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Table of Contents | |
Section | Page |
Start of eBook | 1 |
Title: The Tales and Novels, v11: Friar Philip’s Geese and Minutolo | 1 |
ETEXT EDITOR’S BOOKMARKS: | 11 |
Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) | 12 |
(Three Pages) | 13 |
Author: Jean de La Fontaine
Release Date: March, 2004 [EBook #5285] [Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on June 21, 2002]
Edition: 10
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** Start of the project gutenberg Ebook tales and novels of Fontaine, V11 ***
This eBook was produced by David Widger widger@cecomet.net
[Note: There is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the file for those who may wish to sample the author’s ideas before making an entire meal of them. D.W.]
Thetales and novels
of
J. De La Fontaine
Contains:
Preface to The Second
Book
Friar Philips Geese
Richard Minutolo
Theauthor’s preface
to
the second book of these tales
These are the last works of this style that will come from the pen of the Author, and consequently this is the last opportunity he has of vindicating the boldness and privilege which he has assumed. We make no mention of villainous rhymes, of lines that run into the next, of two vowels without elision, nor, in general, of such kinds of carelessness as he would not allow himself in another style of poetry, but which are part and parcel, so to say, of this style. Too anxious a care in avoiding such would force a tale-writer into a labyrinth of shifts, into narratives as dull as they are grand, into straits that are utterly useless, and would make him disregard the pleasure of the heart in order to labour for the gratification of the ear. We must leave studied narrative for lofty subjects, and not compose an epic poem of the Adventures of Renaud d’Ast. Suppose the Author, who has put these tales into rhyme, had brought to bear on them all the care and preciseness required of him; not only would this care be observed, especially as it is unnecessary, but it would also transgress the precept lain down by Ouintilian, still the Author would not have attained the main object, which is to interest the reader, to charm him, to rivet his attention in spite of himself,—in a word, to please him. As everybody knows, the secret of pleasing the reader is not always based on regulation, nor even on symmetry; there is need of smartness and tastefulness, if we would strike home. How many of those perfect types of beauty do we see which never strike home, and of which nobody feels enamoured! We do not wish to rob Modern Authors of the praise that is due to them. Nicely turned lines, fine language, accuracy, elegance of rhyme are
But while saying that we wished to waive this question, we have unconsciously involved ourselves in its discussion. Perhaps this has not been without advantage; for there is nothing that resembles faults more than these licenses. Let us now consider the liberty which the Author has assumed in cutting into the property of others as well as his own, without making exception even to the best known stories, none of which he scruples to tamper with. He curtails, enlarges, and alters incidents and details, at times the main issue and the sequel; in short, the story is no longer the same; it is, in point of fact, quite a new tale; its original author would find it no small difficulty to recognise in it his own work. “Non sic decet contaminari fabulas,” Critics will say. Why should they not? They twitted Terence in just the same way; but Terence sneered at them, and claimed a right to treat the matter as he did. He has mingled his own ideas with the subjects he drew from Menander, just as Sophocles and Euripides mingled theirs with the subjects they drew from former writers, sparing neither history nor romance, where “decorum” and the rules of the Drama were at issue. Shall this privilege cease with respect to fictitious stories? Must we in future have more scrupulous or religious regard, if we may be allowed the expression, for falsehood than the Ancients had for truth? What people call a good tale never passes from hand to hand without receiving some fresh touch of embellishment. How comes it then, we may be asked, that in many passages the Author curtails instead of enlarging on the original? On that point we are agreed: the Author does so in order to avoid lengthiness and ambiguity,—two faults which are inadmissible in such matters, especially
Friar Philip’s geese
Ifthese gay tales give pleasure to the fair,
The
honour’s great conferred, I’m well aware;
Yet,
why suppose the sex my pages shun?
Enough,
if they condemn where follies run;
Laugh
in their sleeve at tricks they disapprove,
And,
false or true, a muscle never move.
A
playful jest can scarcely give offence:
Who
knows too much, oft shows a want of sense.
From
flatt’ry oft more dire effects arise,
Enflame
the heart and take it by surprise;
Ye
beauteous belles, beware each sighing swain,
Discard
his vows:—my book with care retain;
Your
safety then I’ll guarantee at ease.—
But
why dismiss?—their wishes are to please:
And,
truly, no necessity appears
For
solitude:—consider well your years.
I
have, and feel convinced they do you wrong,
Who
think no virtue can to such belong;
White
crows and phoenixes do not abound;
But
lucky lovers still are sometimes found;
And
though, as these famed birds, not quite so rare,
The
numbers are not great that favours share;
I
own my works a diff’rent sense express,
But
these are tales:—mere tales in easy dress.
To
beauty’s wiles, in ev’ry class, I’ve
bowed;
Fawned,
flattered, sighed, e’en constancy have vowed
What
gained? you ask—but little I admit;
Howe’er
we aim, too oft we fail to hit.
My
latter days I’ll now devote with care,
To
guard the sex from ev’ry latent snare.
Tales
I’ll detail, and these relate at ease:
Narrations
clear and neat will always please;
Like
me, to this attention criticks pay;
Then
sleep, on either side, from night till day.
If
awkward, vulgar phrase intervene,
Or
rhymes imperfect o’er the page be seen,
Condemn
at will; but stratagems and art,
Pass,
shut your eyes, who’d heed the idle part?
Some
mothers, husbands, may perhaps be led,
To
pull my locks for stories white or red;
So
matters stand: a fine affair, no doubt,
And
what I’ve failed to do—my book makes
out.
Thefair my pages safely may pursue,
And
this apology they’ll not refuse.
What
recompense can I presume to make?
A
tale I’ll give, where female charms partake,
And
prove resistless whatsoe’er assail:
Blessed
beauty, nature ever should prevail.
HadFate decreed our youth, at early morn,
To
view the angel features you adorn,
The
captivating pow’rs Aurora bless,
Or
airy Spring bedecked in beauteous dress,
And
all the azure canopy on high
Had
vanished like a dream, once you were nigh.
And
when his eyes at length your charms beheld,
His
glowing breast with softest passion swelled;
Superior
lustre beamed at ev’ry view;
No
pleasures pleased: his soul was fixed on you.
Crowns,
jewels, palaces, appeared as naught.
’Twas
solely beauteous woman now he sought.
A
Wood, from earliest years, his home had been,
And
birds the only company he’d seen,
Whose
notes harmonious often lulled his care,
Beguiled
his hours, and saved him from despair;
Delightful
sounds! from nightingale and dove
Unknown
their tongue, yet indicant of love.
Thissavage, solitary, rustick school,
The
father chose his infancy to rule.
The
mother’s recent death induced the sire,
To
place the son where only beasts retire;
And
long the forest habitants alone
Were
all his youthful sight had ever known.
Tworeasons, good or bad, the father led
To
fly the world:—all intercourse to dread
Since
fate had torn his lovely spouse from hence;
Misanthropy
and fear o’ercame each sense;
Of
the world grown tired, he hated all around:—
Too
oft in solitude is sorrow found.
His
partner’s death produced distaste of life,
And
made him fear to seek another wife.
A
hermit’s gloomy, mossy cell he took,
And
wished his child might thither solely look.
Amongthe poor his little wealth he threw,
And
with his infant son alone withdrew;
The
forest’s dreary wilds concealed his cell;
There
Philip (such his name) resolved to dwell.
Byholy motives led, and not chagrin,
The
hermit never spoke of what he’d seen;
But,
from the youth’s discernment, strove to hide,
Whate’er
regarded love, and much beside,
The
softer sex, with all their magick charms,
That
fill the feeling bosom with alarms.
As
years advanced, the boy with care he taught;
What
suited best his age before him brought;
At
five he showed him animals and flow’rs,
The
birds of air, the beasts, their sev’ral pow’rs;
And
now and then of hell he gave a hint,
Old
Satan’s wrath, and what might awe imprint,
How
formed, and doomed to infamy below;
In
childhood fear ’s the lesson first we know!
Theyears had passed away, when Philip tried,
In
matters more profound his son to guide;
He
spoke of Paradise and Heav’n above;
But
not a word of woman,—nor of love.
Fifteen
arrived, the sire with anxious care,
Of
nature’s works declaimed,—but
not the fair:
An
age, when those, for solitude designed,
Should
be to scenes of seriousness confined,
Nor
joys of youth, nor soft ideas praised
The
flame soon spreads when Cupid’s torch is raised.
Atlength, when twenty summers time had run,
The
father to the city brought his son;
With
years weighed down, the hermit scarcely knew
His
daily course of duty to pursue;
And
when Death’s venomed shaft should on him fall;
On
whom could then his boy for succour call?
How
life support, unknowing and unknown?
Wolves,
foxes, bears, ne’er charity have shown;
And
all the sire could give his darling care,
A
staff and wallet, he was well aware
Fine
patrimony, truly, for a child!
To
which his mind was no way reconciled.
Bread
Ourhermit, when he thought his darling youth;
Well
fixed in duty and religious truth,
Conveyed
him ’mong his pious friends, to learn
How
food to beg, and other ways discern.
In
tears he viewed his son the forest quit,
And
fain would have him for the world unfit.
Thecity’s palaces and lofty spires,
Our
rustick’s bosom filled with new desires.
The
prince’s residence great splendour showed,
And
lively pleasure on the youth bestowed.
What’s
here? said he; The court, his friends replied:—
What
there?—The mansions where the great reside:—
And
these?—Fine statues, noble works of art:
All
gave delight and gratitude his heart.
But
when the beauteous fair first caught his view,
To
ev’ry other sight he bade adieu;
The
palace, court, or mansions he admired,
No
longer proved the objects he desired;
Another
cause of admiration rose,
His
breast pervaded, and disturbed repose.
What’s
this, he cried, so elegantly neat?
O
tell me, father; make my joy complete!
Whatgave the son such exquisite delight,
The
parent filled with agonizing fright.
To
answer, howsoe’er he’d no excuse,
So
told the youth—a bird they call a goose.
O
beauteous bird, exclaimed th’ enraptured
boy,
Sing,
sound thy voice, ’twill fill my soul with joy;
To
thee I’d anxiously be better known;
O
father, let me have one for my own!
A
thousand times I fondly ask the boon;
Let’s
take it to the woods: ’tis not too soon;
Young
as it is, I’ll feed it morn and night,
And
always make it my supreme delight.
RichardMinutolo
 
; Inev’ry age, at Naples, we are told,
Intrigue
and gallantry reign uncontrolled;
With
beauteous objects in abundance blessed.
No
country round so many has possessed;
Such
fascinating charms the fair disclose,
That
irresistibly soft passion flows.
’Mongthese a belle, enchanting to behold,
Was
loved by one, of birth and store of gold;
Minutolo
(and Richard) was his name,
In
Cupid’s train a youth of brilliant fame:
’Tween
Rome and Paris none was more gallant,
And
num’rous hearts were for him known to pant.
Catella(thus was called our lady fair,)
So
long, howe’er, resisted Richard’s snare,
That
prayers, and vows, and promises were vain;
A
favour Minutolo could not gain.
At
length, our hero weary, coldness showed,
And
dropt attendance, since no kindness flowed;
Pretended
to be cured:—another sought,
And
feigned her charms his tender heart had caught:
Catella
laughed, but jealousy was nigh;
’Twas
for her friend that now He heaved the sigh.
Thesedames together met, and Richard too,
The
gay gallant a glowing picture drew,
Of
certain husbands, lovers, prudes, and wives;
Who
led in secret most lascivious lives.
Though
none he named, Catella was amazed;
His
hints suspicions of her husband raised;
And
such her agitation and affright,
That,
anxious to procure more certain light,
In
haste she took Minutolo aside,
And
begged the names he would not from her hide,
With
all particulars, from first to last:—
Her
ardent wish to know whate’er had passed.
Solong your reign, said Richard, o’er my mind,
Deny
I could not, howsoe’er inclined;
With
Mrs. Simon often is your spouse;
Her
character no doubt your spleen will rouse;
I’ve
no design, observe to give offence,
But,
when I see your int’rest in suspense,
I
cannot silent keep; though, were I still
A
slave, devoted wholly to your will,
As
late I moved, I would not drop a word
Mistrust
of lovers may not be absurd;
Besides,
you’d fancy other motives led
To
tell you of your husband what was said;
But
heav’n be praised, of you I nothing want;
My
object’s plain—no more the fond gallant.
I’velately certain information had,
Your
spouse (I scarcely thought the man so bad,)
Has
with the lady an appointment made;
At
Jack’s nice bagnio he will meet the jade.
Nowclearly Jack’s not rich, and there’s no
doubt;
A
hundred ducats give, and—all will out;
Let
him but have a handsome sum in view,
And
any thing you wish, be sure he’ll do;
You
then can manage ev’ry way so well,
That,
at the place assigned to meet his belle,
You’ll
take this truant husband by surprise;—
Permit
me in this nice affair to advise.
Thelady has agreed, you will remark,
That
in a room where ev’ry part is dark,
(Perhaps
to ’scape the keeper’s prying sight,
Or
shame directs exclusion of the light,)
She
will receive your gay inconstant spouse;
Now,
take her place; the case deceit allows;
Make
Jack your friend; nor haggle at the price;
A
hundred ducats give, is my advice;
He’ll
place you in the room where darkness reigns;
Think
not too fast, nor suffer heavy chains;
Do
what you wish, and utter not a word;
To
speak, assuredly would be absurd;
’Twould
spoil the whole; destroy the project quite;
Attend,
and see if all things be not right.
Theproject pleased Catella to the soul;
Her
wrath, no longer able to controul,
She
Richard stopt; enough, enough, she cried;
I
fully understand:—leave me to guide;
I’ll
play the fellow and his wanton lass
A
pretty trick-shall all their art surpass,
Unless
the string gives way and spoils my scheme;
What,
take me for a nincompoop?—they dream.
Thissaid, she sought excuse to get away,
And
went in quest of Jack without delay.
The
keeper, howsoe’er, a hint had got;
Minutolo
had schooled him for the plot;
Oft
cash does wonders, and, if such the case
In
France or Britain, when conferred a grace,
The
bribe is taken, and the truth abused,
In
Italy it will not be refused;
There
this sole quiver Cupid useful finds,—
A
purse well stored—all binds, gunlocks, or
blinds:
Jack
took the pelf from Richard and the dame;
Had
Satan offered—’twould have been the
same.
In
short, Minutolo had full success,
All
came about, and marked the spark’s address.
Thelady had at first some warm dispute
To
many questions Jack was even mute;
But
when he saw the golden charms unmasked,
Far
more he promised than Catella asked.
Thetime of rendezvous arrived, our spark
To
Jack’s repaired, and found the room quite dark;
So
well arranged, no crevice could he find,
Through
which the light might hurt what he designed.
Notlong he waited, ere our jealous dame,
Who
longed to find her faithless husband, came,
Most
thoroughly prepared his ears to greet.
Jack
brought the couple presently to meet.
The
lady found, howe’er, not what she sought:
No
guilty spouse, nor Mrs. Simon caught;
But
wily Richard, who, without alarms,
Atlength, the fair could no longer contain:
Vile
wretch, she cried, I’ve borne too much ’tis
plain;
I’m
not the fav’rite whom thou had’st in view:
To
tear thy eyes out justly were thy due,
’Tis
this, indeed, that makes thee silent keep,
Each
morn feign sickness, and pretend to sleep,
Thyself
reserving doubtless for amours:—
Speak,
villain! say, of charms have I less stores?
Or
what has Mrs. Simon more than I?
A
wanton wench, in tricks so wondrous sly!
Where
my love less? though truly now I hate;
Would
that I’d seen thee hung, thou wretch ingrate!
Minutolo,
while thus Catella spoke,
Caressed
her much, but silence never broke;
A
kiss e’en tried to gain, without success;
She
struggled, and refused to acquiesce;
Begone!
said she, nor treat me like a child;
Stand
off!—away!—thy taction is defiled;
My
tears express an injured woman’s grief;
No
more thy wife I’ll be, but seek relief;
Return
my fortune—go:—thy mistress seek;
To
be so constant:—How was I so weak?
It
surely would be nothing more than right,
Were
Richard I to see this very night,
Who
adoration constantly has paid:—
You
much deserve to be a cuckold made;
I’m
half inclined, I vow, to do the worst.
At
this our arch gallant with laughter burst.
What
impudence!—You mock me too? she cried
Let’s
see, with blushes if his face be dyed?
When
from his arms she sprang, a window sought;
The
shutters ope’d, and then a view she caught;
Minutolo,
her lover! * * * what surprise!
Pale,
faint, she instant grew, and closed her eyes:
Who
would have thought, said she, thou wert so base?
I’m
lost! * * * for ever sunk in dire disgrace!
Who’ll,
know it? Richard earnestly replied;
In
Jack’s concealment we may both confide;
Excuse
the trick I’ve played and ne’er repine;
Address,
force, treachery, in love combine;
All
are permitted when intrigue ’s the word;
To
hold the contrary were quite absurd.
Till
stratagem was used I naught could gain,
But
looks and darts from eyes, for all my pain.
I’ve
paid myself;—Would you have done it?—No;
’Tis
all as might be wished;—come, smiles bestow;
I’m
satisfied, the fault was not with you.
In
this, to make you wretched, naught I view;
Why
sigh and groan?—What numbers could I name,
Who
would be happy to be served the same.
Hisreas’ning yet could not the belle appease;
She
wept, and sought by tears her mind to ease;
Affliction
highly added to her charms;
Minutolo
still gave her new alarms;
He
took her hand, which she at once withdrew:
Away,
she cried; no longer me pursue;
Be
satisfied; you surely don’t desire
That
I assistance from the house require,
Or
rouse the neighbours with my plaintive cries
I’ll
ev’ry thing declare without disguise.
Suchfolly don’t commit, replied the spark;
Your
wisest plan is nothing to remark:
The
world at present is become so vile,
If
you the truth divulge, they’ll only smile;
Not
one a word of treachery would believe,
But
think you came—and money to receive:
Suppose,
besides, it reached your husband’s ears;
Th’
effect has reason to excite your fears;
’Twould
give displeasure and occasion strife:
Would
you in duels wish to risk his life?
Whatever
makes you with him disagree,
At
all events, I’m full as bad as he.
Thesereasons with Catella greatly weighed
Since
things, continued he, are thus displayed;
And
cannot be repaired, console your mind;
A
perfect being never was designed.
If,
howsoe’er you will * * * but say no more;
Such
thoughts for ever banish, I implore.
’Mid
all my perseverance, zeal, and art,
I
nothing got but frowns that pierced the heart:
’Twill
now on you depend if pleasure prove
This
day imperfect, ere from hence we move.
What
more remains to do? the worst is past;
’Tis
step the first that costs, however classed.
So
well Minutolo preferred his suit,
The
lady with him more would not dispute,
With
downcast eyes she listened to his prayer,
And
looked disposed to tranquilize his care;
From
easy freedom soon he ’gan to soar;
A
smile received:—a kiss bestowed and more:
At
length, the lady passed resistance by,
And
all conceded, e’en without a sigh.
Ourhero felt a thousand times more blessed
Than
when he first the beauteous fair caressed;
For
when a flame reciprocal is raised,
The
bliss redoubles, and by all is praised.
ThusRichard pleasantly employed his time,
Contented
lived, concentring joys sublime.
A
sample, now, we have given of his pow’rs,
And
who would wish for more delightful hours?
O
grant, kind heav’n! that I the like may meet,
And
ever prove so wary and discreet.
In childhood fear ’s the lesson first we
know!
Who knows too much, oft shows a want of sense
*** End of the project gutenberg Ebook tales and novels of Fontaine, V11 ***
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