The Funeral of the Lioness
"The Funeral of the Lioness" is not a standalone book, but rather, it is one of the famed fables written by French poet Jean de La Fontaine. This fable, like many of his others, uses animals to tell a moral or satirical tale. In this case, the story involves the death of the lion's wife, the lioness, and the lack of sincere grief displayed by other animals, illustrating the theme of hypocrisy and false empathy.
The Lion lost his wife, one day; And everybody made his way To bring the prince that consolation Which makes us feel our desolation. The King announced the funeral On such a day, to one and all. They regulate the obsequy, And marshal the vast company: As you may guess, each one was there; The prince's groanings filled the air; And the den shook, above, below-- Lions have got great lungs, you know. As the King does, all the others do; So the best courtiers blubbered too. Let me define a court: a place Sad--gay; where every changeful face, Careless of joy, is ready still To change again at the King's will; And if some cannot change, they try To watch the change in the King's eye: Chameleons, apes, in every feature; Plastic and pliant in their nature. One soul by turns fills many bodies: These knaves are soulless, which more odd is. But to return. The Stag alone Uttered no single sigh or groan. It could not well be otherwise; This death avenged old injuries. The Queen had cruel, mischief done; Strangled his wife, and slain his son: Therefore he shed no single tear. A flatterer noticed, hovering near; Moreover, the spy saw him smile. The anger of a King, meanwhile (I may observe, with Solomon, The wisest man beneath the sun), Is terrible; but to our friend No book could much instruction lend. "Base creature of the woods!" with scorn The Lion cried, "you do not mourn! What should prevent our sacred claws Teaching you friendship's holy laws? Come, Wolves, avenge that Queen of mine: Offer this victim on her shrine!" The Stag replied, "The time for grief Is passed; tears now are useless, Chief. Your wife, whose features well I know, Appeared to me an hour ago, Half hid in flowers. 'My friend,' she said, 'For me your tears are vainly shed. Weep not: in the Elysian fields I've every pleasure that life yields, Conversing with my holy friends; But for a time the King descends To a despair that charms me so.'" Scarce had he spoken thus, when, lo! "A miracle!" the courtiers cry. The Stags rewarded, instantly; And safely, without punishment, Back to his native woods is sent. With dreams amuse a listening king, With falsehoods sweet and flattering; Whatever rage within may burn, He'll gorge the bait, and friendly turn.
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