THE FABLES
OF
LA FONTAINE.
TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH VERSE BY WALTER THORNBURY,
WITH
ILLUSTRATIONS
BY
GUSTAVE DORÉ.
CASSELL, PETTER, AND GALPIN,
LONDON AND NEW YORK.
1886
[Illustration: Jean de la Fontaine]
CONTENTS
As Essay on the Life and Works of Jean de la Fontaine
The Life of Æsop, the Phrygian
Dedication to Monseigneur the Dauphin
Preface
To Monseigneur the Dauphin
The Grasshopper and the Ant
The Raven and the Fox
The Frog that Wished to make Herself as Big as the Ox
The Two Mules
The Wolf and the Dog
The Heifer, the She-goat, and the Lamb, in Partnership with the Lion
The Wallet
The Swallow and the Little Birds
The Town Rat and the Country Rat
The Man and his Image
The Dragon with many Heads, and the Dragon with many Tails
The Wolf and the Lamb
The Robbers and the Ass
Death and the Woodcutter
Simonides rescued by the Gods
Death and the Unhappy Man
The Wolf turned Shepherd
The Child and the Schoolmaster
The Pullet and the Pearl
The Drones and the Bees
The Oak and the Reed
Against Those Who are Hard to Please
The Council held by the Rats
The Wolf Pleading against the Fox before the Ape
The Middle-Aged Man and the Two Widows
The Fox and the Stork
The Lion and the Gnat
The Ass Laden with Sponges, and the Ass Laden with Salt
The Lion and the Rat
The Dove and the Ant
The Astrologer Who let Himself Fall into the Well
The Hare and the Frogs
The Two Bulls and the Frog
The Peacock Complaining to Juno
The Bat and the Two Weasels
The Bird Wounded by an Arrow
The Miller, his Son, and the Ass
The Cock and the Fox
The Frogs Who Asked for a King
The Dog and Her Companion
The Fox and the Grapes
The Eagle and the Beetle
The Raven Who Wished to Imitate the Eagle
The Wolves and the Sheep
The Cat Changed into a Woman
Philomel and Progne
The Lion and the Ass
The Cat and the Old Rat
A Will Interpreted by Æsop
The Lion in Love
The Fox and the Goat
The Shepherd and the Sea
The Drunkard and His Wife
King Caster and the Members
The Monkey and the Dolphin
The Eagle, the Wild Sow, and the Cat
The Miser Who Lost His Treasure
The Gout and the Spider
The Eye of the Master
The Wolf and the Stork
The Lion Defeated by Man
The Swan and the Cook
The Wolf, the Goat, and the Kid
The Wolf, the Mother, and the Child
The Lion Grown Old
The Drowned Woman
The Weasel in the Granary
The Lark and Her Little Ones With the Owner of a Field
The Fly and the Ant
The Gardener and his Master
The Woodman and Mercury
The Ass and the Little Dog
Man and the Wooden Idol
The Jay Dressed in Peacock's Plumes
The Little Fish and the Fisherman
Battle Between the Rats and Weasles
The Camel and the Drift-Wood
The Frog and the Rat
The Old Woman and Her Servants
The Animals Sending a Tribute to Alexander
The Horse Wishing to be Revenged on the Stag
The Fox and the Bust
The Horse and the Wolf
The Saying of Socrates
The Old Man and His Children
The Oracle and the Impious Man
The Mountain in Labour
Fortune and the Little Child
The Earthen Pot and the Iron Pot
The Hare's Ears
The Fox with His Tail Cut Off
The Satyr and the Passer-By
The Doctors
The Labouring Man and His Children
The Hen with the Golden Eggs
The Ass that Carried the Relics
The Serpent and the File
The Hare and the Partridge
The Stag and the Vine
The Lion Going to War
The Ass in the Lion's Skin
The Eagle and the Owl
The Shepherd and the Lion
The Lion and the Hunter
Phœbus and Boreas
The Bear and the Two Friends
Jupiter and the Farmer
The Stag Viewing Himself in the Stream
The Cockerel, the Cat, and the Little Rat
The Fox, the Monkey, and the Other Animals
The Mule That Boasted of His Family
The Old Man and the Ass
The Countryman and the Serpent
The Hare and the Tortoise
The Sick Lion and the Fox
The Ass and His Masters
The Sun and the Frogs
The Carter Stuck in the Mud
The Doc and the Shadow
The Bird-Catcher, the Hawk, and the Skylark
The Horse and the Ass
The Charlatan
The Young Widow
Discord
The Animals Sick of the Plague
The Rat Who Retired From the World
The Heron
The Man Badly Married
The Maiden
The Wishes
The Vultures and the Pigeons
The Court of the Lion
The Milk-Maid and the Milk-Pail
The Curate and the Corpse
The Man Who Runs After Fortune, and the Man Who Waits for Her
The Two Fowls
The Coach and the Fly
The Ingratitude and Injustice of Men Towards Fortune
An Animal in the Moon
The Fortune-Teller
The Cobbler and the Banker
The Cat, the Weasel, and the Little Rabbit
The Lion, the Wolf, and the Fox
The Head and the Tail of the Serpent
The Dog Which Carried Round His Neck His Master's Dinner
Death and the Dying Man
The Power of Fables
The Bear and the Amateur of Gardening
The Man and the Flea
The Woman and the Secret
Tircis and Amaranth
The Joker and the Fishes
The Rat and the Oyster
The Two Friends
The Pig, the Goat, and the Sheep
The Rat and the Elephant
The Funeral or the Lioness
The Bashaw and the Merchant
The Horoscope
The Torrent and the River
The Ass and the Dog
The Two Dogs and the Dead Ass
The Advantage of Being Clever
The Wolf and the Hunter
Jupiter and the Thunderbolts
The Falcon and the Capon
The Two Pigeons
Education
The Madman Who Sold Wisdom
The Cat and the Rat
Democritus and the Anderanians
The Oyster and Its Claimants
The Fraudulent Trustee
Jupiter and the Traveller
The Ape and the Leopard
The Acorn and the Gourd
The School-Boy, the Pedant, and the Nursery Gardener
The Cat and the Fox
The Sculptor and the Statue of Jupiter
The Mouse Metamorphosed Into a Girl
The Monkey and the Cat
The Wolf and the Starved Dog
The Wax Candle
"Not Too Much"
The Two Rats, the Fox, and the Egg
The Cormorant and the Fishes
The Husband, the Wife, and the Robber
The Shepherd and the King
The Two Men and the Treasure
The Shepherd and His Flock
The Kite and the Nightingale
The Fish and the Shepherd Who Played on the Clarionet
The Man and the Snake
The Tortoise and the Two Ducks
The Two Adventurers and the Talisman
The Miser and his Friend
The Wolf and the Peasants
The Rabbits
The Swallow and the Spider
The Partridge and the Fowls
The Lion
The Dog Whose Ears Were Cut
The Two Parrots, the Monarch, and His Son
The Peasant of the Danube
The Lioness and She-Bear
The Merchant, the Nobleman, the Shepherd, and the King's Son
The Old Man and the Three Young Men
The Gods as Instructors of Jupiter's Son
The Owl and the Mice
The Companions of Ulysses
The Farmer, the Dog, and the Fox
The Dream of an Inhabitant of Mogul
The Two Goats
The Lion, the Ape, and the Two Asses
The Wolf and the Fox
The Sick Stag
The Cat and the Two Sparrows
The Miser and the Ape
To the Duke of Burgundy
The Old Cat and the Young Mouse
The Bat, the Bush, and the Duck
The Eagle and the Magpie
The Quarrel of the Dogs and the Cats; and, Also, That of the Cats and
the Mice
Love and Folly
The Wolf and the Fox
The Crab and Its Daughter
The Forest and the Woodman
The Fox, the Flies, and the Hedge-Hog
The Hawk, the King, and the Falcon
The Fox and the Turkeys
The Crow, the Gazelle, the Tortoise, and the Rat
The English Fox
The Ape
The Fox, the Wolf, and the Horse
The League of the Rats
A Scythian Philosopher
Daphnis and Alcimadura
The Elephant and Jupiter's Monkey
The Madman and the Philosopher
The Frogs and the Sun
The Arbitrator, Almoner, and Hermit
LIST OF FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS.
The Grasshopper and the Ant
The Two Mules
The Swallow and the Little Birds
The Town Rat and the Country Rat
The Wolf and the Lamb
The Robbers and the Ass
Death and the Woodcutter
The Wolf Turned Shepherd
The Oak and the Reed
The Council Held by the Rats
The Lion and the Gnat
The Lion and the Rat
The Hare and the Frogs
The Peacock Complaining to Juno
The Miller, His Son, and the Ass
The Frogs Who Asked For a King
The Fox and the Grapes
The Wolves and the Sheep
Philomel and Progne
The Cat and the Old Rat
The Lion in Love
The Shepherd and the Sea
The Monkey and the Dolphin
The Miser Who Lost His Treasure
The Eye of the Master
The Wolf, the Mother, and the Child
The Lark and Her Little Ones
The Woodman and Mercury
The Little Fish and the Fisherman
The Old Woman and Her Servants
The Horse and the Wolf
Fortune and the Little Child
The Doctors
The Hen With the Golden Eggs
The Stag and the Vine
The Eagle and the Owl
The Bear and the Two Friends
The Stag Viewing Himself in the Stream
The Countryman and the Serpent
The Sick Lion and the Fox
The Carter Stuck in the Mud
The Young Widow
The Animals Sick of the Plague
The Maiden
The Vultures and the Pigeons
The Milkmaid and the Milk-Pail
The Two Fowls
An Animal in the Moon
The Fortune-Teller (To face page)
The Cobbler and the Banker
The Lion, the Wolf, and the Fox
The Dog and His Master's Dinner
The Bear and the Amateur of Gardening
Tircis and Amaranth
The Rat and the Elephant
The Bashaw and the Merchant
The Torrent and the River
The Two Dogs and the Dead Ass
The Wolf and the Hunter
The Two Pigeons
The Madman Who Sold Wisdom
The Oyster and Its Claimants
Jupiter and the Traveller
The Cat and the Fox
The Monkey and the Cat
The Two Rats, the Fox, and the Egg
The Cormorant and the Fishes
The Shepherd and the King
The Fish and the Shepherd Who Played on the Clarionet
The Two Adventurers and the Talisman
The Rabbits
The Lion
The Peasant of the Danube
The Old Man and the Three Young Men
The Owl and the Mice
The Companions of Ulysses
The Two Goats
The Sick Stag
The Eagle and the Magpie
Love and Folly
The Forest and the Woodman
The Fox and the Turkeys
The English Fox
The League of the Rats
Daphnis and Alcimadura
The Arbitrator, Almoner, and Hermit
AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND WORKS
OF
JEAN DE LA FONTAINE.
There are some writers the facts about whom can never be entirely told,
because they are inexhaustible, and speaking of whom we do not fear
to be blamed for repetition, because, though well known, they furnish
topics which never weary. La Fontaine is one of this class. No poet
has been praised oftener, or by more able critics, and of no poet has
the biography been so frequently written, and with such affectionate
minuteness. Nevertheless, it is certain that there will yet arise fresh
critics and new biographers, who will be as regardless as ourselves of
the fact that the subject has been so frequently enlarged upon. And
why, indeed, should we refuse to ourselves, or forbid to others, the
pleasure of speaking of an old friend of our childhood, whose memory is
always fresh and always dear?
This truly worthy man was born in Château-Thierry, a little town of
Champagne, where his father, Charles de la Fontaine, was a supervisor
of woods and forests. His mother, Françoise Piloux, was the daughter
of a mayor of Coulommiers. An amiable but careless child, he was lazy
in his studies, and certainly did not display, by the direction of
his earlier inclinations, the germs of his future genius. At twenty
years of age, after the perusal of some religious works, he formed the
idea that his vocation was the Church, and entered the seminary of
Saint Magloire, where, however, he remained only one year. His example
was followed by his brother Claude, with this difference, that the
latter persevered to the end. On quitting the seminary, La Fontaine,
in the paternal mansion, led that life of idleness and pleasure which
so frequently, especially in the provinces, enervates young men of
family. To bring him back to a more orderly course of life, his father
procured him a wife, and gave him the reversion of his office. He was
then twenty-six years of age, and the demon of poetry had not yet taken
possession of him. La Fontaine never hurried himself about anything.
The accidental recitation in his presence of an ode by Malherbe aroused
in his soul, which had hitherto been devoted to pleasure and idleness,
a taste for poetry. He read the whole of Malherbe's writings with
enthusiasm, and endeavoured to imitate him. Malherbe alone would have
spoiled La Fontaine, had not Pintrel and Maucroix, two of his friends,
led him to the study of the true models. La Fontaine himself has left
a confession of these first flights of his muse. Plato and Plutarch,
amongst the ancients, were his favourite authors; but he could read
them only by the aid of translations, as he had never studied Greek.
Horace, Virgil, and Terence, whose writings he could approach in the
original, also charmed him. Of modern authors his favourites were
Rabelais, Marot, De Periers, Mathurin, Régnier, and D'Urfé, whose
"Astræa" was his especial delight.
Marriage had not by any means fixed his inconstant tastes. Marie
Héricart, whom he had been induced to marry in 1647, was endowed with
beauty and intellect, but was unsupplied with those solid qualities,
love of order, industry, and that firmness of character which might
have exercised a wholesome discipline over her husband. Whilst she
was reading romances, La Fontaine sought amusement away from home, or
brooded either over his own poems or those of his favourite authors.
The natural consequence was, that the affairs of the young people soon
fell into disorder; in addition to this, when La Fontaine's father
died, he left our poet an inheritance encumbered with mortgages, which
had been the only means of paying debts, and preserving the family
estate intact; these became fresh sources of embarrassment to our poet,
who being, as may well be supposed, anything but a man of business,
incapable of self-denial, and unassisted by his wife, soon, as he
himself gaily expressed it, devoured both capital and income, and in a
few years found himself without either.
La Fontaine seems to have confined his duties, as supervisor of woods
and waters, to simply taking long rambles under the venerable trees of
the forests submitted to his care, or to enjoying prolonged slumbers on
the verdant banks of murmuring brooks. And that this was the case we
may reasonably suppose, since at sixty years of age he declared that he
did not know what foresters meant by round timber, ornamental timber,
or <i>bois de touche.</i>
His soul was wrapped up in poetry. His first poems were what might be
called album verses, and could scarcely have been understood beyond
Château-Thierry. These verses, however, obtained so favourable a
reception, that at length he ventured to attempt a comedy. But, as the
faculty of construction had been denied him, he only <i>adapted</i> one
of Terence's plays, changing the names of the characters, and taking
certain liberties with the situations. The piece which he had selected,
the "Eunuchus," was very unsuited to the boards of the French stage,
and he never attempted to get it produced; but he published it, and it
was by means of this mediocre, although neatly versified work, that his
name first became known to the public, when he had already entered his
thirty-third year.
It was about this period that one of his relations, J. Jannart, a
counsellor of the king, presented the poet to Fouquet, for whom
Jannart acted as deputy in the Parliament of Paris. The Surintendant,
partial to men of letters, gave La Fontaine a cordial reception, and
bestowed upon him a liberal pension. La Fontaine became, not a mere
accessory, but one of the most valued elements of the royal luxury of
Fouquet's house, or, rather, court; and it was through his <i>protégé</i>,
at a later period, that Fouquet received the only consolation that
soothed his disgrace. La Fontaine, established as poet-in-ordinary to
Fouquet, received a pension of a thousand livres, on condition that he
furnished, once in every three months, a copy of laudatory verses. He
was henceforth a guest at a perpetual round of fêtes; his eyes were
dazzled, his heart was moved, and his mind at last awoke. The years
which he passed in the midst of this voluptuous magnificence were years
of enchantment, of which he has left traces in the "Songe de Vaux," the
earliest indication of a talent which was to develop into genius. The
first efforts of his muse at this period were laid at the shrine of
<i>gratitude</i>, but <i>grief</i> more happily inspired him, for the "Elegy to
the Nymphs of Vaux," the subject matter of which was the disgrace of
the Surintendant, raised him to the front rank amongst the masters of
his art. Up to this time La Fontaine had been only a pleasant, lively,
and ingenious versifier; but on this occasion he proved himself a true
poet, and the lines which we have just named are still regarded as
amongst the choicest productions of the sort in the French language.
"La Fontaine did not merely bewail, in the fall of Fouquet, the loss
of his own hopes and pleasures, but the misfortunes of the one friend
to whom he was gratefully attached, and of whose brilliant qualities
he had the highest admiration. The emotion which he expressed was no
fleeting one, for, some years afterwards, when passing by Amboise, the
faithful friend desired to visit the apartment in which Fouquet had
endured the first period of his imprisonment. He could not enter it,
but paused on the threshold, weeping bitterly; and it was only at the
approach of night that he could be induced to leave the spot."
Our poet's success amongst the crowd of brilliant men and distinguished
women who formed Fouquet's court, could never be understood, if we gave
full credence to those stories of odd eccentricities, simplicities, and
blunders of which he has so frequently been made the hero. It cannot be
denied that he was frequently a dreamer, absorbed in his own thoughts,
and too apt to be credulous and absent in mind; but the greeting which
was accorded to him, and the eagerness with which his acquaintance was
courted in such a place, are sufficient evidences that he could be a
charming companion when he pleased. He could be abstracted enough when
surrounded by uncongenial spirits; he opened his heart only to those
who pleased him: but on his friends he lavishly bestowed his joyous but
refined wit, and his delightful <i>bonhomie.</i> The inborn carelessness
of his nature rendered him averse to everything like effort; he was
dumb to those who knew not how to touch the keynote of his soul; to
such he was present, indeed, in the body, but his soul was cold and
inharmonious. It may even be added, that reverie with him was a species
of politeness by which he was wont to conceal his weariness. On such
occasions he doubtless fled to the companionship of his fabulous
beasts, although he refrained from saying so. Abstraction was to La
Fontaine a means of becoming independent, and it is not, therefore,
very surprising that he should have allowed people to attribute to him,
in an exaggerated degree, a defect which he found so useful.
Fouquet's disgrace threw La Fontaine once more into that family life
for the earnest and monotonous duties of which he had now grown more
than ever unfitted. A son had been born to him, and this might have
been supposed to attach him to his home; but the truth is, that
children, whom he has for so many generations amused, were regarded
by La Fontaine as his natural enemies, and he never let slip any
occasion of expressing this opinion. "The little people," as he called
them, were always obnoxious to him. It must be admitted that they are
importunate, noisy, ever clamorous for small attentions, and they
appear tyrannical to the last degree, in the eyes, at least, of those
who have no warm affection for them. And it must also be admitted that
La Fontaine was frequently their rival; for he always desired to be,
and was, the spoilt child of the house, the child whose caprices were
ever humoured, whose tastes were ever consulted. His life was, indeed,
one long period of childhood. He arrived at manhood, became grey, and
grew old, without ceasing to be a child; and to understand him rightly
we must remember this fact. It is the key to, and some excuse for, that
neglect of all serious duties which we should have to severely blame in
him, if we applied to his case the rules of rigorous morality.
Constituted as he was, La Fontaine would naturally seize every
opportunity of quitting his family and that Château-Thierry which he
now regarded as a species of tomb. To distract himself from his grief,
whilst apparently clinging to it more closely, he followed to Limoges
his relation Jannart, who had been exiled by <i>lettre de cachet</i> with
Madame Fouquet, to whom he served as secretary and steward. Our poet
has written a narrative of this journey in a series of letters to his
wife, interspersed with pretty verses, and abounding in vivacity. His
stay at Limoges was short, and we soon after find him dividing his
time between Paris and Château-Thierry, sometimes alone, and sometimes
with Madame de La Fontaine, who at first frequently accompanied him in
his excursions. The expense of these frequent journeys was naturally
calculated to add to the disorder of his affairs; but he troubled
himself little on this score, and it was some consolation that his own
property alone was melting away, and that his wife would by-and-by be
able to live by herself on property devoted to her own use. Let us also
remark, in passing, that he did not altogether neglect that son of his
who, at a later period, he describes as a charming boy, in that short
and singular interview which has been so frequently discussed, and to
whose education he attended until he was relieved of that duty by the
generosity of the Procureur-General, De Harlay.
To this period must be referred his intimacy with Racine, also a
"Champenois," and a brother poet--an intimacy which was due to the
good offices of Molière, whom La Fontaine had known, and, consequently
admired and loved, when residing with Fouquet. His acquaintance with
Racine led again to that with Boileau and Molière Chapelle, that
incurable promoter of orgies, that wine-bibbing Anacreon, who was
always at war with our four poets, especially towards the conclusion of
their suppers. Boileau, the Severe, endeavoured sometimes to curb his
joyous comrades, but with scant success, and it is on record that on a
certain occasion Chapelle got drunk during the course of an impromptu
sermon of Boileau's on the virtues of temperance. Our good friends led
a joyous life, which, however, was nearly having a tragic termination,
since once, after a dinner at Auteuil, over deep potations of wine,
they were led to become philosophic in so melancholy a fashion, that
they resolved to drown their several griefs in the Seine, and would
have done so, had not Molière happily remarked that it would be more
heroic to perform the deed on the morrow. This joyous fraternity soon
broke up. Molière was driven away by an ill-judged action on the part
of Racine. The royal favour induced Boileau and Racine to become more
circumspect; Chapelle gave himself up to inordinate debauchery; and La
Fontaine, whilst retaining his friendships, went to dream and amuse
himself elsewhere.
Whilst this intimacy lasted, La Fontaine frequently took Racine and
Boileau to Château-Thierry, whither he went from time to time to sell
a few acres of land, in order to enable him to balance his receipts
against his expenditure. The amiable Maucroix, another Epicurean,
arrived in his turn to complete the revel which was now carried on
at Rheims, to which city he gladly enticed his dear La Fontaine, who
desired nothing better than to follow him thither, for, as he has
himself told us,
"Of all fair cities do I most love Rheims,
At once the beauty and the pride of France."
Madame de la Fontaine soon became weary of this life of dissipation,
and ceased to follow her volatile husband to Paris. The separation
between the spouses was effected, if not without disputes, at any rate
without any legal process. Racine frequently urged his friend to become
reconciled to his wife, and it was in compliance with such counsels
that he made that celebrated journey to Château-Thierry, from which he
returned without having even seen Madame de La Fontaine. The anecdote
is well known. "Well, have you seen your wife? Are you reconciled?"
"I went to see her; but she was in retirement." "Ah! how charmingly
naive!" exclaim the biographers; "what a delightful illustration of the
poet's habitual <i>bonhomie</i> and abstraction!" Alas! it is nothing of the
kind. La Fontaine knew what he was about. He had set out in compliance
with his friend's wish, and, in fulfilment of his promise, he had gone
to his house door; but, having found no one at home, he had quietly
returned, only too glad that he had redeemed his promise, and avoided
an interview which he dreaded. Then, returning to his friends, he put
them off with a childish excuse, at which he would not be the last to
laugh with all his heart. The whole incident is quite in accordance
with the man's character. His weak resolution induced him at first to
yield, but the natural buoyancy of his spirit recovered itself, and
triumphed in the end.
La Fontaine was now more than forty years of age, and, with the
exception of his frigid imitation of Terence's comedy, and his
admirable elegy on Fouquet, he had produced nothing which proved
that he was anything more than a pleasant and elegant versifier. We
must remark, however, that he obtained at this time the position of
Gentleman-in-Waiting to the Dowager Duchess of Orleans, widow of
Gaston, brother of Louis XIII. The little court of the Luxembourg, at
least, if not that of the grand King's, was thrown open to La Fontaine,
and he was received there on terms of the pleasantest intimacy. The
office to which he was appointed was not merely honorary, and it
justified his acceptance of liberalities of which he was not a little
in need. The Duchess of Bouillon also became a patroness of our poet,
whom she had met at Château-Thierry; and he was now engaged by this
princess of easy manners and voluptuous disposition, to apply his
talents to, the imitation in verse of those somewhat too gallant tales
which Ariosto and Boccaccio borrowed from our Trouvères. This advice,
eagerly followed, opened up to La Fontaine a new vein of his genius,
and threw him upon apologue as one of the means of poetic expression.
"Joconde" was his first effort in this style; and this tale, freely
rendered from Ariosto, was the cause of a literary discussion, in
which Boileau broke a lance in the service of his friend with another
imitator against whom La Fontaine was then pitted, and who has since
been forgotten: it was like Pradon being compared to Racine. The
success of this first effort encouraged the author to make fresh ones,
and he speedily produced new tales, as ingenious and indecent as the
first. Such fame as Fontaine acquired by these tales must not be
dilated on; for, although there was nothing in the corrupt ingenuity of
the pleasant poet that was deliberately vicious, and although he was
sincerely astonished that, on account of a few rather free narratives,
he should be accused of corrupting the innocence of youth, we must
nevertheless hold that the accusation was well founded.
Recognised and appreciated as La Fontaine's talents now were, he would
doubtless have been the object of some of those distinguishing marks of
favour which Louis XIV. was ever ready to bestow upon men of genius,
had not his irregular mode of life, and the character of some of his
later productions, offended the susceptibilities of the monarch and
those of the severe Colbert, the administrator of his liberalities.
That La Fontaine should have once been the friend of Fouquet is not
sufficient to account for this denial of royal favour, since Pélisson,
the eloquent defender of the Surintendant, was himself at this period
the object of distinguished royal patronage. The fall of Fouquet was,
indeed, so terribly complete and hopeless, that his enemies could well
afford to allow his friends to shelter themselves under the cloak of
amnesty. To say, as some have done, that La Fontaine was neglected
because he belonged to the "party of the opposition," is idle; for,
in the first place, <i>le bonne homme</i> had not the courage to resist the
majority, and in the second place, there was nothing he more eagerly
desired than to be one of the Court poets. Indeed, he seized every
opportunity of celebrating the glories of the reign of Louis the Great.
The real truth is, that he was treated coldly on account of the
licentiousness, equally great, both of his verses and his mode of life,
at a time when he would merely have had to promise amendment for the
future, to have been a participator in the royal benefits, and to have
been made a member of the Academy.
La Fontaine had not a conscience entirely pure, and, accordingly,
strove to hide his misdoings under cover of works perfectly
irreproachable. Uninvited, he now proposed to himself the task
of amusing and instructing the Dauphin, whose education had then
commenced. It was an honourable method of paying homage to the
Court, and of atoning for past errors. The elegance of Phædrus and
the simplicity of Æsop had already fascinated him--he was ambitious
of imitating them; but although thoroughly skilled in the art of
narrating, he never suspected that he was about to eclipse his
models. He set himself below Phædrus, and Fontenelle has declared
that his doing so was one of his blunders--a piquant word, which we
may translate in this instance as "a sincere and even exaggerated
admiration for consecrated names." A feeling of and a taste for
perfection are, moreover, the surest curb-reins to self-love. The
playfulness, delicacy, and ingenuity of La Fontaine's spirit, as well
as the natural simplicity of his character, preserved him from the
illusions of vanity, and caused him even to misconceive the real value
of his genius. It was necessary, then, in the first place, that his
true vocation should be revealed to him, and actual fame alone could
show that his talent had raised him to the first rank.
His first collection of fables, arranged in six books, appeared in
1668, under the modest title of "Æsop's Fables: Translated into Verse
by M. de la Fontaine." The work was dedicated to the Dauphin, and
this dedication reveals to us the poet's secret intention in the
publication of the volume. At a later period we find him taking a more
direct part in the education of the grandson of Louis XIV., through
the medium of Fénélon. And now, as we have followed so many others
in judging of these inimitable compositions, we remark how slowly La
Fontaine's talent developed itself, the better to attain the highest
state of maturity. If the poet, on the one hand, careless as to
fortune, allowed his patrimony to melt away, let us observe how much
time, pure air, and sunlight he has given to the peaceful cultivation
of his genius. The tree has been covered with branches, the leaves in
due season have adorned them, and then fruits the most delicious have
appeared craving to be gathered. Oh, careless great one! full well
had you the right to spurn all vulgar cares; to devour, as you have
said, your capital together with your revenue, since you stored up for
yourself another capital, which will give you immortal wealth!
La Fontaine's improvidence may be attributed in some degree to his
friends, who seem never to have failed him in any necessity. When
death had deprived him of the protection of the Duchess of Orleans, he
was immediately adopted, so to speak, by the Duchess de la Sablière,
whose generosity provided for all his wants, and whose delicate
kindness anticipated all his wishes. It was, doubtless, the gratitude
with which this lady inspired him, that drew from La Fontaine's heart
those verses, which so many others have since recited in a spirit of
bitterness--
"Oh, what it is to have a faithful friend," &c.
And here we have another of those names on which one loves to dwell so
fondly. Madame de la Sablière was a genuine patroness of philosophers
and men of letters. Her house was always open to them, and her fortune
encouraged them to prosecute their labours. Sauveur, Roberval, and
Bernier experienced her discreet liberality, which disguised itself
only that it might be the more freely bestowed. She loved knowledge,
and possessed it without the desire of display; she had a passion for
doing good, yet she employed an innocent art in concealing it. The
devotion which she displayed in an unholy love was, for this woman,
otherwise so irreproachable, only a transition to those transports of
sincere piety which occupied the closing years of her life. La Fontaine
was, up to the seventy-second year of his life, the familiar genius of
Madame de la Sablière's mansion, and passed more than twenty years in
it in complete tranquillity, at first as one of a most select circle
of wits and philosophers, and afterwards as an independent host, doing
himself the honours of the house to a rather miscellaneous circle of
visitors, which he gathered round him during the prolonged religious
seclusions of his patroness, who latterly devoted herself entirely to
care for the safety of her soul.
La Fontaine had no longer any need to secure fresh protectors. His
destiny was secured, for, like the rat in the fable,
"Provisions and lodgings! what wanted he more?"
We may now, therefore, be as tranquil on his account as he was himself,
merely observing that he took advantage of this security to deliver
himself up with a species of fury to the demon of poetry, which never
deserted him. His first fables were received with favour, and when
he published others he met with a good fortune which is accorded to
but few poets, for even the later ones increased his fame. However,
this, his favourite species of writing, had not completely absorbed
his attention; the romance of "Psyche," and some theatrical pieces,
occupied his time at intervals. "Psyche," which still amuses us, amused
him also much. He worked at it when he wished to rest from other
labours, and also at length completed it. The "Songe de Vaux" was
less happy; but how could he recall the enchantments and fairy lore
of that château where Fouquet had passed the last years of his life
in hopeless captivity? Versailles had surpassed it in magnificence,
and La Fontaine employed his descriptive talents in describing the
palace whose increasing marvels, which struck every eye, he attached
incidentally to the plot of his allegorical fable, already complicated
with interlocutors, who may be easily recognised under feigned names
as Molière, Boileau, Racine, and La Fontaine. The publication of this
romance, of which the prose is elegant, and which also contains many
excellent verses, took place soon after that of the first fables. It
was received with much favour, and Molière, assisted by Corneille
and De Quinault, extracted from it an opera, the music of which was
composed by Lulli.
La Fontaine's dramatic attempts were, it must be confessed, seldom
happy; but Furetierè certainly exaggerates when he tells us that
managers never ventured to give a second representation of his pieces,
for fear of being pelted. However this may be, the theatre had a great
attraction for La Fontaine, and the society of actors a still greater.
When Madame de la Sablière's drawing-room appeared too serious to him,
he would go to amuse himself at Champmeslé's, and, whilst Racine
shaped the talents of this great actress, La Fontaine assisted her
husband in the composition of mediocre comedies, in which we can find
but few traces of the poet's skill. It is on this account that he has
been made to share the responsibility of the authorship of "Ragotin,"
a dull imitation of the "Roman Comique." There is little more, indeed,
to be said in favour of "Je vous prends sans Verts," which has been
attributed to him, and which we may surrender to Champmeslé, who will
not gain much, while La Fontaine would certainly lose by it. Of all
the pieces put on the stage by Champmeslé, there is only one that
we should wish to be able, with a clear conscience, to assign to La
Fontaine, and that is "Le Florentin," an amusing little comedy, which
contains one scene worthy of Molière. The share which La Fontaine took,
or is asserted to have taken, in the composition of these comedies,
is difficult to determine. What there can be no doubt of is, that
at one time he formed the design of writing a tragedy, and this,
perhaps, at the instigation of Racine, who could never refrain from
a joke, especially at the expense of his friends. Achilles was the
hero selected by our poet; but he prudently paused after having made a
commencement.
This brings us to the mention of La Fontaine's one great, solitary, and
brief fit of anger. Always ready to yield to the advice of his friends,
he imprudently listened to Lulli, who had importuned him to produce,
at a very short notice, the libretto of an opera. The music was to be
marvellous, the Court would applaud to the skies the author and the
composer, and the poet would be free of the theatre, and have acquired
all the rights of dramatic authorship. What a temptation was this! La
Fontaine courageously set himself to work under the guidance of Lulli,
who urged him forward, and day by day made fresh suggestions. The poet
readily obeyed the spur, and even yielded to the sacrifice of some of
his verses; but he had scarcely finished, when he discovered that his
perfidious employer had passed over, with all his musical baggage,
to the Proserpine of Quinault. We may judge of the poet's rage. The
four months' labour utterly lost; the nights passed without sleep; the
treachery of the instigation; the heartless abandonment! Ah! how many
causes of complaint had the poet against this traitor! La Fontaine
could not contain himself, and wrote a satire, compound of gall and
bile, in which he complains of having been made a fool of. This fit of
passion, however, did not last long. Madame de Thianges brought about
a reconciliation between the culprit and the victim, and that without
much difficulty, for, after all, Lulli was an excellent companion,
and La Fontaine was incapable of nursing anger long. To be angry
was a trouble to him, and consequently he never kept up a sense of
ill-feeling for any length of time. His friends might become estranged
from or quarrel with each other; but he remained on the best of terms
with them, and saw them separately. One might have thought that he had
taken for his motto the verse of the old poet, Garnier--
"To love I am plighted, but never to hate."
The poetical excursions of La Fontaine out of his own domain added
nothing to his renown, and were scarcely perceived amidst the rays of
his glory as a fabulist--the title by which he is known to posterity;
and it may be added, that the Fable, as it is fashioned by La Fontaine,
is one of the happiest creations of the human mind. It is, properly
speaking, a <i>charm</i>, as he has said, for in it all the resources of
poetry are enclosed in one frame. La Fontaine's apologue is connected
with the <i>épopée</i> by the narrative, with the descriptive style by his
pictures, with the drama by the play of various personages, and the
representation of various characters, and with didactic poetry by the
precepts which he inculcates. Nor is this all; for the poet frequently
speaks in his own person. The supreme charm of his compositions
consists in the vitality with which they are imbued. The illusion is
complete, and passes from the poet who has been first subjected to
it, to the spectator, whom it entrances. Homer is the only poet who
possesses this characteristic in the same degree. La Fontaine has
always before his eyes all that he describes, and his description is
an actual painting. His spirit, gently moved by the spectacle which at
first it enjoys alone, reproduces it in vivid pictures. That simplicity
for which he has been praised exists but in the nature of the images
which he has chosen as the best means of representing his thoughts,
or, rather, his emotions. Properly speaking, we do not so much read La
Fontaine's fables as gaze at them; we do not know them by heart, but we
have them constantly before our eyes. Let us take as an example "Death
and the Woodman," since on this subject two great poets have weakly
contended against our fabulist. In this laughable rivalry Boileau and
J. B. Rousseau are killed by the spirit of abstraction; whilst La
Fontaine triumphs by means of the image which glows before the eyes
and penetrates the heart. If we add to the constant attractiveness of
living reality the pleasure caused by the representation of humanity
under animal symbols, we shall have before us the two active principles
of the universal interest excited by La Fontaine's fables--I mean
<i>illusion</i>, which excites the imagination; and <i>allusion</i>, which has a
reduplicate action on the mind.
We do not pretend to assert that there were no French fabulists in
France before La Fontaine. The Trouvères were fabulists, and one of
the most remarkable specimens of the literature of the middle ages,
the "Romance of the Fox," is a genuine study of feudal society, in the
guise of personages selected from the animal kingdom. The resemblance
of men to animals in this work is complete, and this strange <i>épopée</i>
derives its interest from the <i>allusion</i>, which was so remarkable a
characteristic of La Fontaine's fables. But our poet never drew from
this abundant source, and was also unaware that Marie de France in the
thirteenth century had adopted, in imitation of Æsop, the simplicity of
treatment which he himself had surpassed, and that other poets of the
same period had not only treated of similar subjects, but had written
verses on them, which he reproduced in the full confidence that they
were original. La Fontaine drew his materials directly from the Greek,
the Latin, or the Oriental, Æsop, Phædrus, and Pilpay were his models;
but it must be observed that he might have found amongst French writers
guides to that perfection which he alone has attained. P. Blanchet,
in "L'Avocat Patelin," has inserted the fable of "The Crow and the
Fox," to the first of whom he has given the name of Maitre, adopted
by La Fontaine. Clément Marot wrote a little drama, full of grace and
playfulness, on the subject of the fable of "The Rat and the Lion;"
and Régnier has illumined with his genius the oft-told story of "The
Wolf and the Horse." La Fontaine knew no other predecessors, amongst
modern poets, than the three above mentioned, and he was at no pains
to imitate them. In spite of some few scattered similarities between
his writings and theirs, La Fontaine was, on the whole, completely
original.
La Fontaine's originality does not consist solely in the particular
bent of his imagination, but also in his language. It is true that his
style bears the impress of the purity and elegance of the language of
his age, and is characterised by that finish which is common to all
the great writers of his time; but there is also a peculiar richness,
suppleness, and naturalness about his idiom. There is, indeed, a Gallic
tone in his writings, which is to be found in the works of no other
authors of the same period, and which, though derived from old sources,
gives to his works a surprising air of novelty. The use of old words
and phrases, which he has revived, is a genuine conquest over the lapse
of time, and a convenient method of setting forth ideas which would
have been unsuited to the over-strained dignity of classic language.
Marot, Rabelais, and Bonaventure des Periers, all contributed to enable
La Fontaine to make use of the best colloquial language that has
ever been employed by any writer; but La Fontaine's thefts are never
discoverable; they blend with such exquisite effect with his own ideas,
that they seem rather to be reminiscences than robberies. It is in this
way that he has robbed the ancients without betraying himself, and that
Horace, Virgil, and Plato, even, have furnished him with happy phrases,
which have been obdurate to the efforts of all their translators;
phrases which La Fontaine has unconsciously appropriated. His brain
took them as they fell in with the current of his thought, and they
flowed on with it as though from the same source. Virgil may discover
his <i>frigus captabis opacum</i> in "Gouter l'Ombre, et le Frais;" Horace,
his <i>O! imitatores, servum pecus</i> in "Quelques Imitateurs sot Bétail,
je l'Avoue;" and, again, his <i>at nostri proavi</i> in "Nos Aïeux, Bonnes
Gens." But if either Virgil or Horace were to meet with La Fontaine,
they would neither exclaim against him as a traitor nor a thief, but
only hail him as a brother poet.
La Fontaine was permitted to present his second collection of fables to
Louis XIV., and obtained a privilege with respect to its publication
which was almost unique; a eulogium on the work being included in
its <i>authorisation</i>. Our poet at this period assumed a most discreet
air, and out of regard, doubtless, for his patroness, avoided all
occasion for scandal. Another, and perhaps a stronger reason was, that
he cherished a secret ambition of becoming a member of the Academy.
Inspired by this hope, he prevailed on himself so far as to praise
Colbert, who had been the vindictive means of the fall of Fouquet.
The illustrious fraternity, it must be observed, had given him some
intimation that it was willing to elect him, and entreated him to act
in such a manner that the election might be unanimous. The goodwill of
the Academy was so decided, that, at the death of Colbert, it preferred
the fabulist to Boileau, who had the support of the royal favour. But
a delay was necessary. The Academy's choice was neither annulled nor
confirmed; the final decision being delayed until the death of another
of the immortals had created a fresh vacancy, and Boileau and La
Fontaine entered the Academy side by side; Boileau as soon as elected,
and La Fontaine after a year's delay. As we have already said, he had
performed his purgatory, and Louis XIV. had been willing to believe
that he would henceforth be discreet. We shall see, however, that La
Fontaine had only strength enough to promise, and that he was a living
example of the refrain of one of his most charming ballads--
"A promise is one thing-- the keeping another."
The desire to become a member of the Academy had been with La Fontaine
a passion. He was attracted to the honour as well by his friendship
for his comrades as by his love for literature. He rendered himself
noticeable by the constancy with which he frequented the Academy,
always joining its sittings in time to receive his fee for attendance.
One day he was late, and, strict as the rule was, the members present,
who knew that this little weekly payment was about all the pocket
money their comrade enjoyed, proposed that the rule for that occasion
should be relaxed; but La Fontaine was inflexible. Nevertheless, this
act of heroism did not prevent Furetière, in the course of his quarrel
with the Academy, from stigmatising La Fontaine as a <i>jetonnier</i>. It
is well known why this lexicographical abbé, as bilious as reforming
grammarians mostly are, entered upon a campaign against his comrades,
and how his obstinacy and evil deeds, although he was really in the
right, caused his exclusion from the Academy. Fontaine, either through
inadvertence or from a feeling of <i>esprit de corps</i>, which is more
probably the case, had deposited the fatal black ball for the exclusion
of his obstinate friend. The consequence was, that Furetière pursued
him with implacable animosity, and showered upon the head of the
good old fabulist more than his share of epigrams, which were rather
venomous than witty. It was the only attack of this sort that La
Fontaine had to endure, but it was a particularly sharp one. To style
the most inoffensive of men "a monster of perfidy" was the slightest of
the onslaughts of the rancorous Abbé of Chalivoix. May Heaven preserve
us all from the vengeance of soured friends, for there is nothing to
equal their venom and malice!