his — I ' d b e greatly surprised. I flatter myself
he'll certainly write if y o u think of m e . I ' m q u i t e s u r e of t h e
agreeableness of this news as I also a m t h a t you will never
find a t r u e r , m o r e faithful servant t h a n
•).
DE LA FONTAINE
68
( T o the S a m e )
Since you are t h e best and most pleasant of friends a n d
sympathize with w h a t h a p p e n s t o your friends, I'll tell you
something. I'll tell you w h a t they d o w h e n y o u ' r e away.
D r i n k from s u n u p t o sunset—water,- p u n c h , l e m o n a d e
etc. — r e f r e s h m e n t s for those deprived of you. In your ab-
sence w e languish in u n b e a r a b l e h e a t . A n d y o u , m a d -
e m o i s e l l e — w h a t d o you d o ? Wait, d o n ' t tell m e ! I see it
all * from h e r e . You please a n d accumulate hearts o n
hearts — all day long. Soon everything will belong t o t h e
king of F r a n c e a n d C h a m p m e l e \ I w o n ' t b o t h e r t o ask
a b o u t those others, t h e king's, but what d o your courtiers
d o ? A r e you dispelling M o n s i e u r d e la Fare's general irrita-
bleness? A n d w h a t a b o u t L o r d T h u n d e r and Lightning?
A l a s ! — I suppose h e m a k e s small gains at t h e gaming t a b l e
since — n o w that he's acquired your favors — h e could
hardly m a k e large ones. O n that ledger sheet t h e balance
d o e s n ' t m a t t e r . O n c e they h a v e you, they stop wanting
larger fortunes. H o w could that lord so completely have
forgotten m e — h i s faithful servant! Tell m e you believe it.
O n his r e t u r n I'll resign myself t o the continuous b o m b a r d -
m e n t s of his wit.
69
 THE SHRIMP AND H E R D A U G H T E R
to it. This is always good business,
civilian or military. But let's return
T h e wise m e n of yesterday, like the shrimp,
to the subject.
used t o walk backwards: in this maritime custom
o n e turns one's back on safety. It's an artifice
of people who want to dissimulate deeper e n d s ;
they face opposite their true goal, and
their adversaries go the other way. I'll paint
my subject small since my background is so large.
I'll describe a C o n q u e r o r — w h o by himself disabled
hydras of enemies. W h a t his intention is
and what it i s n ' t — t h a t ' s always a secret. H e
conquers. D o eyes see what he hides? Hardly.
A r e t h e fates o v e r t u r n e d ? His rushing
torrent sweeps everything before him, and a h u n d r e d
gods are feeble before this Jupiter. L o u i s
and FATE become the same. But to our fable.
M o t h e r shrimp says one day to her daughter,
'My goodness, how you crawl, child! Won't you
J go straight?' ' I ' m like you,' says "the daughter.
' I ' m like t h e whole family. Should I go straight
when the rest of us are crooked? I'm like
all shrimps.' This shrimp knows nature.
A s the twig is bent. Homely habits
rule everything for good a n d ill.
They form the wise and the noodleheads
(as well as everything in between). A n d as for
turning my back on my goal — I'll come back

70
71
m

NOTES

Translations/Alterations/La Fontaine... from biographical material.

A Mutilation . . . Les Souris et le chat-huant, Fables, 11:9.
To Monseigneur... A monseigneur le due de Bourgogne, Fables, bk, 12.
Book 12 # 5 . . . Le Vieux Chat et la jeune souris, Fables, 12:5.
Excerpts from a Letter to his Wife... Relation d'un voyage de Paris en
Limousin, Lettre 1.
The Two Pigeons... Les Deux Pigeons, Fables, 9:2.
Death... La Mort et le malheureux, La Mort et le bucheron, Fables,
1:15 & 16.
Wonders in Aesop's Life . . . La Vie d'Esope le Phrygien, Fables.
Pig, Goat, Sheep... Le Cochon, la chevre et le mouton, Fables, 8:12.
Book 1 # 6 . . . La Genisse, la chevre et la brebis, en society avec le lion,
Fables, 1:6.
Essay/Lack of Common Understanding... Introduction, Fables, bk. 12.
Bob and Bruce's Version of La Fontaine's Version of a Medieval Boccac-
cio Story . . . Les Oies de Frere Philippe, Contes et nouvelles, 3:1.
Lion,Wolf, Fox.. .Le Lion, le loup, et le renard... Fables, 8:3.
Essay/I Blame... Le Cerf se voyant dans I'eau, Fables, 6:9.
Philosophy... Les Devineresses, Fables, 7:14.
A Peasant Offends his Lord: Money Talks.. .Conte d'un paysan qui
avait offense son seigneur, Contes et nouvelles, 1:11.
Mystical Aspirations . . . Le Songe d'un habitant du Mogol, Fables, 11:4.
Fable; Excerpt from a Letter... La Chatte metamorphosed en femme,
Fables, 2:18; Voyage en Limousin, Lettre 1.
The Rat and the Oyster... Le Rat et l'huitre, Fables, 8:9.
Husband, Wife, Thief... Le Mart, la femme et le voleur, Fables, 9:15.
The Abbess... L'Abbesse, Contes et nouvelles, 4:2.
Three Wishes . . . Les Souhaits, Fables, 7:5.
Perukes.. .Les Deux Amis, Fables, 8:11.
Athenaeus's Story... Conte tir6 d' Athen6e, Contes et nouvelles, 1:6.
Rondo... Lettre a la duchesse de Bouillon, juin, 1671; a Champmele,
decembre, 1675; a Champmdle, 1678.
The Shrimp and her Daughter... L'Ecrevisse et sa fille, Fables, 12:10.