The Fables of La Fontaine
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