The pseudonym "Philo Vaihinger" has been abandoned. All posts have been and are written by me, Joseph Auclair.

Tuesday, May 13, 2014

La Fontaine on Death


Both versions exaggerate the value of mere life, the tenacity of the will to live, or fear of death.

DEATH AND THE WRETCH

A wretch, who in misfortunes pined,
Daily invoked the aid of Death :
“ Come quick,” he said, “I yield my breath ;
Come, lovely Death ! and ease my mind.”
The monarch dire to please him came,
Knocked at the door, announced his name ;
Entered the room and near him drew.—
“ What,” cried he, trembling, “ do I view !
Hence, hideous object, from my sight !
I shake with horror and affright !
O Death, keep off ! Away ! ill-omened wight !”

Mecaenas somewhere thus exclaimed,
Let fate all vigour from my body take,
Let me be gouty, handless, maimed,
Let fate a moving trunk my body make ;
More than content do I the bargain strike,

Never to die.—Many have said the like.

LA MORT ET LE MALHEUREUX

    Un Malheureux appelait tous les jours
              La mort à son secours;
    Ô Mort, lui disait-il, que tu me sembles belle !
Viens vite, viens finir ma fortune cruelle.
La mort crut en venant, l'obliger en effet.
Elle frappe à sa porte, elle entre, elle se montre.
    Que vois-je ! cria-t-il, ôtez-moi cet objet ;
         Qu'il est hideux ! que sa rencontre
         Me cause d'horreur et d'effroi !
N'approche pas, ô Mort ; ô Mort, retire-toi.
         Mécénas fut un galant homme :
Il a dit quelque part : Qu'on me rende impotent,
Cul-de-jatte, goutteux, manchot, pourvu qu'en somme
Je vive, c'est assez, je suis plus que content.
Ne viens jamais, ô Mort ; on t'en dit tout autant.

DEATH AND THE WOODMAN

A woodman poor, and sunk in years and woes,
Groaned with the load his weary hands had cut.
Bowed down beneath Time's many-handed blows,
With painful steps he sought his smoky hut.
            At last lie could no farther go—
Laid down his load, reflected on his woe ;
What earthly pleasure had he ever found !
Lived there a poorer wretch this world around !
Often no bread—through wakeful nights oppressed ;
Wife, children, soldiers, taxes, and the rest.
What gloomier picture could his fancy draw ?
He called on Death, and soon the monarch saw.
“What do you want ? ” he asked, as near he strode.
“Please,” said the man, “ help me to raise my load.”
            Death comes, a cure for every cry ;
            Yet we recoil and doubt his skill,
            And trembling hold our motto still,
                Rather to suffer than to die.

LA MORT ET LE BÛCHERON

Un pauvre bûcheron, tout couvert de ramée,
Sous le faix du fagot aussi bien que des ans
Gémissant et courbé, marchait à pas pesants,
Et tâchait de gagner sa chaumine enfumée.
Enfin, n'en pouvant plus d'effort et de douleur,
Il met bas son fagot, il songe à son malheur.
Quel plaisir a-t-il eu depuis qu'il est au monde ?
En est-il un plus pauvre en la machine ronde ?
Point de pain quelquefois, et jamais de repos.
Sa femme, ses enfants, les soldats, les impôts,
              Le créancier et la corvée
Lui font d'un malheureux la peinture achevée.
Il appelle la Mort ; elle vient sans tarder,
               Lui demande ce qu'il faut faire.
               C'est, dit-il, afin de m'aider
A recharger ce bois ; tu ne tarderas guère.

                  Le trépas vient tout guérir ;
                  Mais ne bougeons d'où nous sommes :
                  Plutôt souffrir que mourir,
                  C'est la devise des hommes.

Aesop’s, in one of many English translations.


An Old Man cut himself a bundle of sticks in a wood and started to carry them home.

He had a long way to go, and was tired out before he had got much more than half-way.

Casting his burden on the ground, he called upon Death to come and release him from his life of toil.

The words were scarcely out of his mouth when, much to his dismay, Death stood before him and professed his readiness to serve him.

He was almost frightened out of his wits, but he had enough presence of mind to stammer out, "Good sir, if you'd be so kind, pray help me up with my burden again."


Live forever, no matter what?

Pshaw.

Consider Alzheimer’s, Mad Cow (Creutzfeldt–Jakob disease), or any number of other fates that pretty much erase us without necessarily actually killing us.

Well, live forever if you keep your youth and health?

A theme taken up by Beauvoir in an interesting 1946 novel.


And others in other literary forms.


Including philosophical essays like this famous one by Bernard Williams

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