| L'AIGLE ET L'ESCARBOT - II.8 | THE EAGLE AND THE BEETLE | ||||||
| Jean de la Fontaine | trans. Gordon Pirie | ||||||
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L'aigle donnait la chasse à maître Jean Lapin, Qui droit à son terrier s'enfuyait au plus vite. Le trou de l'escarbot se rencontre en chemin. Je laisse à penser si ce gîte Était sûr; mais où mieux? Jean Lapin s'y blottit. L'aigle fondant sur lui nonobstant cet asile, L'escarbot intercède, et dit: "Princesse des oiseaux, il vous est fort facile D'enlever malgré moi ce pauvre malheureux; Mais ne me faites pas cet affront, je vous prie; Et, puisque Jean Lapin vous demande la vie, Donnez-la-lui, de grâce, ou l'ôtez à tous deux: C'est mon voisin, c'est mon compère." L'oiseau de Jupiter, sans répondre un seul mot, Choque de l'aile l'escarbot, L'étourdit, l'oblige à se taire, Enlève Jean Lapin. L'escarbot indigné Vole au nid de l'oiseau, fracasse en son absence Ses oeufs, ses tendres oeufs, sa plus douce
L'aigle étant de retour et voyant ce ménage, Remplit le ciel de cris, et, pour comble de rage, Ne sait sur qui venger le tort qu'elle a souffert. Elle gémit en vain, sa plainte au vent se perd. Il fallut pour cet an vivre en mère affligée. L'an suivant elle mit son nid en lieu plus haut. L'escarbot prend son temps, fait faire aux oeufs
Ce second deuil fut tel que l'écho de ces bois N'en dormit de plus de six mois. L'oiseau qui porte Ganymède Du monarque des dieux enfin implore l'aide, Dépose en son giron ses oeufs, et croit qu'en paix Ils seront dans ce lieu, que pour ses intérêts Jupiter se verra contraint de les défendre: Hardi qui les irait là prendre. Aussi ne les y prit-on pas. Leur ennemi changea de note, Sur la robe du dieu fit tomber une crotte: Le dieu la secouant jeta les oeufs à bas. Quand l'aigle sut l'inadvertance, Elle menaça Jupiter D'abandonner sa cour, d'aller vivre au désert, De quitter toute dépendance, Avec mainte autre extravagance. Le pauvre Jupiter se tut. Devant son tribunal l'escarbot comparut, Fit sa plainte, et conta l'affaire. On fit entendre à l'aigle enfin qu'elle avait tort. Mais, les deux ennemis ne voulant point d'accord, Le monarque des dieux s'avisa, pour bien faire, De transporter le temps où l'aigle fait l'amour En une autre saison, quand la race escarbote Est en quartier d'hiver, et comme la marmotte, Se cache et ne voit point le jour. |
An eagle once swooped down to catch A rabbit, who made off with due dispatch Towards his lair. It wasn’t near, And he despaired of getting there In time, when going past a beetle’s hole, He thought: "Why not?" And in he shot. Don’t ask me how a beetle’s hole Could possibly accommodate a rabbit. It couldn’t; and the eagle, landing there, could
The rabbit gave a squeal, And looked up at the bird in mute appeal. The beetle, who had watched this scene, Was moved to intervene. He had a strong Regard for Master Rabbit - they had long Been friendly neighbours in the grass - And when he saw him in this desperate pass, The insect spoke up fearlessly and said: "Queen of the Birds, I can’t, of course, Prevent you taking off my friend by force; But as one flying creature to another, I beg you, spare this wingless quadruped, Who is my friend and brother." The eagle didn’t say a word - Just knocked the beetle over with her wing, And took off with the rabbit. Stirred By indignation now, and wondering How to avenge his friend, the beetle took off too. Up to the eagle’s nest he flew. She wasn’t here; her eggs were, though, And striking at the very spring Of aquilinity, he broke them every one. The eagle, when she found what had been done, Uttered such piercing cries of woe As set the hills and valleys echoing For miles around. And not to know The culprit only made it worse: No one to curse, No one to be revenged upon. The wind dispersed her useless cries. With all maternal prospects gone, A barren year stretched mournfully ahead And it was long before she dried her eyes Or would be comforted. Next year she nested higher still. The beetle’s memory was long: he searched until He found it, and revenged the rabbit’s death A second time. You should have heard The strident lamentations of the injured bird! For months no local echo could draw breath. At last she sought Jove’s help, thinking She had some right to it, considering The hours he’d kept her Perched on his sceptre Or standing at his feet with outspread wing, Or times she’d carried that young son of Troas, Ganymede, upon her back - Or so at least the painters like to show us. She thought that if she laid them on Jove’s knee, Her eggs would be secure from all attack. And wouldn’t you agree? What enemy would dare To come and break them there? None did. Instead, the beetle dropped a turd Upon the unhatched offspring of the bird, And Jove, in shaking off the mess, Shook off the eggs as well. Who could express The mother’s feelings now? She dared to tell Her master that she’d leave his court, And go and live in desert places, And more extravagancies of the sort That females rise to in these cases. Jove was abashed, and cast about in vain For what might ease her pain. He called a meeting, and the beetle came And put his point of view. They tried to make The eagle see that she had been to blame. She wouldn’t hear of it; so, for the sake Of peace and quiet, Jove decreed That eagles, from now on, should breed Much earlier in the year, when beetles, like moles, Are underground, and fast asleep inside their holes. |
Trans. Copyright © Estate of Gordon Pirie 2002