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.  Cicero makes the latter consist in saying what is appropriate one should say, considering the place, the time, and the persons to whom one is speaking.  This principle once admitted, it is not a fault of judgment to entertain the people of to-day with Tales which are a little broad.  Neither do I sin in that against morality.  If there is anything in our writings which is capable of making an impression on the mind, it is by no means the gaiety of these Tales; it passes off lightly; I should rather fear a tranquil melancholy, into which the most chaste and modest novels are very capable of plunging us, and which is a great preparation for love.  As to the second objection, by which people reproach me that this book does wrong to womankind, they would be right if I were speaking seriously:  but who does not see that this is all in jest, and consequently cannot injure?  We must not be afraid on that account that marriages in the future will be less frequent, and husbands more on their guard.  It may still be objected that these Tales are unfounded or that they have everywhere a foundation easy to destroy; in short that they are absurdities and have not the least tinge of probability.  I reply in a few words that I have my authorities:  and besides it is neither truth nor probability which makes the beauty and the charm of these Tales:  it is only the manner of telling them.  These are the principal points on which I have thought it necessary to defend myself.  I abandon the rest to the censors; the more so as it would be an infinite undertaking to pretend to reply to all.  Criticism never stops short nor ever wants for subjects on which to exercise itself:  even if those I am able to foresee were taken from it, it would soon have discovered others.

Talesand novels
of
J. De La Fontaine
.......

Joconde

In Lombardy’s fair land, in days of yore,
Once dwelt a prince, of youthful charms, a store;
Each fair, with anxious look, his favours sought,
And ev’ry heart within his net was caught. 
Quite proud of beauteous form and smart address,
In which the world was led to acquiesce,
He cried one day, while all attention paid,
I’ll bet a million, Nature never made
Beneath the sun, another man like me,
Whose symmetry with mine can well agree. 
If such exist, and here will come, I swear
I’ll show him ev’ry lib’ral princely care.