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Tales and Novels of J. de La Fontaine — Volume 16 by La Fontaine, Jean de, 1621-1695
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A word from our supporters: File extension DCM | This eBook was produced by David Widger [NOTE: There is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the file for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making an entire meal of them. D.W.] OF J. DE LA FONTAINE The Amorous Courtesan Nicaise THE AMOROUS COURTESANIn ev'ry age works miracles a store; Can Catos change to male coquets at ease; And fools make oracles whene'er he please; Turn wolves to sheep, and ev'ry thing so well, That naught remains the former shape to tell: Remember, Hercules, with wond'rous pow'r, And Polyphemus, who would men devour: The one upon a rock himself would fling, And to the winds his am'rous ditties sing; To cut his beard a nymph could him inspire; And, in the water, he'd his face admire. His club the other to a spindle changed, To please the belle with whom he often ranged. But sage Boccace has one, it is confessed, Which seems to me, howe'er we search around, To be a sample, rarely to be found. 'Tis Chimon that I mean, a savage youth, Well formed in person, but the rest uncouth, A bear in mind, but Cupid much can do, LOVE licked the cub, and decent soon he grew. A fine gallant at length the lad appeared; From whence the change?--Fine eyes his bosom cheered The piercing rays no sooner reached his sight, But all the savage took at once to flight; He felt the tender flame; polite became; You'll find howe'er, our tale is not the same. Who oft amused the youth devoid of care, A tender flame within her heart retained, Though haughty, singular, and unrestrained. Not easy 'twas her favours to procure; Rome was the place where dwelled this belle impure; The mitre and the cross with her were naught; Though at her feet, she'd give them not a thought; And those who were not of the highest class, No moments were allowed with her to pass. A member of the conclave, first in rank, To be her slave, she'd scarcely deign to thank; Unless a cardinal's gay nephew came, And then, perhaps, she'd listen to his flame; The pope himself, had he perceived her charms, Would not have been too good to grace her arms. Her pride appeared in clothes as well as air, And on her sparkled gold and jewels rare; In all the elegance of dress arrayed, Embroidery and lace, her taste displayed. And sought at once her haughty soul to tame; A Roman gentleman, of finest form, Soon in her bosom raised a furious storm; Camillus was the name this youth had got; The nymph's was Constance, that LOVE'S arrow shot: Though he was mild, good humoured, and serene, No sooner Constance had his person seen, And in her breast received the urchin's dart, Than throbs, and trembling fears o'erwhelmed her heart. The flame she durst declare no other way, Than by those sighs, which feelings oft betray. Till then, nor shame nor aught could her retain; Now all was changed:--her bashfulness was plain. As none, howe'er, could think the subtle flame Would lie concealed with such a haughty dame, Camillus nothing of the kind supposed. Though she incessantly by looks disclosed, That something unrevealed disturbed the soul, And o'er her mind had absolute control. Whatever presents Constance might receive, Still pensive sighs her breast appeared to heave: Her tints of beauty too, began to fail, And o'er the rose, the lily to prevail. |