The Country Squire
Tomas Yriarte. An anonymous translation of one of the
‘Literary Fables.’
A country squire, of greater wealth than wit
(For fools are often blessed with fortune’s smile),
Had built a splendid house, and furnished it
In splendid style.
“One thing is wanting,” said a friend; “for, though
The rooms are fine, the furniture profuse,
You lack a library, dear sir, for show,
If not for use.”
“’Tis true; but ’zounds!” replied the squire with glee,
“The lumber-room in yonder northern wing
(I wonder I ne’er thought of it) will be
The very thing.
“I’ll have it fitted up without delay
With shelves and presses of the newest mode
And rarest wood, befitting every way
A squire’s abode.”
“And when the whole is ready, I’ll dispatch
My coachman—a most knowing fellow—down
To buy me, by admeasurement, a batch
Of books in town.”
But ere the library was half supplied
With all its pomps of cabinet and shelf,
The booby squire repented him, and cried
Unto himself:—
“This room is much more roomy than I thought;
Ten thousand volumes hardly would suffice
To fill it, and would cost, however bought,
A plaguy price.”
“Now as I only want them for their looks,
It might, on second thoughts, be just as good,
And cost me next to nothing, if the books
Were made of wood.”
“It shall be so, I’ll give the shaven deal
A coat of paint—a colorable dress,
To look like calf or vellum, and conceal
Its nakedness.”
“And, gilt and lettered with the author’s name,
Whatever is most excellent and rare
Shall be, or seem to be (’tis all the same),
Assembled there.”
The work was done; the simulated hoards
Of wit and wisdom round the chamber stood,
In binding some; and some, of course, in boards,
Where all were wood.
From bulky folios down to slender twelves
The choicest tomes, in many an even row
Displayed their lettered backs upon the shelves,
A goodly show.
With such a stock as seemingly surpassed
The best collection ever formed in Spain,
What wonder if the owner grew at last
Supremely vain?
What wonder, as he paced from shelf to shelf,
And conned their titles, that the squire began,
Despite his ignorance, to think himself
A learned man?
Let every amateur, who merely looks
To backs and binding, take the hint, and sell
His costly library—for painted books
Would serve as well.