No More Learning

He had few books and few friends.

Amongst a large number of works that he has left, everyone knows his
fables and his tales, and the circumstances of his life are written in
a hundred places.

He died on the 16th of March, 1695.

Let us keep silence about his last moments, for fear of irritating those
who never forgive.

His fellow-citizens honour him in his posterity to this day.

Long after his death, foreigners went to visit the room which he had
occupied.

Once a year, I shall go to visit his tomb.

On that day, I shall tear up a fable of La Mothe, a tale of Vergier, or
several of the best pages of Grecourt.

He was buried in the cemetery of Saint-Joseph, by the side of Moliere.

That spot will always be held sacred by poets and people of taste.





THE AUTHOR'S PREFACE

TO THE FIRST VOLUME OF THESE TALES

I had resolved not to consent to the printing of these Tales, until after
I had joined to them those of Boccaccio, which are those most to my
taste; but several persons have advised me to produce at once what I
have remaining of these trifles, in order to prevent from cooling the
curiosity to see them, which is still in its first ardour. I gave way to
this advice without much difficulty, and I have thought well to profit by
the occasion. Not only is that permitted me, but it would be vanity on
my part to despise such an advantage. It has sufficed me to wish that no
one should be imposed upon in my favour, and to follow a road contrary to
that of certain persons, who only make friends in order to gain voices in
their favour by their means; creatures of the Cabal, very different from
that Spaniard who prided himself on being the son of his own works.
Although I may still be as much in want of these artifices as any other
person, I cannot bring myself to resolve to employ them; however I shall
accommodate myself if possible to the taste of the times, instructed as I
am by my own experience, that there is nothing which is more necessary.
Indeed one cannot say that all seasons are suitable for all classes of
books. We have seen the Roundelays, the Metamorphoses, the Crambos,
reign one after another. At present, these gallantries are out of date
and nobody cares about them: so certain is it that what pleases at one
time may not please at another! It only belongs to works of truly solid
merit and sovereign beauty, to be well received by all minds and in all
ages, without possessing any other passport than the sole merit with
which they are filled. As mine are so far distant from such a high
degree of perfection, prudence advises that I should keep them in my
cabinet unless I choose well my own time for producing them. This is
what I have done, or what I have tried to do in this edition, in which
I have only added new Tales, because it seemed to me that people were
prepared to take pleasure in them. There are some which I have extended,
and others which I have abridged, only for the sake of diversifying them
and making them less tedious. But I am occupying myself over matters
about which perhaps people will take no notice, whilst I have reason to
apprehend much more important objections. There are only two principal
ones which can be made against me; the one that this book is licentious;
the other that it does not sufficiently spare the fair sex. With regard
to the first, I say boldly that the nature of what is understood as a
tale decided that it should be so, it being an indispensable law
according to Horace, or rather according to reason and common sense, that
one must conform one's self to the nature of the things about which one
writes. Now, that I should be permitted to write about these as so many
others have done and with success I do not believe it can be doubted; and
people cannot condemn me for so doing, without also condemning Ariosto
before me and the Ancients before Ariosto. It may be said that I should
have done better to have suppressed certain details, or at least to have
disguised them. Nothing was more easy, but it would have weakened the
tale and taken away some of its charm: So much circumspection is only
necessary in works which promise great discretion from the beginning,
either by their subject or by the manner in which they are treated. I
confess that it is necessary to keep within certain limits, and that the
narrowest are the best; also it must be allowed me that to be too
scrupulous would spoil all. He who would wish to reduce Boccaccio to the
same modesty as Virgil, would assuredly produce nothing worth having, and
would sin against the laws of propriety by setting himself the task to
observe them. For in order that one may not make a mistake in matters
of verse and prose, extreme modesty and propriety are two very different
things.