“I persist,—anteco, as they say at Port Royal.”
“Then please to recollect that the great Epicurus lived, and made his pupils live, upon bread, vegetables, and water.”
“That is not certain,” said La Fontaine; “and you appear to me to be confounding Epicurus with Pythagoras, my dear Conrart.”
“Remember, likewise, that the ancient philosopher was rather a bad friend of the gods and the magistrates.”
“Oh! that is what I will not admit,” replied La Fontaine. “Epicurus was like M. Fouquet.”
“Do not compare him to monsieur le surintendant,” said Conrart, in an agitated voice, “or you would accredit the reports which are circulating concerning him and us.”
“What reports?”
“That we are bad Frenchmen, lukewarm with regard to the king, deaf to the law.”
“I return, then, to my text,” said La Fontaine. “Listen, Conrart, this is the morality of Epicurus, whom, besides, I consider, if I must tell you so, as a myth. Antiquity is mostly mythical. Jupiter, if we give a little attention to it, is life. Alcides is strength. The words are there to bear me out; Zeus, that is, zen, to live. Alcides, that is, alce, vigor. Well, Epicurus, that is mild watchfulness, that is protection; now who watches better over the state, or who protects individuals better than M. Fouquet does?”
“You talk etymology and not morality; I say that we modern Epicureans are indifferent citizens.”