| L'ARAIGNÉE ET L'HIRONDELLE - X.6 | THE SPIDER AND THE SWALLOW |
| Jean de la Fontaine | trans. Gordon Pirie |
|
"O Jupiter, qui sus de ton cerveau, Par un secret d'accouchement nouveau, Tirer Pallas, jadis mon ennemie, Entends ma plainte une fois en ta vie. Progné me vient enlever les morceaux; Caracolant, frisant l'air et les eaux, Elle me prend mes mouches à ma porte: Miennes je puis les dire; et mon réseau En serait plein sans ce maudit oiseau: Je l'ai tissu de matière assez forte." Ainsi, d'un discours insolent, Se plaignait l'araignée autrefois tapissière, Et qui lors étant filandière Prétendait enlacer tout insecte volant. La soeur de Philomèle, attentive à sa proie, Malgré le bestion happait mouches dans l’air, Pour ses petits, pour elle, impitoyable joie, Que ses enfants gloutons, d'un bec toujours ouvert, D'un ton demi-formé, bégayante couvée, Demandaient par des cris encor mal entendus. La pauvre aragne, n'ayant plus Que la tête et les pieds, artisans superflus, Se vit elle-même enlevée. L'hirondelle en passant emporta toile et tout, Et l'animal pendant au bout. Jupin pour chaque état mit deux tables au monde, L’adroit, le vigilant, et le fort sont assis À la première; et les petits Mangent leur reste à la seconde. |
"Great Jove, you know I was a woman born, And how I lost my human form When Pallas (who sprang armed out of your brain When Vulcan pierced it to relieve the pain) Grew jealous of my weaving, Tore up my work and left me grieving; And how I hanged myself, and turned Into a spider, and instead of weaving, learned To spin. Great Jove, please listen to me now And hear me tell you how The swallow (who was once a woman too, Till she was changed by you) Keeps eating all my flies. Instead of staying in one place Like me, she dashes over land and water, Uttering her piercing cries, And eating flies at such a giddy pace, That I don’t get a quarter of the catch I should My web is spun of good strong twine, and would Be full, but for that greedy bird!" These were the plaintive words The spinster used - Arachne was her name - Who thought she ought to have first claim On every fly that flew. But Jove, asleep upon his throne, Ignored her; so the swallow still pursued Her prey to feed her clutch of piping brood, Six tiny bags of skin and bone That waited all day open-mouthed for more. But there was worse in store For the poor spider. Famished, thin, all legs and head, She spun her web higher and wider, Till one day, as the swallow sped Along, a wing-tip store the net, and bore Away the spinster with it, clinging to a thread. For every rank of animate creation Great Jove has set two tables up. The strong, the crafty and the watchful sup At one. Their leavings, at the other, are the ration Of the weak - which sometimes means starvation. |
Trans. Copyright © Estate of Gordon Pirie 2002