{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_7543/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_7543","id":"gutenberg_7543","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/7543","summary":null,"tags":["Category: French Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Quotations"],"text":"QUOTES AND IMAGES FROM THE NOVELS OF FONTAINE\n\n\n\nTHE TALES AND NOVELS\n\nOF\n\nJ. DE LA FONTAINE\n\n\n\n\n     A pretty wife? Beware the monks as you would guard your life\n\n     Above all law is might\n\n     Avoid attorneys, if you comfort crave\n\n     Delays are dangerous, in love or war\n\n     Ev'ry grave's the same\n\n     Extremes in ev'ry thing will soonest tire\n\n     In childhood FEAR 's the lesson first we know!\n\n     In country villages each step is seen\n\n     In the midst of society, he was absent from it\n\n     Monks are knaves in Virtue's mask\n\n     No folly greater than to heighten pain\n\n     Some ostentation ever is with grief\n\n     The god of love and wisdom ne'er agree\n\n     Those who weep most the soonest gain relief\n\n     Tis past our pow'r to live on love or air\n\n     Twere wrong with hope our fond desires to feed\n\n     We scarcely good can find without alloy\n\n     Who knows too much, oft shows a want of sense\n\n\n\n\nLIFE OF\n\nJEAN DE LA FONTAINE\n\nJean de La Fontaine was born on the 8th of July, 1621, at\nChateau-Thierry, and his family held a respectable position there.\n\nHis education was neglected, but he had received that genius which makes\namends for all.  While still young the tedium of society led him into\nretirement, from which a taste for independence afterwards withdrew him.\n\nHe had reached the age of twenty-two, when a few sounds from the lyre of\nMalherbe, heard by accident, awoke in him the muse which slept.\n\nHe soon became acquainted with the best models: Phoedrus, Virgil, Horace\nand Terence amongst the Latins; Plutarch, Homer and Plato, amongst the\nGreeks; Rabelais, Marot and d'Urfe, amongst the French; Tasso, Ariosto\nand Boccaccio, amongst the Italians.\n\nHe married, in compliance with the wishes of his family, a beautiful,\nwitty and chaste woman, who drove him to despair.\n\nHe was sought after and cherished by all distinguished men of letters.\nBut it was two Ladies who kept him from experiencing the pangs of\npoverty.\n\nLa Fontaine, if there remain anything of thee, and if it be permitted to\nthee for a moment to soar above all time; see the names of La Sabliere\nand of Hervard pass with thine to the ages to come!\n\nThe life of La Fontaine was, so to speak, only one of continual\ndistraction.  In the midst of society, he was absent from it.  Regarded\nalmost as an imbecile by the crowd, this clever author, this amiable\nman, only permitted himself to be seen at intervals and by friends.\n\nHe had few books and few friends.\n\nAmongst a large number of works that he has left, everyone knows his\nfables and his tales, and the circumstances of his life are written in a\nhundred places.\n\nHe died on the 16th of March, 1695.\n\nHe was buried in the cemetery of Saint-Joseph, by the side of Moliere.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE AUTHOR'S PREFACE\n\nTO THE FIRST VOLUME OF THESE TALES\n\n\nI had resolved not to consent to the printing of these Tales, until\nafter I had joined to them those of Boccaccio, which are those most to\nmy taste; but several persons have advised me to produce at once what I\nhave remaining of these trifles, in order to prevent from cooling the\ncuriosity to see them, which is still in its first ardour.  I gave way\nto this advice without much difficulty, and I have thought well to\nprofit by the occasion.  Not only is that permitted me, but it would be\nvanity on my part to despise such an advantage...........  Now, that I\nshould be permitted to write about these as so many others have done and\nwith success I do not believe it can be doubted; and people cannot\ncondemn me for so doing, without also condemning Ariosto before me and\nthe Ancients before Ariosto.  It may be said that I should have done\nbetter to have suppressed certain details, or at least to have disguised\nthem.  Nothing was more easy, but it would have weakened the tale and\ntaken away  some of its charm: So much circumspection is only necessary\nin works which promise great discretion from the beginning, either by\ntheir subject or by the manner in which they are treated.  I confess\nthat it is necessary to keep within certain limits, and that the\nnarrowest are the best; also it must be allowed me that to be too\nscrupulous would spoil all.  He who would wish to reduce Boccaccio to\nthe same modesty as Virgil, would assuredly produce nothing worth\nhaving, and would sin against the laws of propriety by setting himself\nthe task to observe them.  For in order that one may not make a mistake\nin matters of verse and prose, extreme modesty and propriety are two\nvery different things.  Cicero makes the latter consist in saying what\nis appropriate one should say, considering the place, the time, and the\npersons to whom one is speaking.  This principle once admitted,  it is\nnot a fault of judgment to entertain the people of to-day with Tales\nwhich are a little broad.\n\n\n\n\nTALES AND NOVELS\n\nOF\n\nJ. DE LA FONTAINE\n\n.......\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE SERVANT GIRL JUSTIFIED\n\n\n\n\nBOCCACE alone is not my only source;\n\nT'another shop I now shall have recourse;\n\nThough, certainly, this famed Italian wit\n\nHas many stories for my purpose fit.\n\nBut since of diff'rent dishes we should taste;\n\nUpon an ancient work my hands I've placed;\n\nWhere full a hundred narratives are told,\n\nAnd various characters we may behold;\n\nFrom life, Navarre's fair queen the fact relates;\n\nMy story int'rest in her page creates;\n\nBeyond dispute from her we always find,\n\nSimplicity with striking art combin'd.\n\nYet, whether 'tis the queen who writes, or not;\n\nI shall, as usual, here and there allot\n\nWhate'er additions requisite appear;\n\nWithout such license I'd not persevere,\n\nBut quit, at once, narrations of the sort;\n\nSome may be long, though others are too short.\n\n\n\n\nLET us proceed, howe'er (our plan explained:)\n\nA pretty servant-girl a man retain'd.\n\nShe pleas'd his eye, and presently he thought,\n\nWith ease she might to am'rous sports be brought;\n\nHe prov'd not wrong; the wench was blithe and gay,\n\nA buxom lass, most able ev'ry way.\n\n\n\n\nAT dawn, one summer's morn, the spark was led\n\nTo rise, and leave his wife asleep in bed;\n\nHe sought at once the garden, where he found\n\nThe servant-girl collecting flow'rs around,\n\nTo make a nosegay for his better half,\n\nWhose birth-day 'twas:--he soon began to laugh,\n\nAnd while the ranging of the flow'rs he prais'd,\n\nThe servant's neckerchief he slyly rais'd.\n\nWho, suddenly, on feeling of the hand,\n\nResistance feign'd, and seem'd to make a stand;\n\nBut since these liberties were nothing new,\n\nThey other fun and frolicks would pursue;\n\nThe nosegay at the fond gallant was thrown;\n\nThe flow'rs he kiss'd, and now more ardent grown\n\nThey romp'd and rattl'd, play'd and skipt around;\n\nAt length the fair one fell upon the ground;\n\nOur am'rous spark advantage took of this,\n\nAnd nothing with the couple seem'd amiss.\n\n\n\n\nUNLUCKILY, a neighbour's prying eyes\n\nBeheld their playful pranks with great surprise,\n\nShe, from her window, could the scene o'erlook;\n\nWhen this the fond gallant observ'd, he shook;\n\nSaid he, by heav'ns! our frolicking is seen,\n\nBy that old haggard, envious, prying quean;\n\nBut do not heed it; instantly he chose\n\nTo run and wake his wife, who quickly rose;--\n\nSo much the dame he fondl'd and caress'd,\n\nThe garden walk she took at his request,\n\nTo have a nosegay, where he play'd anew\n\nPranks just the same as those of recent view,\n\nWhich highly gratified our lady fair,\n\nWho felt dispos'd, and would at eve repair,\n\nTo her good neighbour, whom she bursting found,\n\nWith what she'd seen that morn upon the ground.\n\n\n\n\nTHE usual greetings o'er, our envious dame,\n\nWith scowling brow exclaim'd,--my dear, your fame,\n\nI love too much not fully to detail,\n\nWhat I have witnessed, and with truth bewail;\n\nWill you continue, in your house to keep\n\nA girl, whose conduct almost makes me weep?\n\nAnon I'd kick her from your house, I say;\n\nThe strumpet should not stay another day.\n\nThe wife replied, you surely are deceiv'd;\n\nAn honest, virtuous creature she's believ'd.\n\nWell, I can easily, my friend, suppose,\n\nRejoin'd the neighbour, whence this favour flows;\n\nBut look about, and be convinc'd, this morn\n\nFrom my own window (true as you are born,)\n\nWithin the garden I your husband spi'd\n\nAnd presently the servant girl I ey'd;\n\nAt one another various flow'rs they threw,\n\nAnd then the minx a little graver grew.\n\nI understand you, cried the list'ning fair;\n\nYou are deceiv'd:--myself alone was there.\n\n\n\n\nNEIGHBOUR\n\n\nBut patience, if you please: attend I pray\n\nYou've no conception what I meant to say:\n\nThe playful fair was actively employ'd,\n\nIn plucking am'rous flow'rs--they kiss'd and toy'd.\n\n\n\n\nWIFE\n\n\n'Twas clearly I, howe'er, for her you took.\n\n\n\n\nNEIGHBOUR\n\n\nThe flow'rs for bosoms quickly they forsook;\n\nLarge handfuls frequently they seem'd to grasp,\n\nAnd ev'ry beauty in its turn to clasp.\n\n\n\n\nWIFE\n\n\nBut still, why think you, friend, it was not I?\n\nHas not your spouse with you a right to try\n\nWhat freaks he likes?\n\n\n\n\nNEIGHBOUR\n\n\nBut then, upon the ground\n\nThis girl was thrown, and never cried nor frown'd;\n\nYou laugh.--\n\n\n\n\nWIFE\n\n\nIndeed I do, 'twas myself.\n\n\n\n\nNEIGHBOUR\n\n\nA flannel petticoat display'd the elf.\n\n\n\n\nWIFE\n\n\n'Twas mine:\n\n\n\n\nNEIGHBOUR\n\n\nBe patient:--and inform me, pray,\n\nIf this were worn by you or her to-day?\n\nThere lies the point, for, if you'll me believe,\n\nYour husband did--the most you can conceive.\n\n\n\n\nWIFE\n\n\nHow hard of credence!--'twas myself I vow.\n\n\n\n\nNEIGHBOUR\n\n\nOh! that's conclusive; I'll be silent now;\n\nThough truly I am led to think, my eyes\n\nAre pretty sharp, and much I feel surprise\n\nAt what you say; in fact, I would have sworn,\n\nI saw them thus at romps this very morn;\n\nExcuse the hint, and do not turn her off.\n\n\n\n\nWIFE\n\n\nWhy, turn her off?--the very thought I scoff;\n\nShe serves me well.\n\n\n\n\nNEIGHBOUR\n\n\nAnd so it seems is taught;\n\nBy all means keep her then, since thus she's thought.\n\n\n\n\nTHE AVARICIOUS WIFE AND TRICKING GALLANT\n\n\n\n\nWHO knows the world will never feel surprise,\n\nWhen men are duped by artful women's eves;\n\nThough death his weapon freely will unfold;\n\nLove's pranks, we find, are ever ruled by gold.\n\nTo vain coquettes I doubtless here allude;\n\nBut spite of arts with which they're oft endued;\n\nI hope to show (our honour to maintain,)\n\nWe can, among a hundred of the train,\n\nCatch one at least, and play some cunning trick:--\n\nFor instance, take blithe Gulphar's wily nick,\n\nWho gained (old soldier-like) his ardent aim,\n\nAnd gratis got an avaricious dame.\n\n\n\n\nLOOK well at this, ye heroes of the sword,\n\nHowe'er with wily freaks your heads be stored,\n\nBeyond a doubt, at court I now could find,\n\nA host of lovers of the Gulphar kind.\n\n\n\n\nTo Gasperin's so often went our wight,\n\nThe wife at length became his sole delight,\n\nWhose youth and beauty were by all confessed;\n\nBut, 'midst these charms, such av'rice she possessed,\n\nThe warmest love was checked--a thing not rare,\n\nIn modern times at least, among the FAIR.\n\n'Tis true, as I've already said, with such\n\nSighs naught avail, and promises not much;\n\nWithout a purse, who wishes should express,\n\nWould vainly hope to gain a soft caress.\n\nThe god of love no other charm employs,\n\nThen cards, and dress, and pleasure's cheering joys;\n\nFrom whose gay shops more cuckolds we behold,\n\nThan heroes sallied from Troy's horse of old.\n\n\n\n\nBUT to our lady's humour let's adhere;\n\nSighs passed for naught: they entered not her ear;\n\n'Twas speaking only would the charmer please,\n\nThe reader, without doubt, my meaning sees;\n\nGay Gulphar plainly spoke, and named a sum\n\nA hundred pounds, she listened:--was o'ercome.\n\n\n\n\nOUR wight the cash by Gasperin was lent;\n\nAnd then the husband to the country went,\n\nWithout suspecting that his loving mate,\n\nDesigned with horns to ornament his pate.\n\n\n\n\nTHE money artful Gulphar gave the dame,\n\nWhile friends were round who could observe the same;\n\nHere, said the spark, a hundred pounds receive,\n\n'Tis for your spouse:--the cash with you I leave.\n\nThe lady fancied what the swain had said,\n\nWas policy, and to concealment led.\n\n\n\n\nNEXT morn our belle regaled the arch gallant,\n\nFulfilled his promise:--and his eager want.\n\nDay after day he followed up the game;\n\nFor cash he took, and int'rest on the same;\n\nGood payers get, we always may conclude,\n\nFull measure served, whatever is pursued.\n\n\n\n\nWHEN Gasperin returned, our crafty wight,\n\nBefore the wife addressed her spouse at sight;\n\nSaid he the cash I've to your lady paid,\n\nNot having (as I feared) required its aid;\n\nTo save mistakes, pray cross it in your book;\n\nThe lady, thunderstruck, with terror shook;\n\nAllowed the payment; 'twas a case too clear;\n\nIn truth for character she 'gan to fear.\n\nBut most howe'er she grudged the surplus joy,\n\nBestowed on such a vile, deceitful boy.\n\n\n\n\nTHE loss was doubtless great in ev'ry view\n\nAround the town the wicked Gulphar flew;\n\nIn all the streets, at every house to tell,\n\nHow nicely he had trick'd the greedy belle.\n\n\n\n\nTo blame him useless 'twere you must allow;\n\nThe French such frolicks readily avow.\n\n\n\n\nFAVORITE QUOTATIONS\n\nA pretty wife? Beware the monks as you would guard your life\nAbove all law is might\nAvoid attorneys, if you comfort crave\nBut reason 's fruitless, with a soul on fire\nBy others do The same as you would like they should by you\nCaresses lavish, and you'll find return\nCriticism never stops short nor ever wants for subjects\nDelays are dangerous, in love or war\nEv'ry grave's the same\nExtremes in ev'ry thing will soonest tire\nFavours, when conferred with sullen air,  But little gratify\nFew ponder long when they can dupe with ease\nFools or brutes,  With whose ideas reason never suits\nHe who loves would fain be loved as well\nHe, who laughs, is always well received\nHer doll, for thought, was just as well designed\nHistorick writ\nHow could he give what he had never got?\nIn childhood FEAR 's the lesson first we know!\nIn country villages each step is seen\nIn the midst of society, he was absent from it\nMonks are knaves in Virtue's mask\nNo folly greater than to heighten pain\nNo grief so great, but what may be subdued\nNo pleasure's free from care you may rely\nNot overburdened with a store of wit\nOf't what we would not, we're obliged to do\nOpportunity you can't discern--prithee go and learn\nPerhaps one half our bliss to chance we owe\nPossession had his passion quite destroyed\nRegarded almost as an imbecile by the crowd\nRemoved from sight, but few for lovers grieve\nSight of meat brings appetite about\nSome ostentation ever is with grief\nThe eyes:--Soul-speaking language, nothing can disguise\nThe god of love and wisdom ne'er agree\nThe less of such misfortunes said is best\nThe more of this I think, the less I know\nThe plaint is always greater than the woe\nThe promises of kings are airy dreams\nThe wish to please is ever found the same\nThose who weep most the soonest gain relief\nThough expectations oft away have flown\nTis all the same:--'twill never make me grieve\nTis past our pow'r to live on love or air\nTo avoid the tempting bit, 'Tis better far at table not to sit\nToo much you may profess\nTwere wrong with hope our fond desires to feed\nWas always wishing distant scenes to know\nWe scarcely good can find without alloy\nWhen husbands some assistance seemed to lack\nWhen mourning 's nothing more than change of dress\nWhen passion prompts, few obstacles can clog\nWhile good, if spoken, scarcely is believed\nWho knows too much, oft shows a want of sense\nWho only make friends in order to gain voices in their favour\nWho would wish to reduce Boccaccio to the same modesty as Virgil\nWho, born for hanging, ever yet was drowned?\nWife beautiful, witty and chaste woman, who drove him to despair\nYou little dream for whom you guard the store","title":"Quotes and Images From The Tales and Novels of Jean de La Fontaine","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":2697}