0. \r^ THE LITERARY MOVEMENT IN FRANCE DURING THE NINETEENTH CENTURY BY Georges Pellissier AUTHORIZED ENGLISH VERSION BY ANNE GARRISON BRINTON WITH GENERAL INTRODUCTION G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS NEW YORK LONDON 27 WEST TWENTY -THIRD STREET 24 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND ®^t llnitkcrbocktr ^rcss 1897 I Copyright, iSg? BY G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS Entered at Stationers' Hall, London "Cbc icntckecbocker press, Dew £ccit INTRODUCTION. " M. Georges Pellissier's Mouvement litteraire au XIX. Steele is no less the picture, than the history of contemporary French literature. In addition, it is also the philosophy, or rather describes the evo- lution of the literary movement of our century."^ With these words the most prominent of French critics ofreeted this work, now for the first time offered to the American and English public. From him they were significant, almost prophetic, for of all others, M. Brunetiere has most decried the drifts of modern talent in favor of the virtues of Classic art. In a recent review, M. Faguet, the author of a series of keenly salient literary por- traits, ranks among modern classics this work, still the best history of one of the most fertile of modern literatures. In its great lines M. Pellissier draws the picture of the contemporary literary movement in France. Divining the spirit of its swiftly succeeding phases of thought, he endows each with its peculiar life. Relating its various counter-currents to the con- stant progress of ideas, he gives his work the vivid charm and unbroken interest of a panoramic pic- ture. He treats the products of literary art as documents upon aesthetic development. In this sense his work is a history. He grasps what is ' Brunetiere, Notivelles questions de critique. iv l7iti'oditctio7i. general in thought revolutions without omitting what is particular in reactions or individual in talents. In this respect it is a philosophy. From their origin he traces the causes of the triumph and decline of adverse theories, thus outlining the evolution of contemporary French literature. It is indeed no mean service to the cause of letters to have thrown light upon the great human questions involved in this subject. Althouofh considered in its aesthetic and historic character, M. Pellissier does not overlook the moral import of literary production. However, this is evident from his manner of presenting things rather than from direct observation. Analyzing their nature, he follows the consequences of the exaggeration of certain thought elements which tend to exclude complete truth. As he leaves no doubt in our minds in regard to the relative merit of writers, so he leads us naturally to the ideal solution of aesthetic problems. This solution con- sists in uniting the truths successively placed in evidence only soon to be displaced, by that rapid transformation of thought which has made our cen- tury one of the greatest in history. These adverse phases, each of which seems to him a step in pro- gress, M. Pellissier has pictured in an impartial spirit. First, we have Classicism with its relentless sup- pression of the ego and inherent Optimism ; indif- ferent to the real in respect to details and often limited in its conception of the ideal ; no less ser- vile in the observance of rules than formal and Introduction. v superficial in its Catholicism. Then, we have Romanticism with its ascendant ego and incurable melancholy ; more general in its admittance of the details of reality and always universal in its concep- tion of the ideal ; liberal in the application of formulas as well as spiritual and sentimental in its Christianity. Finally, we have Realism with its triumphant ego and enervating Pessimism ; as exclu- sive in its acceptance of the real as it is arrogant in its suppression of the ideal ; no less scrupulous in its superstition for form than absolute and de- cadent in its negation of truths which do not admit of empirical verification. Here, as M. Pellissier shows. Classicism is inspired by Greco-Latin antiquity ; Romanticism turns to mediaeval art ; Realism confines itself to the data of the present. Classicism, aiming at general truth, expresses the philosophical spirit ; Romanticism, pursuing interior truth, is pervaded by artistic and religious sentiment ; Realism, seeking only exterior truth, is the essence of the scientific spirit. Humanity only was admitted by ancient and Classic art. The nineteenth century, however, has given nature full aesthetic expression, first in a more subjective, later in a more objective form. Indeed, the constant advance of nature in modern art is one of the chief epoch marks of our century. Generally speaking, with Classicism it is the triumph of art over nature ; Romanticism aims to conciliate art and nature ; with Realism it is the triumph of nature over art. There is no purely objective art. Artistic production implies both man and nature, vi Introductio7i. both the subjective and the objective. Either in reducing nature or in rejecting man art becomes empty formaHsm. Hence, it is evident that Real- ism has never consistently applied its precepts. Synthesis is the method of Idealism ; analysis is the method of Realism as defined by its exponents. But synthesis rather than analysis is the method of art ; while analysis rather than synthesis is the method of science. Nevertheless, Realism, con- sidered apart from scholastic exaggerations, is as necessary to art as is Idealism to science. At no time can Romanticism be said to have proceeded solely by synthesis ; in no instance has Realism ex- clusively applied the analytical method. In M. Pellissier's words : " With the latter half of the century we set out to combat abstraction, and we proscribed all beauty in things and all virtue in souls. We but broke away from the idealization of the beautiful and the good to substitute the idealization of the ugly and the evil." ^ Subduing the real and suppressing the ego, the Classicists were unconscious Optimists ; either in limiting the real or in expelling the ideal the Romanticists and the Realists came to profess Pessimism. The ego of the great Romantic poets who turned within to find nature and humanity re- flected in their hearts, is not odious like the ego of Realism, which insensibly seeks itself without, and into which no ideal conception of man or life enters. First it was the Pessimism of an exalted Idealism ; later it became the Pessimism of a deformed Real- ' Pellissier, Essais de litterature contcniporaine. Introduction. vii ism. The melancholy of Romanticism was the mournful lament of valiant hearts ; the dejection of Realism became the dismal burden of recreant souls. But are not subjectivity and Pessimism pe- culiarly characteristic of the nineteenth century ? Doubtless we have not far to look for their causes. With the progress of the century art broadens and religion deepens until, through the influence of the scientific spirit, art is finally lost in nature and religion is reduced to a document. This can but prove that art and religion both express truths in- dependent of science. During the first half of the century science was invaded by religion ; with its latter half religion was invaded by science. After divinity was idealized in all manifestations of force and life, reality was exalted to the height of deity. Ours has been a century of experiments, an ever- expanding eft'ort towards truth. Having begun in an effervescence of activity, it has seemed about to close in a paroxysm of moral enervation. But the ideal is inherent in all that relates to humanity. From the embers of the waning century those who have not lost this militant faith seek to fan a purer flame, to light up its monuments with a farther- reaching light. It cannot be denied that one phase of thought is passing away and that another is about to take its place. In this most contemporary writers agree. Since we cannot foresee its culmination, it matters little whether this reaction be called new Idealism or new Realism. However, it can be stated with some degree of surety that the ideal will be given viii Introduction. fuller scope. All revolution begins in philosophy. We must then look to a new philosophy for the signs of the future. From the first M. Pellissier has been in sympathy with this new movement which foreshadows a deeper conception of life and discovers its origin in a broader philosophy. Few have so clearly understood the phases through which our century has passed ; few have so aptly outlined the history of the rise and fall of its two great literary paradoxes. " Romanticism and Realism, more properly called Naturalism, both in turn expressed two fundamental tendencies of the human soul ; the first its need for ideal as- pirations, the second its taste for concrete reali- ties. Romanticism and Naturalism are now dead ; the one consumed by its fervid ardor, the other sterilized by its arid method ; the one for having substituted sentimental rhetoric for human reality, the other for having reduced reality to what is most stupid, vulgar, and abject." ^ No historian has more justly explained the causes of the decline of these two adverse theories : " The exaggerations into which Romanticism and Natu- ralism deteriorated must be attributed to schools rather than to principles, for Idealism and Realism will always remain the two essential principles of art. That the two schools have been exhausted by their excesses but proves the fact that these principles cannot be divorced without resulting in extravagance and absurdity on the one hand, and insignificance and vulgarity on the other." '^' Not ' Pellissier, I^ssais de Utt^rature contcmporaine. * Ibid. InirodMction. ix confining himself to what may be better compre- hended when time lends more impartial judgment, he seeks to detach from past experience w^hat may be a permanent gain to the future. No critic of the times has more truly pointed out the direction towards which minds are already turning. " What remains to us if not to conciliate the ideal with the real, either by bringing the ideal within the sphere of reality, or by introducing into ideality what is fundamentally real ? Since when separated, the ideal and the real must end either in the exclusion of human truth or in the negation of all art, when completed by each other rather than opposed, there will be no necessity to react against extremes."^ How few writers of the day have entered so deeply into the nature of artistic methods, their origin and moral import ! " Not only do Idealism and Realism correspond to particular conceptions of art, limited in each case ; they also disclose the physical and moral idiosyncrasies which these dif- ferences of aesthetics indicate. There will always be two families of minds, the one drawn towards what is beautiful and noble in the world, the other towards its miseries and horrors. " Why," he questions, " may not one of these two conceptions prevail without attempting to exclude the other ? If there is no truly human, no truly complete art, surely its highest aim is not to distort and deform life by submitting it to formulas which express but a part of the truth ! " ^ It is for others to picture, deplore, or combat ex- ^ Pellissier, Essais de litte'rature conteinporaiiie. ^ Ibid. X Introduction. isting conditions. No less reactionary than those who more or less consciously feel the need of a renovation, M. Pellissier is so in that his effort is reconstructive. He would have the art of the future founded upon a firmer basis ; he would have it express life in its complexity and continu- ity. Suggesting what is ever true in all theories of art, he shows in their interdependence the fundamental principles underlying all artistic pro- -duction. He knows that schools should be the ex- pression of art phases, always natural rather than artificial. Notwithstanding their violences, he values the products of Romantic Idealism and scientific Realism. Both are loyal, though fitful and faulty efforts towards truth. He also recog- nizes what many have overlooked, — that, since our century has passed so rapidly from great extremes of thought, this must leave its imprint upon cur- rent thought-life. The effects of these extremes have been so violently condemned only by those who, failing to consider them as reactions, have very slightly understood their causes. In the pessimistic, individualistic philosophies, the expression of current thought, many have dis- covered the sio^ns of decadence. Believinor them the inevitable effects of exaggerations, M. Pellissier holds that present anarchy may mean no more than the advent of a new era. At least, decadence is nowhere more apparent than in its adherents. In opposition to the theory that artistic creation is inconsistent with health of body and mind, there exists another which maintains that physical and Introduction. xi mental tares are In no sense the necessary condi- tion of genius, to which they are secondary and accessory. Always more evident in the artist creator, they are accidental in all cases. Has art become the product of laborious effort ? We have sought to apply to it the method of science. We have sought to efface the ideal, the sole condition of aesthetic and moral progress. Do we believe ours an effete age ? We have but expelled the ideal in our pursuit of tangible truth. Scorning all but the truths of evidence, we have ignored the reality of the ideal. Although M. Pellissier was one of the first to predict and observe the renaissance of Idealism, he has not been alone in the van of thoupfht. Other French critics have noted the same drift in the thought of the times. In the full triumph of sub- jective criticism, one undaunted belligerent long upheld alone the traditions of Classic art. What wonder that he should be so ready to welcome the dawn of an era in which the ideal will find fuller acceptance. M. Brunetiere says : " As we passed from Romanticism into Naturalism during the first half of the century, so with its latter half are we passing from Naturalism into Idealism, and its evolution being slower, we may believe that its effects will be more durable." ^ Proceeding to ad- vocate the new impulse everywhere more evident, he says : " Now is the time to be Idealists in the interest of literature and art, both of which would degenerate into mere trades were their object other ' Brunetiere, la Renaissance de I'idt'alisme. xii Introduction. than to penetrate deeper into the knowledge of nature and humanity. Now is the time to be Ideahsts in the interest of truth and science, either of which would make but meagre progress, if di- rected solely to the perfecting of material life."^ Like M, Pellissier, this modern Classicist also be- lieves Idealism and Realism tendencies to be checked or encouraged by turns. Both present dangers. Art must not be allowed to have no other object than itself ; science must not become the sole arbiter of life. In the character of his mind M. Brunetiere represents what is most logical in reason. Let us define Idealism and Realism according to him. Those are not true Idealists who aim to sup- press the ugly and the evil, any more than are those true Realists who would ig-nore the beautiful and the good. Both represent a mental bias, a leaning towards one or the other aspect of life. But Idealism aims to express through the means offered by nature, something ulterior to it and in- herent in the artist, while Realism proposes to con- fine itself to its more exact transcription, finding it sufficiently extended to furnish material for the artist. Idealism is the subordination of nature to a particular conception, in which the artist's soul finds voice more directly than by Realism which attempts to eliminate as far as possible all personal expansion, if not preferences. Thus, Idealism and Realism, besides indicating in either case the as- cendancy of one over the other aspect of life, ' Brunetiere, la Renaissance de Vid^alisme. Introdtidion, xiii disclose at the same time a greater or a lesser need for individual expression. No work of art is either purely Idealistic or purely Realistic in conception. Like all others, these terms are relative, and infi- nite are the degrees of their association. In form- ing schools of art, artists have made the methods of art their object, for all schools of art, as M. Brunetiere justly remarks, arise from a difference of opinion in regard to the degree of imitation of nature.^ The historians of Classic and Modern literary art have both considered literature in its moral charac- ter. Both have arrived at the same conclusions. For them art's first object is to realize beauty, and the warrant of beauty is the aesthetic emotion aroused. Art and literature are, in fact, but the symbols of that emotion. According to M. Ricardou, " this is the theoretic truth upon which Symbolism has founded its conception of art." ^ Exalting the sym- bol, which transfers emotion in a condensed form, it aims to suggest rather than to express. Sym- bolism, apart from exaggerations and obscurities, points towards the renaissance of Idealism and poetic sentiment. If morality may not be the ob- ject, but the condition, of art, moral emotion cer- tainly increases the aesthetic value of a work of art. Indeed no more is morality than reality the object but the condition of art. With the ideal, the source of activity, is associated in greatest measure moral as well as aesthetic emotion, without which no social progress is possible. ' Brunetiere, Nouvelles questions de critique. ^ Ricardou, la Critique litt&aire, Etude philosophique. xvi Introduction. Pessimism. As the germ of the ideal is found in Optimism, so Pessimism, inspiring pity, may suggest altruism. " The persistent tendency towards Pes- simism, the exclusive preference for a sombre form of art, which prevails during certain epochs of his- tory, and particularly in our own, should not be considered as an infirmity of art, but of the indi- vidual and of the epoch which cannot produce otherwise,"^ writes M. Ribot. Nevertheless, in a certain sense Pessimism no less than Optimism represents a principle of activity, and only when dis- sociated and exaggerated do they alike result in the annihilation of all volition. When no longer placed in opposition, we cannot overlook what is radically consistent in both conceptions of life. " Pessimism, in itself an error, entails good as well as bad results. As evil serves the cause of good, so good overcomes the effects of evil. Pessimism opposes Optimism, excess opposes excess. Thus are forces balanced, so that nothing, neither good nor evil, may be constant and stable, so that noth- ing may have a definitive triumph, a supremacy detrimental to the final profit. . . . Let Pessim- ism accomplish its mission," '^ concludes M. Jouvin. During an earlier period the theories of a great scientist were extended beyond their proper do- main. A natural law was forced into the sphere of a moral law, and problems beyond its scope were solved by being ignored. Such a conception of life was demoralisincr. This law of the natural ' Ribot, Psyckologie des sentiments. ^ Jouvin, le Pessimisine. Introduction. xvii world a recent French writer would complete with the true law of moral evolution, an association of interests in view of the good of the greatest num- ber, which he calls " I'entente pour la vie." ^ The theory of evolution as now understood and univer- sally applied supposes another. From the conflict of clashing theories which has made our century seem the most paradoxical in history, there ap- pears a principle which proposes the conciliation of forces supposed hostile. The farther theories apparently adverse are pushed, the nearer do they seem to converge. Spiritualism has ceased to satisfy minds ; Positivism has proved itself insuffi- cient. " But," says M. Fouillee, " the subjective synthesis pursued by Idealism, and the objective synthesis pursued by Positivism, seem about to unite in a universal synthesis. . . . Philoso- phies are passing away," he continues, " neverthe- less philosophy remains." The truth now pursued is not less absolute, but more complex. Instead of truths vowed to endless variance, we have in view that ideal line where truth meets truth. Belief in decadence does not seem possible in face of the growing activity in philosophy. That minds are turning towards the future rather than to the past seems significant of renovation. The historical researches of the earlier part of the cen- tury are being followed by theoretical inquiries ; aesthetic questions now occupy a prominent place in contemporary thought. In both philosophy and aesthetics there is an evident effort to embrace ' Funck-Brentano, r Homme et sa destinc'e. xviii Introduction. greater variety and greater particularity. That abstraction by which they were formerly character- ized seems to be giving way to a unity of concep- tion in which all theories blend, and in which alone can the mind find rest. We grasp unsuspected relations ; art completes art, philosophy meets philosophy. At the outset of the century, thought was still absorbed in the study of mind ; with its latter half the study of sentiments and passions has been ad- mitted. This has left its imprint upon the literature of the first and the latter half of the century. We know to what degree the heroes of Romanticism were colored by the spirit of the age. No less in touch with its atmosphere were the heroes of Nat- uralism. Well, like happy, people, seem to have no history, — art so often seeks accent. Not finding in normal physiological conditions what would lend itself to the demands of art, literature gave a ready welcome to their more pathological forms. There- fore, to natural and transient causes, rather than to decadence, may be attributed that exclusive idealiza- tion of the ugly and the evil, so justly considered untrue to life. As Naturalism admits no distinc- tion between the beautiful and the ugly, so Positiv- ism recognizes no difference between the good and the bad. Why look further than this philosophy for what is peculiar to time in these degenerate forms of life ? That they should find their way into art at a time when minds are absorbed in the study of sentiments and passions is to be expected ; that they should be given so high a place by an art Introduction. xix that expels the ideal and closes its temple to no material truth is no less natural. Since science has definitely come into possession of its true methods, it remains for art to profit by recent experiments. It seems now no more possible for Idealists to lack the sense of reality than for Realists to sacrifice the sense of ideality. Our age has been called the most subjective, the most individualistic, that has ever existed. This movement, seeming to presage the victory of the individual, has been condemned as subversive of all morality. May it not rather be charged to the more complex character of our civilization ? Aside from certain evil effects, it might be thought to announce very different results. In the opinion of M. Fouillee, "■ the more complex becomes subjec- tivity, the more extended becomes objectivity," exterior relations being increased only in accord- ance with interior complexity. It cannot be ques- tioned that neither Romanticism nor Naturalism maintained a just mean between subjectivity and objectivity. Moreover, subjectivity was introduced by Christianity, and though we may doubt its dog- mas, we cannot free ourselves from its legacy. This subjectivity has not only been paramount in the literature of the nineteenth century ; it has also left its mark upon the evolution of literary styles. Those forms best adapted to the rendering of personal sentiments have been employed. Al- though Romanticism found its highest effusion in lyrical poetry, it brought into favor the novel con- sidered as a work of subjective literary art. With XX Introduction. Realism the novel became the most fertile of styles, being also adapted to the analysis of character and the portrayal of miiie^ix. However, for the lack of the ideal. Naturalism, though a reaction against Romanticism, was unable to cast off the ego brought into vogue by it. Romantic Idealism found the world mirrored within ; Realistic analysis, in seek- ing to portray it, very often discovered itself with- out. Herein lies the difference between the novel of Romanticism and that of Naturalism. These forms of literary art, lyric poetry and the novel, have replaced the tragedies of the Classical era, for dramatic art is that style which, more than all others, demands literary impersonality. From this point of view Racine's tragedies are superior to Victor Hugo's dramas, and this is what constitutes to a great degree the superiority of the Comedy of Manners of Dumas and Augier. But what style will be adopted by the new French literature ? We agree with M. Lanson, that " scientific literature — parody and derision of science — belongs to the past, that only an artistic literature can take its place, — a literature which will express the truths of Romanticism and Naturalism in a Classic form." ^ Since art cannot escape the objective any more than it can dispense with the subjective, something both personal and impersonal must enter into criti- cism as well as into all other forms of literary art. The criticism of the Realistic period was more impersonal, more objective, but with many recent French critics there has been a reaction in favor of ' Lanson, Ilisioirc dc la littt'rature fran^aise. Introduction. xxi personal, subjective criticism. This is to be ex- plained by the fact that many who began as lyric poets drifted into criticism after coming in contact with the analytical spirit of the times. However, impressionism in criticism, considered as the nota- tion of the literary sensations of the critic, is not in the direct line of the evolution of contemporary criticism. Only with the nineteenth century has criticism attained a general development, and at no former time in the history of the century has it reached so high a point. Since Positivism has begun to lose ground, criticism has passed through marked changes. With contemporary critics it has made great advances. In order to show what position M. Pellissier takes among them, it may be well to define the attitude of the most recent. Madame de Stael and Chateaubriand were the most active agents during the reign of Romanti- cism ; Taine and Renan exercised the widest influ- ence during the succeeding epoch. But Madame de Stael and Taine were the theorists of the move- ments marked by the first and latter half of the century, the spirit of both of which was diffused by Chateaubriand and Renan, whose influences were more subtle and penetrating. Modern French criticism began with Madame de Stael, and was carried on by Sainte-Beuve and Taine by the same methods, although in different directions. With the scientific period it passed from a purely liter- ary art that supposed a science, into a science that often supposed an art. However much criticism may XX i i Iiitroductio7i. gain from physiology, history, and philosophy, the first object of literature will always be artistic ex- pression, and as an art it should not cease to be considered. The critics of to-day have withdrawn criticism from the direction given to it by the mas- ters of the scientific period, and without ceasing to apply the same methods, have led it back to its true sphere. Taine too often considered literary works as documents upon history. That criticism deviated with the passing epoch, and became ab- sorbed in history, was to a great measure due to his influence. Sainte-Beuve too often considered literary works as documents upon physiology. But beneath the naturalist there was an artist who con- tinued to judge literary production from artistic standards. Siofnificant of the differences of their criticism is the fact that Sainte-Beuve limited him- self to the particular, while Taine preferred to apply himself to the general. Criticism, creative, dogmatic, constructive, as considered by Taine, can best be called the phi- losophy of literary history. Although the " critique evolutioniste" was outlined by him, it was for other minds to modify his views and give his arguments a solid foundation. M. Brunetiere relates litera- ture to human life by showing the progress of thought in the evolution of literary styles. Of all French critics of to-day, he is, perhaps, best en- dowed for this task, in which line criticism has made great strides with him. In the cast of his mind, M. Brunetiere is peculiarly fitted to under- stand Classical literature, of which he is the most Introduction. xxiii able exponent. In the breadth of his taste, M. PelHssier is, perhaps, better endowed for compre- hending the literature of the nineteenth century, with which he is more in sympathy. He is neither lacking in appreciation of the merits of Classicism nor does he yield himself to the vagaries of the modern spirit. His work falls between that of Sainte-Beuve and Taine. He has admirably united the qualities of both. In treating what is general in thought movements, he has not slighted what is particular. In considering literature in its historic aspect he does not submit criticism to history. For him the psychological study of an author only serves the better to appreciate his work from the creator's point of view. He notes only those features which have profoundly marked literary physiognomy, only those circumstances which have materially guided the development of talent. He shows in what consists an author's originality, his dependence and influence, in what respect he ex- cels or falls short as a thinker or writer. He considers men of genius necessary factors in the evolution of literature, both in embodying the spirit of their times and in preparing and directing it into new channels. In addition to the historical import of an author's work, he judges it according to what human truth he has been able to condense in a personal form and by the excellence of that form. He holds that the true beauty of books lies in something intimate and personal beyond the rules of rhetoric, something characteristic in an author's manner of seeing, feeling, and writing xx\'i Inirod^iction. factors in an influence which has been prolonged in a orreat measure because his reviews have never o been collected and published. Ernest Tissot classes critics as literary, moral and analytical.^ Brunetiere and Lemaitre are literary critics ; the works of Scherer and D'Au- revilly belong to moral criticism ; Bourget and Hennequin are analytical critics. It is scarcely necessary to suggest in what each view of criticism is incomplete, or in what this classification is often arbitrary. With no one is criticism more serious than with Brunetiere ; with no one is it more pleasing and suggestive than with Lemaitre. Scherer was the greatest scholar of recent French critics ; while Brunetiere now seems to cover the widest sphere of culture. Scherer, lacking artistic feeling, employed a style too charmless for his works to reach any great degree of popularity. Although sometimes leaning towards archaism, Brunetiere's style is a vivid medium of expression. No one believed more devoutly than did Scherer during the first half of his career, no one doubted more sincerely than he during the latter part of his life. Possessing in so great a degree loyalty of mind, he, nevertheless, retained in his heart the severity of dogmatism. He became a sceptic without its indulgence. Brunetiere, so also Bour- get and Vogue, have thrown sympathy and influ- ence with the revival of Catholicism. According to Rene Doumic,^ Lemaitre's criticism is a " union ' Tissot, les Evolutions de la critique. ' Doumic, les Ecrivains iVaiijourd' hui. Introduction. xxvii of Classic taste with modern form." He is both "subtle and na'ive, both sceptic and sensual." Mobile of mind, assuming various attitudes, like Renan he has never lost the simplicity of early- faith. If at times a dilettante in mind, he cannot be accused of disloyalty of heart. His is always an indulgent scepticism ; also like Renan he ap- pears less dogmatical than he is, just as Taine appeared more so than he really was. What Rene Doumic calls Lemaitre's neo-Hellenism is "very different from the philosophical scepticism of Scherer or the mental cosmopolitanism of Bour- get. ... It resembles neither the rigid aus- terity and intellectual vigor of the one, nor the pessimism and effeminacy of the other." ^ More objective in Brunetiere and Pellissier, more subjective in Lemaitre and Bourget, modern French criticism has found its most impersonal expression in Faguet and Hennequin, and its most personal expression in Anatole France. With Bourget and Faguet criticism becomes literary psychology. However, Bourget too often seeks the same tendencies in character. Like Lemaitre, he is something of an impressionist, as becomes the critic of the modern soul. No one has so keenly analyzed that modernism with which he seems almost to identify himself in the characters of the writers he studies. A moralist by nature, he has been one of the first to recall his generation to the fact that it possesses a soul. But, " to the study of moral problems," says Rene Doumic, " he ' Doumic, les Ecrivains d'aujourd^hui. xxviii Introduction. has brought a sensibility and an imagination not untouched by that very modernism from which he would bring about a reaction." ^ To this is due his popularity. Although better known as a novelist, he excels as a critic. But he is also an artist and a poet as well as an analyst, and in this consists his originality. The subtle, languid charm of the dilet- tante is also characteristic of the style of the more serious works of his later manner. Faofuet shuns that modernism which Bourg-et has solely pictured. Independent of mind, he distrusts schools. He confines himself to literary portraits and gives little place to general conceptions. It seems to have been a necessity of his nature to see and state things clearly. From having been a great reader, he became one of the first of critics. He naturally prefers to analyze great thinkers rather than great artists, and values vigor of thought above virtue of form. He always places before us objective realities of the characters he portrays. He does not present thoughts and reasons, but thinking, reasoning people which become living portraits and so remain in our minds. His style is what might be supposed, — clear, vigorous, and direct. Above all things he is frank and sin- cere. Bourget directs analysis rather towards char- acter, mental temperament, while with Faguet the analysis of character and production is more justly balanced. In the analysis of works, as M. Guyau remarks, both Brunetiere and Faguet seem ' Doumic, les Ecrivains d'aiijourd' huit. Introduction. xxix to wish to prove that the merits of a work are self- evident, that its defects only are veiled from view. Negative, militant criticism, as he says, should al- ways assume the inferior role/ In "scientific criti- cism" Hennequin includes aesthetic, psychological, and sociological analysis, but it is in respect to aesthetic analysis that his work is most excellent. We find in him the same exasperation of the ana- lytical spirit so marked in Bourget. Just as he is a keener analyst than Bourget, so is he more of an idealist. His work is original and creative. It was his purpose to apply to criticism a new method directly opposed to that of Taine. As we know, Taine was the initiator of sociological criticism. However, his system neglected the individual, just as Sainte-Beuve often too closely interpreted an author's works by his life. Taine sought to deter- mine the character of a race by its literature. Hennequin considers literary works in their influ- ence upon a nation. " The theory of Taine which supposes the milieu which creates the individual must be completed by the theory of Hennequin which supposes the individual which creates the milieu^' writes M. Guyau.^ Both theories contain a part of truth. Hennequin is a pure sesthetician, a type of mind less rare elsewhere than in France. Subtle of mind, a relentless artist, he employs a style which renders a marvellous picture of his sub- ject often by means of curious words and unusual locutions. In his vivid aesthetic conception he bears ' Guyau, V Art an point de vue sociologiqtie . " Ibid. XXX Introduction. a certain resemblance to D'Aurevilly, although opposed to him in respect to method. In Hennequin we have aesthetic analysis, while the works of D'Aurevilly belong to aesthetic syn- thesis. This belated Romanticist possesses the power of evoking a book, a painting, a symphony in a manner not so much to give us the exact idea but the direct impression of them. He is both impressionable and illogical, an artist in style and an idealist in thought. During an epoch of domi- nant Realism he resolutely upheld the cult of ideal aspirations. His is a Catholicism of sentiment rather than of reason, a Catholicism inclining to- wards Mysticism. D'Aurevilly suggests Villiers de Lisle-Adam who also lived a sublime dream which lifted him above the sordid prose of the epoch and endured triumphant to the close of his career. Like all prophets, he attempted neither to prove nor to reason, but to arouse the inherent sense of divinity dormant in the conscience. It is true, the spirit of evil often finds a more prominent place than the spirit of good in the cult of these modern mystics and in their followers. Neverthe- less, their influence counts for more than their ac- tual works. There is an element of human truth in their conception of a divinity grasped, created by the conscience, just as there is in the theoretic con- ception of an art which makes Symbolism the basis of its creatic effort. Symbolism is, in fact, insepa- rable from Mysticism. Branded by the errors of its progenitors, Mysticism, in itself insufficient to effect the definite revival of genuine poetic and religious Introduction. xxxi sentiment, can be thought to indicate no more than the certain downfall of Naturalistic doctrines. Hav- ing existed, passive, during the Naturalistic period, it broke out at its decline with all the latent force of a suppressed faculty, turned from its natural course by a degraded Naturalism. Less remote from the spirit of renovation seems the work of a more vigorous school. No living writer has had greater influence over the present generation than the historian, Lavisse, who unites the rare qualities of energy and amiability, initia- tive and liberality. But the downfall of Natural- ism dates from the appearance of Melchior de Vogue's Ro7naii russe in 1885. The effect pro- duced by this work recalls Chateaubriand's Gdiiie du christianisme and Victor Hugo's Preface to Cromwell. No recent work has taken such pro- found hold of sentiment and imagination. Because of the sociological development of modern art is Realism, as found in the Russian novel rather than in the French, more in the direct line of the evolu- tion of contemporary literature. Because of the absence of egotism in their individualism, contrary in this respect to the French, have the Russian novelists been received with so much enthusiasm. M. de Vogue lacks the keen logic of Taine, the subtle analysis of Bourget, and the rigid precision of method found in Hennequin. Nevertheless, his influence, no doubt, has been the greater that he possesses other than the usual literary qualities. He is one of a class of writers of whom he remains the only living example in France. He is a soldier xxxii Introduction. and a diplomat, and this is what we find him in all his writinors. Both an observer and an actor in the drama of life, he is not the historian who con- verts the present into lifeless documents, but who discovers therein fertile springs of action. By the northern writers he has made known and by his own works he has not only revived the religion of sentiment, respect for the ideal, but passion for action, the cult of heroism, naturally hostile to the scepticism and dilettantism of the age. By virtue of "la religion de la souffrance humaine," diffused by those who have followed him, Hennequin, Rod, Sarrazin, etc., French Naturalism is being puri- fied. By virtue of " la religion de Taction mor- ale," the reassuring, invigorating message of those who have assisted him, Paul Desjardins, Henri Berenger, etc., a new spirit is being aroused in the new generation. The works of Seailles and Lar- roumet are well worthy of mention, so also among the younger critics, Lanson and Doumic, quoted above. A fact not to be omitted is the present effort towards decentralization, notably in Proven9e, which, with advancing cosmopolitanism, should cor- rect that lack of initiative so ready in the form- ing of schools. In no country have schools taken a more definite form ; in no country have they had such persistent influence. Having so long possessed a centre of thought, France, now as for- merly, seems to be able to shake off its fetters only by foreign intervention. Since in the intellectual, if not in the scientific, movement France leads Introduction xxxiii Latin Europe, the study of its schools must be of the highest interest to students of literature. The evolution of French literature is real. I have wished to outline its history as presented by M. Pellissier, and to suggest in what respects con- temporary thought has changed since the publica- tion of his work. The evolution of its criticism is no less real. It has been my purpose to point out what advance criticism has made with M. Pellissier and his contemporaries and to indicate their in- fluence upon the new forms of thought. To the original work of M. Pellissier, the son of a Protes- tant French Pastor, and a critic distinguished in letters, I have added for the use of students a Table of Contents, Index, and Chronological List of authors and of their works. With sincere pleasure I acknowledge the kind- ness of M. Pellissier in having furnished me with the inedited sketch of the poet Heredia, and for his approval of the selections made to illustrate the evolution of the alexandrine. Recognition is due to both M. Pellissier and Prof. D. G. Brinton for the interest they have shown during the progress of this translation. I trust that it will serve to throw just light upon these writers whom I first learned to know interpreted in the ancient halls of the College de France and the Sorbonne. I recom- mend them to a broader public, recalling the words of one whose genial nature made his message, more than all others of his time, the reconciliation of science and religious sentiment. With gentle irony Renan informed us that "we could never be v/riters. xxxiv Introduction. scholars, without natural defects, that the profession of letters is in itself an error, that talent is a mild vice of which a saint must first of all correct him- self." Must we not have both saints and scholars? For, after all, do their virtues really differ so much as we are sometimes led to believe ? Anne Garrison Brinton. Thornbury, Pa., April, 1897. TABLE OF CONTENTS PART FIRST. CHAPTER I. CLASSICISM. Duration of Classic epoch . Character of Classic doctrines . Founded by Ronsard and the Plciade Boileau copies and defames Ronsard . Sixteenth century unfavorable to Classic ar Influences of Henry IV. and Malherbe Universal security of seventeenth century Confidence of Classic writers Two masterpieces of seventeenth century Qualities of Classic style Seventeenth imitates less than sixteenth century Innovations made by Corneille . All inspired by Greco-Latin masters . Antipathy for national antiquity Misconception of Greek tradition Boileau's perversion of Pindar's Odes Incapacity to comprehend Homer Spirit of Greek Pantheism dissipated Nobility of language and manners Suppression of the ego in literature Conventionality of social intercourse . Complete sacrifice of domestic life Artificiality preferred to nature . Character of Classic divinity Superficiality of Catholicism Character of Classic reason Classic heroes types, not individuals . Dogmatism of Classic criticism . Political conviction of seventeenth century Hierarchy of literary styles Faith the mark of the epoch PAGB I 9 lO lO II 12 X3 14 15 16 17 18 18 19 20 21 XXXV 1 Table of Contents. CHAPTER II. THE PRECURSORS OF THE NINETEENTH CKNTURY. Indications of a renovation Seventeenth and eighteenth centuries compared Classicism prolonged by Voltaire Three precursors of nineteenth century Early life of Rousseau Antagonism of his social attitude His message to re-enter self Subjective character of his works Sensibility outweighs reason By it revives poetry of passion . Faults attributed to sensibility . Hume's opinion of Rousseau First victim of " malady of the century " Love during seventeenth and eighteenth centuries Rousseau regenerates love Discovers the poetry of nature . Associates himself with its moods Teaches the secret of revery His taste for domestic life . Animates parental sentiment Inspires spiritual renaissance Similarity to that of Chateaubriand . Bernardin de Saint-Pierre and Rousseau Style of master and pupil compared . First painter of foreign landscapes Originality of his descriptions . Character of Diderot's mind Rousseau, initiator of Romanticism . Diderot, initiator of Realism His liberality of mind and heart Import of his theatrical reform . Serious Comedy and Bourgeois Tragedy His moralist's preoccupations , Substitutes individuals for types Liberty in action and stage setting Employs prose instead of verse . Diderot's influence upon Mercier Aims to unite comedy and tragedy Replaces antiquity by modern life Similarity of their theatre . Considered in their followers Table of Contents. xxxvu Andre Chenier, regenerator of poetry The progenitor of Romanticism Hermes a monument to eighteenth centurj- Untouched by Christian emotions Love the inspiration of his poetry Compared with that of Romanticists . Pagan character of his conception Plastic beauty in his followers . First artist since seventeenth century . Assimilates from ancient M'riters Renovates versification, restores alexandrine Novelty and " nobility " of style Considered as the poet of nature Regenerates pastoral and elegy . Dawning of a purer inspiration . Conception of the poet's vocation Early death and posthumous fame PAGE 44 44 44 45 45 45 46 46 47 47 47 48 49 50 50 51 51 CHAPTER III, MADAME DE STAEL AND CHATEAUBRIAND. As leaders of Romanticism Compared in respect to religion Rousseau's early influence . Rejection of certain of his ideas Affinities of race and education Effect of Revolution upon her The leader of the new era . Her intellectual " Europeanism German and Italian influences Debt owed to Chateaubriand Their religious differences . Introduces " Septentrional spirit" Her LiiUrature and Alleviagne . Considers renaissance necessary Always inimical to imitation Offers a new code of poetics Inspires theatrical renaissance Restores lyricism to honor Morality her preoccupation Upholds efficacy of melancholy Her conception of nature . Great thinker, mediocre writer 52 53 54 54 55 55 56 57 58 58 59 59 60 60 61 61 62 62 63 63 64 64 XXXVlll Table of Conte7tts. Her style an improvization Renews art, religion, criticism . Breadth of her influence Unity of Chateaubriand's life Antipathy for Madame de Stael Decorative conception of Christianity Extent and effect of his travels . Sense of honor, love of pose Personal character of his works . Rene compared to Oberman Sincerity of his Christianity Arguments of Genie du christianisme Considered as work of poetic art Compared with Pascal and Bonald Prefers seventeenth to eighteenth century Upholds formulas of Classic art A Christian, he favors Greek art Character of his descriptive style Seeks to render general impression Voyage d'Afiacharsis, V Itindraire Martyrs effects historical renaissance Historian eclipsed by the poet . Classic qualities of his style Scruples of style, lack of substance Influence in respect to form Decline of fame after MJmoires Death and advent of Realism Favor has lately returned to him CHAPTER IV. THE PSEUDO-CLASSICISTS. Fruitless efforts of Classicism General character of Classic art Followed by pseudo-Classicism . Conservatism of Voltaire, of La Harpe Similar spirit of other critics Universal lack of initiative Classic spirit and formulas restricted Lebrun, last of Classic lyricists . Insipidity of his ode and elegy . Debility of Millevoie and Fontanes Comedy of the Imperial epoch . Table of Contents. xxxix Tragedy inferior to its comedy . Unity of place and time preserved A renovation becomes imminent Ducis adapts Shakespearean drama . Its unwelcome reception in 1822 Novelty of Lemercier's works . Antiquity of Raynouard's Templiers . Tragedy regenerated under Restoration Lebrun best represents new spirit No intermediary seems possible Scandal aroused by Lebrun and Lemercier Reception of Othello, of Hernani Delille, the " prince of poetry" Didactic character of his poetry Spirit evident in his followers . Growth and decline of Classic school New art forms brought by Revolution 89 90 90 91 91 92 92 92 93 94 94 95 96 96 97 98 PART SECOND. CHAPTER I. ROMANTICISM. Adoption of the word Romantic. Victor Hugo's unwilling acceptance . Defined in various manners Revival of Christian spiritualism Attitude of Chateaubriand, Napoleon. Sentimental, rather than dogmatic Defeat of eighteenth century scepticism Chateaubriand, initiator of revival In Hugo, Lamartine, Vigny, Musset . Subjective character of new poetry Evident in all the Romantic poets Joyous character of Classic poetry Melancholy introduced by Christianity Marked in all the Romantic poets Universal sentiment for nature . Their most fertile inspiration Revealed by precursors of nineteenth century Sympathy for national antiquity 99 99 100 lOI 102 102 103 103 104 105 106 107 107 108 109 no III ri2 Table of Conte^its. Victor Hugo's Preface to Cromwell . His great epopee of Gothic art . English and German influences . In Madame de Stael and Chateaubriand Freedom from imitation in others Victor Hugo's contempt for imitators Renovation resumed after Revolution Romanticism frees art from formulas , Favors renaissance of Greek spirit Chenier, first true poet of Greece Greek spirit in later Romanticists Liberty of artistic expression Accepts beauty in all its forms . Disorganizes hierarchy of styles . Restores claims of the imagination Represents liberalism in art CHAPTER II. RENOVATION OF LANGUAGE AND VERSIFICATION. Romanticism renews language . Character of Classic language , Sacrifices graftings of Pleiade . Malherbe perfects by elimination Refined by Vaugelas and P. Bouhours Slight changes during eighteenth century Innovations made by Democracy Renovation effected by Romanticism . Ancient and modern Pleiade compared Restoration of old forms of speech . Fenelon attacks Classical syntax Freedom introduced by Romanticism Restores words rather than forms Neologisms rarely permitted Archaisms employed by Chateaubriand Renovations effected by Romantic poets Prepared by precursors of nineteenth century Color in Classicists and Romanticists Rhetorical rule formulated by Buffon Nobility of Classical style . Victor Hugo's great work in words . Romanticism renews versification Malherbe's conservatism . Table of Contents. xn Restorations made by Romanticism . Victor Hugo as inventor of metres Rhyme regenerated by Romanticism Secondary element with Classicism Exaggerated by neo-Romanticists Indispensable to Romantic alexandrine Victor Hugo alters interior construction Liberties taken by sixteenth century . Symmetry of Malherbe and Boileau . Alterations in symmetry explained Ideal line of twelve syllables Formulas of Classic alexandrine Alterations introduced by Chenier Tendency evident in seventeenth century Overlapping of Romantic alexandrine Its resources for varied expression Affinity for more complex harmonies . Discordances only employed in contrast Symmetry always the essential rule . PAGE 139 139 140 140 140 141 141 142 142 143 143 144 144 145 145 146 147 148 149 CHAPTER III. ROMANTIC LYRICISM — I. Poetry first to be renewed by Romantic movement Directed by Lamartine, Vigny, Hugo Beranger considered apart from it His new treatment of the chanson Celebrity due to circumstances . Both popular and scholarly poet Defects of subject-matter and style . His penchant toward grivoiserie Contrasted with great Romantic poets Lamartine's fame precedes Beranger's Early imitation of Bertin and Parny . Late consciousness of his vocation Antipathy for Byron and Chenier Influences of Rousseau and Bernardin Of Madame de Stael and Chateaubriand The spontaneity of his poetry . Effect produced by his Meditations . Their novelty and primitive character Frees poetry from scholastic rules Progress in Nouvelles Meditations 150 150 150 150 151 151 152 152 153 153 154 154 155 155 156 156 157 157 153 159 Xill Table of Contents. Height in Harmonies, decline in yocelyn Spontaneous idealism and optimism . His occasional notes of despair . Early education, fortune's favors Compared to music of ^olian harp . Lack of depth in thought and feeling Subjective character of his poetry Also vague in his conception of nature His poetry an improvization Effects scorn for the poet's art . Lack of self-control and effort . Faults and natural gifts of style Alfred de Vigny unlike Lamartine Chenier's influence in earlier works . Original in Aloise, le Cor, and Eloa . Effect of Othello, Cinq-Mars, la Neige Initiator in other directions Peculiarity of his Idealism Remains faithful to his cult Indifference to politics and progress . Art his only principle of action . Seeks consolation in Genius and Glory Accuses Nature, Man, and God His resignation and pessimism . Expresses personal sentiments by symbols Fragmentary character of his works . Obscurities of detail and thought Considered as thinker and artist His purity excelled by none Victor Hugo's comparative fertility . First period of his lyrical career Early efforts compared with Lamartine's Odes inspired by Classic tradition Ballades inspired by middle ages Original motive of his Orientales Their revelation of plastic resources . Personal theme of Fetiilles d'automne Their greater depth of feeling . Continued in Chants du crt^ptiscule Threefold message of Voix intcrieures Rises in les Rayons et Ics Ombres Compared to Lamartine and Vigny . Earnest vocation, great influence Persevering, revolutionary character . Table of Contents. xl HI Breadth of his conception of art . Painter of exterior and interior world Virile character of his sensibility . His exalted conception of love . Moral preoccupations of all his works PAGE 1 80 181 181 182 182 CHAPTER IV. ROMANTIC LYRICISM — II. Hugo, leader of two " Cenacles " Sainte-Beuve, Musset, Gautier . Sainte-Beuve unlike predecessors Pessimism of Joseph Delorme . Characterization of his Muse Attempted suicide and survival . Moral progress in Consolations . Pens^es d'aoiit, product of maturity Uniformity and novelty of his manner Limits of his poetic inspiration . Ingenuity and refinement of style Considered as studies in criticism Introduces the study of morality Forefather of the " Decadents . Alfred de Musset the poet of youth Early dissipation, premature decline Continued lack of self-restraint . Great as poet, imperfect as artist Emotion his sole inspiration Most passionate of Romantic poets Emotion the source of his weakness Lack of invention and depth of thought Affectations of language, scepticism Transition in which he portrays self First divines passion . Consecration of his sorrow Its highest poetic expression Love represents the sole good . Struggle between love and debauch Untouched by moral renaissance Immortalizes a morbid passion . Enthusiasm of Theophile Gautier Original only as an artist . Victor Hugo always his master . 184 184 184 185 185 186 186 186 187 188 189 190 190 191 191 192 192 193 194 194 194 195 196 197 197 197 198 19S 199 200 200 201 201 201 xliv Table of Contents, Influences of Sainte-Beuve and Musset Superficiality of thought . Artistic conception of life . Not lacking ii) sensibility . Restrains and disguises feeling . Haunted by fear of death . Adoration for the beautiful Pagan of mediseval superstitions Best reproduces appearances Superstitious cult for words Revives theory of art for art Lack of substance in his works . Importance of refonn in language Originality of Barbier and Brizeux Barbier as author of Pianto Influence of Chenier in les lambes Popular, cynical, and vigorous . Brizeux not unlike Alfred de Vigny Scholarly poetry aims at simplicity Unity and sequence of his work Breton rusticity, Florentine subtlety At best in pictures of Breton life Marie the purest of his works . CHAPTER V. THE ROMANTIC DRAMA. Drama culmination of Romanticism . Theatre battle-ground of two schools . Only the drama can reach the people Lyricism followed by the drama Necessity of dramatic renaissance Former efforts in this direction . Poetics exposed by Hugo and Vigny . Classicism separated comedy and tragedy Out of touch with social environment Romanticism mingles comedy and tragedy Tragedy engendered abstraction Drama introduces concrete and particular Substitutes individuals for types Tragedy eliminated time and place The drama aims at historical truth Classic formulas of dramatic unity Abolished by the Romantic drama Table of Co?itents. :lv Tragedy confined to supreme crisis . Drama preserves unity of action Substitutes action for declamation Tragedy admitted only moral truth . Aimed everywhere to simplify nature Drama multiplies actions and characters Qualities of language of tragedy Drama requires entire vocabulary Characteristics of Classic tragedy Innovations of the Romantic drama Hugo less Realist than Classicist Drama gives accent to the trivial Idealization and abstraction necessary Realistic theatre maintains neither Moderation of Romantic innovations Drama seeks harmony in opposites Does not succeed in combining them Represented by Hugo, Vigny, Dumas Adverse lyrical bias in Hugo Characters personal, imaginative Embodies thoughts in his characters Falsifies nature by violent contrasts Manner of Hugo and Vigny compared Vigny first to enter the theatre . Chaitertofi his only success Declares in favor of " drama of thought Dumas as opposed to Vigny Exceptional dramatic gifts Historic only in exterior features Appeals solely to curiosity Lofty ideal of Victor Hugo's theatre The failure of his Burgraves Success of Ponsard's Lucrece Temporary triumph of Classic models Charlotte Corday his best work . Romantic drama succeeded by comedy Represented solely by Scribe His fertility and artificiality CHAPTER VI. PAGE 222 223 223 224 224 224 225 226 227 227 229 230 231 231 232 233 233 234 234 235 235 235 235 236 236 236 237 237 237 238 238 238 239 239 239 239 Romanticism renews history The history of Classicism . Colors past with present 240 240 241 xlvi Table of Contents. Incompatible with despotism Favored by liberal regime . Augustin Thierry a Romanticist Influences of Chateaubriand and Scott Effects a historical reform . Renovates its form and substance Method of les Recits me'rovitigiens Method of la Conquete d'Angleterre His imagination and sympathy . His power of resurrection History a work of art and science Barante applies narrative method Makes facts speak for themselves His scrupulous impersonality His method a happy exception Purpose of philosophical school Early antipathy for primitive li Guizot renovates history His four elementary factors Disciplines facts and ideas Defects of his generalizations Gives history a solid foundation Condenses rather than develop^^^ Character of his style Mignet belongs to same school His qualities as a historian Alternates archives by expositions His strictly historical works The danger of fatalism History an art assuming a science Artistic qualities of his style Thiers reproduces minute details Values insight most highly . Results obtained by insight Great need of comprehension His moral neutrality a defect Inimical to all artifice Virtues and defects of style Thiers and Michelet contrasted His imagination and erudition His vocation early felt Possesses sentiment of life . His power of evocation His sympathy for obscure masses Table of Contents. X Ivil Most impassioned of historians . Subjective character of his work Peculiarities of his style Eccentricities of his method His great power of divination . PAGE 263 263 264 265 266 CHAPTER Vn. CRITICISM. Renewed by history with nineteenth century Formerly dogmatic and speculative . Contest between ancients and modems Classicism comprehends only itself The liberal spirit of Romanticism Chateaubriand and Madame de Stael Barante follows Madame de Stael Her method as applied by him . Influence of foreign literatures . Active part taken by the Globe . Tradition and liberalism conciliated Villemain, leader of new movement Employs Madame de Stael's method Historic defects of Classicists Greco- Latin antiquity with Villemain Mediaeval and modern literatures His unrivalled charm of style Scruples of thought as well as form His lack of a definite method . Nizard, idealistic, didactic method Applied only to masterpieces Triple standard of his criticism . Criticism becomes a philosophy . Gains in strength and firmness . Confined to the seventeenth century Exalts reason, condemns individuality Nizard and Saint-Beuve contrasted Sainte-Beuve resembles Villemain The poet superseded by the critic Early education scientific . His method thoroughly practical Method as exposed by his v/orks Introduces morality and physiology Criticism not an exact science 267 267 267 268 269 269 270 270 271 272 272 272 273 274 275 275 276 277 277 277 278 278 27S 279 279 280 281 282 2S3 284 284 285 287 287 XlVlll Table of Contents. PAGE Will always remain an art . . . . . . . . . 287 Objections against his method ........ 288 Critical spirit personified in hiin ....... 2S8 Plis versatility and flexibility ........ 289 CHAPTER VIII. THE NOVEL. With initiators of Romanticism As considered by Classicism Adaptability to all tones Idealistic and Realistic novel The historic novel of 1830 . Romantic drama and historic novel In Vigny, Hugo, and Dumas Merits and defects of Cinq-Mars Symbolism of N'otre-Dame de Paris Considered as epopee of Gothic art Historic superficiality of Dumas Appeals solely to curiosity . George Sand portrays contemporaries Lyric character of her genius Three periods of her career Early life, unhappy marriage Her first manner defined . Her second manner defined Her third manner defined . Three conceptions of love . Idealized in three phases . Her generosity of nature . Spontaneity of her genius . Her appearance and bearing Lack of unity and sequence Keen psychological insight Qualities of her style Excels in novels of second manner Considered as painter of nature Adapted to reality by Stendhal His early Romantic sympathy Materialism of thought and style As psychologist and moralist His lack of creative power A progenitor of Realism . 291 292 292 292 293 294 294 295 295 296 296 297 297 297 298 298 299 299 300 301 301 302 302 303 304 304 305 305 305 306 306 307 307 308 308 Table of Contents. xl IX Merimee disciple of Stendhal Truth of his historic novel His scrupulous impersonality Compared with Stendhal , Excellence of his style Excels himself in Colomha . Balzac represents Realism . Employs two methods of art His Romantic character . Idealization of the vulgar . Presents good as unconscious Man as an irresponsible agent Appearance and mannerisms Lack of refinement in his works Portrays details in environment Portrays details in characters Possesses great creative power His work a comedy of manners The historian of his times . Irregularity of his style Breadth of his vocabulary . PAGE 309 309 310 310 310 311 311 3" 312 312 313 313 314 315 316 316 317 317 318 319 320 PART THIRD. CHAPTER I. THE EVOLUTION OF REALISM. The adversary of Romanticism . Romanticism and Realism defined Duration of Classicism and Romanticism Principles of the two schools Romanticism a " condition of soul " . Faithful to its promises Truth of Romanticism subjective Romantic influence in Science . Realistic conception of Science . Spiritualism and Positivism Determinism as opposed to both Heroes of Romanticism and Realism Two conceptions of Sociology . Two conceptions of the State 321 322 322 323 324 324 325 325 326 327 328 329 330 331 Table of Contents. Romanticism — poetry ; Realism — prose Our age hostile to poetry ..... Character altered if not stifled .... Realistic opposed to Classic and Romantic theatre Novel an exact notation of life .... Realistic conception of history .... History enters into criticism .... CHAPTER II. Realism slow to influence poetry Survivors of Romantic generation Victor Hugo alone triumphant . Retaliation in les Chdtimenls Cotitcmplatiotis, a return to the familiar Le'gende an epopee of progress . Possesses historical sense . New departure in rAnnee terrible His inexhaustible fertility . Posthumous work, Toute la lyre Schools traced to his influence . Wholesomeness of his talent A magician, not a philosopher . Great moralist as well as artist . Victor Hugo creates cult for form Banville, disciple of Gautier Paganism of Gautier and Banville His work to regenerate rhyme . Cult for words, superficiality Baudelaire, a disciple of Gautier Originality curious and complex Inferior conception of love Sensuality and mysticism . Perversion of nature and art Cult for form and incapacity Prototype of the " Decadents" . Leconte de Lisle unlike Baudelaire Affinity with Victor Hugo . Leader of the " Impassibles " . Advocates impersonal poetry Poetry a form of philosophy His native Buddhism . Table of Contents. He seeks repose in creation Found only within the tomb Beauty, symbol of happiness Greece his true home . Decadence of Greek beauty His style lacking in grace . De Lisle, like de Vigny, personal Personal in spite of his efforts . His unpopularity with the public Expresses " malady of the century ' Trophe'es of Jose-Marie de Heredia Superior to Malherbe as artist . A disciple of Leconte de Lisle . A poet in three-fold aspect Reduces sentiment to the beautiful His cult for words and forms Always remains Spanish in spirit Romanticism culminates in discipline Poetry may be otherwise conceived Originality of Eugene Manuel . Pages intirnes, Poemes pcpulaires Precedes Prudhomme and Coppee Familiar poetry in Romanticists Always " poet of the fireside " . Both virile and delicate Parnassian theory of art for art . Indifferent to soul of poetry True poets separate from them . Sully Prudhomme Parnassian in form His higher conception of poetry Indifferent to de Lisle and Musset Moral import of la yustice Exalts action, paints inner world Analytical and self-contained Preoccupied by contemporary science Delights in a contest with prose Subject of his best inspirations . Science leads to the infinite Accord between science and poetry His Preface to la yustice . Dialogue between Seeker and Voice Antagonism between reason and heart Happiness found only in love Poems philosophical researches 356 358 358 358 358 359 360 360 361 361 362 362 362 363 363 363 364 364 365 365 365 366 366 367 367 363 368 369 369 369 370 370 371 371 372 372 373 373 374 374 375 375 376 376 lii Table of Contents, Style sometimes laborious . Admirable qualities as artist Coppee submits Parnassian influence Less strained than Sully Prudhomme His charm of phrase and rhythm Separates in choice of subjects . Popular in subjects and sentiment Variety of tones and subjects Compared with Sully Prudhomme His heroic narratives . True field in familiar narration . Influence of Sainte-Beuve . His types of every-day life Paints Parisian streets and suburbs Originality of descriptive style . CHAPTER HI. Scientific method applied by Sainte-Beuve Taine Sainte-Beuve's disciple Influence of physiological studies Reserves a place for liberty More moralist than philosopher . Enjoys while criticizing works . Criticism an emanation from books A positive science with Taine . Not considered as work of art . For historical facts furnished More philosopher than moralist . Bearing of historical documents . Dominant faculty of each person Influences of race, place, time . Considered in a single man Considered in respect to groups . Method and object always the same He suppresses free will Docs not grasp " inexpressible monad Does not apply inductive analysis Dominant supposes generative faculty A poet and an artist . Virtues and faults of style . Taine and Renan contrasted Table of Contents, lili FAGS Disinterested pursuit of ideal . 396 Sympathy for martyrs ......... 396 His mental dilettanteism ......... 397 Indulgence of moral attitude ........ 397 Idealism, basis of his character ........ 397 Possesses sense of divinity 398 Reasons for abandoning Catholicism ....... 398 Analysis, basis of his mind ........ 399 A dreamer and a critic ......... 399 Qualities as a historian ......... 400 Admiration for Michelet ......... 400 Vocation early outlined ......... 401 Sympathy for all religions ......... 401 Scepticism and dilettanteism ........ 402 Artistic conception of religion ........ 403 Artistic qualities of his style ........ 404 Greatest writer of the epoch ........ 405 CHAPTER IV. THE NOVEL. Survivors of " Idealistic" school Flourishes with Realistic school . Victor Hugo exempt from Realism Slight influence over George Sand Octave Feuillet's first manner Realism evident in second manner Its aristocratic character His dogmatic tendencies . Realism transforms the novel Effected by Flaubert's influence , Originality of Aladame B ovary Flaubert and Balzac compared Unites Romantic and Realistic art Flaubert's greater impersonality Purposes to represent life exactly Submits psychology to physiology Portrays types of mediocrity Romanticism evident in his works Evident in his appearance . His extreme sensibility Persistence of Romantic spirit . Classic qualities of Madame Bovary 406 406 407 407 407 408 409 409 410 410 411 411 412 412 413 414 415 416 416 417 418 419 llv Table of Contents, Derides Romantic extravagances Romanticist in respect to style . Superstitious cult for form Unpopularity for the Goncourts Final influence of their works . Their historiographical studies . Peculiarity of their method Most modern and particular Novel becomes contemporary history Its psycho-physiological character An incorporation of " human documents' Not adapted to the theatre Impressionability their originality Style compared with Flaubert Modeled upon the direct impression The " convicts of the book " Notation of personal sensations . Works confined to " modernity " Decadent in taste and style Originality of Zola and Daudet . Dogmatic character of Zola's mind The legislator of Naturalism His method opposed to Realism Characters types, novels symbolical Method of incorporating materials Characters demonstrate ideas Physiological novel untrue to life Materialism his only originality . Psychologist of the " bete humaine " Works poems rather than dramas His style uniform and ponderous Neither original nor correct Zola dogmatic, impersonal Daudet spontaneous, personal . Manner of treatment compared , Method of collecting materials . Invariably copies from nature . Impressionability and sympathy His Optimism opposed to Naturalism A union of poetry and reality Style savors of improvization Compared to that of Goncourts. Table of Contents. Iv CHAPTER V. THE THEATRE. Failure of Classic tragedy revived The drama no substitute for comedy Comedy of contemporary manners With Romanticism confined to Scribe Realism first transforms novel . Ineffectual venture of Balzac His lack of theatrical gift . Hernani and la Dame aux Camillas Dumas gives dramatic form to Realism His sincerity of treatment . Opposition aroused by him Audacity and technical skill Logic, not imagination, necessary Aims to restore, not to invent Not an exact copy of reality Results due to his rigid logic Living qualities of his style Constitutes the theatre a school Founds the " theatre utile " Comedy judged by artistic merit Symbolism of his characters Love his sole inspiration Materialism of his conception Prostitution his " monster" Superiority of man over woman His conception of the " Beast " Dumas preceded by Augier Replaces vaudeville by comedy Dumas' opinion of Gabrielle Less revolutionary than Dumas Works of his first manner . Always confined to verse . Works of his second manner Limited to the prose form . Moral import of his theatre Not carried away by Utopias Does not pose as an apostle His sphere more extended . His types of every-day life Treats serious social problems PAGE 448 448 449 449 449 450 451 451 452 452 453 454 455 455 456 456 457 457 459 459 460 460 461 461 462 463 464 464 465 465 466 466 467 467 467 468 468 469 470 471 Ivi Table of Contents. PAGE Good sense his chief quality ........ 471 Possesses logic and movement ........ 472 Cordiality of his satire ......... 472 Classic qualities of his style ........ 472 Sardou a disciple of Scribe ........ 473 Silhouettes rather than types ........ 473 Interest confined to intrigue ........ 473 Extreme rapidity of movement ........ 474 Excellence of dramatic style ........ 474 Revives the ancient vaudeville . 474 CONCLUSION. No revolution near at hand Poetry holds an inferior place . Novel most flourishing of styles . Disciples of Zola and Stendhal . Comedies of contemporary manners Effort of Naturalistic theatre Facts proved by its failure Realism not compromised by excesses Futility of decadent theories Mai du siccle and dilettanteism . Mysticism of dilettante spirit Uncorrupted by decadence Virile, loyal effort towards truth The ideal introduced into the real Bibliography .... Index 475 475 475 476 476 476 477 477 478 478 478 479 479 479 481 489 THE LITERARY MOVEMENT IN FRANCE THE LITERARY MOVEMENT IN FRANCE DURING THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. laart f ir^t. CHAPTER I. CLASSICISM. WHAT we call the Classic epoch of our literary history extends from the middle of the six- teenth to the beginning of the nineteenth century. Whatever their forms during this lapse of about two hundred and fifty years, art and poetry are governed by principles comprehensive enough to reconcile all successive phases. These doctrines are, moreover, also sufificiently marked in import and enduring in influence to impress upon all styles that character of relationship necessary to the unbroken reign of the same precepts. The Classic school may be said to have been founded when, after having broken away from the middle ages, the Pleiade fashioned our language and literature upon the models of Greco-Latin antiquity. Far from throwing everything into 2 Literary Movement i7i France. confusion, as Boileau assures us, Ronsard imposed upon poetry and all the poetic styles restored by him and his disciples, those same special rules and general laws proclaimed a hundred years later by Boileau himself with all the authority of a firmer judgment and traditions already long established. Boileau defames Ronsard while appropriating his doctrines without being aware of it; and his Art poetique, in which he so openly ridicules the leader of the Pleiade and his works, is a monument raised in their honor. Classicism did not, however, attain during the sixteenth century that peculiar perfection to which its development was destined. Such a tempestuous epoch was by no means favorable to the growth of Classic virtues. With a single effort, Ronsard and the Pleiade had severed all the roots attached to native soil. Those poetic styles, formerly the spon- taneous expansion of ancient Greece, which they had substituted for those of the middle ages, could only be acclimated in a friendly atmosphere. In order to flourish, they must be sheltered from social inclemencies and fostered by the watchful care pos- sible only in the security and confident leisure of more fortunate times. No sooner had Henri IV. restored order and peace than Malherbe appeared. Malherbe definitely turned the current of our poetry into the path which opened such a glorious future under the influence of more fertile and more richly endowed talents. The bold, adventurous spirit, exuberant enthusiasm, and too often intemperate imagination of the sixteenth Classicism. 3 century are henceforth subjected to a vigorous though narrowing discipline. Among the various materials accumulated by Ronsard's school were found those most in touch with the correct, noble architecture of the seventeenth century. For a period of several years following the death of Henri IV. and of Malherbe, the work of the poet, like that of the king, seemed about to be compromised. This was but a superficial phase of anarchism. In respect to both the literary and political order, we really advance through more or less significant events to that era of discipline and regularity which decisively determines the character of Classicism. The literature of the seventeenth century adapts itself naturally to its social environment. These are not times of restlessness and agitation ; there is no confusion, no uneasiness. All writers are con- tent with their age. Enjoying the existing order, some attempt to exalt its glory, others to justify its legitimacy. The universal silence which succeeds the noisy conflict of religion and politics is, now and then, scarcely ruffled by a lost voice, feebly echoing a past without return or confusedly presag- ing a still doubtful future. Bossuet, Descartes, and Boileau all reign in their own spheres just as Louis XIV. rules over his kingdom. They confidently dog- matize and dominate the Church, philosophy, poetry, in the same manner in which the king governs the State. They exercise an authority always recognized, because founded upon principles in perfect accord with the spirit of the times. The unity of life and fixity of view of these writers leave their imprint 4 Literary Alovemerit in Frajice. upon their productions, and are evident in purity of line, an even, continuous development, and the happy union of all faculties in view of an ideal of noble reason realized without effort. Classic authors consider the world as an ensemble of fixed relations having no disturbing elements in their complexity, and ordained by superior wisdom according to invariable laws. Conviction admits of no doubt, for reason and faith both unite in enlightening their minds. A self- reliant judgment orders all their works. Hence, their regularity of method, harmonious proportions, and lucid unity. Embracing the whole field with one glance, Bossuet spreads out in a single view, in the prose of his Discours stir r histoire universelle, that immense picture of human destiny. For him, as well as for his entire century. Christian dogma represents the culminating point of all ages. We find an exquisite union of boldness and reserve, taste and genius, in the verse of Racine's Athalie, a triumph of simplicity in grandeur. These are eminently the two great masterpieces of the seven- teenth century. Indeed, they but carry to a higher point those qualities of order and propriety inherent in all the works of the times, — qualities which re- strain temerity, and, in temperate styles, their proper sphere, modify and graduate shades and effects, command forms, combine means in view of the final result, exclude all complexity for the sake of harmony, all caprice to the advantage of reason. Contemporary art and poetry were greatly lacking in clearness, symmetry, and the natural instinct of Classicism. 5 nobility. They are now characterized by a perfect mental equilibrium, a moderation both calm and active, a regularity without monotony or sudden changes, a uniformity without platitude or pic- turesque accidents, an exquisite association of all that can move the heart without troubling its peace, all that can charm the imagination without beguiling it. The Renaissance of the sixteenth century was conducted in the name of the ancients ; with one effort Ronsard and his disciples had sought to transplant all ancient forms. The seventeenth cen- tury proceeds more cautiously. It is less eager, less grasping. It discreetly borrows instead of violently plundering. It is inspired by antiquity rather than anxious to reproduce it, assimilates rather than imitates it. This is but the exercise of a more learned and refined art. The influence of the ancients increases and triumphs with the second generation of the great Classicists. So far there had been but protestations. Now Corneille openly braves all rules. In his Cid he introduces the chivalric drama ; in Don Sanche, foreshadows bour- geois tragedy, and even speaks of descending the scale still lower ; in Nicomede, mingles comic and tragic elements. Aristotle and Horace, commented upon by Boileau, became our masters during the second half of the century. The " moderns " are scornfully thrust from the path of the Classicists, and not one of their mediocre writers succeeds in s^ain- ing the favor of those who represent the traditions of antiquity. Moreover, Classic polemics do not attack 6 Literary Movement in France. doctrine ; they criticise Homer's poems according to Aristotle's rules. Tlieir leader, Perrault, finds in the Greek philosopher the formula of epopee by which he condemns the Iliad. Demonstrations are made less by reason than according to authority ; reasons admit of discussion, but authority is law. Corneille declares that he would be the first to find fault with his Cid, did it sin against " the great maxims received from Aristotle." La Fontaine, the most independent and spontaneous poet of the times, establishes a rule for the apologue which he bases upon the ancients, without even considering it necessary to supply a reason for so doing. He considers it " sufficient that Quintilian should have so ordained it." Boileau is satisfied in that the prin- ciples of his Art poetique are derived from Horace, and is surprised that any one should "dare " combat them. Racine writes as if beneath the eyes of the Greeks : " What would Homer and Euripides say if they could read these verses .? " " What would Sophocles think if he could see this scene repre- sented on the stage } " All Classic writers find their masters in antiquity. No one has either the absurd pretension to vie with Greek or Roman models, or the extravagant desire to do otherwise than imitate them. In this way only can perfec- tion be attained. Translations from second-rate Greek and Latin writers are considered literary events. Great pains is taken to insert fine expres- sions from Virgil in their verse, or artfully weave quotations from Seneca in the text of their dis- course. Racine tells us that there is nothins: of Classicism. 7 note in his Britannicus that was not suggested by Tacitus; La Bruyere demands from Theo- phrastus a sort of safe-conduct for his characters ; La Fontaine places his first volume under y^sop's protection, representing himself a modest translator of the Greek fabulist. This cult for antiquity necessarily leads to a pro- found misconception of our national past. The sixteenth century had an instinctive repugnance for the crude literature of the middle ages, the product of so strange and incoherent a civilization. Here Classicism finds nothing but grossness and barba- rism, never suspecting that it might contain germs, which, with time and genius, might develop into a poetical growth, doubtless less pure, but certainly more complex in its harmonies, and of a more ex- pressive form of beauty. The history of our ancient poetry, traced in a few lines by Boileau, clearly shows to what degree he either ignored or misrepre- sented it. The singular, confused architecture of Gothic cathedrals gave those who saw beauty in symmetry of line and purity of form but further evidence of the clumsiness and perverted taste of our ancestors. All remembrance of the great poetic works of the middle ages is completely effaced. No one supposes in those barbarous times the ex- istence of ages Classical also in their way ; no one imagines either their heroic songs or romances of ad- venture, either the rich bounty of lyrical styles or the naive, touching crudity of the Christian drama. The seventeenth century turned disdainfully away from the monuments of national genius discovered by it; 8 Literary Movement in France. finding them sometimes shocking in their rudeness, sometimes puerile in their refinements. These unfortunate exhumations, indeed, only serve to strengthen its cult for a simple, correct beauty, the models of which are found in Greece and Rome. Why dream of penetrating the darkness of our origin ? Contemporary society is far too self-satisfied to seek distraction in the study of a past which it does not comprehend. The subjects and heroes of domestic history are also prohibited. Corneille is Latin, Racine is Greek ; the very name of Childe- brande suffices to cover an epopee with ridicule. Although devout in their admiration for antiq- uity, the writers of the seventeenth century have by no means always clearly grasped the object of their cult. Though they may understand Latin tradi- tion, they have certainly never entered into the freer, more original spirit of Greek art. They have but an incomplete, superficial conception of Helle- nism. They transform it into the likeness of contem- porary civilization ; and their own tastes, ideas, social customs, and personal prejudices are introduced into it. The legends which caused the ancient theatre to tremble with horror, lost their fatal, mysterious significance with them. A virgin sacri- ficed by her father to the gods, a son lifting the dagger consecrated by an implacable destiny to parricide, a queen thrown by the fate of war upon a conqueror's couch still reeking with the blood of her lost husband, — for the seventeenth century, these are heroes of fables invented by the imagi- nation of poets. Classic tragedy finds in these Classicism. 9 legends but settings more or less appropriate to the analysis of its characters, never for a moment suspecting the fierce reality in all its primitive horror. Boileau celebrates but does not understand Pindar, and when he decides to compose an ode, demands inspiration from the Greek poet. What relation could really exist between the mechanical conception of a purely conventional lyrical produc- tion and that magnificent effect produced by one of Pindar's odes chanted and played by an ancient chorus 1 What affinity, indeed, between it and that hymn of a whole people taking its splendor and movement from the celebration of heroes and domestic gods, the pomp of solemn ceremonies and the concourse of many spectators.'* In fact, what resemblance can be found between so purely artifi- cial a creation and the actual truth of symbols and traditions, set in a thoroughly mythological milieu, in which are unfolded the national legends it glorifies ? The seventeenth century comprehended Homer no better than Pindar. What we miss in them is exactly what we like best in his epopee, — the vast living picture of a semi-barbarous civilization gifted to a superior degree, the unique monument of an art confoundins: itself with nature. We admire in him that literary aim and intent, the existence of which he did not even dream. In his thoroughly sponta- neous o^enius we find the reflective, conscientious poet who methodically applies the rules of epic style. By being imprisoned within the narrow lo Literary Movemejit Z7z France. limits of Classicism, the Greek epopee becomes a purely artificial composition ; its real spirit is not grasped, and we no longer feel the inimitable candor of true poetry, that supreme charm of happy ingen- uousness and natural grandeur. Questions of art and style absorb the discussions between the an- cients and the moderns. Indeed, in the eyes of his recognized champion, Homer's greatest merit con- sists in descending to the most minute details and relating the smallest incidents without compromis- ing the nobility of his diction. Greek Pantheism can alone initiate us into Greek art. For the critic of the times it is but the play of a lively imagina- tion. Believing that Olympian gods were born in the brain of poets, they see nothing more than ornaments and pleasing metaphors in those sacred myths representing to Greece the basis of all poetry, because the soul of all religion. No society could be less fitted than that of the seventeenth century to feel and understand the spirit of primitive antiquity. In order to appre- ciate Homer, it was thought necessary to civilize the barbarian, make him a scrupulous writer, and convince him that the word " ass " is a " very noble " expression in Greek. Contemporary environment had brought about an unnatural development of finical politeness which found all naivete absurd and all originality unpardonable extravagance. The favorite type of the epoch is realized in the " re- spectable man." His distinctive characteristics are perfect manners, civility of tone, reserve of lan- guage, moderation of gesture, — in fact, all the Classicism^ 1 1 qualities of shade and degree which social life elevates to the rank of virtues. This type is the hero of comedy and tragedy alike. Though more aristocratic in Racine, it is more expressive in Moliere, and incarnates that ideal of temperance, wisdom without pedantry, esprit without pretence, and gallantry devoid of love, in which triumph worldly conventionalities with their nice attenuations and discreet indulgences. Since absolute monarchy and a regular administration had effaced the last vestige of independence, there was place for no other society than that of the salons and court. This fine, contemptuous aristocracy left its mark upon all manifestations of moral and intellectual life, of which it is the supreme and only school. The savoir-vivre of the day became a law com- pelling each to suppress his own personality. Never has the ego appeared more odious than during the seventeenth century; never has art been given a more objective expression. The literary styles most in vogue are those which can be enjoyed in society and demand the least indi- viduality. It cannot be denied that Corneille and Racine allowed some reflection from their souls to pass into their tragedies, — the one, that elevation of sentiment that provides such superb tirades ; the other, that refined, impassioned tenderness divined through the veil of his ideal figures. It is none the less certainly true that the poets of this so prudent and reserved Classic society attempt to conceal all that pertains to self. They dislike making a spectacle of themselves; and though we may 12 Literary Movement m France. occasionally surprise their tears, they never reveal their secrets to us. All are claimed by social relations, duties, and pleasures. There is neither time nor inclination for dreams, meditations, or isolating thought. Although the life of salons develops observation and analysis, it renders man as unfit for impetuous energy as for. inventive imagination. Whenever subject to the profound emotions or lofty flights of fancy that find their natural expression in lyrical poetry, men refrain from indiscreet confidences. Of what consequence are the joys and sorrows of a single individual.? Only the king is allowed to be displayed before public view, and he is not an indi- vidual, but the personification of the State. One universal law governs existence, — to act and talk like the rest of the world, that is, like the finical elite who give the tone to society. To distinguish one's self from others is a mark of insolence and incivility. Even virtue must bow before conven- tionality and submit to the tyranny of custom, under penalty of being held up to ridicule in the person of Alceste. When society suppresses all personal life, how can domestic pleasures and the pure, simple aiTec- tions of the fireside escape the aristocratic contempt of contemporary censure .? Husband and wife observe cold ceremonial forms of politeness. Still further, they boast of dual lives. Conjugal love is considered a vulgar sentiment, ridiculous enough for the amusement of humbler folk. The world looks askance at those who do not give themselves Classicism. 1 3 up entirely to its requirements. It is an injustice to reserve something for self or for one's friends. Each belongs to the world ; and, for this life of pa- rade, the heart must be as free from absorbing affec- tions as the mind from importunate affairs. Children are all but strangers to their parents. They are rarely addressed, now and then receive but cold caresses, and are taught a ceremonious deference inspired by fear rather than love. The father holds his son off, and, confiding him to a preceptor, pro- tects himself from all annoying demonstrations. The natural affections of this noble society seem to be tainted with vulgarity. Man can, therefore, only exhibit what may give pleasure in a reunion of eminently respectable people, — the graces of his mind and the elegance of his costume and manners. All that savors of the trivial details of home life is excluded from both life and art. Conjugal affection is passed over to Andromache, because Hector is no more; and, although Astyanax still exists, Ra- cine, instead of presenting him in the arms of his mother, like Euripides, dares not even introduce him upon the stage. Maternal love is, indeed, only a noble passion when children remain behind the curtain. Confined to the artificial atmosphere of salons, the literature of the seventeenth century is no more strongly attracted towards nature than towards do- mestic life. Madame de Sevigne loves the shades of Livry; but what most pleases her in her park are those symmetrical avenues where she discusses with her friends the news of the city and court. 14 Literary Movement in France. The Marquise de Rambouillet asserts that " gentle minds, amateurs of belles-lettres, never find their counterparts in the country." If Boileau really knew the honeysuckle, it was only as the plant " directed " by Anthony. Bossuet has no eyes for the flowers of his garden. Indeed, his gardener laments not being able to plant Saint-Jean-Chrysos- tomes. The theatre presents unreal characters in purely ideal settings, and with no other decoration than columns, the peristyle of a temple, or the por- tico of a palace. When Moliere gives a pastoral, the scene represents " a country landscape, neces- sarily agreeable." La Fontaine alone loves the fields, though it be as an Epicurean. From them he demands only quiet sleep at the foot of a tree. In truth, his contemporaries consider him a sort of " innocent," naturally inclined to associate with animals ; and the fable has no place in the official catalogue of literary productions. Does not the idyl, at least, remain faithful to its rustic origin } Its characters are named Lycidas and Phyllis ; its dec- orations, — doubtless, the woods, but those worthy of a consul. A conventionality entirely foreign to pastoral life is forced upon it, and, when admitted among poetic forms, it is always as a great lady whom the caprice of a masked ball has disguised as a milkmaid, and whose distinction of manner and elegance of language are only further heightened by her rural costume. The fields offer but repulsive sights to the respectability of the seventeenth century. Everything to be found there offends the senses; the peasants seem heavy and awkward, the beasts Classicism. 1 5 unclean ; there are but the odors of the stable. Every- thing shocks the reason : the rocks are uncouth, the roads stony, there are chance growths of un- trimmed trees. Even in the country do they look for the art of the Classic landscape gardener. Per- rault proves that the " moderns " are superior to the " ancients " by comparing the gardens of Alcinous to the park at Versailles. What language, indeed, could nature have spoken to the contemporaries of Descartes 1 For them it is no more than an inert machine, a mere system of springs and wheels. Where the modern poet listens to the mysterious pulsation of universal nature, they hear but the dry, monoto- nous ticking of a clock. They never abandon them- selves to nature ; she neither agitates nor consoles, for she has no secrets for them. Her only message is conveyed by a cold, imposing symbol represent- ing that sum of final causes which unite in proving the existence of God, the supreme architect and sovereign ruler of the world. This is, in effect, the character of the Classic God. He appeals to the reason ; he does not dwell in the heart. The seventeenth century is Catholic ; it is not religious. Piety wears an official stamp, and religion is not a living faith, but a ceremonial. It is made known by a procession of imposing figures which produce an illusion; its representations are conducted with impressive dignity, and become the most august institution of the State. Louis XIV. commands that all gentlemen conversing during Mass be reported to him. He even charges him- self with selecting spiritual advisers for princesses 1 6 Literary Movement in France. of royal blood, and sends them at least five times a year to confession. This zeal is, doubtless, sin- cere, though naturally limited to observances from which all real religious life may be absent. The king's devotion draws about him a great number of false devotees. La Bruyere tells us what we would become under an atheist prince. The aristocracy of the seventeenth century has, in reality, so little of the true Christian spirit that its real Christians are forced to separate from it. The Protestants and Jansenists, for whom Christianity is an active living truth, inherent in man, are persecuted and hunted down by the official church and secular power alike. Religion is given up to Jesuitism, to ingenious compromises, the distinctions of sub- tle casuistry, — in fact, to all the relaxations of an accommodating morality. The worldly society of the epoch conceives God only as an abstraction. So also is he quite unknown to poetry. Olym- pian divinities are substituted, and, as if in supreme derision, Boileau enjoins the cult of pagan my- thology in the name of Christian faith. There is an irrevocable divorce between art and relisfion. So effectual is it, that when poets rhyme about old age, about the Psalms or the Imitation de Jesus- Christy many consider it but a penitence of form. There is no sincere inspiration ; indeed, the con- science can be cleared by empty paraphrases. Cor- neille wrote Polyeucte, and Racine Athalie: we know that the " Christianity " of Polyeucte greatly offended the beaux esprits of the times ; also that Athalie, which met with a complete failure, was Classicism. 17 inspired by Hebraic tradition. Moreover, the God celebrated by it, is a God of vengeance, whose cold, jealous majesty oppresses the faith of those who adore him. Abstract reason reigns throughout all spheres of moral and intellectual activity. Philosophers at- tempt to prove existence by reason. Thought re- duces feeling to silence. Cartesian rationalism being the natural expression of contemporary society, it as far as possible suppresses all demonstra- tions of affection, considering such as mere con- tingent realities. It holds in defiance everything that confuses the judgment. In the senses it sees but the medium of error; in the imagination, but a deceptive phantasmagoria. There is no firm basis to be found except in that impersonal reason which has no surprises in store for us, and is everywhere the same, — that reason which attains truth without passing through doubtful and illusive phases. This rationalism tyrannizes over all the literature of the seventeenth century. In oratory, it is manifested by a regular, methodical style ; arguments succeed each other by insensible gradations ; the careful arrangement of contiguous propositions announce and lead up to one another, without omitting or transposing one ring of the chain. Even poetry prohibits fancy and chance inspirations. Boileau desires the poet to find in reason all the glory and distinction of his productions. Love reason, please by reason alone, — these are the maxims he con- stantly repeats. He considers "good sense" the supreme end and only aim of poetry. It is not 1 8 Literary Movement in France. enough that everything should begin with it ; all things must also tend towards it. This reason, upon which Racine congratulates Corneille for having been the first to place on the stage, upon which Voltaire will, in turn, commend Bourdaloue for having been the first to preach from the pulpit, Perrault carries into fairy tales, and is also exacted by Boileau from the chanson. Man has become solely a creature of pure intel- ligence, and so appears to us in all the works of the times. Exterior forms are effaced. Novelists and tragic poets have not painted beings of flesh and blood, but moral conditions. Characters seem to have no bodies. If by chance we are permitted a glimpse of some trait attaching them to life, it is so idealized that it gives us no material impression. Man is divested of all individuality in order to give place to more general elements. There are no por- traits, only types. We do not find a miser, but the miser, or, rather, avarice. Everything that determines character is banished from time and place. Racine observes that good sense and reason are the same in all ages. What is the result of this generaliza- tion } Heroes can be transported from epoch to epoch, from country to country, without causing surprise. Their Achilles is no more a Greek than is Porus an Indian ; Andromache feels and talks like a seventeenth-century princess ; Phaedra experiences the remorse of a Christian. Being entirely dogmatical, literary criticism does not seek the man beneath the author. It examines a work for the purpose of comparing it with certain Classicism. 1 9 rational principles, according to which it is judged. It takes into consideration neither conditions nor antecedents. In fact, it is a species of geometry. History defaces the local color of past ages, ignores as far as possible all the characteristic details that indicate time and place, all that pertains to circum- stances, milieu, and costume ; it represents Clovis as a prototype of Louis XIV. " Contingencies " are unworthy of pure minds, which stoop to no curi- osity as regards facts, nor interest in the sciences that concern them. They dedicate themselves to ideas only, and, scorning all that is variable or acci- dental, seek to attain truth in its constant, general form. Their method is abstract, having idealiza- tion for its principle. The seventeenth century believes all cjuestions to have been settled, whether in respect to the social world or in art and poetry. Catholicism unites all minds in a common faith, securely based upon established dogmas; nor is there sufficient energy among any of them to provoke personal, spontaneous activity. The era of civil wars saw the last of excited discussions concerning the prin- ciples of society and government. Royalty has its dogmas as well as religion. From the very begin- ning, the history of France appears to be destined for that supreme monarchy, to which end Clovis, Philippe-Auguste, Saint Louis, and their heir, Louis XIV., collaborated. The uncertain aspirations of democracy had formerly been smothered by the Ligue ; the defeat of the Fronde had put an end to the untimely demands of parliamentary bourgeois 20 Literary Movement in France. and the retrospective desires of the nobility. The first seems quite content with its role in political councils and judiciary companies ; the second, cast- ing aside all dreams of an independent existence, has no other ambition than that of serving the king, either by commanding his armies or adorning his court with its presence. The whole nation is confident that its destiny is being accomplished. It is personified in the king, who is granted all the more because it recognizes itself in him. The monarchy quietly perfects the unity of France to its own advantage, attracting to itself all the active energies of the kingdom, unanimous in its glorifica- tion. In philosophy, we find the same unruffled possession of a truth above all attack. Descartes' doubt is but an artifice of his method ; he believes himself free from all beliefs, but he has really laid them away until he finds a principle upon which he can establish them. In letters, all have appreciation of definite perfection. Language henceforth seems to have nothing to lose and nothing to gain. The rules of good taste are settled beyond doubt. Boileau's Art poetique resembles a brazen tablet, upon which the recognized representative of Classic discipline engraves unchangeable laws for all time. The ode will ever represent that disorder which is but the effect of scholarly art ; the epopee will always "be supported by the fable;" tragedy will eternally produce those ideal personages who repeat harmonious harangues in symmetrical alex- andrines. On every side faith is the characteristic mark of the epoch. Wherever the mind turns. Classicism. 21 whether to religion, philosophy, politics, morality, or art, it experiences neither trouble nor hesitation. It at once reaches certainty, and establishes itself there with unshaken confidence. All the instincts of the seventeenth century bear it towards a tri- umphant optimism whose legitimacy is demonstrated by reason. 2 2 Literary Moverneiit in Fi'ance. CHAPTER II. THE PRECURSORS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. THE most fertile and brilliant period of Classi- cism occurred during the reign of Louis XIV. Although the following century at once presents certain indications of a renovation more or less near at hand, its literary doctrine remains that of the great minds of the preceding age. The moral condition of society had been sensibly modi- fied ; in proportion as the seventeenth century is an epoch of confidence and tranquillity, is the eigh- teenth one of impatience and aggressiveness. Not- withstanding the fact that the harmony between the general spirit and social forms of the former age now no longer exists, this order remains intact. Reaction is very often provoked by a rigid applica- tion of social laws. Those men of letters, to whom the significant name of philosophers has been given, are solely occupied in combating these abuses. The basis of monarchical society, how- ever, remains exempt from attack. Contemporary manners are only altered by a natural advance toward refinement. Of all those institutions upon which the seventeenth century rests so securely, art and letters appear to be the most solidly based, for penetrating scepticism or irreverent raillery dare Precursors of the Nineteenth Century. 23 attack neither ; to speak evil of " Nicholas " brings ill luck. The purely literary works of the epoch all bear the imprint of the Classic dogmas perpet- uated by its monuments. Voltaire, who prolonged the age of Louis XIV. to his own times, finds acceptance for his Merope. Merope clearly belongs to the school of Andromaque, just as the artificial lyricism of such as Rousseau and Pompignan finds its source in the theories of Boileau's Art poctiqite. Not before the close of the century do we find the precursors from whom our contemporary litera- ture can be traced. But three seem to merit this name. The first makes the voice of nature heard. Opposing the intuitions of sentiment to cold analysis, he dis- covers new sources of poetry in the heart and imagination. The second, on account of his scien- tific turn of mind, preference for experimental methods, and love of material reality, may be con- sidered as the leader of that school which, after uniting with Romanticism against scholastic con- ventionalities, during the second half of the century finally separated from it, in order to substitute document for fiction, subjects for heroes, and the exact processes of science for imaginative dreams. The third, a simple, earnest, exquisitely refined poet, who, though belonging to the eighteenth century in all his ideas, also announces from afar the coming of a new art. He prefigures this art by his adoration for plastic beauty, conscientious solicitude for form, and even by the elegiac and lyrical accents which caused the Romanticists to recognize him as their 24 Literary Movement in France. youthful ancestor thirty years later, when his verses were published. All that indicates the renovation which is being prepared, is to be found in these three writers. Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Diderot, and Andre Chenier have all in different directions been initiators of the nineteenth century. Jean-Jacques' life, as well as everything in his works, shows his unconscious or systematic antag- onism to the ideas, manners, and institutions of his time. This son of a Genovese mechanic, nour- ished in the cult of republican virtues, in addi- tion to the history of his own country also absorbs the lessons of Plutarch, his first master. He is before all else a democrat in that exclusively aristo- cratic society, to which he reveals himself by viru- lent anathemas against the brilliant, artificial culture glorified by it. He knows neither how to talk nor how to conduct himself. Ignorant of the customs of society, he boasts of his scorn for its conventions. He possesses all the defects of a vulgar education, — the mania for singularizing himself, the passion for leading others, also the tactless habit of shout- ing among people who understand by suggestion. His verb is caustic, and his attitude challenges oppo- sition. He exclaims, apostrophizes, is at once timid and brutal, abashed and cynical. His eloquence is never without certain crudities and vulgar provin- cialisms. He casts a stain upon contemporary society by his sullen misanthropy, also by a certain expansive cordiality in which we recognize the son of the people. To the elegant manceuvres of worldly gallantry he opposes love with its grosser in^incts, as Precursors of the Nmeteenth Century. 25 well as in its transports of exalted, mystical passion. Surrounded by all the refinements of social life, he extols primitive existence. He rings out the ple- beian words of virtue, duty, conscience among people whose only moral guide is conventional honor. In a world from which a purely exterior life and the most abusive exercise of the critical spirit have drained all sentiment, he preaches a philosophy whose first maxim is to re-enter self in order to listen to the soul's voice, to all purposes stifled by the tumult from without. To re-enter self was Rousseau's first messas^e to his age, and this is the burden of his entire work. He has listened only to his own heart, throwino^ his whole beinor into his works. He has brought about the advent of that ego^ destined to reign undividedly during the Romantic period. This he effected by breaking away both from the rationalistic philosophy increasingly shrivelled in its process of refinement, and from the proprieties of a superficial politeness, powerless to mask the exhaustion of moral activity. Those of his works which have exercised the greatest influence over our literature are exactly those of which this ego is the subject. He begins with the romance of Julie and Saint-Preux, dreamed of before written, and ends by his Confessions, in which he aims to make known his " interior," — that is, all that is most personal in his nature. He relates not only the history of his life, but " that of his soul." The ego is his sole sphere. Rousseau has inflamed the whole century with his passions, captivated it by his dreams, convulsed it 26 Literary Movement m Fra?ice. by his frenzies. Absorbed in his own personality, he has never issued from himself but to discover self without. While contemporary philosophers address reason, he appeals to sensibility. He even enkindles logic. Others illumine the world by their ideas ; Rousseau sets fire to it by his passions. If the common fate of humanity is to feel before thinking, he experienced this more than others have done. " I had an intuitive knowledge of all senti- ments before they were known to me," he has said. We can readily believe that thought was a painful occupation devoid of charm for him. He lived by sentiment, and by its means accomplished his entire work, renewing the soul of his generation. Reason had, so to speak, sterilized man by analysis. Hold- ing sensibility in defiance, it saw in imagination only an aged, foolish virgin, whose very charms were doubtful. Rousseau protested against the abuse of analysis, placing the philosophy of the heart in opposition to that of reason. To him reason seems without principles, and the understanding without rules; indeed, reason and understanding give man no other superiority over animals than the melan- choly privilege of wandering from error to error. Our strength and certitude do not arise in judg- ment, but from that moral conscience whose actions are sentiments, and which never deceives those who follow its guidance. From it Jean-Jacques recovers virtue, and upon it founds free-will and natural law. While Descartes made an exclusively intel- lectual illumination of evidence, Jean-Jacques trans- ports the light of intelligence into sensibility. Precursors of the Nineteenth Century, ~i Compliance of mind seems cold to him ; the attach- ment of the heart is necessary. Truth must not be conceived, but felt. Sensibility is his only guide in conduct. All those ardent pages of his work which impassioned his century were inspired by it. Through it he makes his age " remount to love." By its means he also discovers the poetry of nature, which does not live by descriptions or artificial allegories, but by direct impressions and spontaneous emotions. Finally, by its aid, he revives Christian spiritualism ; not in a scholastic treatise, but by a profession of faith ; not by opposing an array of arguments to the dry, cold irony of incredulity, but by the emotional testimony of the heart, by worshipping the God disputed by the analysis of philosophers. All his weakness can be attributed to this pre- dominance of sensibility. Hence his lack of equi- librium and constancy, also the extravagances of a hazardous and disconnected existence which never succeeded in fixing itself. With him there was no mean condition, no stability ; he oscillates from one state to another, without pausing between them ; his agitated spirit " but passes over the line of repose." Education had further quickened his natural irri- tability. From six years of age he had been nour- ished with romantic literature, receiving from it impressions of human life which neither experi- ence nor reflection ever eradicated. He has always lived in an imaginary world, whose phantoms never cease to haunt him. Unhappy, he exaggerated his sufferings ; happy, he " grew weary of well-being." 28 Literary Movement in France. Rousseau's genius implies an abnormal condition. " Rousseau," says Hume, " is like a man who is stripped not only of his clothes, but of his skin, and turned out in that situation to combat with the rude and boisterous elements, such as perpetually disturb this lower world." Always restless, always discon- tented with everything and with himself, tormented by aimless desires, a prey to devouring inactivity, — sensibility and imagination finally dissipated his char- acter. His incurable passivity makes him the play- thing of impressions, against which he is powerless to react. He wishes, without knowing how to will ; he dreams without the energy to accomplish. In his ardent but feeble nature, as prompt to discourage- ment as to enthusiasm, fed upon fancies and unfit for the realities of life, we recognize that evil which the Romanticists will come to call " the malady of the century." Saint-Preux was its first poetical incarna- tion, and Rousseau himself its first victim. This faculty of feeling, which was the source of his errors and miseries, was also the communicative power of his genius. To it he owes his captivating and contagious eloquence, which suddenly conjures up the latent virtues of passion as if by magic. During the seventeenth century love had been a fashionable interchange of minds, a theme for elegant conversation, a ceremonious suit, in which the heart and senses had no part. The eighteenth century had made it either cold libertinage or subtle gallantry ; on one side the obscenities of Crcbillonyf/j, on the other the finical pretensions of Marivaux. Jean-Jacques revived and regenerated love, which was about to Precursors of the Nineteenth Century. 29 die of inanition. He introduced a natural sen- suality in place of refined depravation, and moral exaltation for the affectations of sentiment. He brought back its passionate gravity, fervent enthu- siasm, ardent devotion. When he named his hero- ine the New Heloi'se, it was because it was necessary to remount as far through the ages as the Heloi'se of Abelard to recover the true love which inebriated both himself and his Julie. In a famous letter Julie savs that Saint-Preux srave her a soul-racking kiss under a green arbor; this soul-racking kiss was an inexhaustible theme of raillery to Voltaire, and marked a revolution in all that relates to the heart. The keen irony of " philosophers " and the affected disgust of beaux esprits availed nothing against that irresistible force of passion, whose tempests vivi- fied the artificial atmosphere of contemporary life. Saint-Preux winning the love of his pupil, repre- sents nothing less than the plebeian Jean-Jacques summoning back to love that cortege of fine ladies whose hearts he trained after him. This love could have neither elegant boudoirs nor the severely trimmed foliage of parks for its setting, like the vain badinage of gallantry. It must have magnificent and imposing sites to harmonize with the sentiments of its heroes. Julie and Saint- Preux love each other at Clarens, in a country of torrents and pine-trees, at the foot of mountains whose balmy breezes intensify both heart and senses. Jean-Jacques reveals to his century the poetry of passion together with that of nature. " Nature," he says, " was dead to the eyes of man." 30 Literary Movement in France. While the descriptive poets of the times made it a refined, lifeless dissection, he gave it a soul by lending it his own. He associated it with his joys and sufferings, his hopes and regrets. For him nature was a confidante, often a comforter ; he was the interpreter of its mysteries, the singer of its harmonies. Rousseau becomes intoxicated by great Alpine scenes, but a smiling landscape or a field blossom suffices to move him. He loves nature in its intimate familiarities as well as in its wild hor- rors and imposing magnificence ; it has no voice so humble that it cannot reach his heart. He felt its captivating charm during the early years of his impressionable childhood ; at Bossey he never grew weary of its delights, and shouted joyously on discovering the germs of the seeds he had sown. Lodged in a room at Annecy where he can see a corner of the landscape, he is thoroughly happy in having his window open upon the fresh green, and considers this pleasing outlook another of his dear patroness's favors. All his life he remained more sensible to the charms of the country than to the brilliant spectacles of an artificial world for which he felt he was not born. One of the sweetest recol- lections of his youth is of having passed a night on the banks of the Saone, beneath the recess of a terrace, with the tree-tops for the hangings of his bed and the song of the nightingale to lull him to sleep. He " wrote in his mind " in the midst of rocks and woods. At the Hermitage he has the forests for his study, yet he is never happier than when he can escape the trouble of thinking. Noth- Precursors of the Nineteenth Cenii(,ry. 31 ing charms him so much as that " rapture of re very," to which calm solitude and the thousand voices of nature gently incline him. He loves what he calls his ramblings, — that confused life in which he half loses self-consciousness, as if his being passed into surrounding objects. Seated on the shores of a lake, the noise of the waves and the movement of its waters captivate his senses, and, driving every other agitation from his soul, plunge him, little by little, into a delight from which night surprises him with- out his having perceived its approach. Stretched on his back in a boat, with his eyes fixed on the sky, he lets his fancies, as well as his bark, drift at will with the current. Rousseau taught his contem- poraries the secret of that revery, unknown to the robust reason of the seventeenth century, which the cold lucidity of the philosophers and algebraists of the time thought but incoherent wanderings. With him it enters into our literature, is inoculated into French genius, opens to poetry the twilight recesses of the soul, — that world of obscure movements, confused and veiled sentiments, vague melancholy, ineffable, intoxicating delights, of which the Romanticists will sing. Rousseau's love of nature and inclination to revery are united with a taste for reality and fa- miliar domestic life. He finds pleasure in every- thing connected with the fi.elds, the care of a farm and pigeon house, where he passes hours at a time " never, for a moment, growing weary ; " also in bee- hives, whose little inhabitants he tames after several stings. He interests himself not only in garden 2,2 Literary Movement in France. flowers, but also in vegetables. We sometimes find him perched up in a tree, girdled by a bag which he fills with fruit and lets down by a cord. He always travels on foot in his youth, knowing no greater enjoyment than to wander at leisure through a beautiful country in fine weather. When he be- comes old, he passes ten years in one perpetual botanizing expedition. In his Confcssioiis he re- calls with quite a sensuous reminiscence those frugal repasts of milk and "grisses"^ which had formerly made him the most contented of gour- mands. He cannot even pass a hamlet in company with the fine world and smell the odor of an omelette au cerfctiil without flouting the red, amber, and flounces of courtly life. All his unwilling efforts and fitful ambitious projects had no other object than to at length attain blissful repose in a little rustic retreat, the asylum of that simple, modest, retired felicity for which he longed. " The sweet- est of all habits," he says, " is domestic life." The father who placed his children in an almshouse, the husband of an uncultured inn servant, first his mis- tress, had at bottom a sincere feeling for the gentle virtues and pure affections which flourish beneath the paternal roof and at the conjugal fireside. He taught fathers their duties by laying out a programme for the education of children. He animated the sentiment of maternity in mothers, and, at his bid- ding, they became the nurses of their own offspring, just as fathers assumed the direction of their educa- ^ Grisses, a dialectic expression employed in Savoy for rolls of crusty bread in the form of a stick. — Tr. Precursors of the Nineteenth Century. 33 tion. What he most regrets in his old age is that sim- ple, tranquil life which he might have passed humbly in his native city, surrounded by family and friends. The most obscure condition would have satisfied his ambition. He would have loved and, perhaps, been an honor to it. Then, after having lived as a worthy Christian, a good father, and an honest workman, he would have died peacefully in the arms of his own. Despite his faults, weakness, even errors, Rous- seau was the eloquent, convinced, enthusiastic in- terpreter of moral and religious sentiment to the eighteenth century. In the midst of a society ex- hausted by pleasure, withered at heart by the abuse of criticism, perverted by a worldly, artificial Catholi- cism, his grave, impassioned voice preached the respect and cult of all the virtues held in derision by the century. Spiritual renaissance dates from him. The philosophers who led the fashion boasted of their atheism. Rousseau had no fear of exposing himself to their sarcasm. Indignant with the haughty denials which he once heard in the salon of Mademoiselle Quinault, he said, " Gentle- men, I believe in God ; one word more and I leave this place." Voltaire professed deism ; it was, how- ever, but a purely intellectual deism. Indeed, he associated with atheists only for the purpose of scoff- ing at what is purest and m.ost deeply human in Christianity. Rousseau throws all his heart into the Vicar of Savoy's profession of faith. He not only grasps the sentiment of the great truths of natural re- ligion and rekindles them by his fervent eloquence, 3 34 Literary Movement in Fraitce. but, instead of ridiculing Christ and the Gospels, offers a brilliant homage to both, ranking the one above all men and the other above all books. He does not accept revelation, yet his sympathies seem to incline him toward Christianity, even when he is manifestly at variance with Christian dogmas. Through its vain formulas and vulgar superflui- ties, he recognizes " that religion, pure, holy, and eternal like its author, — a religion which men have soiled while feigning to purify it." There was but little difference between his sentimental Christian- ity and that upon which Chateaubriand founded Romanticism forty years later. In connection with Jean-Jacques Rousseau, we must consider Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, as the disciple who most effectually transmitted what was most refined and insinuating in the literary influence which tlie author of the Nouvetle Heldise, Reveries, and Confessions exercised over our century. Ber- nardin was a Rousseau of tender imagination. We admire Rousseau for his breadth, fulness, and bril- liancy of style, in no degree monotonous, but even and sustained, though lacking in nuances "a^ridi rejlets. Bernardin is less vigorous, but more flexible. He enumerates details with more curiosity, and does not recoil from the most familiar technical or rarely used terms to render the exact shade and impression he wishes to produce. He is the first of all our landscape painters to travel beyond Europe. Our literature gradually becomes richer through new discoveries ; after the Alps, and while Precursors of the Nineteenth Century. 35 waiting for the prairies and virgin forests of America, we have the low hills of the Isle de France. Bernardin seats his lovers under the shadow of cocoanut, blossoming banana, and lemon trees, at the foot of cliffs, on the shore ; not by the banks of brooks, on the prairies, beneath the shade of beech-trees. His originality consists rather in his manner of describing than in the subject of his pictures. It is true, he is often feeble and monoto- nous, with a too ready sensibility often degener- ating into sentimentalism, and an exuberant, injudi- cious optimism not always without insipidity. It cannot, however, be denied that his descriptions of nature are strongly marked by a caressing charm, a tender emotional quality, a suave harmony, and charm of style. For this he must be assigned a place of his own between scene-painters such as Jean-Jacques and Chateaubriand. Rousseau and Bernardin de Saint-Pierre announce the advent of that Christian spiritualism which the latter lived long enough to see burst into full renais- sance at the summons of a bolder and more vig- orous genius. Diderot may be called the chief of the Naturalistic school. Sense of reality, of the visible, tangible world, and exterior nature in the effervescence of its endless phenomena and the fermentation of its multiple, ungovernable life, is, perhaps, characteristic of him. This fumy, rest- less spirit overflows with incoherent activity, and unites all contrasts and all contradictions. By view- ing the century in its ensemble, it can be divided 36 Literary Move^nent in France. into two parts of almost equal extent. Rousseau, the initiator of the first half of the century, is responsible for almost all of Romanticism, — for Madame de Stael and Chateaubriand, Lamartine, George Sand, the heroes of the novel and theatre, plaintive idealism, moral exaltation, the malady of revery. Among all the writers of the preceding age, Diderot, long forgotten and despised, was recognized as the leader of the second half of the century by those who inaugurated the inevitable reaction against Romanticism about forty years ago. By a filiation more or less direct, all the Stendhals and Balzacs of the first period proceeded from him ; and all those of the second period who directed the universal movement of our contemporary literature towards the exact observation and earnest notation of ambient realities, also originated in him. Diderot's is a scientific mind, notably predisposed to experi- mental sciences. He is a mathematician, and par- ticularly a naturalist; his master, however, is not the geometrician, Descartes, but the physician. Bacon, to whom he has more than once rendered abundant homage. In many respects his philosophy is in sympathy with that which triumphed during the second half of our century. This enthusiastic preacher sees in vice and virtue but the products of a fatal and irresponsible activity. In metaphys- ics he is a simple negateur ; but, by that contradic- tion occasionally to be found in the atheist and materialist of our times, there is a more or less un- conscious corner reserved for mysticism. Whether in respect to art or letters, his criticism is dominated Precursors of the N ineteenth Cenhiry. 37 i Hy reality and the appreciation of life in all its lorms. There is, consequently, an absence of all narrow, exclusive systems, a liberality of mind, hearty tolerance, and vivacity of sympathy, which passes directly to the beautiful without obscuring defects. We find these same ideas in the theatrical reform which Diderot undertook, suggested to him by his predilection for a real, living truth, which the conventionalities of our stage did not seem to admit. In a novel written at the outset of his career, he attacks Classical tragedy, which he ac- cuses of having altered and falsified nature. Many years later, he adds to this already quite complete and profound criticism his personal views upon theatrical art and works composed after this new formula. These productions have long been for- gotten. Diderot had the " reverse of the dramatical talent ; " he transformed all his personages into himself. To this great fault let us add effusions of declamatory sentiment, tirades upon virtue, the mania for moralizing at random, and all those tear- ful, rhetorical outbursts which relate to th? author rather than to his theories. Sedaine will prove in time to come that the Bourgeois Drama can be natural without being stupid, touching but not sen- timental, moral but not pedantic. Let us attempt to discover Diderot's theatrical aesthetics from his dramas, in order to learn in v.'hat consists this return to truth and nature for which he gave the signal. Comedy and tragedy are two extremes. Neither pain nor pleasure occupies the place our dramatic poets give them upon the stage ; they are passing 38 Literary Moveme^it in l^T'ance. phases, not durable conditions. A new style falling between that which aims to make us weep and that which purposes to make us laugh, must be created. Tragi-comedy had attempted to conciliate laughter with tears, but it seemed to have no unity. But the new drama, instead of making us laugh and cry by turns by mingling two styles separated by a natural barrier, would aim to make us neither laugh nor weep. Remaining at equal distance from the two extremes, it would present the faithful picture of existence under the name of Serious Comedy. That Diderot had invented the Serious Comedy did not prevent him from devising what he called Bourgeois Trag- edy. If his theatre gives little place to laughter, full liberty is given to tears. We find a flagrant con- tradiction between his theory of the Serious Comedy and that Bourgeois Tragedy, which, like high tragedy, finds its subjects in the misfortunes and catastrophes of human life. However, both styles are inspired by the same general idea, — the necessity of making the theatre resemble nature. Both, likewise, aim at mean truth, — the one in passion, the other in events and characters. Classic tragedy had always represented princes, whose natures, as well as ages and countries, were absolutely unknown to us ; and these altogether exceptional characters were engaged in quite extra- ordinary perils. Diderot wished Bourgeois Tragedy to confine itself to real, contemporary life, draw its subjects from actual surroundings, and select heroes of simple personality, whose misfortunes will make so much the greater impression upon spectators that they will be able to recognize themselves in them. Precu7'so7's of the Nineteenth Century. 39 Not without reason has Diderot been reproached for having satiated the theatre with a monotonous representation of virtue. His works degenerate easily into " berquinades : " ^ in all the situations where fortune places his characters we would have them less subject to the fine sentiments so super- abundantly found in his Clairvilles and Dorvals. All Diderot's aesthetics are subordinated to those moral preoccupations which make a schoolroom of the theatre. The idea that men are born good, and that virtue is natural to them, seems to be pro- foundly implanted in his nature. This fearless and fervent optimist, whose eye is always glowing with enthusiasm and moist with emotion, sees no evil around him ; how could he, then, have represented it upon the stage .'^ He has known the personages whom he introduces into his work, and, without being aware of it, has attributed to them, as to the world, his own qualities, — those which he has, and those which he believes his own, or wishes to pos- sess. In giving so preponderant a place to what he calls the " respectable," Diderot does not wander from the conditions of reality, at least, as conceived by him. If human nature is good, we will present a false picture of it by representing vice, which is the exception, instead of virtue, which is the rule. This real life which the Serious Comedy and Bour- geois Tragedy represent, m.ust not be rendered by the study of characters which have been exhausted, but by that of conditions which have not yet been ^ " Berquinades," poems in the idyllic, bucolic style of Berquin, who lived from 1749 to 1791. — Tr. 40 L iterary Movement in France. placed upon the stage. In character studies we force the dominant character by so doing, sacri- ficino- all that surrounds it. We turn the animal around, exercise and harass it, as though it were a trained horse ; we watch it jump, caracole, but we learn nothing of its natural gait. True individuals are not found in the theatre, but ideal types in which we discover nothing of ourselves. Rather let us substitute different " conditions " of characters, — personages we shall not be tempted to turn into abstractions, who, after setting foot upon the reality of common life, cannot fail to be bound by its requirements. Whether just or false, the reforms Diderot desig- nates or employs, purpose to represent life more exactly. To those so often unnatural coups de theatre, which suddenly change the position of actors, he prefers pictures, — that is, an arrangement true and natural enough to be pleasing upon canvas were it faithfully rendered by a painter. He demands a broad stage, permitting actors more liberty of movement and allowing a com- plexity or dispersion of action more in conformity with nature. He regrets the " cruel proprieties which render works both decorous and trivial." He repudiates the conventionalities of our theatre, — here its harangues and confidences, there its valets and ban mots. He wishes certain places to be en- tirely abandoned to the judgment of actors : a man inspired by a great passion does not express himself by a regular, connected discourse, but by cries, inar- ticulate words, broken sounds; the silence of an Precursors of the Nineteenth Century. 41 expressive pantomime is at once natural and more affecting than eloquent tirades. It must not be in verse, for prose only is in harmony with the char- acter of the drama which Diderot wished to create. Real scenery and costumes, simple action, ordinary people, events drawn from every-day life, character- ize the Bourgeois Tragedy as he conceived it. We find the same preoccupation for scenic reality in a writer whose name we must associate with that of Diderot. Sebastien Mercier is the author of an Essai sur fart dramatique, in which he takes up the ideas of his predecessor, accentuating them more strongly and completing them with his own views. The principle from which Mercier starts out is that, " if the theatre is an illusion, we should bring it as near the truth as possible." Neither of our Classic styles finds favor with him. Comic poets alter the natural course of things, overload their personages, exclude mixed characters, condemn uncertain colors, and sacrifice nature to the coarsest purposes for laughter. Tragedy is " but a phantom clothed in purple and gold." Being restricted to ancient subjects which have no interest for the real public, it further de- spoils them by introducing modern ideas of propriety. Pyrrhus is pictured as a lover ; Monima appears with gloves and a basket; Hippolytus is powdered. The tragical hero is in no sense true ; he resembles a " lay-figure whose stiff motions seem to arise from lifeless springs." Action is smothered into twenty- four hours and a narrow space thirty feet square. 42 Literary Movement m France. The unities reduce it to a forced crisis which per- mits neither actions nor personages to follow out their natural developments. Dramatic art is still in its infancy ; in order to give it the truth and in- terest which it lacks, its two Classic forms must be renounced, — both the gross caricatures of the one and the cold idealizations of the other. They must then be replaced by a new style, which will repre- sent human life with all the breadth and variety of its various forms. Is it not evident that " the soul's two emotions, laughter and tears, have, in reality, the same origin, that they touch and fade into each other".? Let us cease to say the public must laugh at this and weep at that work. Be exact, lifelike painters, giving no thought to cate- gories of artificial poetics. With all their vulgarity, better the Causes Celedres of Gayot cut up into scenes, than the pompous misfortunes, bombastic sentiments, and conventional language of three- fourths of our trasfedies. The new drama will not return to antiquity for its deeds and heroes, only to pervert them at pleas- ure. It will represent contemporary personages in the situations of ordinary life, sometimes princes, but more often the bourgeois ; the most famous of Persian or Assyrian monarchs interest us less than the humblest tradespeople. It will have all the pathos of tragedy in its stirring scenes, all the naive charm of comedy in its pictures of manners. Instead of bowing to three or four hundred minds who give their prejudices the name of good taste, it will become truly popular as well as national. It will Precursors of the Nineteenth Century. 43 be what Greek tragedy was for the ancients, what mysteries were for our middle ages ; it will not address select audiences, but the great public, — that is, the whole of France. It will as unscrupu- lously break away from all " proprieties " as from ar- bitrary rules : released from the one, it will represent life sincerely without being forced to polish off all rough edges ; freed from the other, it will enlarge limitations of time and space in order to make room for broad, just pictures of human truth, in place of factitious abridgments. There is a very evident similarity between Dide- rot's ideas and those of Mercier. Appreciative of all that is exquisite in Classic art and taste, Diderot prosecutes the conventionalities of our theatre with more judgment than the barbarian Mercier, yet he none the less considers tragedy and comedy forms no longer suited to the conditions of contemporary society. He admires the works of Racine, for the same reason as those of Sophocles and Euripi- des, considering them masterpieces of a dramatic system that has lived out its time. Each pro- poses his new formula : Diderot's S3^stem relates particularly to Bourgeois Tragedy, the masterpiece of which will be produced by Sedaine; that of Mercier embraces a broader field. Indeed, if so inclined, we might discover in it the germ of the Romantic drama, at least of that of Alexandre Dumas. However, it is much more easily adapted either to the popular melodrama, in which field it has made some advance, or to our contemporary comedy, the first example of which Beaumarchais, 44 Literary Movement in France. the disciple of Mercier as well as of Diderot, was soon to place upon the stage. While Diderot and Mercier were attempting to reform the theatre, and Rousseau and Bernardin de Saint-Pierre were opening inexhaustible sources of inspiration, poetry was becoming more insipid and trivial with Saint-Lambert's barren descriptions and Florian's spiritless pastorals. Andre Chenier became the regenerator of poetry. Published nearly thirty years after his death, when the literature of our century had already opened up new paths, his verses were received by the leaders of the new school as those of an elder brother. Proud to inscribe on their ensign the name of the only great poet France had produced since Racine, the Romanticists selected him for their master, and sought to make his work enter into the current of their literature. In constitution of mind Andre Chenier belongs to the eighteenth century. His philosophy, that Naturalism which finds its monument in Hermes, is that of Buffon and Diderot. All religious senti- ment is quite foreign to him. He is a pagan in times when there is no fixed belief. If " the infinite is disclosed to his eager eye," it is but an infinite of atoms. The renaissance of the new century would have found Chenier rebellious to all the inspirations of a sentimental Christianity. Upon this point the Romantic school could have found no more irrecon- cilable adversary ; not one fibre of his heart is Precursors of the Nineteenth Century. 45 sensible to Christian emotions. Even the thoiioht O of death arouses in him no sentiment of piety ; neither disquieting revery, nor the restless presenti- ment of an after-life ; none but the quite profane images of gentle, smiling peace, pure water, shade and flowers for its shrines, — for the ashes which he places with Epicurean serenity in the hands of his friends. Hermes — his favorite poem, and that which occupies him from the age of twenty — could be but a sort of enc5^clop3edia, as little mystical as that of Diderot. Chenier's religion is that of the eighteenth century, — a religion consisting in the faith in reason and ideas of human justice and progress cherished by contemporary philosophy. From these ideas the new century broke away at the outset, just as if the Revolution, of which it saw but the ruins, had been no more than an irreparable bankruptcy. Love holds the foremost place in the verse of this poet, whose short life closed at thirty. With Andre Chenier, however, love has nothing in common with the vapory idealism to be brought into vogue by the first Romanticists; to him it represents a purely carnal gratification. Though others after Lamartine, the singer of all that is most exquisitely chaste and modest in tenderness, will bring more of the fires of passion to love, in all of them, even in Musset's grossest revels, there is a conception of immortality, of that infinite that gives no rest to brain or heart. We discover nothing of this in Andre Chenier. In his Camilles, Roses, Julies, — all beauties of pagan festivity, like those celebrated by his forefathers, Tibullus and Propertius, — he 4.6 Literary Movement in France. personifies that Venus without whom he says there is nothinor sweet here below. For him love relates to the senses only : it is sometimes the negligent, voluptuous dance of Rose; sometimes the sparkling laughter of Julie, as intimated in these lines, " Dans une bouche dtroite un double rang d'ivoire, Et sur de beaux yeux bleus une paupiere noire." He seeks only what he is sure of finding, a self- sufficing pleasure anointed with perfumes and crowned with flowers, — a pleasure in which there is no consciousness of void, no bitterness of after- taste, no anxiety of the beyond either to trouble or exasperate full enjoyment. The women he loves are all ketdires, and the soul never enters into his purely pagan love through other sentiments than adoration for plastic beauty. Under its different forms this sentiment inspires all of Andre Chenier's poetry. Notwithstanding their Christian origin, the Romanticists will trans- form art through its inspiration ; Chateaubriand himself is but a " pagan of Catholic imagination." Through the author of the Martyrs, Andre Chenier holds out his hand, if not to Lamartine, who never appreciated him, at least to Victor Hugo; to Alfred de Vigny, who began by imitating him ; to Sainte- Beuve, who openly acknowledges him one of the masters of the new school ; and, finally, to all the neo-Romanticists, who, with Theophile Gautier at their head, glory in rendering material beauty by virtue of words and rhythm. Chenier is an artist. No one since the poets of the seventeenth century had lifted the cult of form Precursors of the Nineteenth Century. 47 so high. He first writes in prose: by discriminate reading he patiently gathers the silk and gold of which his verse is woven, and, one by one, collects graceful comparisons and fresh metaphors from Homer and Theocritus. Like the Attic bee, he lights upon Anthology as upon a crown of flowers, pilfering what is most charming and delicate in the scholarly poetry of alexandrines. While he imitates he invents, sometimes assimilating a thought in the pursuit of an original image, sometimes retaining words to constrain their meaning in new directions. In certain of his works, such as V Invention, V Epttre a Lebrun, and in many fragments of his notes where we find him at work, he has revealed the secret of this ingenious elaboration. Even throughout what he calls the distractions and aberrations of a violent, impetuous youth, art was always his dominant pre- occupation, and, when its first fires subsided, the " holy leisure " of which he dreams becomes a leisure sanctified by poetry. In his commentary upon Malherbe, it is evident how deeply he interests himself in all the most minute and subtile secrets of language and versification. The sympathy of the Romanticists for Andre Chenier is the more clearly explained by the fact that they first found in him the methods employed by them to redress a poetical instrument whose lax chords had lost all sonority. Andre retuned the lyre. He gave life, movement, variety, rhythmical expression to that feeble, mo- notonous alexandrine transmitted to him by the poets of the eighteenth century. Guided by the study of the ancients and a secret instinct for bar- 48 Literary Movemenl in France. mony, he revived the old hexameter of Ronsard and the Pleiade. To this freely overlapping hexameter of variable caesural pauses and a rhythm easily adapting itself to all shades of thought and inflec- tions of feeling, he gave more force and flexibility. At the same time he recovered that " full, large, lively species of verse, of a single long breath," quite rare with the old school even with Racine, and from which Sainte-Beuve liked to quote numer- ous examples among the poets of 1830 in order to compare them with their precursor. Andre Chenier's language was not less novel than his versification, and inclined in the direction towards which Romanticism was destined to lean. The au- thor of Joseph Delorme notes with devout care that the young master's coloring methods, as well as those of his disciples, hang upon two points, — upon the substitution of proper, descriptive terms for metaphorical, sentimental expressions, and upon the judicious use of somewhat vague, veiled epi- thets and indefinite, floating, inexplicit words, al- lowing the idea to be divined rather than grasped closely and specified. We also find many traces of " nobility " of style, many conventional periphrases ; indeed, he even uses mythological settings for modern subjects, and conceives and begins long didactical poems in the style of Lemierre and Es- menard. Just as much can, however, be asserted of the early attempts of Alfred de Vigny or of Victor Hugo. These relics of pseudo-Classicism do not prevent him from being considered as a guide and predecessor by the coming Romanticists. Precursors of the Nineteefith Century. 49 Must we, then, limit the poet's relation to the innovators of 1820 to questions of exterior form? As has been remarked, Andre Chenier belongs to his epoch in politics, religion, and philosophy; how- ever, if nothing in his mind foreshadows the new century, his soul and poetic spirit seem at moments to have had an intuitive perception of its advent. We first discover in him that poetry of images, the secret of which had been lost since Ronsard. Nature blooms and grows radiant in his verse : the spring makes merry; the woods vibrate; the silver- footed brook rolls on its pure, agile stream. He sings of the Swiss lakes; of Thun, son of the torrents ; of bearded mountains, and the forests and cities that hang over their precipices. In a gentler strain he celebrates the shores where Senart's shadows thicken, the slopes of Luciennes crowned with grass and flowers, the balmy routes of Ver- sailles and its silence, fertile in gentle dreams and unwonted raptures. With him rocks, mountains, wild grottos, melodious valleys, meadows glistening with dew, suddenly reappear in our poetry. This so long dry and sterile vein bursts out afresh with the new energy of rich, generous blood. The poet wanders with tardy footsteps along the slope of hills, or seats himself in silent, thoughtful ecstasy to watch the reflection of roofs and foliage in the liquid blue of the river. He falls into a sweet revery, and calls up the beloved troupe of immortal phantoms that dwell in his memory, turning over the leaves of his heart and life with a tenderness in which all nature seems commingled. Verses crowd 4 50 Literary Movement in France. in throngs about him, — verses as modern in accent as in form, penetrating notes which will be taken up thirty years later by the young poets of Romanticism. Andre Chenier is a precursor in that he has re- vived lyrical poetry, which, for more than two cen- turies, had degenerated into artificial declamation or gallant badinage. After the cold cantatas of Jean-Baptiste Rousseau, and the painted, perfumed quatrains then in fashion, we have a poet who is really moved. First, he renews the pastoral by his sincerity of feeling as well as the vivid, natural freshness of his pictures ; then, he revives the elegy with the ardent passion that fires his own blood, the cold sighs and affected languor of gallantry being succeeded by cries of ecstatic rapture ; finally, he conceives and outlines a sort of encyclopaedical epopee, — not a species of descriptive rhapsody after the mode of contemporary versifiers, but a poem of lyrical ardor, in which his Muse will become the priestess of science and civilization. During the latter part of his career his genius rises still higher. The purity of accent with which he honors Fanny seems to presage an entirely new inspiration, — a conception of love in which the ideal will find place. During the bloody conflicts of the Revolution he places his art at the service of great ideas and noble sentiments, first celebrating nascent liberty with enthusiasm, then stigmatizing the abuses committed in her name. His pity for victims dic- tates songs of exquisite tenderness, and his indig- nation against the executioner wrings from him Precursors of the Nineteenth Century. 51 vengeful, impassioned iambes. For him poetry is not what it was for his contemporaries, — an ele- gant, frivolous diversion ; he gives it not only the severe gravity of an accomplished art, but the re- ligion of a mystery. He represents the poet a prey to ardent transports, his hair dishevelled, his eyes feverish ; sometimes isolating himself from game, the table, and friends to listen in silence to the voice that speaks within ; sometimes seeking in the depths of lonely woods wherewithal to calm the tempests of his brain and shake off the god that oppresses him. He believes genius a vast, sublime, inex- haustible source ; from his consciousness issue images in rapid floods, impetuous expressions of flame, magical words in which the whole universe lives, dies, and breathes. This idea of poetry and the poetical vocation announces a new era. If his destiny had been ful- filled, would not the always expanding genius of Andre Chenier have surely touched, before the close of the century, those Romantic shores which he but dimly perceived } After the brilliant flowers of youth, who knows what might have been the mature fruit which experience of life and things had already turned towards ideal aspirations.'' When his head fell beneath the knife, the Muse, perhaps wish- ing to atone for so great a crime, collected what was purest in the soul and genius of Andre Chenier, and, when better days began to dawn, with this divine spark kindled inspiration in the hearts of young poets, who, notwithstanding his precocious death, recognized in him their precursor. 52 Literary Movemeiit, in France. CHAPTER III. MADAME DE STAEL AND CHATEAUBRIAND. JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU, Diderot, and Andre Chenier are each in different ways the initiators of the nineteenth century. Madame de Stael and Chateaubriand, however, preside at its opening. Adverse from the beginning, they were long considered as representatives of rival doctrines ; but, notwithstanding an antagonism which would have continued to the end, we are forced to associate their names as those of the two writers who founded what it pleased us to call Romanticism. Modern French literature begins with them. The sentiments which inspire it, the ideas which nourish it, its form as well as sub- stance, its philosophy and art, are all revived under their guidance. The one pushes her always more daring survey beyond the limits of her own genera- tion until she finally discovers the entire horizon of the dawning century ; the other at once takes possession of this new world, and triumphantly plants the standard which will rally around it all the coming generations. It is not difficult to determine what Madame de Stacl has gained from the society in the heart Madame de Stdel and Chateaubriand. 53 of which her mind was formed. Refusing to favor ancient cults, the sceptical eighteenth century had established one of its own, — that of humanity. Particularly in respect to religion is Madame de Stael in touch with her age, — with her a char- acteristic feature, because of her afifirmative, enter- prising nature. What she grasps with all her energy, and the only conception not submitted to a pitiless analysis, is a principle of activity, — inde- structible faith in human reason, liberty, and justice. While Chateaubriand, by a sudden and violent con- version, turns abruptly against the eighteenth cen- tury, and anathematizes all its ideas and traditions, Madame de Stael gives herself up to the great current of enthusiastic, militant philosophy which eventually bears her towards a new ideal. Her dominating idea is belief in human perfectibility, and this legacy of the preceding age she transmits to us. Hope in " the future progress of our race " seems to her " the most religious feeling on earth." It is her nature to believe and act according to her convictions. While Chateaubriand was publishing a thoroughly sceptical and pessimistical Essat, in which humanity eternally revolves in a circle of like errors and misfortunes, Madame de Stael was attempting to maintain in her Litteratiire the fact that there is inherent in society an irresistible force working towards advancement. This progress, which she demonstrates to be a constant forward march through history, must be the law of ages to come, as it has been that of the past. This is the highest expression of the philosophy which the 54 Literary Movement in France. eighteenth century bequeathed to Madame de Stael, and upon this beHef has she grounded her faith in the destiny of the nineteenth century. Among the writers who aided in her education, none had a more profound influence over her than Jean-Jacques Rousseau. Her earliest attempts are but reminiscences; the romantic sentimentaHsm of JuUe has colored her characters, Adele and Mirza; and, later on, Emile's ideas suggest her work, r Injinence des passions S2ir le bonheur. Her Lettres sur yea7i-Jacques Rousseau breathe with an en- thusiasm which figures of speech can with dififi- culty satisfy. She does not, however, admire Rousseau throughout. Doubtless, the prophetess of perfectibility very often finds herself out of sym- pathy with the ideas of the philosopher who saw in primitive conditions the golden age of mankind. The missionary of individual liberty cannot adopt from the author of le Contrat social political principles implacably resulting in the subjection of the individual to society. The misanthropical and hypochondriacal seclusion into which Jean- Jacques retired so early, naturally repels the great woman of the world, the eloquent talker whose esprit is the delight of salons. What passes naturally from Rousseau to her is his impassioned tenderness, sentimental expansiveness, invincible confidence in the native goodness of man. From the philosophy of her master she rejects all the in- tolerance and pessimistical distrust of a maniac for civilization, and accepts all that is consoling, fortify- ing, and qualified to elevate human nature, — in fact, Madame de Stdel and Chateaubriand. 55 everything in accord with her innate optimism, her generous, confident zeal, her dream of an always better and happier humanity, her faith in the final triumph of truth over error and good over evil. From Jean-Jacques, to whom she is further united by affinities of race and religious education, she has received a spiritualism proof against doubt and inconstancy. Her first profession of faith is that of the Vicar of Savoy. Deeply imbued with morality, she is spiritual both in that she believes in God and in an immaterial soul, and because she conceives a religion of mind and sentiment which has no need of display and symbols, — a religion which is a close communion of man with God. From this spiritualism, which is the basis of her nature, she inclines more and more towards Chris- tianity, if not to accept its dogmas, at least to absorb its spirit. And this is what distinguishes her from Chateaubriand, — though she can become a Chris- tian, she could never be a Catholic. While still young, Madame de Stael witnessed the Revolution. She welcomed an era of legitimate demands and peaceful conquests; later, she refrained from ascribing men's crimes to principles. Her Litterature was published the day after the Terror. What does she attempt to prove ? In her own words, " Reason and philosophy always gain new force from the countless misfortunes of mankind." The most violent excesses of the Revolution do not shake her faith in progress, ever the most potent source of her moral and intellectual activity. In- 56 Literary Movement tJi France. deed, the apparent contradictions of the times clash against her convictions without shaking them. Crimes repelled her, but she was compassionate in grief and misfortune. Her naturally sympathetic heart moved her to pity. Hence a form of melan- choly, not inert, morbid, and egotistical, but active, wholesome, and generous, — an already fertile in- clination to grave sadness, developing in her a close affiliation with the " spirit of the North." At the same time her eager mind forced its way beyond the Revolution, in order to discover what new per- spectives so great a crisis would open, so that she might be the first on the field and lead her contem- poraries thither. Together with the gift of keen, rapid intuitions lighting up the whole horizon with one flash, she possesses the faculty of adapting herself to different intellectual centres, and also the ability to feel and understand all things, which predestined her to be the great leader of the new era. Note how she throws aside a Classical heritage and exclusive social relations to fraternize with the rising democracy. Her naturally liberal and hospi- table intelligence grows steadily broader; indeed, she soon feels that the republican spirit will favor the " transportation of more vigorous beauties into literature, also a more harrowing, more philosophi- cal picture of events." Though the introduction of a new social class into government at first resembles barbarism, this very barbarism brings with it a new form of society, and, in its wake, a freer and more varied code of aesthetics, which will permit the " confines of art to be widened." Whatever admira- Madame de Side I and Ckateaudriand. 57 tion Racine's tragedy merits, it cannot survive the social regime in which it flourished ; and this is what Madame de Stael foresaw and points out to her generation. Far from indulging in sterile regrets for a past without return, she confidently turns her energy towards a future whose spirit she has divined. Her birth, education, the surroundings and vicissitudes of her life, effectually preserve her from the contempt and prejudices of purism. With these different influences must also be classed her intellectual " Europeanism," one of the most marked qualities of her mind, and its action upon our literature. By family ties she belonged to a very cosmopolitan city, from which her religion as well as her early training isolated her; she had been brought up by a strict Calvinist mother in a country where Catholicism had left its imprint upon literary doctrines, social and political institutions. From the time of the Revolution the greater part of her life was spent in foreign lands. She visited Sweden, Russia, and England, lived in Italy, and remained long in Germany. On her return to France one of the Emperor's ministers declared that the "climate would not agree with her." In Geneva, Sismondi and Benjamin Constant were her friends ; in Berne, Bonstetten ; and in Germany, such as Schlegel, whom she made her children's pre- ceptor. What influence must such surroundings have exerted upon an intellect ever in quest of new and original ideas, and not always preserved from too zealous sympathies by a judgment less sure than bold } 58 Literary Movement in France. Italy attracted Madame de Stael towards plastic art ; and although this incorrigible penseuse con- tinued to prefer " a literature of ideas," her per- ception of form was awakened, — partiality for philosophical writers now no longer preventing her from appreciating those beguiled by the idol, art. Delphine could never have become Corinne with- out having visited Italy. German influence and sentiment, enthusiasm and mystical religion for the beautiful, finally outweighed her predilection for analysis, always to be recognized as the persistent spirit of the eighteenth century in spite of her pro- testations. Madame de Stael's mission was to introduce and accommodate a multitude of ideas and feelings which her cosmopolitan spirit bor- rowed from all nations. *' Henceforth," she said, " let us be European." Following out the gradual growth of her mind, in order to discover its different elements as we pro- ceed, we must by no means overlook what she owed to Chateaubriand. Though Chateaubriand taught her the power of words, and revealed the secrets of phrases and the charm of fine lines and harmonious rhymes to her, he had no part in the moral evolu- tion which turned her more and more towards a broad Christianity. From the time of the publica- tion oi\\Qr Litterature,sh.Q. showed sympathy for the Christian religion, on condition of being allowed to retrench what she called priestly invention. With her this is a natural inclination and developed of itself. In reality, what is more deeply Christian than that impatience of limitation, recognition of the Madame de Stdel and Chateaubriand. 59 incompleteness of destiny and insatiability of desire, to which she attributes the " greatest and most beautiful things man has accomplished? " When Christianity comes to attract her more forcibly, and she believes it the " very source of modern genius," in those pages of Allemagne so fervently inspired by it, her conception of religion bears no resemblance to that of Chateaubriand. To pagan magnificence she does not oppose the splendor of a Catholic Olympia, but " suffering, inno- cence, extreme age, and a Christian death." She would not convert an unbeliever by sending him into a great cathedral, where the smoke of incense, magnificent decorations, and the mystical reverbera- tion of music all combine in luring his senses and dazzling his imagination ; she would direct him to a poor country church, barren of ornament, where the presence of God is revealed without images and artifice to a humble audience of peasants. Accord- ing to her, " the sanctuary of Christianity lies within the soul." More profoundly religious than he, she was so from the heart, as was Chateaubriand through the imagination. In order to understand what part she played in the literary movement of her century, we must explain under what influences her mind was unfolded. Summing up her role in one word, she might be said to have introduced the "septentrional spirit " into France. Even in her Litterature, did she devote several chapters to the poets of Eng- land and Germany. Allemagne is a passionate 6o Literary Movement in Fraiice. dithyramb in honor of Germanic genius. Germany had remained almost entirely unknown to us until the beginning of the nineteenth century. Vol- taire's literary relations had been confined to Gottsched, the faithful disciple of Classic taste. Later, the idyls of Gessner and the Messiade reached us, and the National Assembly conferred the title of French Citizen upon Schiller and Klopstock at the same time. Though a few great names were known to us, the movement of ideas which was being car- ried on without our knowledge and in opposition to our traditions, had completely escaped our no- tice. This Madame de Stael disclosed to us. The author of Allemagne feels the need of a renovation more vividly than her contemporaries. " The sterility that menaces our literature at the present time," she says, " would seem to indicate that the French mind needs to be regenerated by more vigorous sap." She wishes to borrow some- thing of the depth and seriousness of the North, — according to her its distinctive characteristics. All her literary philosophy relates to the division which she establishes at the outset between poetry as modelled upon the ancients and that which owes its origin to the middle ages: on the one hand, from that which first " received its charm and color from paganism.;" on the other, from that which " derives its impulse and development from an essentially spiritual religion." This idea is ad- vanced in la Litterature, where its author openly confesses that " all her ideas and impressions nat- urally turn her towards the North." When ccn- Madame de Stdel and Chateaubriand. 6i sured for renouncing domestic traditions and betraying French genius, she repHes that France would only make another China by surrounding herself by a great wall. Furthermore, she adds that one may respect the true principles of Classic taste, while admiring " what is passionate in the affections and profound in the thoughts of the North," and attempting to instil into our literature "something of the beauty, pathos, and sublimity of the sombre nature they have known how to por- tray." She is far from wishing us to become en- slaved by the North : we should modify in our own manner and impress with our own individ- uality those ideas with which Germany, " the father of thought," can furnish us. This we must do by freeing ourselves from native superstitions, broaden- ing our criticism, and ceasing to regard " Louis XIV.'s age as a model of perfection which no eloquent writer or thinker can ever surpass." From the time of the publication of her Littera- ture, Madame de Stael had been accused of present- ing " a new code of poetics." Whether she deny it or not, it is, indeed, a new poetry which she opens to a new century, — not, however, by substi- tutins: new for old rules and new for old formulas. The originality of this poetry, in which good taste becomes the analytical observation of nature, con- sists precisely in freeing art from all rules and formulas. She condemns the legislators of Clas- sicism for having built up an exclusively negative criticism, which " concerns only what must be avoided," and conceals the temple of art beneath a 62 Literary Movement in France. heavy scaffolding of pedantic, sterilizing precepts. In France she finds too heavy curbs for coursers so little inclined to break away. In confining ourselves to dramatic unities, she says, we substitute false sym- metry for truth in action, and sacrifice substance to form as in acrostics. For the theatre she demands subjects better suited to the public, less display, a naturalness that does not fear to heighten the effect of the sublime by contact with vulgarity, characters instead of abstract passions, real men instead of *' heroic marionettes," less logic in the personages and less geometry in the division of action. In doing away with tragedy and comedy with their artificial forms, as with descriptive and didactic styles, in which she considers we have excelled, Madame de Stael announces the great poetical outburst of our century. She urges the coming generations towards that lyricism which overflows inspired hearts in sudden, involuntary effusions, " like the song of sibyls or prophets." The poet's work must be accomplished by abandoning himself to inspiration, and his poem judged by the im- pression received. To mediocre productions she prefers those works in which faults are, here and there, redeemed by rays of genius. She confronts what is mechanical with sentiment, dexterity of mind with the heart's abandon, false methods of art with the candor of nature. Morality is her great preoccupation. Always returning to it, she also refers everything to it alike. Her entire poetics can be summed up in this exhor- tation addressed to poets : " Be virtuous, believing, Madame de Stael and Chateaubriand. 63 free ; respect what you love ; seek immortality in love and divinity in nature ; sanctify your soul as a temple." She condemns that irony which re- duces everything to dust. She realizes that the time has passed for more or less keen jests directed against what is serious, noble, divine. She an- nounces a doctrine of belief and enthusiasm, in which reason confirms what the heart reveals. Henceforth, she declares, youth can only be re- stored to humanity by returning to religion through philosophy and sentiment by way of reason. The first condition necessary to renew art consists in the regeneration of the inner life of the soul. The soul lives by religion and sentiment. Now, our Classic poets have set in verse the spirit of a bril- liant, refined society; to Romantic poetry, which she recommends in other peoples and predicts near at hand for us, is left the entire field of solitary im- pressions, remote reveries, and pious meditations. It is this ideal towards which Madame de Stael turns with ever-increasing earnestness. The always active, expansive, valiant improvisatrice constitutes " melancholy," pre-eminently the seal of divine election, an indication of depth as well as a war- rant of fecundity. All the moral and esthetic philosophy of Allemagne is inspired by the infinite, that "veritable attribute of the soul," the source of both genius and virtue. This infinity she feels not only within herself, but in the universe. Her heart is in communion with exterior nature. She enthusiastically extols sights and scenes of the visible world which she has never 64 Literary Movement in France. so much as seen. She does not see lines and colors like Chateaubriand, but a soul that seeks her soul to commune with it. She admires and ren- ders only what relates to sentiment ; she has neither pencil to trace outlines, nor brush to re- produce miances and reflets, nor scales of infinite chords to yield harmonies. She finds the universe but a collection of symbols whose forms are indiffer- ent to her, and only claim her interest for the ideas which they represent. She discovers I know not what relation between the blue of the heavens and a valiant heart, between a moonbeam resting on a mountain and a tranquil conscience. When the evening sky seems to touch the earth at the ex- tremity of the landscape, her imagination pic- tures beyond the horizon a refuge for hope, a land of love, a temple of immortality. " It is this secret alliance of the soul with the marvels of the uni- verse that gives poetry its real grandeur," she says ; and she compares the poet to those " sorcerers " whose magic consists in so close an acquaintance with the elements that they can discover their sources by the nervous emotion they excite. With the soul of a moralist, Madame de Stael, though a great esprit penseur, using her favorite expression, is not a great writer. The rapid suc- cession of thoughts and feelings that press be- neath her pen, leaves her no time to think of the form in which she invests them ; for this she has no more taste than time. Her sensibility is too active, and her conception too prompt ; the purely artistic temperament must possess a certain degree of men- Madame de Side I aiid Chateaubriand. 65 tal indolence and indifference of heart. She has too much candor, too much spontaneity; in the pure artist, using the word in its etymological sense, a certain amount of hypocrisy is also essential. Madame de Stael writes just as she thinks, but without being able to impart to her style the living quality of her speech. Her finest books have never been written ; they were improvisations. No one has accomplished more for art in the sense that no one has ever diffused more fertile, more vivifying ideas. These very ideas, which seemed paradoxical when expressed for the first time, became common property twenty or thirty years later. They no longer belonged to her, for they had fallen into and had been absorbed by the current ; hence no one was forced to open her Litterature and Allemagne to find them. Style belongs to the man, according to Buffon's profound expression. Madame de Stael possesses no style ; and this is why, of all she left, her memory alone seems pledged to posterity. No writer is more famous, and no one is, in reality, less known. We confidently consent to admire her ; but who reads her works .f* She has discoursed pen in hand ; but written causeries, however elo- quent, can never constitute a monument. Although far superior to Chateaubriand in breadth and fertility of mind, she will, doubtless, only live in name. Madame de Stael has, nevertheless, exercised a deeper and more varied influence than Chateau- briand over the literary movement of our times. In uniting the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, she preserved all that was pure and noble in the 66 Literary Movemc7it in France. first, and discovered the springs from which the second would draw new inspiration. Soul flights towards the infinite, fervent meditation, gentle com- munion, — is not this what the new age was about to express, together with that religious emotion whose source she had reopened ? The regeneration of poetical sentiment is but a part of her work. More than any one, did she assist in that eman- cipation of art which became the watchword of the following generation. She waged war against literary prejudices with an earnest eloquence and just perception which henceforth assured the vic- tory of Romanticism. Too comprehensive of mind to be systematical, she has everywhere baited lines. It became her glory to divine and grasp every- thing ; or rather, it was the predestined role of a sympathetic heart and indefatigable brain. In lib- eratinsf art, she renewed at the same time our entire literary philosophy. The first of her great works instituted a new criticism which she soon afterwards applied in her second work. This was our modern, eclectic, explicative criticism, less bent upon judging than comprehending, pretending neither to absolute theories nor decisive conclu- sions. Rather than force nature in order to obtain at any price a rigid and false illusion of unity, it prefers to adapt itself to an endless variety of talents and characters. Madame de Stael's work has been to strengthen the inward life of the heart and religious senti- ment, to deliver art from binding rules and for- mulas, to renew the spirit of literary criticism. Madame de Stdel and Chateaubriand. 67 Though her name alone remains, it will always be that of a great initiator. She it was who directed the moral and intellectual movement of our epoch into so many diverse spheres, imbued the century with fruitful ideas, and gave a new soul to our poetry. If it can be said that Madame de Stael realized, in her own constant moral and intellectual progress, the theory of perfectibility upon which her phi- losophy was based, certainly the fixity of view in accordance with which Chateaubriand's life and works were planned, is no less remarkable. Cha- teaubriand opposes Madame de Stael's project to unite the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. His object is to promote a reaction against which every reconciliation would be treason and sacrilege. From this point of view even his Essai sur les revolutions falls in with the unity of the rest of his work ; for the entire book is directed against that doctrine of progress which is the last message bequeathed to us by the eighteenth century. When Chateaubriand wrote this Essai, he was not a Chris- tian ; however, it is very evident that he is in a moral condition bordering upon conversion, for surely a young man so painfully sceptical could not long kick against the stings of grace. The theory of perfectibility which the sceptic of the Essai atta,cks, he soon refutes in his Genie du Chris tia7zisme in virtue of his Christian faith. At this epoch Madame de Stael was its most promi- nent apostle ; he therefore turns against her. He 68 Literary Movement in France. at once poses as the natural antagonist of the eighteenth century which she represents, and, profiting by the opportunity of taking part in a discussion between her and his friend Fontanes, he writes a letter to the Mercure, in which he strikes his first blow in the war which he waees o against rationalistic philosophy. " You do not know," he says, " that my folly consists in every- where seeing Jesus Christ, just as Madame de Stael finds nothing but perfectibility." This is Chateaubriand throughout. In 1800 he is the apologist of the Christian religion ; such he con- tinues to be all his life and in all his works, from le Genie de christianisme to la Vie de Ranee. He is the chevalier of the Cross. Less sensible to the reproach of impiety than to that of treason, he re- mains true to it through long relapses of doubt and despair, from a sense of honor, if not by faith. What is most significant in his sometimes hollow-sounding Christianity is its artistic and decorative conception. Now we touch upon Cha- teaubriand's essential characteristic, and the peculiar originality of his genius. In the greatest possible degree he possesses that feeling for plastic art wanting in his rival. The first eagerly and im- patiently pursues her vast career, branching off in every direction, jumping from one conclusion to another, exhausting and consuming herself; the second first circumscribes his field so that he can embrace it by a single glance. He is master of himself, and knows at once how to regulate his course of action, how to moderate and restrain him- Madame de Stdel and Chateaubriand. 69 self. Madame de Stael opens up new views ; Cha- teaubriand ordains forms. Madame de Stael is an ideologist ; Chateaubriand is, above all things, an artist. Even in his life, which he disposes to the best effect, is he an artist. Fatal or grandiose loves ; a voyage of discovery through the solitudes of the New World ; a path to Damascus inundated with rays and crashing with thunderbolts ; a death duel with the all-powerful ruler of Europe ; a brilliant pilgrimage from Paris through Athens and Mem- phis to Jerusalem, — these were the elements of his life. First a Christian aureole ; then a reflex from the Greek Muse; the triumphs of ambition fol- lowed by contempt of power; and, more glorious than power itself, a long studied and carefully pre- pared apotheosis which prostrates an entire century at his feet, — such was his existence, from the som- bre, impressive legends of his birth to the tomb. This tomb, as if for final prestige, the illustrious poet had had prepared facing the ocean, as if all other neighborhood would have been an insult to his ashes. There are many errors in Chateaubriand's life, many defects in his character, but in neither can a stain be found. His virtues, it is true, are in ^ no sense those of the bourgeois. More brilliant | than solid, they are those best fitted to set off his f genius. They can all be included in his sense of honor, which, through his many caprices and imprudences, always preserved him from vulgar compromises. Chateaubriand played a role ; he 70 Literary Movement in France. introduced Romanticism into affairs of State; in- deed, too often he sees in politics but an occasion for pompous display. His inconsequences of con- duct, love of pose, the refinement of his vanity, and the impatient explosions of his ambition, all his contradictions and weaknesses, are, after all, those of the poet and the actor. In his private life he is uneven, haughty, egotistical ; in his public life he lacks sequence and purport, perhaps also gravity. The poet and the actor color his whole life, which, when viewed fom the outside, bespeaks a nobility of attitude and a glamour of generosity always allied to greatness of talent. Chateaubriand is at once personal in his char- acter and " objective " in his genius. That he is personal is quite evident in his works. We alvva3'S find him on the scene posing for his heroes. He compares himself to those animals which " feed upon themselves for want of exterior nourishment." He also knows how to escape from himself ; how to select and picture himself in his most attractive attitudes. He never abandons himself, never gives free vent to his emotion ; his are never improvised tears. " I weep," he says, " but it is to the sound of Orpheus' lyre." Since Chateaubriand pleased to portray himself in the character of Rene, reappearing as the char- acteristic figure of each of his works, under cover of this and other names, we will compare him to the type of disenchantment and moral inanity in Senancour's Oberman. Let us, then, try to dis- cover Rene's real character before imasfination and Madaine de Stdel aud Chateaubriand. yi the poet's radiant art lightened his gloom and trans- formed it into a halo of glory. Chateaubriand's dejection is not affected. " From the time of my birth have I been wearied of life," he says. He is "a great spirit inspired by melancholy," — one who cannot be consoled. Rene's illimitable soul is harassed by every restriction, wounded by ever) obstruction. His activity exhausts itself without fruition, and he finally dies of desires that can be neither satisfied nor even determined. Doubt- less this is Chateaubriand himself in all his misery as well as in all his grandeur, and with that great capacity for the infinite doomed to remain void. Yet how his sincerity allows us to perceive the artist ! What pleasure he finds in arrangement, setting forth, and draping, in the search for pic- turesque effect ! Oberman buries himself in mournful contemplation ; he does not aspire to array himself in his grief; he does not proudly display his wound ; his melancholy encompasses him with a dull, barren sadness. Rene, on the contrary, caresses the malady he laments. It is impossible, nor does he wish to be consoled. The poet within him calms his pain by singing of his sufferinsrs in beautiful words that make it enviable and glorious. Rene is a knight who poetizes his birth, the glory of his arms, his strange, distant travels in the land of the rising sun. He is the captivating lover with a brow stamped by the seal of genius, who inspires irresistible passions, and, above all others, the confidant of the gods, the elect of the Muse. And what of his incurable 72 Literary Movement in France. melancholy ? Doubtless always there ; but Ober- man was its victim, while Rene is its hero. Chateaubriand's Christianity — that Christianity which constitutes the moral unity of his work — is based upon an ideal, in which reason counts for nothing, and the heart figures less than the imagi- nation. We will not here review those accusations which his enemies did not hesitate to heap upon him when they saw the sceptic and fatalist of the Essai pose as the champion of Christianity. We trust the poet's sincerity, — that he really wept and believed, that he believed because he wept. Cha- teaubriand's conviction is certainly not that of a Bossuet. He has his relapses of discouragement. At times he is reclaimed by that constitutional pes- simism which turns sometimes to absolute unbelief, sometimes to an exalted Christianity. He says him- self : " This alternative of doubt and belief has long made my life a confusion of despair and ineffable delight." However frequent its eclipse, his works were inspired by faith, especially his Genie du chris- tianis7ne, which he wrote in expiation of his Essai. We cannot question Chateaubriand's sincerity, which amounts to mysticism and mythological superstition, but rather the solid foundation, the seriousness almost, of his religious convictions. The arorument of his Genie du christianisme is absurd, puerile, and lacking in reason. Can the divinity of the Christian religion be proved by the migration of birds.? Is the fact that the serpent creeps sufficient to establish original sin.^* Is the celibacy of priests rightly authorized by the virginity Madame de Stdel and Chateaubriand. 'jt^ of bees ? To his " proofs " let us add descriptions of tournaments and other poetical pictures, outbursts of sentimentality, and transports of enthusiasm ; for in these consist Chateaubriand's entire demon- stration. Atala, a love story, serves as preface to his apology for Christianity. Is it possible to make Rene pass for a work of Christian inspiration by pointing out the evil effects of passion on a heart untouched by grace } Chateaubriand cares little to pour poison into the chalice ; he has only seen the " beauties " of Christianity. He deals with it as an artist, seeking brilliant motifs and rich embellish- ments. He converts the sanctuary into a museum, and the Holy Scriptures into a mythological dic- tionary. Starting off on a pilgrimage to Palestine and Christ's tomb, he pauses by the way at every historical or picturesque scene, and, at the end of his journey, confesses that he went to the Holy Land to prepare colors ; in fine, to seek a renown that would make him loved. Let us accept Chateaubriand for what he is. His is not a treatise on theology, but a work of Christian art, and essentially a work of art. In his Genie du christianisme he proposes to prove that, of all that have ever existed, the Christian religion is the most poetical. Christianity represented but a child- ish, Gothic superstition at the close of the eigh- teenth century. Chateaubriand did not attempt to demonstrate its truth, as Pascal had undertaken to do ; he only wished to bring into evidence its senti- mental and aesthetic beauties. Instead of fathoming the soul of man, as did the author of les Pensees, he 74 Literary Movement iii France. confined himself to the exterior world, to pleasing appearances, and all that charms the senses. It is an artist's method, and necessarily opposed to that of the philosopher; it is the method of "Roman- ticism." Bonald sought to prove Christianity by facts, not by images ; by reasoning, not by pres- tige and artifice. He compared religion, as repre- sented by Chateaubriand, to a queen appearing before her people in a solemn ceremony, wearing a crown glittering with gold and precious stones on her brow. The author of le Ghiie du christianisme and les Martyrs does not convince the understand- ing ; he arouses sensibility, dazzles the imagination. At the moment when divine mysteries are being celebrated in Atala, " the sun issues from an abyss of light, its first ray falling upon the consecrated host as the priest raises it on high." Chateaubriand can be said to have gilded the Catholic host. In reality his religion is but asstheticism, and his aesthetics are those of a purely artistic nature, de- lighting, above all things, in grandeur and harmony. Though he prefers the Classic type of beauty, he is broad enough to find pleasure in the beautiful under whatever form presented. He was the first to do justice to the seventeenth century, so long undervalued. He places it above the eighteenth century, because of his aversion to the philosophy of Voltaire and Diderot, as well as for the reason that he considers Diderot's art inferior to that of Bossuet, just as Voltaire's falls below that of Racine. Thus, the forefather of Romanticism aims to renew tradition without deforming it. He favors the dis- Madame de Stdel and Chateaubriand. 75 tinction and hierarchy of styles ; upholds not only dramatic unity, but all the unities; protests against the union of the comic and tragic ; refuses to admit the ugly as an integrant part of artistic works. At the very beginning of the century he saw that the world of letters would be divided into two schools, — the one admiring foreign works, the other continuing in the traditions of the seven- teenth century. He attached himself to the sec- ond, on condition of being allowed certain reforms. He defines his role when he says, that "a man walk- ing cautiously between two lines might, by remain- ing nearer the old line, unite these two schools, and bring about the new spirit of a new age." While restoring the Christianity of the middle ages, Chateaubriand at the same time reveals the Grecian type of beauty. With supreme magic of style and sentiment, he revives pagan mythology in his Catholic epopee. Though a singer of biblical marvels, he makes sacrifices to the inhabitants of Olympia ; in cathedrals he confesses to idolatry for the gods of the Greek Pantheon. Although the foundation of his poetics is Christian, he would have some reflection from pagan beauty pass into the works inspired by it. We feel that he has read the Iliad zxidi CEdip7is tyran7i7is with no less enthusiasm than the Bible. Homer and Sophocles are his masters. Whatever touches upon Hellenic my- thology in les Martyrs is charmingly fresh and graceful, also vivid and pleasing in coloring ; what- ever relates to Christian miracles is cold, heavy, at once both puerile and laborious. In fltineraire 76 Literary Moveme^it m France. his native paganism reclaims him as soon as he approaches the shores of Greece. His exaltation before the most sacred souvenirs of Christian antiquity is sometimes that of a man whose emotion mounts at will, and whose head only is in sympathy. In Greece, on the contrary, his zeal is in no sense affected ; for heart and imagination are both in spirit. Here there are no forced tirades, no cold declamations. We cannot now doubt his earnest- ness, but rather those later restrictions by which he would afterwards fain win pardon. He set out with a pilgrim's staff ; this staff changed to a thyrsus in his hand. This ardent admirer of beautiful forms and har- monious contours is the master of the modern descriptive school. He was, of course, preceded by others, — Buffon, Rousseau, and Bernardin. Buf- fon's dignity is not without a certain degree of cold- ness ; Rousseau, with no less breadth, although with more grace and richness than Buffon, is somewhat monotonous in his descriptions of nature. He lacks what Sainte-Beuve calls reflet et veloute. If not slightly ironical, of what import are Bernardin's words, " I have but a little pencil ; M. de Chateau- briand has a brush " ? In Chateaubriand we find the majesty of Buffon without his coldness, the breadth and richness of Jean-Jacques with the shading of Bernardin. There are no aspects of nature to which he has not lent his genius, no skies that have not provided him with some never-to-be-forgotten pic- ture. Of these are the prairies and primitive forests of the New World ; the ruins of Sparta ; the Sabine Madame de St del and Chateaubriand. "jj mountains, " enveloped in diaphanous light ; " the Holy Land, with its solitudes, " where rare fig-trees stretch out their blackened leaves to the scorching wind ; " the grandiose desolation of the Roman plains ; " the low, flat horizons of Germany." Cha- teaubriand has traversed the world from one end to the other, and from each of the countries visited has he brought back a strikingly clear picture, which he places before us with one stroke of his brush. He has been censured for being; inexact. If fidelity consists in reproducing each trait, Chateau- briand is not a faithful painter. Although he gives more thought than his predecessors to precise, often even technical details, he cares most for the general impression. He adds and detracts without scruple ; in fine, he corrects nature. His souvenirs are always modified, and his landscapes are submitted to the effect he wishes to produce. This would undoubtedly be a great fault in a geographer. Truth does not lie in the material accuracy of each feature, but in the general impression produced. Sainte-Beuve compares a chapter from le Voyage d' Anacharsis, that upon Athens, to a correspond- ing passage of V Itineraire. Which is the truer pic- ture, that of Barthelemy or Chateaubriand.'* One is a conscientious, well-informed guide who takes us over the city and gives us excellent instructions at every step. The other is a magician who reinvests it with all its life and movement, — with its theatre, where Sophocles and Euripides dispute the olive crown; with its public square, still seeming to vibrate with the eloquence of a Demosthenes ; with Literary Movement in France. Its Piraeus, where vessels with painted banners bring purple from Tyre and perfumes from Ethiopia. Of the two, which is the truer to nature ? Surely the less exact. What he says of the descriptive artist also applies to the historian. All his works, especially les Martyrs, show sentiment for reality, and that gift of animating, picturing, and evoking the past, — truly called the soul of history. If we compare the works of dry learning or abstract philosophy produced by our best historians, with this epopee, in which Christian and pagan antiquity live and move, we shall recognize Chateaubriand as the first initiator of that historical renaissance of which our age is so justly proud. " In respect to erudition," he says, " imagination is as a scout always pushing onward, like a Cossack making his points." This expression applies to no one so well as to its author. He has, indeed, made his points. In the domain of history, as in all others, he has been the forerunner of the nineteenth century. A few pages of an epopee, in which he sought the truth only in view of poetic effect, were sufficient to ordain a revolution in this class of studies. In evidence of this fact, we have but to recall the homage which the author of les Recits jnerovingiens pays to that of les Martyrs. Those volumes where professed scholars had found but spiritless dust, spread out a succession of marvellous pictures before the eyes of the poet. And this is why, all things considered, there is more historic truth in the visions of this artist than in the laborious Madame cie Sidel and Chateaubriand. 79 commentaries or learned compilations of those who are called historians. Science attains exactitude, but it belongs to art alone to grasp the truth. In the pursuit of facts, Chateaubriand has displayed neither perseverance nor disinterestedness. How- ever evident his learning, here and there in a note or appendix, it is manifestly of recent acquisition, and sought in view of immediate profit. The poet quite eclipses the historian ; indeed, he can even be said to consider history only from its poetical side. He is nevertheless true as a historian, because he animates appearances ; because he lights up the depths of men and events by sudden illuminations ; because he embraces in a single glance all that patient analysis but dimly reveals to the scholar through patient effort ; because he knows the word and gesture with which to sum up a personality, the significant detail which will characterize an entire epoch ; and above all, is he true in that he does not cease to be a poet and an artist in be- coming a historian. History, as well as poetry, has its muse. The muse of history and the muse of poetry join in inspiring the author of les Martyrs. A virtuoso before all else, Chateaubriand pushes the cult of form even to superstition. Particularly in respect to style is he to be admired. Although the boldest of our writers, he has full knowledge of his audacities ; he dares fearlessly and with convic- tion. When mature years calm his youthful effer- vescence, this boldness is united with a strictly Classical reserve. He does not give himself up entirely to his impetuous imagination. He learns 8o Literary Movement in France. how to moderate himself, how to suppress digres- sions likely to detract from the harmony of lines or the dignity of forms. He scorns tawdry flourishes of style, for he loves beauty too gallantly to care for what is merely pretty. In all his magnificence he has the soberness of a great master. He is the king of phrases. He possesses the magic power of the verb, the gift of triumphal images, grand and imposing periods. He also knows the secret of number and rhythm, — in great part lost to our language of verse since the divine Racine, and always ignored by our prose. " Chateaubriand," says ChenedoUe, " is the only prose writer who gives the sensation of verse. Others have had an exquisite appreciation of harmony, but always of that of the orator. He alone knows the secret of poetical harmony." A writer both by profession and vocation, he brings a passionate interest to everything that touches upon his art. From the most ancient writers he seeks rare and picturesque epithets, striking and expressive archaisms. His Essai sur les revolutions contains one chapter, called " Night among the American Savages ; " and when he re- sumes this description in his Genie du christianisme, he does not fail to invite the reader to a comparison of the two selections. This is solely for the pur- pose of indicating " what his better judgment has altered or suppressed in the second version." A note in les Martyrs tells us that the song of Cymo- docee is the most carefully composed portion of the whole poem ; that " it has but a single hiatus," over Madame de Stdel a?id Chateaubriand. 8i which "the ear ghdes easily." Naturally, he has also his faults as a writer : too much attention is given to effect. His writings have a certain hollow- ness, something artificial and theatrical. These defects are those of thought rather than of style, and generally arise from a disproportion between his form and substance. His ideas have not sufficient vigor to support their expression. "I found myself," says Chateaubriand, "between two ages and at the confluence of two rivers. Plunging into their troubled waters, I regretfully left behind the ancient strand where I was born, and, full of hope, swam towards the unknown shore, where the new generations were about to land." This expresses too little. However, he reached this shore, explored it, and guided thither those new generations who did not linger long in following him. The literary history of the nineteenth century springs from two sources : Madame de Stael and Chateaubriand. To the one belongs the world of ideas, to the other that of images. Chateaubriand actuated a complete renovation in the exterior forms of art, in language, poetry, romance, and history, branding them with his imprint for all time. His renown covered the first half of the century, and its influence was prolonged even into its latter half. Alfred de Vigny and Victor Hugo are his direct descendants. Later, Gustave Flaubert and Leconte de Lisle, both devotees of art, sculptors of phrases, also belong to his lineage. For fifty years Chateaubriand's name continued to be the greatest and most respected among many illustrious 82 Literary Alovement in France. poets, all of whom recognized his literary sovereignty. No one until Stendhal, the precocious forerunner of a hostile school, a dry, fault-finding sceptic, paid him homage with an apparent irreverence that does not lessen its value. " I have need of imagination," he wrote to a friend ; " send me les Martyr s'' Under the impression produced by les Memoires d'outre- tombe, George Sand said : " Certain pages are those of the greatest writer of our century ; and none of us, coxcombs formed in his school, could ever have written them." But from the time of les Memoires his great fame began to decline quite as rapidly as unjustly. The faults of character which they revealed, until then concealed from his contemporaries by brilliant qualities, aroused a violent reversion in public opinion. They could not pardon themselves for having believed in a Chateaubriand greater than reality, and, in consequence, made the poet respon- sible for the vanities and weaknesses of the man. Moreover, his works appeared at a time of literary reaction, when the century was divided into halves. Chateaubriand had been the initiator of Romanti- cism, and his death coincided with the advent of a new school. This school was absorbed by positive reality, just as the preceding school had been by lyricism and the ideal ; and it brought with it a dis- taste for emphasis, declamation, fine words, and false colors, which resulted in condemning him as a pro- digious charlatan. Favor has recently seemed to return to the patriarch of our century. His name, which not Madame de Stdel and Chateaubriand. 83 long since caused experts like Marchangy and Arlincourt to smile, day by day appears to recover the respect which is its due. According to Augus- tin Thierry, all those who have followed the different routes of our century encountered him at their first inspiration and at the beginning of their studies. There is not one of them who cannot say as Dante to Virgil, — "Tu duca, tu signora e tu maestro." At the same time his work is that of an incom- parable artist ; and as long as the French language lives, the author of Rene and les Martyrs will be honored as one of the most marvellous of its crafts- men. 84 Literary Movement in France. CHAPTER IV, THE PSEUDO-CLASSICISTS. WHILE the literary reform is being prepared, the decadent Classic school continues to make an effort to maintain its exhausted traditions ; it remains true to the discipline established by the seventeenth century, failing to perceive that it is no longer in harmony with a contemporary society, which is itself the outgrowth of a revolution eventu- ally destined to renew poetry, after having trans- formed manners and institutions. During the early years of the century, Classic art is but an assemblage of sterile forms. It resembles a sapless tree with roots no longer able to cling to a deeply furrowed soil ; its fruit has lost all savor, and, though still pro- ductive, each season finds it more destitute. Considered in its most general acceptation, Classicism supposes a perfect harmony with the ideas and principles of social environment. That epoch which justifies the name is characterized by a free expansion of art, the flowering of a happy civilization confident in a security troubled by no uneasiness. Such had been the age of Louis XIV. At the beginning of our century the champions of Classicism still represented an ancient literary regime, like all others condemned to disappear. The Pseudo-Classicists, 85 After the Classicists of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, we have the pseudo-Classicists. The criticism of the Imperial epoch is distinctly- reactionary, and is confined to an attempt to effect the restoration of a superannuated poetry. Though daring in other directions, the eighteenth century had been very conservative in the domain of art Even Voltaire devoutly observes all the traditions bequeathed to him by the former age. We must, of course, expect neither new ideas nor even enthu- siasm for investigation from La Harpe ; his role is to explain with elegance and apply correctly all the rules of French tragedy which Racine had carried to the highest point of perfection. Certain impatient minds, like Diderot and Mercier, had anticipated new forms, foretokening the revolution that was being prepared. The first was but a literary adven- turer, in spite of his genius; the second exerted no influence upon his times on account of his indepen- dence. The official criticism of the closing century is personified in La Harpe, the recognized interpreter of the Code classiqtie^ and the vigilant guardian of traditional proprieties. When the period of license and confusion, which was prolonged until the commencement of the following century, had passed away, public spirit tended towards reformation. After the Ligue we had Malherbe ; after the Fronde, Boileau ; after the Revolution, the small currency of Malherbe and Boileau. The best-known critics of the times are Dussault, Feletz, Hoffman, and particularly Geoffroy, a judicious but gross, heavy mind, inimical to all 86 Literary Movement in France. innovations. He was so little in favor of the new movement that he passed over the liberties of Vol- taire's theatre, which scandalized him back to the pure forms of Racinian tragedy, through Rousseau's romances, with their dazzling glow and passion, back to the flowing facility and simple naturalness of Gil Bias. The spirit of the seventeenth century, whose inheritance pseudo-Classicism claims to defend, had, moreover, become notably altered. We quite forgot that the greatest of our Classicists were also the most audacious. We restricted art to the negative qualities of prudence, correctness, and a discreet, temperate wisdom. The imitation of models was recommended without taking into account the fact that such productions were fatally doomjed to become more and more insipid. Campistron passed for a Classicist, and, had a new Cid appeared on the stage, there would have been a D'Aubignac to recall it to rules and a Scudery to rank it above Melite. With all due respect to masters, criticism might have been conciliated with the new interests which made such profound changes in social conditions ; for by enlarging its temple it would have been able to maintain its cult. Far from doing this, it retired into the somnolent security of its unalterable prefer- ences, without a thought of returning to their origin for freshness and novelty. The more talents degenerated, the narrower be- came rules. Hieratic forms, not to be violated without sacrilege, were consecrated to each literary style ; there were no more unknown beauties to be The Pseudo-Classicists. 87 discovered, nothing further for genius to attain. There was no field left for originality fecundated by direct study of nature. Criticism systematically discourages the most inoffensive leanings in the direction of emancipation. From the height of the rules confided to its keeping it dogmatizes over the void, more anxious to impose its formulas than to justify them, and fearing above all things to de- range an order forever fixed by betraying its so securely established traditions. The poetry of the epoch had entirely lost the sap of life. Lebrun is the last representative of Classical lyricism ; and, with the exception of rare gusts of inspiration, nothing could be colder or more sterile than his compositions. His ode is always somewhat stilted, and the fine words he affects afford no illusion concerning the emptiness of his thoughts and the barrenness of his sentiments. We are everywhere conscious of his laborious industry. His forced, strained genius only aspires to the sub- lime to revel in declamation. What remains of him } Nothing but a few strophes, which a certain elevation of style has preserved from oblivion. During these times lyricism becomes but a veneer- ing of brilliant metaphors, the abuse of false, mytho- logical colors, a feigned enthusiasm which dispels all emotion because it reveals the absence of all true sentiment. The ode is reduced to a simple rhetorical exercise ; the elegy, not aiming so high, very often possesses a natural grace, yet rarely escapes insipidity. Mille- voie, an elegant and harmonious versifier, immortal- 88 Literary Movement in France. ized himself by a single composition, its only charm consisting in a certain gentle languor. We find the same debility and the same refinement in Fontanes, who has timidly attempted to accomplish in verse what Bernardin had done for prose. We, however, sometimes discover in him a note of tenderness and penetrating melancholy which still preserves its freshness ; but there is nothing that foreshadows a renovation so near at hand. His accents die away too faintly to be the prelude to full, rich harmonies. If Fontanes reminds us occasionally of Lamartine, it is only of the youthful Lamartine, trying the chords of his lyre, as yet not suspecting their breadth and power of sonority. Comedy still holds its own in the theatre ; its subjects and personages, borrowed from contempo- rary society and every-day life, assure it a freedom denied tragedy. Though the comedies of the Im- perial epoch are, in general, vastly superior to its tragedies, their lack of relief and originality cannot be atoned for by a pleasing naturalness and easy elegance. The most celebrated are but esquisses, altogether superficial in observation, usually very meagre in substance, and as feeble in style as they are light. Incapable of imparting life to their creations, authors confine themselves to pictures of manners without import or consequence, amounting to naught but facetious by-play, quite innocently affording amusement in petty trivialities and fugitive eccentricities. Tragedy deteriorated all the more that nothing in the condition of its existence brought it back to The Pseudo-Classicists. 89 nature. The poets of the Empire inherited only the system and theatrical setting of the masters of the seventeenth century. May they not, then, be justly called the false Classicists of this epoch ? There is not one with a distinct physiognomy; all their works have been run into the same mould. They everywhere substitute narrative for the drama, and reduce the theatre to discourses and descrip- tions. In proportion as the drama is played behind the scenes, do the actors obligingly insist upon in- forming the audience of its progress. One does not buy the right to witness dramatic action, but the pleasure of learning, by noble, serious harangues, how it is occurring behind curtains which con- ceal it from us. Out of respect for unity of place, Lebrun scarcely dares transport the scenes of Marie Stuart from one room to another of Fotheringay. Through regard for unity of time, Raynouard accuses, judges, and executes the Templars in twenty-four hours. Confined by narrow limita- tions prohibiting all liberty of movement, dramatis perso7icE find neither time nor space to develop. They have no character that is not general enough to be passed from one to another of the most di- verse tragedies with simply a change of names. They belong to all time, — that is, to no particular time ; they honor all countries, — that is, they have no special nationality. Brifaut's Minus II. first appeared in the costume of a Spanish prince ; with- out effort he became king of Assyria ; and in both roles was but a conventional type, — a pure meta- physical entity with a physiognomy marked by no 90 Literary Movement in France. individuality; a monarch from the land of abstrac- tion, deigning to occupy all thrones with dignity, who, like a true king, nowhere finds himself out of place. Condemned by its poetics to seek subjects beyond the pale of contemporary observation, trag- edy is prohibited from being renewed by the study of local coloring and historical environment. A renovation becomes imminent. The close of the eiQ:hteenth and the beo^innino^ of the nineteenth century already show signs of it ; however, there seems to have first been a sort of transition between the tragedy of pseudo-Classicism and the Romantic drama. Ducis had attempted to adapt the Shakespearian drama to the French stage; but nothing better than his imitations proves how rebel was public taste to the most timid steps in the line of inno- vation. The poet is so alarmed at the "barbarous irregularities " abounding in the original of Hamlet, that he declares himself "forced to create a new drama." In his Macbeth he tries to "dispel the impression of horror which would certainly have made his work a failure." In his Jean-sans-Terre he apologizes to the public for presenting Arthur " expiring at the hands of his uncle." In his Othello he does not unveil the treachery of his Moncenigo before the end of the tragedy, taking great care to announce the traitor's punishment as soon as pos- sible. He does not give the Moor a " black, swarthy face," but a " yellow, copper-colored complexion," much less shocking to tragical propriety; finally, he has his Hedelmone stabbed with a poniard. The Pseudo-Classicists. 91 This Ducis, who then appeared so bold, seems very faint-hearted to us. The Shakespeare he offers us is a mitigated, edulcorated Shakespeare moulded into all the conventional proprieties of our stage. It is also a sensible, virtuous Shakespeare, in the style of Diderot. All Ducis' adaptations are domi- nated by solicitude for a commonplace, infantile morality completely foreign to the Shakespearian spirit. It is only with the triumph of the Romantic school that the English dramatist really sets foot upon our stage. In 1822, thirty years after the Revolution, the actors who are imported from Eng- land expressly to play several of Shakespeare's dramas at the Porte-Saint-Martin are received by the scandalized spectators with blows of " eggs and roast apples." Under the Empire, Nepomucene Lemercier seems impatient to try new fields. In Pinto he mingles comedy and tragedy ; in Christophe Colomb the ship scene violates unity of place by transporting its characters from Spain to the New World. Though sometimes rebellious, he is, nevertheless, a Classicist. Pinto might easily pass for an imita- tion of Beaumarchais. In his preface to Christophe Colomb, the author apologizes for having trans- gressed the rules "consecrated by the masterpieces of great writers." His Cotcrs de litterature is con- ceived in a narrow spirit. Romanticism had no more implacable enemy at the outset than this pre- tended innovator. The author of Colomb and Pinto obstinately refused his Academician's voice in favor of Hernani, never imagining that its author would one day be his successor. 92 Literary Movement i7i France. Raynouard wrote les Temp Hers, which, judging from its title, should have inaugurated a national theatre. It is impossible to discover in this work anything that announces the Romantic drama: it still favors a tragedy of tirades and confidences, and its novelty concerns only the choice of its subject. In vain did the learned poet make a conscientious study of his characters and environment. The style, of which he considered himself the creator, was none the less predestined by our stage laws to an abstrac- tion quite irreconcilable with the true historical drama. Tragedy, it seems, was first to be regenerated under the Restoration. Guiraud has his Comie Julien represented in 1823; Soumet gives his Jeanne d'Arc in 1825, and his Elisabeth de France in 1828. Both are more or less happy, but always discreet, attempts to conciliate the traditional forms of dramatic art with the still vague and timid ten- dencies of growing Romanticism. Pierre Lebrun is the poet who best represents this need and in- stinct for novelty, before the advent of a more sturdy generation boldly lifts aloft the ensign of Romanti- cism. Lebrun, the author of Marie Stuart and le Cid d' Andalousie, congratulates himself upon having made an effort to reconcile "the foreign Melpomene with our own," and of having introduced "forms and colors " which our theatrical literature lacked, with- out compromising the severity of our taste and rules. In fact, he gently and without violence slackened the old Classical springs, introducing into his works more action than his predecessors, The P seudo-Classicists. 93 and making a special effort to lower its style to the simplest and most familiar tone possible to tragedy. Whatever his success in this line, Lebrun cannot be considered a precursor of Victor Hugo. Marie Stuart, first presented in 1820 as a triumph for Romanticism, when resumed twenty years later by the Comedie Fran9aise, rallies about it all the pro- moters of Classical reaction. Lebrun is not the eldest of the new progeny ; rather is he the young- est, the latest born, of the passing generation. There could be no possible intermediary between Classic and Romantic tragedy. Marie Stuart was, perhaps, a transition, but, as Sainte-Beuve says, it was "a transition to what did not arrive," — to what the author did not fully effect himself, and was realized only in a bastard form, after the triumph of Romanticism. What came after Marie Stuart caused a veritable revolution ; for however estimable Lebrun's talent, it was not of the material to actu- ate such a renovation. Only Hernani's horn could bring about the fall of the triple walls of Classic tragedy. Though certain of the contemporary poets at- tempt to revive our theatre, they meet with lively resistance from the public, because they have neither sufficient genius to triumph nor audacity to combat it. Since Ducis raised so much clamor, despite his circumspection, the education of public taste had made but slow progress. All tragedies which did not conform to the recognized type were received with disapproval. Lemercier's CJwistophe Colo7nb aroused a violent scandal. In order not to have 94 Literary Movanent in France. Columbus transgress unity of place, they renounced the discovery of America. The tumult did not cease until Napoleon placed the work under the protection of his bayonets. Twenty years later we seem to find no less repugnance on the part of the public for all innovations. It doubtless begins to weary of the antiquities with which it had been sur- feited by the pseudo-Classicists ; but it is none the less suspicious of the slightest leaning towards inde- pendence. The chateau of Fotheringay is not per- mitted to contain more than one room. One of the finest scenes in le Cid d' Andalousie is where Sancho, seated at the feet of Estrelle, recalls in verses full of grace and sweetness the first budding of their mutual love. The public objects, finding that this retards the action. Reform in the theatre was only possible on condition that a false ideal of nobility in manners and language be renounced ; and this is where the public seemed to be most sus- ceptible. These two lines from Christophe Colomb aroused a veritable tempest : — " Je reponds qu'une fois saisi par ces coquins, On t'enverra bientot au pays des requins." A man was killed in the scuffle, and several seriously wounded. Shortly before the beginning of 1830, Vigny's Othello was received with hisses. They would not tolerate the substitution of the Classic poniard for the pillow with which the Moor smothers Desdemona. The battle over Hernani, played sev- eral months after Othello, sufficed to show what lively superstitions still existed. Victor Hugo was The Pseudo-Classicists. 95 accused of having violated the unities. In spite of the excisions to which he considered it wise to sub- ject the original text, they still found his drama both prolix and tedious. They opposed the mingling of the comic and tragic ; they could not hear a king demand the hour of day without dissent; they pro- tested against "those repulsive groans of anguish which should be heard nowhere but in a hospital ; " they complained because " the curtain rose in the last act upon the fairy-like scene of a ball at the Opera, and lowered on a sight to be found only in the Morgue." A petition to have this drama inter- dicted was signed and addressed to Charles X. by several of the poets, who, since the beginning of the century, had themselves sought to renew the youth of our Classic theatre. At the opening of our century Delille is the " prince of poetry." The greater part of his works, even those published from 1800 to 181 3, had been composed several years previously. His name pre- vails throughout the whole Imperial epoch ; indeed, nothing characterizes it better than this universal enthusiasm for the descriptive, didactic versifier. To his times he appeared a second Homer, and he was even compared and preferred to the masters of the seventeenth century. Though he is allied to them, if only through Louis Racine, and though he attempts to maintain their heritage by continuing in their traditions, his work strikingly shows how this heritage has degraded little by little, and how the traditions of the great Classic school have been altered and perverted. 96 Literary Movement in France. The didactic poem, as understood by Delille, is as foreign to true poetry as the turner's art. It gives place to no human emotion, and its only merit consists in manual skill. With poets worthy the name, description is either associated with a per- sonal sentiment which colors and animates, or with philosophical conceptions which sound the depths of man and nature. There is nothing of this among the pseudo-Classicists ; they describe for the sake of describing, make a trade of versification, impose gratuitous difficulties for the sole pleasure of over- coming them. Delille has never done other than bind his " choice fragments " together, bit by bit. There are not only springs and winters, dawns and sunsets (one should not stoop to easy subjects with- out treating them each time with new tours de fo7xi), but camels, tigers, dogs, chess-boards, backgammon- boards ; the commonest of objects can be ennobled by the highest art without even mentioning their names. Delille had a great collection of such themes in his portfolio, and placed them in conven- tional settings to the best advantage. Everything that could be pictured belonged to his domain, and he was sure that no object would remain unavailable in his hands. He aimed at nothing less than versi- fying the universe. A sort of rhymed encyclopaedia worthily crowned his career ; after les Trois Kegnes nothing remained for him but to die, which he could well do in peace. Having entered, while living, into his apotheosis, he became the father of a numerous lineage of poets, who had their season of popular favor, even of glory, The Pseudo-Classicists. 97 under the Empire. Esnienard sings of navigation, Gudin of astronomy, Ricard of the globe, Aime Martin of physics, chemistry, and natural history. Nor must we omit the grammars and arithmetics which certain philanthropists set to rhyme for the benefit of young scholars. The source of inspiration being now exhausted, every theme becomes good enough for verse. The greatest poet is the cleverest juggler of rhymes. By skilful execution he conceals the irretrievable insipidity of a poetry dead in spirit and lost in knotty trifles, — a poetry whence all life, sentiment, and humanity have been withdrawn. The Classic school founded by the Renaissance endured for almost three hundred years. During the sixteenth century it had not yet learned to dis- engage national originality from superstitious imita- tion, hence the artificiality of its works ; for not only their setting, but also their inspiration, was borrowed from the Greek and Roman poets. Dur- ing the seventeenth century the cult of antiquity is tempered by a more intimate and profound knowl- edge of French genius ; legitimate respect for Greco- Roman traditions is united with the just appreciation of independence necessary to productivity. A close harmony is established between literary doctrines and social conditions. All the forces and elements of monarchical civilization concur in the magnificent development of art and poetry. This development is prolonged until the eighteenth century, when its decline soon becomes evident. The same philosophy which eventually brings about the fall of the ancient social regime prepares that of the passing literary 7 98 Literary Movement in Fra^ice. order. After the Revolution no further illusion is possible ; art must necessarily harmonize with the laws and manners of a new society, and the last representatives of Classicism are no more than " ci- devants." While the spirit of innovation is being propagated in every direction, conservatism seeks to defend consecrated forms. In vain does it invoke respect for masters and the authority of rules ; in spite of their talents, writers who imitate masters and sub- mit themselves to rules cannot produce other than works destined to mediocrity, since they lack per- sonal inspiration. They are foredoomed, because the traditions by which they were inspired have long been exhausted. Romanticism. 99 J^art J>econli, CHAPTER I. ROMANTICISM. THE word Romantic, used to designate the richest and most extensive literary period of our century, is one of those vague, floating terms which embrace ideas most at variance and apparently least suited to harmonize. Although introduced into France during the latter part of the eighteenth century, only in the course of time and under the decisive influence of Madame de Stael and Chateau- briand does it come to represent a new literature^ regenerated both in exterior forms and in its inner life and spirit. The militant school which hoisted the ensign of Romanticism during the Restoration, at first refused to consider this the proper expression to characterize that poetic revival from which it had received its impulse. In 1824 its leader, Victor Hugo, declared that he did not know " what was Classic and what Romantic style." He regretted that the latter word should be allowed to retain "a certain fantastic vagueness, which made it all the more unwelcome," and demanded that, if continued to be employed, it should be at least given a definite lOO Literary Movement in France. signification. Seven years later he rejoiced that " those miserable, quarrelsome terms had fallen into the abyss of 1830, as had ' Gluckist' and ' Piccinist' into that of '89. And," he added, " art alone has remained." Whatever Victor Hugo thought about it, this new art was destined to persevere under the name of Romantic art, also without a definition having been found which would give a clear, exact, complete idea of it. Some simply constitute it the contrary of Classi- cism, which is itself defined no more explicitly. But, considered as a pure negation, it will be possible to account neither for a fertility vigorous enough to renew all literary styles, nor for an influence suffi- ciently lasting to endure throughout the century and still prevail over all those which rise up against it. Others wish to believe it a sudden invasion of English and German taste, thus disclaiming what- ever spontaneity existed in its origin, as well as what was thoroughly national in the literature that issued from it. Still others, basing their theory upon an ingenious conceit of Stendhal, make all the mas- ters of the seventeenth century pass in file before us as ancient Romanticists whom time has classed or classified. But if its vagueness is already due to the multiplicity of ideas involved in its acceptation, what precision could it then have if we attempt to include under the same formula the stately regularity of form, sober harmony, and respect for tradition of Racine and Bossuet, with the passion for unexpected beauty, adventurous temperament, and the spirit of universal emancipation of our age ? Romanticism. loi The renaissance of spiritualism seems to be the great force that acted upon Romanticism at the out- set, and during the most productive stage of its development. This influence was effected by uniting with Christian sentiment in the very heart of a society whose bonds appeared to have been dissolved. Ac- cording to Madame de Stael, the distinction between the Classic and Romantic styles " relates to the two great eras of the world, — the period of time that pre- ceded the Christian religion and that which followed it." This is doubtless a very absolute explanation, but it is evidently quite as true as it is profound, if its spirit be grasped without laying too much stress upon its literal meaning. While those whose opinions had been formed during the early years of the Revolution and before the great social crisis, for the most part belonged to Voltaire's school, the younger generation was moved by a very different spirit. They were still pro- foundly agitated, their souls being divided between the gloom caused by a past involved in ruin by so many convulsions, and obscure presentiments of a future still rife with distress. Underlying an incur-, able weariness, they discovered a vague desire to attach themselves to some belief which would bring back the light of hope to their eyes. A restless, wavering sentimentality swayed the heart without filling its void, and oppressed the conscience with-. out satisfying its needs. At once eager and inca- pable of believing, these victims of moral anarchy were impelled by an invincible force towards that Christian religion which, eighteen hundred years I02 Literary Movement in France. before, had regenerated a society not less old and enervated than their own. The restoration of religion by the First Consul had been a work of exclusively political import ; he considered the Concordat solely as a means of moral government, and religion as an able auxiliary to the police. The re-establishment of Catholicism was, nevertheless, received by almost universal acclama- tion. Not that France became Catholic again, but, having wearied of the mocking incredulity and barren scepticism of the eighteenth century, she turned joyfully to religion, — if not to accept its dogmas, at least to seek nourishment for such gentle emotions and ideal hopes as were necessary to its existence. This return to the traditions of Chris- tianity marks a new epoch in our literature. When Chateaubriand published le Genie du christianisme^ his voice was echoed by his entire generation. Though Napoleon restored the altars and presby- teries of Catholicism, Chateaubriand reinstated it in their hearts. This he brought about less by con- firming the truths of revelation, which he himself believed only intermittingly, than by pointing out man's natural afHnity for Christianity, and inducing those no longer able to accept its dogmas to admire its moral beauty, and experience for themselves the peace-giving power of its consolations. The relation which exists between the Romantic movement and the religious renaissance of our cen- tury cannot be explained by believing this revival a triumph for dogmatic Catholicism, such as Bonald and Le Maistre would have wished, — a sombre. Romanticism. 103 depressing religion, better suited to tyrannize over souls than to inspire them. It must be considered as the advent of a purely sentimental Christianity, which was incorporated in our poetry, sometimes by effusions of faith and love, sometimes by tears of despair and even maledictions, but always with a generous solicitude for that ideal, divine world of mysteries which finds utterance through the poet's voice. All the great minds and noble natures of France united in this regeneration, so brilliantly signalized by Chateaubriand. After having begun with pure deism, Madame de Stael ended by seeking in the new faith an asylum from the storms of life, and finally dedicated her ardent and communicative elo- quence to the cause of reviving Christian aspirations. The last champions of the eighteenth century pro- tested in vain : dry, cold irony had lived out its time, and another era, with le Genie du christianisme for its gospel, is about to dawn. A railing, aggressive unbelief, condemning the human soul to seek even in magic and hallucinations wherewithal to satisfy its unconquerable fascination for the mysterious, gives place, if not to faith, at least to religious emo- tion, to that respect which is also a form of piety. In vain do those who represent the theocratic school accuse Chateaubriand of betraying the cause he claims to defend; of dissipating his voluptuous Christianity in vague reveries ; of reducing it to poetical images and legends; of compromising its severe, august holiness by making a profane use of it. He certainly inaugurates a great revolution in I04 Literary Movement iJi France. art and poetry by opposing the revival of Christian spirituaHsm, about to give birth to the new literature, to a sixteenth-century paganism, now without pro- ductive power. With the exception of Chateaubriand and Madame de Stael, — the precursors of a reconstruction near at hand, — as long as the Empire lasts we find but a languid, enervated poetry, — a fruitless attempt to revive Classic inspiration. In the confusion of events the contemporary generation is unable to resume its former habits of life. The new poetry which had secretly germinated in all hearts under Imperial oppression, bursts spontaneously into life in a less rude atmosphere, and when favored by the return of calm. Romanticism is thoroughly in touch with this renaissance of Christian spirit, which finds its great initiator in Chateaubriand. The works of all the poets of the young school bear the imprint of Christianity. Victor Hugo considers religion as the most fertile source of poetic inspiration, and the highest form of human thought. He laments that *' until the present the national poets have all been pagan," and considers the Cross which " Chateau- briand erected, overlooking all the avenues of human intelligence, as the emblem and standard of that poetic reform which is so intimately associated with the revival of the religious sentiment. His entire literary philosophy in the preface to Cromwell, con- sidered the manifesto of Romanticism, is based upon a conception of Christianity, from which he derives his theory of the Romantic drama, and in which he blends the sublime with the grotesque just Roma7tticism. 105 as the soul is united with the body. Lamartine has been the harmonious interpreter of an " ideal con- fined to Christianity in all its tenderest transports and most fervent enthusiasms." His serenity arises from a believing heart ; his verse spreads out in broad waves of deep water, reflecting the sky ; its source has sprung from mystic high places, whence peace and consolation descend into his soul. The plain- tive notes, and even the accents of revolt which he allows to escape, express the devouring anxiety of doubt, horror of the gloom into which a temporary eclipse of faith has plunged him. Alfred de Vigny is, before all things, the " singer of mysteries," the painter of biblical pictures. With a brow encircled by an aureole, he elaborates an archangel's poetry in a sanctuary perfumed with incense. Though that impious boaster, Alfred de Musset, return to the persiflage of the eighteenth century, his first passionate griefs wring out despairing cries of anguish unknown to Voltairian scepticism. The infinite tortures him in spite of himself ; he invokes the God he no longer believes, and, when his rebel- lious heart bursts out in anathemas, these very anathemas have the accents of prayer. Through the influence of Christian and spiritual beliefs, the poetry of the century acquired a sub- jective character quite foreign to Classic art. After the terrible crises of the Revolution and the recent bloody apotheosis of the Empire, men were sum- moned to contemplation of the eternal by the formidable events which caprice and the irony of fate had spread before all eyes. They turned back io6 Literary Movement iii Frajice. upon themselves, and discovered in the sanctuary of the interior world that vein of personal inspiration so prolific with our Romantic poets. Chateaubriand had portrayed himself in all his heroes, from Chactas and Rene to Aben-Hamet and Eudore ; Madame dc Stael had made her con- fession to the world under the transparent veil of the characters which her novels placed before us. Lamartine had sung only of his own soul. Alfred de Vigny frames his poems by a remote horizon ; yet we, nevertheless, divine his personality beneath the symbols by which he invests them. He can always be recognized under whatever mask, — whether as Moses, oppressed by a superiority which isolates him from the rest of mankind, or as Chatterton, cursed by a diseased sensibility which renders his vocation the most cruel of torments. Victor Hugo is the only poet of influence during the first genera- tion of Romanticism who possesses great objective force. But, if his many-voiced soul becomes the sonorous echo of the exterior world, that invisible universe which each poet bears within has never found a more vibrating organism. In his novels and dramas we have " history, invention, the life of souls and peoples;" but in his poems he gives us his own life. They are love songs broken by plaints, hymns of faith and enthusiasm, cries of doubt and despair; the reflection of contemporary events, now transplendent, now sinister; mirrors of joy and sorrow, sunlight and shadow, — the entire chorus of inward voices. And whence spring those immortal songs, — Alfred de Musset's undisguised sobs 1 Roma n ticism . 107 His verse is of himself, his flesh and blood, the cry that escapes from the mouth of his wound. All the lyric poets of our century bare their breasts even to the most secret recesses of their inner life, and the lyre that accompanies their song is made of the fibres of their hearts. The sombre note prevails even in the strongest. I see autumn leaves scattered about; but where is the fresh green of the spring? I hear the plaintive hymns of twilight ; but where turn for the joyous songs of the dawn ? If a few rays force their light through the gloom, they are soon veiled by fast- deepening shades. The sentiment of melancholy exhaled by Romantic poetry was unknown to an- tiquity. Virgil perceived the "tears of things," — that vague tenderness, that sad revery, in which our modern poets delight. These are, however, but fleeting impressions in the poet canonized a saint by the middle ages, and who seems to have been touched by a light reflected from the dawn of Chris- tianity. That mournful disposition w^hich we call " melancholy " was inoculated into the human soul by Christianity. In ancient civilization, life blooms into happiness. Poetry is a triumphant vocation allied to the harmonious development and healthy equilibrium of all the faculties. It glorifies and dei- fies the forces of nature, — man's smiling domain. It is the glad song which youth sings to the fertile earth and radiant sky. Christianity denounces the weakness and misery of men ; teaches them to sound the night of their heart and meditate upon the futil- ity of things ; mingles the thought of death with all io8 Literary Movement in France. their pleasures ; holds them bowed beneath the in- finite. All this they find in unconscious nature, as well as within themselves, in the form of an ideal dream impossible either to realize or to renounce. The literature of Classicism, which was not pene- trated by the Christian spirit, is, like that of anti- quity, quite foreign to the dejection, restless languor, and agitation of the modern soul. The word " mel- ancholy " was then applied to an abnormal condi- tion. At the dawn of our century the earth was still trembling from recent commotions, and soci- ety's uncertain form was concealed from view by a menacing prospect. From the sufferings bound up with the past, the dangers veiled by the future, and the ruins of a terrible revolution, issued a new poetry which reflected exhaustion in conflict, fatigue in expectation, enervation of will, and discourage- ment in hope itself. This bitter poetry of plaints was first incarnated in Rene, whose solitary figure stands at the threshold of our century. Rene's malady is the incurable pain of a soul writhing in vacancy, whether longing to escape and flee from self or to absorb the whole universe. This has been called the " malady of the century." We find it everywhere, under all forms and in all the heroes of Romanticism, — in Obermann, who sinks to the depths of sombre contemplation ; in Adolph, whose embittered, sorrow-laden experience withers in but touching the flowers of life. These, with many more, form a long procession of inconsolable phan- toms who wilfully torment themselves, and, finding pleasure in their own sufferings, plunge deeper the Romanticism. 1 09 thorn which the world has thrust in their hearts. Lamartine is by nature an optimist, yet how many times he has sadly seated himself on the "desert shores of dismal lakes " ! How many joyless pages are found in his meditations, what cries of anguish in his reflections, what frequent discords in his harmonies ! Alfred de Vigny shuns mankind to sing of his own grief and to distil slowly that acrid poison, each drop of which from afar gleams like a lustrous pearl. Musset is a great poet only in the hour of anguish, when, pressing his wound, he feels the bleeding of an incurable love. His best poems are the most hopeless, those which the angels of suffering have graven into his feeble heart. Victor Hugo, the most robust of all, has also voiced the vanity of hopes and designs, the sadness and irony of happiness, and the infinite number of painful things that make up our years. One by one, he tears off the petals of the blossom of youth, and lets life's deep spring of water flow drop by drop through the filter of events and trials. All the Romanticists express the incompleteness of destiny. Their poems leave a bitter after-taste ; we feel the nostalgia of a heaven whose fallen god is never forgotten. They sing because they have wept, and the calm of the strongest is clouded by a sombre pessimism of brood- ing shadows, ever lengthening and thickening about the mysterious path of life. Weary of men, the poet, in his hours of doubt and disenchantment, seeks refuge in the heart of nature. What rises from the ea^'th, " v/hat he hears on the mountain," is a confused, discordant jargon, a rumor I lo Literary Movement in France. of sighs and moans through which maledictions can be distinguished ; what rises from the sea, is a sym- phony of brilliant chords, a concert of soft murmurs, an ineffably deep music, with the voice of each wave spreading out in infinite circles to the throne of God. From one side it is the despairing cry of humanity, from the other the exultant hymn of nature. Nature consoles, or, at least, lulls Rene's eternal ennui to rest; at her shrine Lamartine seeks forgetfulness of self, in her presence alone do peace and resignation enter Victor Hugo's soul in days of mourning. However deep his isolation, the poet is enveloped by creation. He cannot flee from itj for *' there is always an inner voice which re- sponds to that from without." Nature, doubtless, has her melancholy moods ; nevertheless, our sad hearts experience some relief from communion with the exterior world. Nature is man's confidante ; he loves her not only for all he gives to her, for the regrets and souvenirs he has piously laid at her feet, but for all he has received from her, — for the tender or fortifying emotions she has passed into him. This sentiment for nature is the most fertile in- spiration with our Romantic poets. " No one in the world hides himself from the blue sky, the green trees, the darkness of night, or the rustle of the wind." It penetrates even into the drama : the details of rural scenes are represented on the stage, — the banks of a river, or a park with its terraces ; a murder is framed by the rugged shore line, and the heavens furrowed by lightning ; the love duet of a serene summer night is discreetly lighted by the Romanticism. I II moon's first rays ; rocks and forests are seen, and the song of birds is heard. From these two springs, man and nature, lyric poetry gathers all its volume, and the waters of both are mingled in the same current : man lends nature something of him- self, and nature, in turn, insinuates herself into man's heart by a thousand secret ways. The whole uni- verse is reflected in Romantic poetry as in the soul of man, its living mirror, — whether it be the mystic intoxication of silence and solitude, or the noisy echo of the tumult of elements, the rising or the setting sun, a budding or a fading flower, the joyous murmur rising from nests, or the wind sighing through seared leaves. The woods, the fields, drifting clouds, restless or sleeping waters, perfumes, colors, sounds, — all these are dear to the Romantic soul. Rousseau revealed this new vein to our litera- ture. He was the first priest of the cult which contemporary poetry offers to creation. After Rousseau, Bernardin de Saint-Pierre unmasked tropical nature and the hills of the Isle de Fraiice ; Chateaubriand then took possession of the prairies and primeval forests of the new world. It seemed as if the lonely expanse of deserts possessed a peculiar charm for spirits weary of the convention- alities of civil life. In the social world, Rousseau compared a natural state of existence with the miseries of a degraded humanity ; in the domain of letters and poetry, the Romantic movement initiated by him, demanded from ingenuous youth entirely spontaneous pro- 112 Literary Movefnent in France. ductions, unadulterated by the artifices of talent. There were legends, romances, anonymous epopees. The virgin odors of uncultivated vegetation were preferred to the subtile, delicate perfumes of Classic flowers ; enthusiasm was awakened for the fresh poetry which issues directly from the source, for naive effusions of popular sentiment freely and frankly expressed. Sympathy for primitive times, for the heroic and charming adolescence of societies in which every candid beauty and simple greatness bursts into life, was from the first of the century associated either with religious influence or with the sentiment of that close bond which from age to age unites all genera- tions. This resulted in a return to that national inheritance so heedlessly scorned by the Classicists. In the second preface to his Odes et Ballades, Victor Hugo questions the origin of the word Romanticism, trying to discover what relation can exist between the new poetry and the romance or Roman language. If Romanticism justifies its ety- mology, one of its most significant characteristics is precisely this return to the Gothic ages. Chateau- briand was its promoter, and le Genie du chris- tianisme might also be called le Genie du moyen age. Zeal for the early traits of our national character dates from him. Although with many at first a mere fashion without consequence, with the Roman- ticists it soon became the object of a fervent cult. At the outset they were attracted sometimes by a smart chivalry of pretty pages, troubadours and minstrels, anchorites and beautiful chatelaines, with Romanticism. 1 1 3 its languorous, sentimental romances ; sometimes by a fantastic, infernal middle ages of dread-inspiring legends, dungeons, sacrilegious monks, and feudal ogres, typified in its Court of Miracles and Mont- faucon. Romanticism paid tribute to the prevailing fashion : its leader produced Han cCIslande, a true romance of the Round Table; indeed, several of his Ballades were evidently composed in the arti- ficial atmosphere of contemporary salons. But Victor Hugo's strong, healthy genius was not long in shaking off these fetters. No one has made a more profound and intelligent study of our ori- ginal characteristics. In his preface to Cromwell, published in 1827, he bases his whole theory of the grotesque upon the art and poetry of the middle ages, — upon that art which carves its monsters and demons on the fa9ades of cathedrals, draws its friezes along the edge of roofs, unrolls its grimacing faces about their capitals, makes frames of hells and purgatories for the arches of doorways ; upon that poetry which scatters by handfuls its exhaustless parodies upon humanity, and, not less fecund in the deformed and the repulsive than in the comic and the buffoon, " makes Sganerelle gamble about Don Juan and Mephistopheles cringe before Faust." To antique mythology he opposes our early national conception of the marvellous, which attached a thousand naive superstitions and picturesque fanta- sies to Christianity; which peopled air, water, land, and fire with myriads of intermediary spirits ; which replaced the hydra of Lerna by the local dragons of our chronicles, the Eumenides by witches, the 114 Literary Movement in France. Cyclops by gnomes, and Pluto by the devil. For the monotonous simplicity of ancient art, — that solemn beauty everywhere disclosed by antiquity, — he substituted endless types of the hideous in their close and creative relation with the beautiful. The perfect works of Classic genius he replaced by unfinished productions tortured by the thought of the infinite. Notre- Dame de Paris is but an epopee of Gothic art. Although the poet's irony plays about the old cathedral, it ceases at its threshold. For him its architecture symbolizes an entire epoch of art, — in fact, takes the place of all the arts. Whatever degree of aversion Classic " good taste " had for the spirit of the middle ages, to the same extent is Romanti- cism attracted towards it. Resuming the same tra- ditions with a perfect understanding of its spirit, Romanticism further justly recognizes its inheri- tance. It faithfully remounts even to that complex civilization where all contrasts clash ; to that art at once naive and scholarly in which the grotesque skirts the sublime; to that crude, confused poetry through which the sap of domestic genius freely circulates. English and German poetry had already been renovated by the movement which effected our return to the middle ages ; and this influence is always evident, however national may have been the development of our literature. We have shown how Chateaubriand introduced English and Madame de Stael German literature. Benjamin Constant, Sismondi, and Fauriel, further Romanticism. 1 1 5 extended the field of research. The need of knowing what was being thought and read beyond our own country was increasingly felt. The earnest study of foreign literatures had been aided by the wars of the Empire, and was not less favored by the politi- cal events which sanctioned the return of the Bour- bons under foreign protection. The literatures of the North had already made their way into our criti- cism, and, when Romanticism was finally established, were interpreted with keen sympathy and intelli- gence. From them Romanticism finds examples with which to combat the pseudo-Classicists, — on the one side, from Shakespeare, Walter Scott, and Byron ; on the other, from Goethe and Schiller. These writers, who were opposed to the most illus- trious representatives of the great century, became the object of fervent enthusiasm ; and their names, inscribed upon the standard of the new school, rallied about them the entire young generation. At first view it seems as if Northern influence ani- mated the movement which brought about the regeneration of our literature. In abandoning the traditions of the seventeenth century, French genius appeared to be about to violate its own originality by servile imitation of English and German styles, — just as the English and German nations had formerly submitted to Classic taste. Foreign influence was an undoubted factor in the Romantic renaissance, for it aided in inducing us by force of example to effect the long-impending rup- ture with the prejudices of pseudo-Classicism. In reality, Romanticism admired English and German ii6 Litei'ary Movement hi Fj'ance. poets much more than it imitated them. Before producing their own masterpieces the Romanticists first celebrated those of foreign authors in order to prove how genius, in scorning both models and their arbitrary rules, embodies those eternal laws from which all forms of art arise. Far from giving pre- cedence to the English poets made known by him, Chateaubriand is, on the contrary, inclined to depre- ciate them ; he prefers Racine to Shakespeare, as he does the " Apollo Belvedere to an uncouth Egyptian statue." In making us acquainted with German literature, Madame de Stael points out the danger of imitation, and urges that fecund rivalry necessary to the development of the qualities peculiar to our race. To these characteristics we owed our national rehabilitation, just as our neighbors, when freed from French influence, once more became truly German. The principal representatives of the Romantic school, properly so called, have often protested against all foreign invasion. However enthusiastic in their admiration for the German and English poets, the Romanticists, descending in a direct line from Chateaubriand, always limited it to a distant point of view. Lamartine was quite ignorant of German poetry; and although one of his poems was addressed to Byron, it was for the purpose of vaguely confuting without thoroughly understand- ing him, — perhaps even without having read more of him than he himself wrote. Alfred de Vigny translated OtJiello for the purpose of opening the way for the original works that were to follow. In his drama Chatter ton, however, he Romanticism. 117 owes nothing to Shakespeare. His lyrical poetry also arises solely from self. Although other contemporary poets have greater force and pro- ductive power, no one has a more personal vein. In his earlier poems Alfred de Musset recalls Byron, but those which immortalized him were written with his own tears. No one professes greater contempt for imitators than Victor Hugo. " The poet," he writes, " should guard against copying any one whomsoever, — whether Shake- speare or Moliere, Schiller or Corneille." Again, " The imitative faculty has always been the scourge of art ; when one succeeds in perfectly imitating a great writer, his originality — in other words, his genius — will be wanting." Among both English and German writers, Shakespeare is the only poet who has influenced him to any degree whatever. Yet he declares that he would no more wish to be the mirror of Shakespeare than the echo of Racine. The German language attracts him, little ; in fact, he has but a limited knowledge of it. He feels drawn in quite another direction. " With- out undervaluing the great poetry of the North," he says, " I have always had a very decided prefer- ence for the precise, meridional form of expression." During the earlier part of his career the Italian and Spanish poets are his favorites. He is inspired by the Romancero, calls Virgil and Dante his mas- ters, and places in Spain that city of the middle ages to which he hopes we may be able some day to compare French literature. If our Romantic poetry offers numerous resem- ii8 Literary Movement in Finance. blances to that of England and Germany, it is not the result of imitation, but rather the effect of anal- ogous causes acting simultaneously upon three races. In Rousseau and Diderot, France has in many respects surpassed her neighbors ; but those im- mortal prototypes, the legacy of our great Classic period, confine us to national traditions. England and Germany had long since shaken off the yoke which still binds us to a glorious past, — a yoke which we naturally hesitate to cast aside only to rush into unknown paths. While our social regime is being overturned by the Revolution, and our active energy exhausted on the battle-field by the wars of the Empire, these two neighboring literatures had already produced masterpieces in a new art. France, having regained self-control, and being en- couraged by these examples, pursues that poetic regeneration which she had been the first to prepare. This, however, is accomplished, not by receiving from the North what she had once given it, but by remaining faithful to her national genius. That the advent of Romanticism marks a certain abandon and freedom from servile routine is beyond question. It is also no less true that Classicism, con- sidered broadly and apart from the prejudices intro- duced into it by pseudo-Classicism, preserves intact, and even in the works of the most daring innovators, those general characteristics of the original racial type which insure them against being easily con- fused with the productions of Northern genius. Greco-Latin antiquity has been absorbed for cen turies by our education, customs, laws, and institu- Ro7nanticism. 1 19 tions. It has left its imprint even on the character of our people by upholding a certain ideal of art and culture which we cannot renounce without violation. Those of the poets of our times who react most violently against superannuated doctrines, distinguish between the Classic ideal which they maintain, and the superstitions of Classic routine which they combat. It has been a mistake, perhaps, to consider neo- Hellenism as a branch of the Romantic school : it is, nevertheless, true that the new school favored the Greek renaissance, to which a great number of its poets contributed. The pseudo-Classicists had, moreover, so little real knowledge or just appre- ciation of ancient art that one is bettered by laying aside second-hand imitations for the original sources of inspiration. Andre Chenier, by reason of his origin, constant intercourse, and even the inheritance of talent, is the first of our poets to give us a direct impression of Greece. His is not the cold, colorless Greece of his contemporaries ; but a living, radiant land, resplendent in an immortal youth glowing beneath a crown of roses. After Andre Chenier, still un- known at the dawn of our century, we have Chateau- briand, the singer of the middle ages and of Chris- tian supernaturalism, also at the same time a fervent worshipper of Olympian deities. Before the shores of Greece he experiences an emotion not aroused by the sight of holy places ; in setting foot upon the soil of Athens he believes himself contempo- rary with Pericles and Sophocles. Later on, when I20 Literary Moveme^it in France. Romanticism becomes securely established, the greater number of the poets in the ranks of the new school, drawing inspiration from the same source, wage war against a false Classic taste. Alfred de Vigny borrows from the shepherds of Sicily the flute with which he accompanies his idyls, la Dryade and la Symetha ; Brizeux is a Christian Bion who hears the discreet echo of Dorian pastorals in the depths of Armorique ; Alfred de Musset sings of Greece, " the eternal country of his vows," " Greece his mother, the land of sweetest honey." The second generation of Romanticists are not less attracted by the Gre- cian type of beauty : we find even in Theophile Gautier, Theodore de Banville, and Leconte de Lisle, the cult of a plastic ideal which delights in the realization of the purest forms of neo-Greek art. Whether Romanticism turns to Greece or to the Christian middle ages, whether it borrows some- thing from the penetrating melancholy of Northern poetry, or searches the Orient for light and color, there is one bond of union between so many diverse inspirations. Its device has always been absolute liberty of artistic expression ; and this device unites all those who cast aside rules and models, recognizing no rule but the truth, however presented, and no model but nature, wherever found. The first purpose of Romanticism is to liberate art. According to it, " poetry is a fertile, virgin land whose productions should develop freely, as Romajiticism. 121 if by chance ; " it is an earthly paradise without forbidden fruit. In studying nature from but one point of view the Classicists had excluded everything not bearing upon their particular conception. Now, the Romanticists recognize beauty in all its forms, and open their temple to all gods. There are as many types of the beautiful as there are different societies. Homer, Dante, Shakespeare, Goethe, — all represent Genius ; and the peculiarity of Genius lies precisely in an original interpretation of eternal beauty. But, side by side with the beautiful, there is also the hideous, which, if it exists in nature, should also find place in art. Rather than strip the lining from man and life. Romanticism prefers to mingle the ugly with the beautiful, evil with good, shadow with light What we call the ugly, it considers an element necessary in a general way to harmony in the ensemble of things. In the same manner what we call defect is but the in- evitable relation of a certain attribute to the whole. Defect and attribute may constitute the ideal of commonplace minds ; but mediocrity occu- pies no place whatever in art; genius, on the other hand, like nature, is always without uniformity. Our Classic school had made a " carefully trimmed, smoothly raked, and well sanded garden " of poetry. Romanticism compares it to "one of the primitive forests of the New World, with its gigantic trees, tall grasses, luxuriant vegetation, and abrupt harmonies." Opposing It to convention- ality, it prefers " Shakespeare's barbarisms to Cam- pistron's absurdities." Our Classic school had 122 Literary Movement i7i France. confined art within narrow bounds, and, besides assigning special limitations to each form, had pro- hibited them from encroaching upon each other. Thus, with individual latitudes, each art had its own proper form. Romanticism disorganizes this clever poetical code : it professes that " what is really true and beautiful is so everywhere ; that what is dramatic in a novel is also dramatic on the stage; that what is lyrical in a couplet is equally lyrical in a strophe ; finally, that the only real dis- tinction is that which exists between the good and the bad." Then appears the drama, which not only unites all the elements of comedy and tragedy, but, as the most complete form of poetry, lends itself even to brilliant lyrical outbursts. There are now no odes, idyls, satires, or elegies ; but in their place we have Meditations, Harmonies, Orientates, Interior Voices, in which all styles are mingled and confused. The titles of these collections bear no relation to the artificial divisions of rhetoric, but arise rather from a broader unity of conception existing in the poet's soul. Without overlooking the rights of reason, — rights which, though reduced by the Classicists to a cold, timid good sense, can never be prescribed, — Roman- ticism restored the claims of imagination, in de- fault of which poetry remains incapable of flight. The new school found " taste " to be not only the force that stimulates, but also the poet's moderator. Taste has both broadened and humanized poetry, for it is tolerant and hospitable, and not so much concerned in criticisins: as in findings new beauties. Romanticism. 123 As its chief justly remarked, Romanticism repre- sented in poetry what liberalism represented in poli- tics. It freed literature from oppressive formulas and servile imitations ; it gave poetry new breath, and launched it quivering with enthusiasm in those loftier regions where it soars untrammelled by conventions. 124 Literary Movement in Fraiice. CHAPTER II. RENOVATION OF LANGUAGE AND VERSIFICATION. AFTER having profoundly transformed na- tional genius, Romanticism could not fail to renew the language in which so many new thoughts and sentiments were expressed. In interpreting a thoroughly aristocratic society, the traditions of which pseudo-Classicism claimed to maintain, the language of the seventeenth century naturally adapted itself to the elegances and refine- ments of contemporary surroundings. It was mar- vellously suited to the rendering of delicate shades in conversation, curiosities of moral analysis, and all the demands and amusements of social relations. Created for the use of the " respectable " man, since wrought by him, it converses with amiable grace, excels in aptly turning maxims, sketching portraits, or reasoning out moral questions. It possesses all the qualities requisite to ornamental and official usage, — clearness to make itself understood, har- mony to charm the ear, nobility to humor the scruples of a world either ignoring or retreating from the vulgarities of life. There is nothing that inclines to excess ; there are no salient words, no doubtful metaphors, no venturesome constructions, nothing fortuitous or accidental, but an even, con- Renovation of Language and Versification. 125 tinuous current, having cast off all that tends to mar its limpidity. How many sacrifices were made to attain Clas- sical perfection ! In the interest of this language the regenerators of the sixteenth century had stripped all provincial dialects, again demanding from domes- tic antiquity its most expressive forms of speech. The grammarians of the following age employed as much zeal in expurgating the many "graftings" which made so honorable a showing in contempo- rary poetry, as the Pleiade had employed in enrich- ing the vocabulary. Malherbe, Ronsard's heir, only accepts his heri- tage with liability of assets. His work is entirely negative. He invents nothing, and perfects form only by elimination. With him the language of the sixteenth century is corrected and reduced to order, but by a process of impoverishment. From that robe of ample folds he cuts a faultless, though stiff, scant garment. Further, Malherbe speaks the popular French of the day, and the greater part of his reform consists in freeing the poetical idiom from the locutions and learned forms which his predecessors had incorporated. He directs those who demand the secret of fine language to frequent marketmen, and recognizes no other Academy than the Poj^t-att-Foin (hay-market). After him, literary language is more and more restricted, not to the use of the " city," but to that of the salons and court. What it thus gains in elegance, it loses in picturesque value ; sooner or later it will attain purity and nobility at the price of all spontaneous invention and original relief. 126 Literary Movement in Fra^tce. The French Academy was founded for the pur- pose of " modifying the irregularities of a too popular Empire," of " divesting language of the filth it had contracted in the mouths of the people." This correct use, of which Vaugelas calls himself the recorder, is, according to him, that " of the most wholesome part of the court." It is believed that the language of the provinces is necessarily corrupting ; everything that relates to the schools, the Palais (court-house), mechanical arts, and all the realities of ordinary life, is therefore excluded. The translator of Quintus Curtius considers obsolete half the expressions employed during the sixteenth century by Plutarch's translator. Nor does he regret it. Some were too old, others too rude ; some were displeasing on account of the baseness of their origin, others by reason of their too crudely evident physiognomy. The conversation of " re- spectable " people could be carried on only with choice, well-born, harmonious words, suflficiently general to arouse no vulgar suggestion, sufficiently detached from the direct impression to represent objects without causing them to stand out brusquely before our eyes. Father Bouhours even refines upon Vaugelas ; if they would but listen to him, he would have that " more wholesome part of the court" reduced to kings and princes of royal blood. Several hundred courtiers adapt language to their fancy. They refine and filter it at will, divest it of vulgar intercourse with the senses, and spiritualize it so thoroughly that it finally loses all color and savor. Renovation of Language afid Versification. 127 The syntax and the vocabulary which the gram- marians of the seventeenth century imagined fixed for all time, underwent no marked changes, at least during the eighteenth century. Voltaire, the leader of a bold and very active campaign against abuses and social prejudices, is so religiously faithful to Classical traditions, as regards language, that the most inoffensive neologisms alarm his timidity. During the lapse of about a hundred and fifty years between the reign of Louis XIV. and our century, these traditions are modified only in the direction of an always more exclusive and fastidious purism. The Revolution triumphed less easily over the ancient literary regime than over the passing politi- cal order. Our language did not of course remain free from all inroads. A democracy foreign to the refinements of the aristocracy it had supplanted, was inevitably forced to introduce many innovations in accordance with the character of the new society. Scarcely was the Institute established when it found itself forced to introduce into its Dictionary " words created by the Revolution and Repub- licanism." But very few of these words could be adopted by the literary language, and the Dictionary gave them place only by consigning them to an appendix. The Empire scornfully rejects the locu- tions borrowed from the people by journalists and orators. It seems that the real influence of the Revolution is to exaggerate further the scruples and susceptibilities of Classical taste by contrast with anarchical and revolutionary license. The writers of the Imperial epoch have superstitions and hesita- 128 Literary Movement in France. tions which neitlier Boileau nor Racine knew. Only with Romanticism does the Revolution pass from the political order into the domain of art, and par- ticularly into that of language. Those of our times who attach the least significance to the movement over which the new school presided, are forced to acknowledge that it accomplished a veritable transformation in language, and the most profound to which it has been submitted since the Renaissance. In going back beyond the sixteenth century to the Christian and chivalric middle ages, the inno- vators, in respect both to language and versifi- cation, from the first considered themselves as disciples of the Pleiade. We learn from Sainte- Beuve, who restored the poets of the Renaissance to honor, that, when Ronsard had been selected, the beautiful in-folio copy from which extracts were made was placed in Victor Hugo's hands, and became the Album of the Romantic " Cenacle." In this respect, also, there is doubtless a difference of basis between the ancient Pleiade and that of our century, upon which there is no need of insist- ing. The first, with its rhetoricians, had been pre- ceded by pedantic obscurities and studied barbarisms and with its court poets, such as Marot and Sainte- Gelais, by sterility of form and poverty of means not to be dissimulated by an agile, graceful ele- gance ; the second inherited the two great literary ages, illustrious in each style by two immortal masterpieces. Our Classical language had been *' cramped " by Malherbe, especially as regards its poetry. It had then passed from Malherbe to Renovation of Language and Versification. 129 Vaugelas and from Vaugelas to Father Bouhours, without ceasing to be purified, that is, impoverished, for two hundred years, until pseudo-Classical prudery finally banished all naturalness, vivacity, and freedom of expression. It could, therefore, become the organ of the new century only after its form had been recast by the innovators. Its grammar, necessarily more fixed and unyield- ing than its vocabulary, did not escape numerous modifications. Romanticism did not introduce entirely new constructions, for the familiar language of the middle ages and sixteenth century supplied a host of old forms from which to choose. It revived the use of expressions scorned by our Classical writers, or, at least, resumed those suited to the analytical character of our idiom. Having been the outcome of a moral and religious renaissance first inspired by national antiquity, the young school sousfht to discover the true traditions and native originality of French genius. They were devoutly archaeological ; not only were castles and churches restored, but also forms of language which would have been no less repulsive to Classicism than the " barbarities " of Gothic architecture. That historical sense, so utterly lacking in the Classicists, was applied by Romanticism to the renovation of language as well as of art and poetry. During the eighteenth century Voltaire, in his commentary upon Corneille, considered as solecisms all those constructions of the old poet not sanctioned by contemporary use. The innovators of 1830, however, discovered in Corneille many of the ex- 9 130 Literary Movement in Fra7ice. ceptional forms of ancient authors ; they recovered all that was bold, spirited, and passionate in the French language before Classic purists had sub- mitted it to their narrowing discipline. These consist not only in the words used by Amyot, the half of which Vaugelas declared already proscribed, but also in his "phrases," — that is, con- structions and forms of speech. At the beginning of the eighteenth century the author of la Lettre a VAcademie was rated chimerical on account of his independence. For all that, he was the keenest, most refined critic of his epoch, also the least fettered by the prejudices of contemporary taste. This writer regrets that our language had lost its former liberty of movement. " It never dares pro- ceed," he writes, " except according to the most uniform and scrupulous methods of grammar. First comes a nominative substantive, always apparently leading its adjective by the hand ; its verb, fol- lowed by an adverb, permitting nothing to separate them, never fails to march in its train. This system also demands an accusative which must never be out of place." Whatever exaggeration lies in this, Fenelon is, for this reason, no less justified in bring- ing action against the monotony of Classic syntax. Owing to this clearness, due to severe discipline, our language, as written during the seventeenth and eighteenth century, was a marvellous organ of rea- son ; but it was destined to await the coming of Romanticism in order to be able to represent troubles of heart, tumults of passion, and caprices of fantasy. Romanticism willingly sacrifices gram- Renovation of L anguage and Versification. 1 3 1 matical regularity to dramatic effect and picturesque expression. It does not dispose of words, following the abstract method of grammarians, and according to their logical function, but wherever the move- ment of thought or the current of emotion naturally conveys them, and in the order in which our impres- sions and sentiments succeed each other. With the Romanticists our syntax permits the phrase a freer, more supple, and more unequal development. They recover quaint idioms, unusual, brusque modes of speech, expressive turns of language modelled upon immediate sensation, — all the original and unex- pected locutions, whose originality shocked Classical minds, admiring order and symmetry above all else. Ingenuity, fresh savor, or strong, vivid familiarity offended its affected refinement. The modifications introduced into grammar, more- over, relate to style rather than to language. Not only has Romanticism not invented new methods of .syntax, but also have a great number of those which it attempted to revise been taken from actual usage,, or never were, for the most part, but archaisms^ ventured here and there by writers who did not pretend to introduce them into common circulation. " Peace be to syntax ! " said Victor Hugo, when declaring war against the rhetoric of pseudo- Classicism. The renovation which he promoted' was directed much less against grammatical forms than against words ; and the work of the Romantic school in respect to language consisted, to quote Victor Hugo's expression, particularly in "releasing'* the vocabulary. 132 Literary jMovemeiit in France. This assertion clearly proves that the innovators rarely permitted neologisms. The poverty of Clas- sical language was not so much due to the insuffi- ciency of the national dictionarj- as to the disdainful purism with which a select society, whose practice became law, excluded all that might offend its scru- ples. Romanticism was, therefore, to restore and not to innovate. '• It is good," said its chief, " to revive disused forms and renew old expressions, but we cannot repeat too often that the spirit of im- provement should cease here." In this respect the "horrible, dissolute demagogue," as he called him- self later, is conservative. In the invention of words he sees but a " melancholy resource for in- capacity." The masters of the Romantic school produced but a limited number of new expressions. Our literature was invaded by neologism during the second half of our centur}-; but the embellishment of language during its first half consisted particu- larly in restoring part of its former richness- Romanticism revived a multitude of words which had fallen into disuse for two or three centuries ; many others that had been preserved modified their meaning in a general way by inclining towards their more ancient signification. " Language is en- riched by excavations," wrote Joubert, without being alarmed, like the pseudo-Classicists, by the archaisms of Atala or Rene: "indeed, languages must be treated like the fields; to render them productive they must be upturned from great depths." Cha- teaubriand, that master of the art of writing, had given the signal, and neither neglected nor ignored Renovation of Language and Versification. 133 anything that might add relief or eclat to his style. He appropriates not only what is most expressive and highly colored in French before Racine, but also in Gallic before Ronsard, even gathering his flowers from old dictionaries. The Romantic inno- vators followed his example with sufficient audacity to transform language, and too much discernment to violate natural genius or falsify its historical progress. Particularly through the influence of the poets, and for the benefit of prose as well as poetry, is brought about that renovation which finds its first initiator in Chateaubriand. If Victor Hugo prohibits neolo- gism, he reclaims from the savory, picturesque par- lance of the sixteenth century, and even from the Classicists, a multitude of old-fashioned words to which long disuse had restored the force and lustre of youth. Applying a curiosity always on the alert, and a marvellous gift of assimilation, Sainte-Beuve patiently labors towards the same end. In pro- portion as Romanticism becomes more exclusively descriptive and pictorial, does it feel the need of enriching its vocabulary. Theophile Gautier — the "painter of the band," as he calls himself — some- times resorts to the introduction of new terms ; but, for several more or less happy or useful neologisms, how many restorations do we find which have been a great gain to our language ! " Ah, my dear child ! " he said to one of his sons-in-law, " if we only had as many piastres as words I have reconquered from Malherbe! . . . I started out in search of adjectives, and I have unearthed charming, admirable ones. 1 34 Literary Movement iji France. with which we could not now dispense. I have liberally foraged the sixteenth century. . . ." In- deed, with the Romanticists this renewal of old expressions is not a work of superficial erudition. The words which they have reinstated made a treaty with life, and most of them are in current use to-day, and escape our attention or never seem to have ceased to be employed. The introduction into literary and poetical style of a host of expressions banished by the prejudices of Classic taste still further contributed to the enrichment of our language. Bernardin de Saint- Pierre remarked that " the peculiarity of a man of letters, when withdrawn from his books, not long since consisted in not being allowed, and not knowing how, to give names to things." Rous- seau and Diderot had already introduced into the descriptive vocabulary expressions which had until then been employed only as technical idioms. The author of Etudes sur la nature advances one step farther in this direction ; he says, " Try to describe a mountain in such a way as to make it recognizable. When you have spoken of its base, sides, and sum- mit, you will have said everything." He himself, however, wishes to do more than this. From the arts and sciences he seeks the words he requires to represent what he sees. As description becomes more precise with the Romanticists, it searches beyond the limits of traditional language for terms 'necessary to the reproduction of the most minute details, for Classicism had only expressed the most general features of objects. It borrows material Renovation of Language and Versification. 135 for expression not only from the arts and sciences, but also from industry, commerce, and even from the slang of workshops, to which the abstract literature of the seventeenth century had felt no need to resort. The author of Teleniaque designates color but at ten different times, — red six times and both yellow and green twice. Compare the richness of Chateau- briand and the profusion of Theophile Gautier to this poverty ! In the world of forms as in that of tones — indeed, in the whole domain of sensible life — we grasp shades and peculiarities which es- caped the Classicists, and represent them by words which they would never have admitted. The great rule of the ancient rhetoricians, formu- lated by Buffon, consisted in calling things by their most general terms. The particular term unfor- tunately recalled familiar images, while the general term, by idealizing sensation, did not detract from the nobility of style. The great writers of the seven- teenth century more than once shocked the taste of purists. However ravenous his dogs} Racine knew how to rebuke them ; and those who admire the poet's boldness prove by their admiration how little conformity had such a word with the proprieties of the stage. Classical susceptibilities were only further refined upon until the dawn of Romanticism. Abstraction enveloped our language with a haze which stumped all relief. There were 1 Mais je n'ai plus trouve qu'un horrible melange D'os et de chair meurtris et train^s dans la fange, Des lambeaux pleins de sang, et dcs membres affreux Que des chiens devorants se disputaient entre eux. Racine, Athalie, Act II. scene v. 136 Literary Movement in Fra^ice. no more of those bare, crude expressions which pictured objects ; no more character nor physiog- nomy in expression ; nothing but a neutral back- ground upon which no features were accentuated. Though one of the first to feel the need of a reno- vation, Rivarol regrets that Voltaire named the "shoemaker" in his Pauvre Viable ; not daring to make use of the word rooster, which would " suffice to spoil the most beautiful ode in the world," a certain translator of Pindar saves himself by refer- ring to it as that " domestic bird whose song announces the day, and with but the farmyard for the theatre of his exploits." It requires a certain amount of courage, even under the Restoration, to introduce the most illustrious names of our history into the alexandrine. A tragedy with Jeanne d'Arc for its heroine, calls her a shepherdess, then a warrior, finally a captive, but does not once dare to name her Jeanne. Lebrun, the author of Marie Stuart, finding it necessary to introduce the terrible word handkerchief mio his work, said, — " Prends ce don, ce mouchoir, ce gage de tendresse, Que pour toi de ses mains a brode ta maitresse." The precautions which the poet employed in barb- ing an incongruous word with a double cuirass of periphrases were of no avail whatever; even in the hands of a queen, a handkerchief, however finely embroidered, horrified those before whom the work was read. " With clasped hands they besought me to alter these dangerous expressions, which would only serve to make the whole audience laugh at the Renovation of Language and Versification. I'l^'^ most pathetic moments," said Lebrun. " I wrote this tissued We know what a tumult Alfred de Vigny aroused ten years later when he had the courage to launch the very word which the author of Marie Stuart had resigned himself to efface. At the first representation of le Cid d Andalousie in 1825, the word chambre excited comment in the audience, and the Globe was forced to recall Racine's line, — " De princes e'gorges la chambre e'tait remplie." Thus the public of the times no longer found the style of Atalie sufficiently noble. Nothing remained of the language of the ancient masters but expedient phrases, ready-made locutions, commonplace hemi- stiches, a rhetorical garden of artificial flowers which, at least, possessed the merit of never fading. It was, indeed, time that the Romantic generation should reanimate our language, give it color, body, and savor, and substitute figures for abstractions, proper words for periphrases, the pictorial for the descriptive. This was Victor Hugo's great work. He brought about a revolution in the vocabulary corresponding to that which had transformed civil society thirty years earlier. In a celebrated work he represented himself as the Danton and Robespierre of a new ninety-three. He placed a " bonnet rouge " upon the old dictionary, and proclaimed the equality of words. Nobility and vulgarity do not exist in words, which are only the simple signs of ideas, but in the ideas which these words represent. Therefore, as the 138 Literary Movement in France. sovereign law of art consists in the accord of thought and expression, the proper word is always sufficiently noble. In declaring that there are no castes in the republic of words, access was given to all those which Classic contempt had until then rejected. At the same time it reanimated style as well as increased by tenfold the wealth of the vocabulary. When Victor Hugo says, — "... Pas de mot ou I'id^e au front pur Ne puisse se poser, tout humide d'azur," he opens a whole storehouse of words which renew language. These words, excluded by " noble style," are precisely the most significant. They are in immediate contact with objects, cause them to rise before our eyes, and represent not an abstract, colorless definition, but a real, living image. Romanticism renewed versification no less thoroughly than language. It multiplied metres, restored rhymes, and made our monotonous alexan- drine the most flexible, most expressive instrument of versification.^ Malherbe, applying the same conservatism to the reform of versification as to that of language, had selected the most simple and regular from the numberless metres employed by Ronsard and the 1 With M. Pellissier's approval the translator has illustrated his analysis of the evolution of the alexandrine during the nineteenth century, — otherwise obscure to many English readers, — by adding to examples selected from the Classicists such as will show what altera- tions were introduced into its form by the Romanticists. Renovation of Language and Versification. 1 39 Pleiade; these amply sufficed his haughty, though rather rigid and indigent genius. The two Classi- cal centuries were, moreover, quite satisfied with them. Poets like Jean-Baptiste Rousseau or Le Franc de Pompignan were neither sufficiently ar- dent nor original in inspiration to feel cramped by these consecrated forms. Upon this model their rhetoric measured out its cold apostrophes and prosopopoeia made to order. Romanticism quick- ened the form as well as the matter of poetry. Im- agination was strengthened ; abundant springs of sentiment burst forth ; a generous lyricism shat- tered accepted models. Versification was then enriched by most skilful, harmonious, and pictur- esque rhythmical combinations. Not that the Ro- manticists created many strophes ; but they resumed those employed by the poets of the sixteenth cen- tury, whom they were pleased to recognize as their forefathers. In this field, as with syntax or the vo- cabulary, they restored much more than they origi- nated. Sainte-Beuve states that Victor Hugo, the initiator of the renovation of versification as well as that of language, has been the greatest inventor of metres French poetry has had since Ronsard. Victor Hugo has really only invented the verse of eleven lines, in which the eight last lines form two groups of three feminine rhymes, each followed by one masculine rhyme. Though our poetry before Malherbe was rich enough in stanzas of all kinds to express the most diverse of sentiments and all the caprices of the imagination. Romanticism brousrht to the forms it restored a science in com- 140 Literary Movement in France. position which the most delicate artist of the Re- naissance would have envied. Rhyme was regenerated by the young school which had enriched its letter and invigorated its spirit; with its different combinations it had fur- nished Romantic lyricism with an infinitude of strophes, some new, though the greater part restorations from the sixteenth century. The great Classicists considered it as a secondary element of versification ; they only employed it to render more evident the end of metrical unity. It becomes still more enfeebled during the eighteenth century, when poets find it but a troublesome ob- ligation to be discharged as best they could. When their rhymes are not commonplace, they are in- exact. The enriching of the vocabulary gave new power to the Romantic movement. The Romanticists not only demanded a fulness of sound un- known to our poetry for two centuries, but they also banished from words related by mutual con- formity the too simple homophonies abused by the pseudo-Classicists. This double reform, in- spired by a just and refined sentiment for art, did not long continue free from all excess. Instead of considering rhyme but a more accentuated rhythm, the Romanticists of the second generation, and es- pecially of the third, gave it a preponderating role. Indeed, the entire alexandrine was submitted to it. They freely exaggerated gratuitous difficulties, and triumphed in making as many consonant let- ters as possible fall at the end of lines, or in Renovation of Language and Versification. 141 associating words that seemed to exclude one another. That the school ended in puerile refine- ments is no reason for overlooking what was neces- sary and legitimate in the reform brought about by its real masters. Victor Hugo, its principal instigator, only abused his skill in certain archaical fantasies, or in that purely descriptive and pic- torial style, the greatest merit of which lies in an irreproachable perfection of form. A just measure existed between the poverty of the pseudo-Classicists and the prodigality of our contemporary rhymers, and Romanticism only overstepped this at its decline. It perfected our versification by divesting it of in- sufficient rhymes which do not fill the ear, and com- monplace rhymes which do not satisfy the mind, also by demanding both rich sounds to set off the rhythm and words expressive enough to sustain it. The strengthening of rhyme was, moreover, but an inevitable consequence of the attacks which Ro- manticism directed against Classical symmetry. It was necessary that rhyme should be rich enough to sustain the sensation of measure, so often trou- bled by contretemps. Victor Hugo and his dis- ciples profoundly altered the interior construction of the alexandrine as transmitted to them by the Classical school. The Pleiade had preceded them ; but it was very far from bringing the same rhythmical science into the construction of lines as into the different combinations of rhymes and metres. The poets of the sixteenth century too often took liberties, leaving the cadence of their alexandrines to chance and readily running one 142 Literary Movement in Fra7tce. line upon another. Malherbe^ definitely estab- lished a pause at the end of each hemistich. The Classical alexandrine, after him maintained in its severity by Boileau," juxtaposes two fragments of six syllables in a single metrical unity which the final pause rigorously separates from the following. These two fragments are almost independent of each other, and cannot apparently join hands over the cassural pause. The symmetry of such a line is in accord with the character of a society in firmer equilibrium than our own, and with the harmonious nobility of Classic art. The characters, the Phedres and Orestes, placed on the stage by Racine, the most impassioned poet and most daring versifier of the seventeenth century, preserve a regard for the pro- prieties of verse even in the most violent outbursts of the heart and the reason. Racine is no more tempted to break the rhythm of his line than to force or to overcharge his language. The various changes which the alexandrine has undergone, as well as the general character of contemporary litera- ture, are to be explained by the condition of our ' Rendez-vous k vous-meme, [ assurez votre crainte, Et de votre vertu | recevez ce conseil, Que souffrir sans murmure | est le seul appareil Qui peut gudrir I'ennui | dont vous etes atteinte. Malherbe, Poisies, - Par ce sage ecrivain | la langue rdparde N'offrit plus rien de rude | h. I'oreille dpurde, Les stances avec grace | apprirent ^ tomber, Et le vers sur le vers | n'osa plus enjamber. Boileau, VArt poetiqite, Chant I. Renovation of Language and Versification. 143 complex, mobile society, — by what is more excitable and less well regulated in our moral temperament. The regular oscillation of the Classical line could not be adapted to Romantic poetry, which, at the outset, consisted in effusions of the heart, — the bursting forth of the transports of passion. Mod- ern versification finds more expressive rhythms in accordance wuth a more vivid and spontaneous sensibility. The evolution of the alexandrine has been caused by an increasingly marked antagonism between these two equally inherent needs of the human mind, — symmetry, upon which all versification what- ever is founded ; and a variety, in which ideas and sentiments find no rhythmical expression. In giving full satisfaction to one or the other of these two needs, in one case an insufferable monotony would be the result, in the other the complete destruction of all poetical language. Without neglecting what it owed to symmetry, our modern alexandrine gradu- ally developed better means of expression by grave disturbances in the regularity of its rhythm. The ideal type of the line of twelve syllables exacts a perfect equality and harmony between its logical as well as its rhythmical elements. It is divided into four equal fragments separated by a disjunctive pause which marks the end of each.^ ^ II commit | son erreur ; j occupe de sa crainte, II laissa | pour son fils ] ^chapper | quelque plainte, Et voulut, I mais trop tard, | assembler | ses amis. Racine, Britantt., IV. 11. The logical cohesion is, however, stronger between the elements of the hemistich than between the hemistichs. — Tr. 144 Literary Movement in France. This formula, we know, has never been employed to the exclusion of others ; but whatever alteration it submits, is directed against absolute symmetry. While the normal alexandrine is composed of four independent fragments, the Classical alexan- drine has but two binding pauses, — one at the sixth, and the other at the twelfth syllable.^ It maintains the equality of both hemistichs, but each of these may be divided into two unequal portions. Hence we have several new formulas which, to a certain degree, satisfy the requirements of variety and expression. These new formulas of evidently discordant rhythm are, for the most part, as often found in the poets of the seventeenth century as those of perfectly concordant rhythm. The normal line always returns at brief intervals to give the ear the complete sensation of symmetry ; but, in reality, the poet's liberty as regards this is limited by no restrictions, and he can vary the rhythmical combinations of the interior of each hemistich according to his fancy. Alterations advanced no farther until the coming of Romanticism, or, at least, until the appearance of Andre Chenier, who preceded it in this respect, and announced it in many others. However, with the seventeenth century, and particularly with Racine, we note a very marked tendency to introduce more variety into metre by weakening the cassural and even the final pause. It is true that these abnormal extensions of the rhythmical period were commonly ^ Mes plaintes ont deja | precede vos murmures. Racine, Britann., I. 3. Renovation of Language and Versification. 145 considered as defects. The utterance of actors is the best proof. They brought all alexandrines back to the severely Classical type by strongly marking the end of both the hemistich and line, even when the sense might sufifer. Though examples of these perturbations are quite rare, they must, neverthe- less, be considered as a step in the direction of the freedom of contemporary versification. In the Romantic alexandrine the accent upon the sixth syllable is not considered as the obligatory place of repose ; consequently no fixed rule now pre- determines the arrangement of metrical unity. The accent upon the twelfth syllable necessarily demands no pause in the sense ; therefore, liberty of combina- tion extends to the entire distich. In the first case there is an interior overlapping ; ^ in the second, the lapping of one line upon another.^ These two changes transformed the Classical alexandrine. Profoundly altering its equilibrium, they at the same ^ C'est un vivant | qui n'est ni stryge | ni lemure. Gdant possible, | encor cache | dans I'embryon. Et Ton vit poindre | aux yeux du fau ne la clarte. La terre et rhomme, | acteur fdroce | ou vil t^moin. Son front saignait ; | son ceil pendait ; | dans le genet. Heureux d'e|tre, joyeux d'aimer, | ivres de voir. Ce chef-d'oeuv|re du Dieu vivant, | I'avoir ddtruit. Et lui seul 1 a ce nom sacre : | commencement. Victor Hugo, Legende des siecles. 2 Ah ! jette loin de toi ce philtre ! — Ma raison S'egare. Arrete ! Hdlas ! mon don Juan, ce poison Est vivant ! Ibid., Hernani, Act V. scene vi. . . . Un rocher Se fut attendri rien qu'en la voyant marcher. Ibid., Legende des siecles. 10 146 Literary Movement in Fra7ice. time offered the poet inexhaustible resources, and permitted him to express all the emotions of the heart by rhythm. Whether in the middle or at the end of the line, overlapping has often a local, determined effect; but this effect may also only result in the perturbation of the rhythm. But in passion couplets, for instance, the poetic phrase rebels against all regularity: it halts abruptly, ad- vances precipitately; it has tremors and saccades, and knows no other measure than the poet's emotion. The license allowed in doing away with caesuras certainly presents many dangers. The more precise and numerous are the mechanical rules of versifica- tion, the more is the poet cramped in the making of verse ; but the better sustained is his work when his lines are once constructed. On the contrary, the more latitude permitted to ear and taste, the simpler becomes verse writing ; but the more his lines risk abortion, if he does not possess the instinct of rhythm and harmony. Particularly on account of the facili- ties accorded the poet of the day, do the gods per- mit of no mediocrity, but abandon him hopelessly to his inferiority. To poets like Malherbe and Boileau the discordant rhythms of modern versification would certainly have seemed worthy of barbarians. Even in our age was the Romantic alexandrine considered a monstrous perversion by their late disciples. Accustomed to lift and drop alternately the two hemistichs of both sides of the caesura by a perfectly regular movement, like the two plates of scales, they were disconcerted Renovation of Language and Versification. 147 by every slight oscillation, and thought the scales "crazy." But the most Classical of Classicists, Malherbe and Boileau, had swerved from absolute symmetry; and we find in their versification the first traces of the evolution of the alexandrine, which was to proceed by gradually and sensibly altering concordant rhythm, enlarging the period, and complicating rhythmical combinations. Herein lies a general law applying to all arts. What would Lulli think of one of Beethoven's symphonies ? Lacking other reasons, the perfecting of our organs would further explain these infractions upon the noble and harmonious simplicity of the seventeenth century. In more complex affinities we have dis- covered a mysterious charm which escaped the ears of our ancestors. According to these har- monies, we combine expressive and picturesque rhythms which would have irritated them even to suffering. The discordances of Romanticism are, moreover, for the most part, and should only be, accidental. By uniting all the various alterations in rhythm which we find among the modern poets, — however employed by them only with discretion, — and admit- ting as regular what is but a sort of license justified by the effect produced, we should have pure prose as the result. By means of discordance in rhythm, poetical language is free to follow all the inflections of sentiment; and the course of the phrase is some- times broken into short, condensed, breathless waves, sometimes rolls on with the grandeur of a vast river of periods. Let us not forget, however, that the 148 Literary Movement in France. alexandrine, as employed by Malherbe and Boileau, has always remained the basis of measure with our greatest contemporary poets ; indeed, the boldest but break or release it to reconstruct it immediately. Besides, contretemps would have no value if not employed in contrast with the regular measure. All discordance supposes a normal concordance, the effect of which it further accentuates, for irregu- larity cannot be conceived without rule. Hence it would be absurd to found a system of versifica- tion upon discordance, which is the negation of all system . Where does verse end and prose begin ? It is impossible to determine precisely; the limit varies according to rhythmical education and the delicacy of our senses. The uniform cadence which versifica- tion imposes might, in fact, be deemed but illusion. It could be maintained that all constraint impedes the poet's sincerity; that, if the close accord of form and substance is the supreme principle of art, then the rules which constrain form necessarily burden thought and sentiment ; finally, that, in order to be truly sincere, rhythm, in freeing itself from all mechanical formulas, has but to obey the pulsations of the heart. But as long as a poetical language entirely distinct from prose exists, this language will only make concessions to the requirements of ex- pression and variety which are in keeping with the laws of symmetry. The belated disciples of Ro- manticism have perhaps forgotten this ; yet neither Victor Hugo, the leader of the school, nor Sainte- Beuve and Theophile Gautier, after him the greatest Re7iovation of Language and Versification. 149 " artists " of the first generation of Romanticists, are unmindful of this. Though he sometimes " dis- locates that great noodle, the Alexandrine," Victor Hugo, nevertheless, maintains symmetry as the essential principle and general rule of versification. 150 Literary Movement in France. CHAPTER III. ROMANTIC LYRICISM. I. AS we shall see, the militant action of Romanti- cism will be brought to bear particularly upon the theatre, which from the first was consid- ered by the leader of the school as the characteris- tic development, and indeed the culminating form, of modern art. The advent of the new generation was, however, marked by a lyrical outburst, through which our poetry was first to be renewed. Three great poets assumed the direction of this renais- sance, — Lamartine, Alfred de Vigny, and Victor Hugo. There is still another poet, too greatly admired by his contemporaries and since unduly slighted, to whom place must be given. He was, however, separated from the Romantic movement not only by a style which he broadened, but also by literary tra- ditions as well as moral temperament. Beranger began by investing the grivoiseries of the ancient Gallic couplet with a purer and more exact diction. Soon renouncing the great epic and dithyrambic projects of his early youth, he dedicated himself to the chanson, believing it to be the poetic form best suited to his delicate, spirited, though Romantic Lyricism. 151 brief and limited talent. From the time he decided to become a writer of chansons solely, he determined to make the best of the style he had selected. He sought to employ his qualities of verse maker and writer, even adapting to it those inspirations which he had first reserved for the heroic poem, ode, or elegy. Merry refrains were followed by discreetly tender ballads, and political songs, vibrating some- times with liberal, Voltairian, or patriotic notes, sometimes with accents of satire, not gay and harm- less, but bitter, poignant, and full of skilfully com- bined poison. Finally, came what Sainte-Beuve calls the chanson-ballade, — a purely poetical and philosophical chanson, to which the poet rose only late in his career. The celebrity which Beranger enjoyed during life was, in great part, due to circumstances, to his skill in profiting by them, and perhaps, also, to the con- trast between an humble fiddler and the great Romantic chorus leaders. His merits of style and composition, which will always assure him an emi- nent place in the literary history of our times, must not therefore be overlooked. Beranger is both a popular and a scholarly poet. He is popular in his choice of subjects, in the mali- cious, cavilling spirit that inspires his songs, and in his Gallic humor, through which here and there pierce stray gleams of sentiment ; he is so also in his narrowly jealous patriotism, his intolerant, suspi- cious "liberalism," his leaning towards democratic equality and the socialistic, humanitarian aspira- tions, of which he finally became the willing inter- 152 Literary Movement in Frmice. preter. He is scholarly in the perfection of a tech- nique trained for higher aims, in his skill in grouping couplets about a central motif, in his regard for pur- ity and accuracy, and in his pursuit of a naturalness which, however, often betrays effort. His severest critics concede him imagination of style and inven- tion in detail ; they admire his readiness in assum- ing the most diverse tones, his happy selection of themes, almost always graceful or piquant, his talent for dramatizing the chanson, and for inserting it in a frame, for which he prepares an animated expressive scene. The poet's popular qualities concealed from his contemporaries shortcomings which time made more and more evident, — faults which would, on the contrary, be much more likely to hide his more real merits from us. We not only criticise his mis- placed mythological reminiscences, a varnish of false nobility, a weakness for periphrases, and, in fact, all that pertains to the graces of a pseudo-Classic style, long since antiquated ; his very effort detracts, and the extreme brevity of his style prevents preci- sion. There is something hard and stony about it. His phrases are too dense ; and, not content with gently pressing, he cramps them. They are wrinkled and shrivelled, seeming at once stuffed and scanty. His always ingenious arrangement betrays the pro- cess of his composition, and in reading his poems we feel something constrained and often discon- nected in his elaboration. His productions are inspired by a commonplace sentimentality, a terrene philosophy, solemnity with- Romantic Lyricism. 153 out elevation, pomp without grandeur, and, when his aims become loftier, something formal and art- ful. A penchant towards grivoiserie is evident in his freshest and highest inspirations. This is sufB- cient to prevent posterity from coupling his name with those of the great poets who were his con- temporaries. Indeed, this " vilain tres vilain " has nothing in common with the chevaliers of Romanti- cism. What connection could exist between the grandiose, mysterious nature of which they sing and the coarse pictures of faubourg life which he aflfixes to his refrains ? What relation could there be be- tween the ideal Elvire and that brave wench Lisette } What kinship, indeed, between the sanctimonious in- dulgence of the God of honest people — that everlast- ingly good God who is also a good devil — and the august, formidable, radiant majesty of the Romantic Jehovah ? The writer of songs remains completely estranged from the movement that regenerates the very soul of our poetry. It is not only impossible to compare him with his great contemporaries, but his name cannot even be associated with theirs. They are artists of the lyre, while he is but a master of the hurdy-gurdy. Beranger had not yet written Roger Bontemps and la Gaudriole, when a little collection of verses in touch with the moral phase of the young genera- tion appeared, revealing the secret of a new inspira- tion. Their merit was at once recognized, and Lamartine's name, until then unknown, became famous in a day. The author of les Meditations had 154 Literary Movement in France. begun by imitating the elegiac poets of the eight- eenth century. " Bertin and Parny were the delight of my youth," he says ; " their imagination, always sober in flight, and at that period quite drained by the materialism of Imperial literature, conceived nothing more ideal than graceful, correct little verses. In small doses Parny expressed the bouquet of a glass of champagne : the provocations, agita- tions, cold intoxications, ruptures, and reconcilia- tions of love in good society, — a love changing name with each volume. I followed my models, perhaps, sometimes succeeding as well as they. One rainy autumn I carefully copied on vellum four books of elegies, making altogether two volumes." The traces of this first vein are still to be found in his Meditations. Certain of them do not sensibly rise above what was purest and most touching in Millevoie ; while others proceed directly from Bertin and Parny, and exhale that rapturous melancholy which constitutes the penetrating charm of some of their compositions. Lamartine was nearing maturity when he gained full consciousness of his true vocation. At twenty- eight was disclosed to him for the first time "that, I know not what, called poetry." He at once burned his vellum copy-books, and definitely broke away from a sensual philosophy which was " not his own." Ashamed of having profaned the sacred lan- guage of verse by confiding to it the secrets of the senses, he forever consecrated his lyre to the ex- pression of that infinite which henceforth seemed to him the only source of art. " Herein lies the whole Romantic Lyricism. 155 soul of man," he wrote to his friend Virieu; "con- sequently, everything that must and can affect the soul relates to and tends towards it in some way." In this path there were others who had preceded him. We will not now speak at length of Ossian and Byron. The former, whom he called the Homer of his early years, had but a vague, remote influence over him ; the latter he knew only late in life, and congratulated himself in that the force of an un- trained and often perverse genius had not drawn him away from his natural vocation. In reality, there is no resemblance between Byron, the " rebel Lucifer of a human pandemonium," and Lamartine's opti- mistical nature, turned from self to adoration, mak- ing poetry a hymn of love, faith, and gratitude. The real heralds of the author of les Meditations are to be found in France. They are not poets, however. Having begun by imitations of such as Bertin and Parny, he could have known Andre Che- nier but a year before the publication of his first volume. Moreover, at first, and for a long time inspired with instinctive antipathy for the singer of what he considered but matter and fleshly pleasure, he did not appreciate the exquisite naturalness of the refined, scholarly poetry of the Byzantine. His masters were the great prose writers, who with one effort had regenerated both sentiment and imagi- nation. First came Jean-Jacques Rousseau, whose works he read in his early youth, and of whom he preserved a lasting impression. In his Meditations and Harmonies we very often find accents that recall the Solitary Pedestrian or the Vicar of Savoy. 156 Literary Move7nent in France. Saint-Preux had already sighed to his Julie that " song of adoring lovers," le Lac, which the young poet murmurs in the ear of Elvire. There is a still closer kinship between Lamartine and Bernardin de Saint-Pierre : in both there is the same sensibil- ity, at once tender and voluptuous ; the same grace, sometimes a little effeminate in its suavity ; and always the same need for religious emotion. Patil et Virginie was early the book of all books for Lamartine. It is the one he selects to translate to Graziella, the one he has read to Jocelyn, and the one which, more than all others, " in solitude speaks to him the language of the heart." With Bernar- din must be included Madame de Stael and Cha- teaubriand, " the two forerunners who appeared and consoled him upon his entrance into life." From the one he appropriated a purely idealistic concep- tion of art ; the other offered his imagination noble forms and harmonious contours. After Jean- Jacques, Bernardin, Madame de Stael, and Chateau- briand, poetry lacked but the wings of rhyme ; these Lamartine gave it. He, moreover, finds this new poetry within him- self. So spontaneous a genius could not fail to be original. It is his own heart that sings. Between him and his predecessors there is a very evident communion of ideas to be explained by the sub- tle influences of moral atmosphere. If to a quite tranquil and rural Christian education be added his natural predisposition to melancholy, his impression- ability, and his tender, fervent heart, we shall have Lamartine with all his characteristics. This is the Romajitic Lyricism. 157 Lamartine who without preconceived theories or long apprenticeship, and influenced by no schools or theories of art, at once made the poetry of the new century equal what was so far most pure, noble, and elevated in its prose. Great was the efifect produced by les Meditations. Cuvier compared Lamartine's first verses to a melodious song suddenly heard to rise out of the solitude, — a song in harmony with the inmost sen- timents of the wanderer's soul. For some time it was " submitted to the slander and raillery of the old Classical party, which found itself dethroned;" but the editors of the Minerve and Constitutionnel2iv?i\\Qd as little against les Meditations, as did Morellet and Marie-Joseph Chenier twenty years earlier against le Genie du Chris tianisme. Their shallow criticisms were lost in the din of universal admiration. The young poet himself said that what he received was better than applause : he was echoed by sighs and applauded by tears. One slender volume of verse transformed our poetry. Its truth of sentiment and sincerity of expression restored, it once more became the lan- guage of the heart. This was, indeed, a revolution. As the editor to whom Lamartine first presented his manuscript justly remarked, les Meditations " re- sembles nothing that was then known or admired." He, therefore, refused the work. Its very novelty impressed both detractors and admirers. The poet's father found his son's verse quite as '* curious " as beautiful. In a salon where Lamartine read one of his poems, Villemain rushed towards him, and, seiz- 158 Literary Movement in France. ing him by the collar, said : " Young man, who are you, and whence do you come, — you who bring us such poetry?" In Ponsard's hands our lyrical poetry had been but a laborious imitation of antiquity; with Malherbe, a noble architecture of syllables ; with Jean-Baptiste Rousseau, a stiff, cold declamation: Lamartine with one touch converts it into the most intimate of songs, " the moral, divine, melodious part of human thought," less an art than a sudden effu- sion of sentiment. " The poets," he said, " seek far for genius, while it lies within the heart. Touched reverently and at random, a few notes of this in- strument tuned by God suffice to make a whole people weep." There is a spontaneity of inspira- tion, a freshness of sentiment, and simplicity of method in the Lamartine of 1820 that reminds us of the primitive writers. Poetry once more finds its virginity in the very candor and ignorance of this poet. It is divested of all artificial form, or, better, has almost no other form than itself. It is an exhalation rather than an expression. Being immaterial it is, therefore, without definite or sensible character. To what style do these verses which echo so profoundly throughout the century, then, belong ? About this the poet does not concern himself. He calls them Meditations ; and this title in itself sufficiently indicates the nov- elty of the poetic outburst for which he gives the signal. In the first place, he is unacquainted with the etiquette of scholastic poetry ; his verse pro- ceeds directly from the soul, and relates to the man and not to his profession. It announces the ele- Romantic Lyricism, 159 vated tone Lamartine at once assumed. The poet " was bom serious and affectionate," and always re- tained a distaste for the heart's frivolities and " a grave concern for existence and its purpose." From the first his poetry had a sentimental, meditative turn, by no means austere, but earnest in its tenderness and reflective in its joyousness. If Lamartine's first book is not his best, it is at least his purest. His talent rises and grows richer in those that follow. His progress is marked in his Nouvelles Meditations. A fuller breath, surer touch, broader and more luxuriant form, correspond to deeper and stronger inspirations. Lamartine reaches his highest poetic development in his Harmonies. Though so pure and so slender at its source, the spring has become a vast river, spreading its calm, potent waters to its full banks. The poet at length fulfils the promise of his genius, and delights supremely in his own plenitude. Although Jocetyn contains something new in the expression of sim- ple and familiar sentiments, it is in truth but an- other collection of harmonies, bound together by the thread of a narrative. Up to this point there is a constant and gradual development ; Lamartine's growth, however, has continued on the same lines. The original vein has broadened, but has not been renewed. Shortly after the appearance of his first Meditations, Fontanes said, " I confess, they are very fine verses, but he has nothing else in him." Lamartine subsequently improved, but in no other direction. After Jocelyn appeared, his faults became more prominent. He i6o Literary Movement in France. continued to supply " meditations " and " harmonies " in such abundance that they could no longer deceive any one but himself. The river overflowed its banks. It was a deluge of loose, verbose poetry. Lamartine's fundamental inspiration proceeds from a rather vague, though elevated and generous, idealism. It is much less a deliberate conception than an instinctive moral condition. In his youth, materialism inspired him with " an invincible hor- ror," and always remained antipathetic to him. A singer of the ideal, in love as in religion, in politics as in love, he celebrates it in a thoroughly ideal- ized language. This spontaneous idealism is united with an insuperable need of hoping and believing. The poet has, indeed, moments of doubt, and some- times of revolt. The cries of despair uttered in his first Meditations prolong their echo through his Harmonies. Even when he casts a calmer glance over the universe and mankind, his faith is never assured against all vacillation. The fatality of his- torical laws and the impassibility of nature still dis- concert and trouble his spirit. However, his usual mood is one of confident serenity and demonstrative gratitude, escaping in hymns and orisons. On a certain night he rises and lights his lamp to write his Desespoir, — "a sighing, or rather a moaning, of his soul." This is, of course, but a paroxysm ; for on the morrow he composes his Pi'ovidence a riiomme. Though "plunged in the night of the heart" while producing his Immortalite, "grief and doubt can never entirely subdue an elasticity always ready to react and lift up hope." In this very poem he Romantic Lyricism. i6i sums up his entire philosophy in these words of un- conquerable faith : " I love, therefore must I hope ! " In one of those moments " when life becomes dark- ened by the passing of a cloud," he addresses le Passe to one of his friends ; but we learn from his own avowal that he is not so discouraged with life as these lines might seem to indicate ; that it is merely a fugitive, transient feeling, like the notes of his own lyre. " On that day," he continues, " I was on the earth ; the following day I was in heaven." Lamar- tine is naturally " in heaven " when nothing occurs to alter his moral habit. " To adore," he says, " is to live ; " adding, " I do not truly believe that man was created for anything else." The refinement of his education, fortune's favors, life's smiles, all conspired to further the poet's native optimism. While a child he was ignorant of all " bitterness of heart, con- straint of mind, or severity in the faces of those about him." His mother, a pupil of Rousseau and Bernardin, surrounded him with an infinitely tender and fostering love, sparing him all coercion, and requiring him only to be " true and good." His early manhood was not less fondly cherished. He had neither hard lessons nor bitter experiences. There was no need for discipline, and consequently not its anxiety. From the indulgence of his mother he passed to that of the world. He was a great poet almost without knowing it, and the enthusiastic ap- plause that greeted his first verses carried to his ear the rumor of a glory bought by no effort. But one fairy was missing at his cradle, — the one that ap- pears last in fairy tales, and who, in revenge for not 1 62 Literary Movement in France, having been invited, sows obstacles through a Hfe already disposed in favor of glory and happiness. All Lamartine's faults result from having been too happy. The poet relates that when quite a child he amused himself with his sisters in reviving the music of the ^olian harp. He bent a willow branch into a half circle, attached the ends by a thread, then tied hairs of unequal length across the arc's two sides. This produced musical sounds when exposed to the summer winds. They called it the " angel's music." Lamartine's poetry can justly be compared to its harmonies. The different sentiments which succeed each other in his soul yield their own melodious accents, for the only true music is the exhalation of passion. The poet's sensibility, as well as his thought, lacks depth. It vibrates and quivers at the slightest contact, being but a sonorous surface. His emotion is exhaled without having penetrated to the depths ; it but touches the heart and rebounds. This prompt, though somewhat shallow, sensibil- ity clearly explains Lamartine's incurable "sub- jectivity." How many times has he told us, in speaking of his writings, " They are not of ink, but written tears;" or, "These lines have fallen from my pen like a drop of evening dew ; " or, again, " Here is a meditation that issued with tears from a man's heart." Lamartine's poetry only expresses quite individual sentiments. While the greatest of our writers of elegies, he is also limited to that form. He cannot rise out of himself. He " knows but Romantic Lyricism. 163 his own soul." To him everything beyond personal impressions seems vaguely remote. He loves nature, and excels in expressing the emotions she arouses in him, but he is powerless to render her phases ; he does not see them. Even when he re- calls the places most familiar to him, his pictures fairly' bristle with inaccuracies. The figures he sketches are ideal and vapory, and the settings in which he places them have neither relief nor con- sistency. He does not accentuate their lineaments ; he stumps them in with gentle caresses. He is at ease only beyond all limitations. Revery is his favorite mental state. What is vague, general, and unbounded in the soul, in nature, and in humanity, is his domain. Nor is his religion confined by pre- cise dogmas ; it is but a sort of harmony between his heart and creation. Lamartine's poetry consists in sudden and almost involuntary effusions. " What we seek," he says, " is not found." He does not seek ; he abandons him- self to the current of his inspiration, knowing no hesitation, making no erasures. If he returns to what he has written, it is not to correct, but to re- write. His best productions, as he himself says, are veritable improvisations in verse. He ends by allowing himself to drift at will, finally offering the public what Sainte-Beuve calls " brouillons." The improviser is also an amateur ; indeed, this is the name he has given himself. " Poetry," he says, " was an accident, a lucky adventure, a happy chance in my life." He holds himself apart from all schools and literary quarrels. It matters little 164 Literary Move7ne7it in Fraiice. where he writes his verses, whether in the forest, while boating or riding. He affects indifference for poetic fame, places little value upon his own talent, and scorns everything relating to the poet's profes- sion. But in poetry the trade is called art, and it is not good that the poet should treat it with indiffer- ence. When Lamartine asserts that true art con- sists in being moved, he confounds two very different things. The true artist is rather he who, control- ling his emotions, is able to express them in perfect form. This is just what this admirable genius lacks. He does not know how to govern, correct, and, if necessary, restrain himself. " I do not like effort," he has said frankly ; and elsewhere, " You know how incapable I am of the painful labor of polishing and criticising." The defects which so often mar his finest poems can be thus explained. There are weak, commonplace epithets, incoherent images, platitudes, incongruities, even inaccuracies and in- exact rhymes in his works. We also note an un- certain rhythm that floats about his phrases without outlining their forms, a plan left to chance inspira- tion, a vague, flowing prolixity in which thought and sentiment are alike submerged. Lamartine possessed all the qualities that belong to human nature without the assistance of work. If the poetic law, or even its raison d'etre, were not absolute perfection of form, we should not hesitate to call him the greatest of all our poets. If the best verses were, as Joubert has said, those that are ex- haled like sounds or perfumes, no one ever wrote finer than the author of ks Meditations, Ics Hai^monies, and yocetvn. I Romantic Lyricism. 165 In proportion as Lamartine's originality is in- genuous, is that of Alfred de Vigny subtle and complicated. In 181 5 he composed la Dryade and Symetha, recalling Andre Chenier both in form and sentiment. It is the same rare, delicate art, — an ingenious mixture of Homeric naivete and the Alexandrian jeweller's art. There are remote archaisms, elegant periphrases, overlapping lines, and, in fact, all the curiosities of language and versification. We also find many studies or un- finished motifs, as remarkable for their skilful composition as the many examples left by Andre Chenier. Following these are Biblical scenes, the origin of which can doubtless be traced to the author of Suzanne. But here his inspiration varies. While Andre Chenier possessed a thoroughly pagan soul, Alfred de Vigny inclines to mysticism. He belongs to a generation that has witnessed many terrible events, a generation profoundly shaken by its moral crisis. Though he owed something to Andre Chenier at the beginning, Vigny almost immediately regains his own personality. With the exception of his first attempts, he resembles no one, and pro- ceeds only from himself. Nothing in all our poetry announced poems like Mdise, le Cor, Eloa, and many others. " The only merit that has never been dis- puted to these compositions is that they were the first of their kind in France, — works in which a philo- sophical thought is given an epic or dramatic form. Though the first in this new path, the author started out upon it while still very young." He is an initiator, indeed, and the most illustrious 1 66 '^Literary Move7ne7it in France. of our contemporaries have at times followed in his footsteps. We will not here consider Othello, which brought about a revolution in the theatre, as did Cinq-Mars in the historical novel. As a lyric poet, Vigny opened up many paths. A production such as la Neige made its date in our literary history. We find in it the first great conception of the middle ages, where his predecessors had found but a subject for affectation. Though it consists of but a few stanzas, it suffices to give the tone. In their grave, scholarly simplicity, la Femme adiiltere, la Fille de Jcphte, and le Deluge foreshadow the larger and more amply developed descriptive pictures which Victor Hugo subsequently called Legendes des Siecles. That reserved and at the same time pathetic nar- rative, Dolorida, may be considered as the first of those " contes d'Espagne " and " contes d'ltalie " in which Musset displayed, not a more vigorous, but a more expansive and clamorous passion. Finally we have Eloa, that model of grace and sentiment, which supplied Lamartine with the idea of his Chute dun ange, so little worthy of being compared to it. Like Lamartine, Vigny is an idealist. With Vigny, however, idealism is curiously combined with a natural inclination to discontent, moral restlessness, and a haughty, aspersive disposition, — "a sort of ironical bitterness," giving rise to the expression that his "alabaster was sullied." Even at the outset there was something: ultra- worldly, almost seraphic, about him. Representing him as a sort of archansrel who touches our lower Romantic Lyricism. 167 world as little as possible, Alexandre Dumas said : " None of us have ever surprised him at table." " O Muse," cried Alfred de Vigny, " thou hast no form ; thou art a beautiful soul, a goddess ! " The heart's deceptions, vanity's stings, and the sufferings of a strangely susceptible nature never entirely destroyed his cult for pure mind. One of his latest compositions, la Bouteille a la mer^ is a glorification of the ideal, and even in his last work can the noble poet boast of having always maintained it upon the heights. Though he remained faithful to his intel- lectual religion to the end, Vigny soon lost the con- fidence and enthusiasm of his early years. He was deceived in love : " O mysterious resemblance of words ! " he cried. " Yes, love, thou art a passion, but that of a martyr, that of the Christ." In his Samson he launches against woman maledictions vibrating with wrath. Although in politics first the devout servitor of royalty, the chevalier of divine right, the illusions of his first faith were soon dispelled, and no new trust came to take its place in his disenchanted heart. He coldly observed Charles X.'s fall, from his isolation watched the monarchy of July pass away, looked askance at the Republic, and finally sought refuge in scornful indifference. As a thinker, he believed in the future of society ; but by a strange contradiction, which, among others, Sainte-Beuve notes, he feels an instinctive repug- nance for the practical instruments of civilization. This apostle of progress ends in a diatribe against science, against " the strait and melancholy path " which its " merchant " locomotives trace upon the 1 68 Literary Movement in France. earth. One of his last poems is inspired by the most implacable fatalism. The yoke of " Destinies " has throughout all time and will forever weigh upon human kind ; our eternal motto being, as he says, " It is written." Art is the only principle of action that remains to him. He becomes completely absorbed in himself. Separating *' poetical from political life," he em- ploys all his force of will to turn his eyes away from the too facile enterprises of active life. He com- pares himself to the swallow that rests but for a moment upon the earth. " I believe," he says, " in the eternal combat of our inner life, which invokes and fecundates, against exterior life, which exhausts and repulses." He reduces the varieties of the intellectual family to two different races. One is agile, flexible, always young and active, apt in the things of life, the improvisator or man of letters, for whom the poet has nothing but disdain. The other is introverted, forgetful of the epoch in which he lives and the men who surround him, dreaming only of the future, and constrained to work by the desire of perfection. Unfitted for the prac- tical part of existence, he becomes exalted by revery and ecstasy, and attempts a sublime flight towards unknown worlds. This is the thinker, the artist, the poet, — Alfred de Vigny as described by himself. His solitude is " sanctified." But who will console him } Will it, perhaps, be Genius ? Alas ! Genius is a crown of thorns. Moses the elect, but the victim of God, sighs for earth's sleep. The poet Romantic Lyricism. 169 turns to Glory, and demands that it make his name eternal. Glory responds : — " Tremble, si je t'immortalise ; J'immortalise le Malheur." Universal pessimism ! Two words will never cease to express our destiny of pain and doubt, — wherefore and alas ! Alfred de Vigny lays the blame upon Nature, Man, and God. What of Na- ture.'* It awaits thee, O poet; enter beneath the shepherd's roof. The poet replies : " I know it too well not to fear it. Leave me never alone with it. Nature hears neither our moans nor our sighs. She is called mother ; she is but a tomb." What of Man? Yes, doubtless, the poet loves the grandeur of human sufferings ; he would give out all his treasures of tenderness and devotion. But how does society treat him ? He sees Tasso with no candle by which to write, Milton selling his Paradise Lost for ten pounds, Camoens receiving alms from the slave who begs for him. Gilbert died in a hospital ; Chatterton committed suicide ; Andre Chenier mounted upon the scaffold. To die is nothing; but one dies without having been under- stood. Poetry is written in seclusion ; it will be read walking, driving, or at the cafe. The poet's sensibility grows exasperated; he shudders at the world's contempt, suffering in proportion as it is delicate. God remains to him. What ! the God intoxicated by the fumes of blood, who delivers up a daughter to Jephthah's axe, who makes the just and the unjust perish together in the deluge ? How 170 Litc7'ary Movement in France. many innocent victims raise their voices against this God ! Jesus, sad unto death, calls to his Father in the Garden of Olives ; but Heaven is deaf, and humanity remains without light or guide. Since God does not manifest himself, " Le juste opposera le dedain k I'absence Et ne repondra plus que par un froid silence Au silence e'ternel de la Divinite." A peaceful despair ; herein lies wisdom. The wounded wolf lies down licking his blood, and ex- pires without a cry. Sublime animals, would that man had the courage to imitate you ! Silence alone is great ; all else is weakness. The solitary, introspective poet, Vigny, never gives himself up to the inspiration of the moment. He writes only when impressions are remote. An emotion which is troubled and impetuous at its source he first allows to calm and clear itself. He employs evasions, restrains his lyrical impulse, and encloses it in an epic or dramatic setting. Does he, perchance, seek to express the bitterness of genius ? He does not place himself, nor even an idealized figure of himself, before us, but rather Moses be- seeching the Eternal God for pardon. Does he wish to reproach God for his injustice towards man- kind .'' He transports us to Mount Ararat, and shows us Emmanuel and Sarah being ingulfed by the deluge. Is it his purpose to exorcise all cow- ardly complaints ? He pictures the wolf's mute death. Perhaps there is some coldness in this self- effacement, yet it frees poetry from vulgarities, raises Romantic Lyricism. 171 it to the height of the ideal, and stamps it with its own serenity and immaculate purity. Each becomes the poet of his own genius. If Vigny can restrain his inspiration, it is because it comes to him in little draughts. He is short of breath. Hence the many unfinished attempts he has left. A suspension of inspiration often inter- rupted his labor, and he never resumed it. He remarks : " I now do what I have always sought to do : I trace outlines which are my great delight, and in the midst of which I set rare pictures." He does not hesitate to divide his poems into suc- cessive scenes. Even in those which form a com- plete whole, we observe sutures and amendments. Their com_position is fragmentary, sometimes cur- tailed. There are parts which were composed in advance, or at least separately. It is an admirable mosaic of stones, filed and polished at leisure. In this manner are his faults of sequence and procedure to be explained ; even Eloa has interruptions and incoherences. The numerous obscurities which arrest and confuse the mind are also to be thus accounted for ; and, indeed, there are very few of his works which proceed regularly from beginning to end, the meaning of which is always clear and easily grasped. To obscurities of detail may be added those of gen- eral thought. Why is le Somnainbule placed in his Homeric Book ? What significance has les Amants de Montmorency ? Do le Masque de Fer and la Flute impart clear ideas ? Without its epigraph would not le Deluge leave us in uncertainty ? This defect is the 172 Literary Movement in France. result of his process of composition. The idea has remained so long in the poet's mind, and has been turned and re-turned in so many ways, that it in time comes to lose its frankness and primitive simplicity. Moreover, Alfred de Vigny is not ad- verse to obscurity ; he believes that what is self- evident risks being commonplace, and holds the ordinary in absolute horror. His refinement inclines him to subtlety, and he dislikes the manifest only to fall very often into the artificial and fastidious. Alfred de Vigny the thinker has been praised at the expense of the artist. He found pleasure in certain philosophical and political pretensions. We imagine to whom he alludes when he speaks of " those poets who prefer above all things to treat social questions as well as spiritual and psychological doctrines." If, at the outset, he remains apart from the theatre, it is because he finds the art of the stage " too limited for philosophical developments." When he ends by writing a drama, it is only " in order to make his ideas known." By a slow process of incu- bation he has turned many things over in his mind, and trusts to be able to condense them all into several verses. " If he dared," said Sainte-Beuve, " he would write Poeme epique over a sonnet." Vigny must, however, be credited with a lofty, meditative mind. He was certainly one of the most original of the Romantic reformers. His social theses are not with- out import. Even in his poems he is engrossed by the gravest questions that touch upon man's origin and destiny. Although he merits being called a thinker, the artist seems quite superior to the phi- Romantic Lyricism. 173 losopher. Even while expressing philosophical am- bitions, he declares himself " preoccupied with both the scientific details of elocution and the forms of purest outline." In fact, is not this what prevails in Alfred de Vigny ? How many of his compositions are really only art studies ! We not only refer to his fragments and rough draughts, but to his unfin- ished pictures, such as la Fille deyephte, or la Femme adulCere. Indeed, some of his productions express quite ordinary ideas, to which the poet has given a setting quite out of proportion to his subject. How- ever poetical may have been the first inspiration of Eloa, its execution seems much more choice than its matter. Alfred de Vigny possesses a vigorous, original mind ; but he is first of all an artist, and the most refined of all those produced by the generation of 1820. His modest grace and chaste exaltation give him a place apart from all contemporary poets. Among the many rich and brilliant jewels contained in the Romantic casket, Vigny's poetry gleams like a pearl, — perhaps a little cold in its purity, but divinely rare and exquisite. As Sainte-Beuve says, Lamartine's earliest at- tempt, les Meditations, is, perhaps, his only original effort. Although Alfred de Vigny has produced barely forty works, those in which both inspiration and exterior form seem to be in harmony can be summed up in a dozen compositions. In Victor Hugo, however, we have the boldest, most fertile, and most versatile poet of our age. The " sublime child " makes his debut when " three lustres he had 174 Literary Movement in France. scarcely seen pass," and from fifteen until extreme old age his genius does not cease to charm, to arouse, and to dazzle the century. All forms of art are re- newed by him, and when he is not the guide of contemporary generations he becomes its puissant and sonorous echo. His lyrical career is divided into two parts. The first begins with his Odes and ends with les Rayons et les Ombres. Here he already gives evidence of a variety in inspiration and construction, which, under all the many aspects he assumes, is always consistent vj'ith. a vigorous and well-defined originality. Some- times, unfolding himself, he displays in all its splen- dor the wealth of an imagination in which the universe is mirrored ; sometimes, turning inward, he draws from more secret sources songs of grave, penetrating feeling. The poet's original Classicism is evident in his Odes. Lamartine began by " meditations," a name indicating a leaning towards no particular literary style; Victor Hugo ascribes his first attempts to a form defined by all poetics. The further he proceeds, the less importance does he attach to traditional classifications. He, however, always retains what Lamartine never possessed, a rigorous, systematic mind, and a full consciousness of his talents, seeing clearly not only the contour of material objects, but also the settings in which he encloses ideas or sentiments. Both in form and lyrical movement, as well as in respect to title, his Odes belong to the traditions of the eighteenth century. There are periphrases, Romantic Lyricism. 175 noble expressions, and a great display of showy, sometimes ordinary, images. Notwithstanding the poet's criticism of the French ode, he abuses apos- trophes, exclamations, prosopopoeia, and, in fact, all the cold, vehement figures that " bewilder instead of move." This collection, on the whole, and especially as regards its political odes, is somewhat stiff and labored. It is beautiful rhetoric, but rather rigid and constrained. Although not without the faults of pseudo-Classicism, they possess in other respects the truly Classical qualities of precision of design, and vigor and sureness of touch. Many of them, particu- larly the later ones, announce a new manner, both in the choice of subjects and in a freer, easier art. His Ballades are " efforts in a fanciful style," to which he has brought " more of his imagination," just as he has introduced " more of his soul " into his Odes. Here the poet's imagination haunts a middle ages of fantasies, where flourish the graces of a rather vapid mythology. It flits from vault to vault, balances itself along with sylphs in periwinkle cups, and naively allows itself to be frighted by the owls of old manors. The future author of Notre-Dame plays with this roguish, superficial middle ages ; he ro- mances about it, and becomes its troubadour. How- ever, his Ballades already betray a taste for color, setting, and picturesque effect, which in a future work was not to be marred by a sentimental languor quite foreign to his healthy, vigorous nature. In the fifteenth, a peri takes the place of the Gothic fairy : this peri now opens to the poet the richer horizons of the Orient. 176 Literary Movement in France. The Orient as described by Victor Hugo is, per- haps, no more just than his Occidental middle ages. The figures with which he peoples it very soon be- come commonplace, and, in fact, never were other than motifs for decoration. To those who demanded what suggested these Orientates, he replied that the idea came to him while watching the setting sun. They must be taken for what they are ; we must ad- mire their magnificence of form, without accusing the poet of having given us little food for thought, or having failed to speak to our hearts. In them he addresses but our senses. His Orientates resemble those sunsets which first brought the idea to him : they are a perpetual illumination, a splendid fete for the imagination. They further denote a decided rupture with the vague, abstract style of the pseudo- Classic school. Victor Hugo is the first of all our poets who possesses the faculty of seeing things in broad daylight and rendering them in all the lumi- nous brilliancy of their coloring. The greater part of these poems were nothing more than exercises in style and versification ; yet they, none the less, open a new field to poetry, and were a great revelation of plastic methods, until then an unsuspected possibility. Barely three years separate his Feuilles (Tautomne from his Orientates, yet their inspiration seems to be that of another poet. Having terminated his appren- ticeship, Victor Hugo is now entire master of his instrument ; he handles rhythm and figures with ease. Art has now no further secrets for him. To the language modelled and colored in the description of concrete things, he can at last fearlessly confide Romantic Lyricism. 177 the expression of thoughts and feelings ; it has gained sufficient eclat and relief to render the moral world with as much force and vivacity as the physical world. After having cast about for subjects, he turns within himself, drawing deeper, though less brilliant, poetry from his own heart and domestic life. Following the transplendent symphony of his Orientates, these are sweet, severe melodies, which leave their echo in the heart. His former vocalizations are succeeded by notes of reflective communion. In his later odes the poet had already given us the prelude to this new lyrical departure ; but they had lacked both depth of feeling and fulness of expression, if not sincerity. Here his lyre yields richer harmonies, and maturity has imparted greater force to his thought, as well as a higher tone to his emotions. Under different titles the three following volumes continue in the grave, meditative spirit of the pre- ceding work. Their author, however, here and there adds political poems, the tone of which had been announced in the last selection of his Feuilles d'au- tomne. He affixes what he calls the brass chord to his lyre. In fact, many of his former odes evince an interest in public events; but those which so coldly celebrate the birth or death of kings have nothing in common with the ample, refreshing poetry, rich in reality and experience, now produced by an always more reflective reason and a sensibility ever drawing deeper from inward sources. His heart falls naturally into unison with his age. In his Chants du crepuscule, the uncertainty within corresponds to the " obscurity without." From this dubious atmosphere issue 1/8 Literaiy Movement in Fj'ance. sometimes cries of despair, sometimes songs of love; but his cries are "often faltering" and his songs " broken by plaints." The soul and society are but " dimly lighted ; " and as regards political theories, religious opinions, personal existence, there is every- where the same crepuscule. Here night struggles with day, — that is, doubt with dogma, grief with joy, an on-coming universal darkness with a clamor- ous faith in the possible expansion of humanity. His Voix intcrictircs are the secret echo from the fireside, the fields, and the public streets. In these, man, nature, and events speak by turns, and this threefold message comprehends a serious, invigorating philos- ophy. Whether the poet meditates upon desert mountains, in the tumult of the streets, or by the dreamy quiet of the fireside, they all breathe a devout resignation, in sympathy with manly tenderness and brave, generous sympathies. As he proceeds, " his heaven becomes bluer and his peace deeper." The last message of les Rayons et les Ombres bespeaks that " kindly, universal good will " united to energy of action, which pardons evil without ceasing to combat it. As his mind rises and grows serene, he also finds the notes of a more in- tense, more reflective emotion. The picturesque opens a broader field to revery and imagination. Nature not only furnishes him with colors, but he even penetrates into her widely diffused soul. He also teaches us to see what is invisible in things be- yond their exterior forms. If his sentiments become sensations, it is also true that his sensations, in their turn, arouse in him a world of sentiments. Romantic Lyricum. 179 Differing from Lamartine, who sings " as man breathes," Victor Hugo is the most studied of our poets, the one whose talent is most supplemented by labor and energy. Unlike Alfred de Vigny, the first " neuropath " of the century, a refined, effemi- nate nature of abnormal impressionability, he pos- sesses a moral and physical equilibrium, a vigorous temperament, and a self-possession which, with his capacity for work, are his characteristic qualities. For Victor Hugo poetry is not a sudden, uncon- scious effusion, but an exercise of sustained applica- tion. What others consider but play he constitutes his profession. Some become poets through caprice, during idle moments, and while waiting for better things ; he has devoted his entire life to art. From the first he refers to his " doctrines," his " literary principles." He loves to discuss questions of trade, demanding for the artist the " right to explain what he does." He is the leader of a school, and gathers a " Cenacle " of disciples about him. " I would have been a soldier," he said, " had I not been a poet." He conducts a decisive campaign against Classic traditions, and the standard which he raises becomes that of the Romantic movement. Not only is he absorbed in the great problems of literary philosophy, but he descends to their most minute details, wish- ing to learn all methods and to initiate himself into all the secrets of handicraft. As a writer he reno- vates language, and as a versifier he restores rhyme and increases the means of rhythmical expression. This great poet is a craftsman in metre and style ; with his own hands has he forged the instrument of i8o Literary Movement in France. modern poetry. From the first his revolutionary spirit exposed him to violent attacks. His positive, inflexible mind never allowed him to be influenced. He pursued the career he had traced out, ignoring his enemies, nor even wishing to know them, alike scornful of insults and indifferent to criticism. Sure of his power, he laid out in his youth a vast program for fame. At fifteen he wrote in one of his class note books, " I will be Chateaubriand or nothing;" and if he was able to realize his dream, it was because he had the will to do it. He is the least passive, the most perseveringly sedulous, of all the poets of the Romantic generation. Even his faults are system- atical. Others abandon themselves to the caprices of inspiration ; he is sufficiently master of himself to direct and 2:overn his. " I do not leave to chance what we like to call inspiration," he says. He never yields to the emotion of the moment, and even in the works w^iere we find most of his heart, we feel that the poet's will has intervened between the impression and its expression. He does all he washes, because he wills to do all he does. He can readily break away from self. He fecun- dates the world within him — that world of ideas and feelings — by exchanging it for the visible world. Into poetry enters his soul, and with it the whole universe, in the centre of which it stands like a reverberant echo. For him everything in art pos- sesses the right of citizenship ; there are neither good nor bad subjects, only good and bad poets. Man, nature, and history, all belong to the artist, not only in a vague, general sense, but in all their Romantic Lyricism. i8i expressive details, in their living physiognomy. He has the instinct of the " precise, meridional form," but he also knows how to render the vague half- lights of thought. He can sound the trumpet blasts of metaphors and antitheses, but he can also attune murmurs of gentle sweetness. We find so winning a charm in some of his works that Lamar- tine himself might have envied them. His great symphonic pieces possess a breadth and incompara- ble complexity of harmony, and his melodies, a simplicity, delightfully touching. This so rich painter of the exterior world is also the most profound and forcible interpreter of moral life. The artist never allows himself to be discon- certed, and although the "man may be irritated," the poet knows how to retain his composure. But there are days of trouble, sorrow, and bitterness, even for Olympio, and then his inspirations are so much the more poignant that more meditation enters into them. While the sensibility of some writers has been more prompt, more spontaneous, his is less fleeting, more intense, more penetrating. It has the strength to support emotion, and sufficient substance to nour- ish it. There are refinements and subtleties of sentiment that suppose a lack of equilibrium. We find nothing of this in Victor Hugo. For him even love pos- sesses a healthy, robust tranquillity. We must not look for the inebriating languor of a Lamartine, nor the delirious passion of a Musset. He has cele- brated but one woman, his wife. Even before mar- riage his love assumed something of a conjugal i82 Literary Movement in France. character, and inspired epithalamii both grave and pious. There are neither complaints nor trans- ports, but a brave, quiet tenderness, having more fervor than fire, less vivacity than depth. Moreover, Victor Hugo's conception of poetry was too high to voice the ravings of passion. What- ever he writes, his constant purpose is to instruct and to moralize. Though a marvellous virtuoso, he has declared himself the enemy of " art for art's sake." He wrote but "one useless book of pure poetry ; " yet his Orientales sounded the reveille and deliverance of Greece. He considers the thea- tre a " chair," a " tribune," and the moral import of his lyrics concerns him no less than that of his dramas. In these also " he feels himself responsi- ble ; " he has " souls in his charge." In the first preface to his Odes, he expresses the conviction " that, to whatever sphere his mind turns, every writer should consider it his first object to be use- ful." He tells us that he attempted "to solemnize some of the principal memories of our epoch, hop- ing that they might prove lessons for future socie- ties." He compares the elect of genius to the sentinels left by the Lord on the towers of Jerusa- lem. He despises " the useless singer." For him the result of art is " the sweetening and softening of mind and manners," — in a word, " civilization itself." He professes to lead up to this by all the paths open to thought, through the theatre as w^ell as through books, through the novel as well as through the drama, through history as well as through poetry. He sees in the poet the " sower," Romantic Lyricism. 183 the " pastor of souls," a beacon light pointing out the path to mankind. If the vicissitudes of his religious and political thought do not always agree with such pretensions, Victor Hugo's work, nevertheless, incarnates the restless conscience of the age. Though the torch which he " leads before the people " often wavers in his hand, he at least bears its light towards the highest questions that have agitated our age. " Every poet," he wrote, " should bear the sum of the ideas of his time." 184 Literary Movement in France. CHAPTER IV. ROMANTIC LYRICISM. II. LAMARTINE never united himself with any school; Alfred de Vigny early isolated him- self in his ivory tower and withdrew from the world ; while Victor Hugo, whether by reason of his puissant genius, militant activity, or what was systematic in his views and in the character of his mind, exercised an ever more decisive influence over contemporary poetry. He is the recognized chief of two succes- sive " Cenacles." The first had made but a timid effort to effect a transition from Classic taste to newer aspirations, and none of its now almost for- gotten members present distinct figures. To the second belong Sainte-Beuve, Alfred de Musset, and, after 1830, Theophile Gautier, the leader of the "bearded poets and full-maned artists." From the first volume published by Sainte-Beuve emanates an arid sadness in no respect akin to either Lamartine's winning melancholy or Vigny's noble pessimism, or yet Victor Hugo's impressive gravity. It is a barren disenchantment, a disgust that cor- rupts everything it touches, something sickly and Romantic Lyricism. 185 prematurely withered. Like Senancour's hero, whose epigraph he has borrowed, Joseph Delorme early found himself following out a long series of trials and deceptions. In these he lived and aged before his time. His misfortune was never to have been young. A blighting analysis early crippled every fertile inspiration in this disciple of the " physi- ologists." Others are lifted up by an eagle ; he is devoured by a vulture. His Muse is neither a radi- ant odalisk, a scarlet peri, nor a fairy with blue-and- white wings; but there, piteous and shabby, she stands beneath a dead tree in the background, and not far from a rock where a heath-bush weeps ; she sings while washing a worn garment, but her song is broken by a harrowing cough. He knows only the mournful aspects of nature ; at night-fall he paces the length of dark walls or yawning hedges, show- ing here and there glimpses of the dirty green of kitchen-gardens ; farther on there are dusty by-ways, stunted trees, and stony fallows, — a landscape ex- pressly made for a dull, gray ennui. He is incapa- ble of love ; he lacks the glow of youth, faith in the ideal, candor of sentiment. The dupe of his own desire, he mistakes it for love ; and when pleasure is exhausted, how far off is love before it revives ! Even sensual solaces are not for him. He dreams and forgets to enjoy the present. Night's delights are dispelled by the thought of the nauseous dis- gust and craven dejection in store for the morrow. He gathers and lifts the golden fruit to his lips ; he bites into dust and decay. Widowed of all hope and consolation alike, his soul lies down to rest 1 86 Literary Moveme7tt in France. wrapped in melancholy as in a shroud. He yearns for suicide. Here is a long, narrow valley, through which runs a monotonous brook ; he reclines on its bank to gaze and dream, and when he " feels his spirits at best," descends and quietly drowns him- self, — not from a sudden, overwhelming grief, but without clamor or commotion, merely because life is bitter and death will cure him of life. However, Joseph Delorme survived. A year after he had courted suicide, the desolate poet published a volume of Coiisolations. He had found about him good, strong spirits to reconcile him with God and make him share their belief in the ideal and in an eternity. Once the crisis passed, his first feeling is one of grateful content ; and it is this sentiment that dictates his new verses. Immortal thought shoots like a will-o'-the-wisp from the mire in which he has dragged his senses. He masters the ardor of his temperament, and the asceticism he forces upon a gross sensuality turns his subtle mind towards refinements of thought and religious emo- tion. Philosophical religion does not suffice ; it is too bare and cold for him. Morbid reveries have developed a mysticism of agitating perfumes which, if his senses relapse, will but stimulate his native voluptuousness. Les Pensees d'aout are the "product, but more often the pastime, of the slow days of mid-life." Observing: what is most secret within himself, in default of their " hours " he offers us the super- fluities of those hours, the interval, — waiting, hope or recollection. His verse now breathes the Romantic Lyricism. 1S7 wisdom of an appeased maturity. There is some- thing cheerful in his returns to the past, and the reflection following them is grave without bitterness. He exposes less of himself in this volume than in all the others ; but, although he does not here bare the depths of his inner self, he at least reveals more of his true nature apart from crises, and in the habits of a life seemingly henceforth fixed. Through the different phases of his moral career, the poet's literary physiognomy always remained the same. His novelty consists in a mean, discreet, will- ingly humble manner. Arriving late when others had already occupied the " vast of the soul and the heavens," he sought for the ignored or despised corners in both. There is nothing dramatic in the misfortunes of Joseph Delorme ; his life is composed of cloudy, monotonous days, nor does he even aspire to adorn himself in his winding-sheet. His artist's ambition is to note keenly and accu- rately what is most refined and curiously shaded in the human heart. He expresses frankly and vividly intimate descriptive details to which his elders did not descend. From poetry he demands neither rich horizons nor broad perspectives. He prefers narrow paths veiled in shadow and winding by secret turns. His Consolations show " as marked a progress in poetry as in morals." The poet has, however, not deviated from his first path. He almost invariably starts out from private life. A domestic incident, a familiar conversation, the reading of a book, — these are the original themes of his inspiration. When he soars higher, it is only to "bring his 1 88 Literary Movement in France. course to its culmination." In his Pensces cfaoui he dreams of a new alliance between poetry and wisdom, aiming to introduce as much nobility as possible into the real. " Monsieur Jean " is a sort of bourgeois Jocelyn. As the verses of Joseph Delorme celebrate obscure misfortunes, so les Pen- sees d'aoict sing of humble fidelity, inglorious de- votion, hidden charities, and silent virtues. His style is well adapted to such subjects. He avoids everything that glitters, shuns eloquence through distaste for rhetoric, allows himself only the period, dislocates his rhythm, and rejects all indiscreet so- nority. He has created a loose, ingenious language, full of ambages and artifices resembling snares. It is a language eminently suited to render the impres- sions of his subtle, involved soul. He compares himself to an entrapped swallow unable to follow the flight of its companions to warmer skies, being therefore forced to endure a season of distress confined in an iron cage. Sainte-Beuve lacks breath, power of flight, and range of wing. If science renders fertile his poetic ideas, it is only by refining them. The vein does not broaden ; it crystallizes. His Muse is groping, insinuating, equivocal in sadness, and miserable even in joy. Having come about through force of art and will, his verses have neither been colored by the sun nor refreshed by the rain. The poet's miserly lyre scarcely sanctions the escape of restless, anxious songs without grace or freedom. They are frail notes which secret research and refining pro- cesses have prematurely enfeebled and despoiled. Romantic Lyricism. 189 He laboriously attempts to supplement his plastic impotence by multiplying the effect of de- tails, cunning shifts, and clever tricks in style and versification. No poet has ever given so much attention to questions of art. He unites with the Romanticists, not through sym.pathy in their con- ception of poetry or their spiritual and aristocratic leanings, but because the Jacobin, the plebeian medical student, shares their views upon the reform of language and versification. Joseph Delorme forgets his heart-rending despair to observe in his preface that this or that superannuated or vul- garly employed word has been restored through his efforts. However trifling, there is no detail without value in his eyes. It is an artful, insidious style. His verse, which inclines towards prose, is marked by its compact form, its always exact rhyme, its many secrets of ear and grammar, and by a turn of construction, an unexpected sound, or even by a letter, "quelque lettre pressee Par ou le vers pouss6 porte mieux la pensee." His sinuous and complicated soul cannot be inter- preted by ordinary language. To render all shades he must employ subtle ruses, — sometimes an ex- pression gently inclined towards its ancient signi- fication, sometimes a studied negligence or even a learned solecism. All the poet's skill cannot redeem such entangled diction from fatigue. He has never possessed what he himself calls " le le- ger de la Muse," — that emanation of grace and igo Literary Movement in France. sweetness which belongs to simpler hearts and less conscious geniuses. Sainte-Beuve's poetical productions are, in fact, but studies in criticism and analysis. He exercises that manner peculiar to himself in the most diverse tones. He seeks to fathom the secrets of his masters and predecessors, and attempts every- thing, if only to comprehend. He bends his efforts to the play of rhyme; he restores the sonnet, that invention of a whimsical god ; he writes a work in the mildly rejuvenated style of the sixteenth century; he acclimates the sentimental tenderness of the English school, " pilfering a rivulet from the dismal lakes of Cowper and Wordsworth." Cer- tain of his epistles in verse are veritable literary causeries in the style of his Liuidis, and are addressed to his brother critics, Patin and Ville- main. In his first volume he reveals his taste for books, for anas of anonymous birth, and informs us how he notes their virtues in passing. Joseph Delorme interests himself in Malherbe's sojourn at Carpentras, in the manner in which Menage played his role before Madame de Sevigne. One of his greatest pleasures is to find on the quais a Ronsard, a Petronius, or an A Kempis. He would even leave the virgin of the swan-like throat at a ball to talk of old books with Nodier. After all, if Sainte-Beuve renovated criticism, it is because he introduced into it the study of mo- rality. And is not this what gives his poetry its peculiar character? His true style is the "ana- lytical elegy." No observer of the human soul has Romantic Lyricism. 191 penetrated deeper into the mysteries of the ego. His Mareze, Monsieur Jean, Duodun, are not, perhaps, living characters, but they are admirable anatomical studies. He has reached the "precision and par- ticularity that make the beings of our thought be- come entirely ours and recognizable by all." His psychological curiosity observes the slightest quiv- ering of the heart, surprises the most intimate of secrets, notes the most fugitive of emotions, and distinguishes the most imperceptible of shades. Others greater or more richly endowed than he restored poetry to spontaneity and primitive can- dor ; with him it is the production of an aged, complex, subtle civilization, whose restless refine- ments and languid affectations have been expressed by his oblique style. In this he is the first ancestor of those who, fifty years later, will come to call themselves "Decadents." "I am considered but a critic," he said towards the close of his career ; ''but I did not abandon poetry without having left there my sting." If Sainte-Beuve was never young, Alfred de Musset was above all else the poet of youth. Smiling upon life, the elect of genius, the betrothed of love, he appears with a candid, haughty eye, the bloom of spring on his cheek, a song on his lips. What gayety, what youthful freshness ! What turbulent ardor in pleasure and dissipation! Back with "decrepit age"! Give room to eager, impetuous, triumphant adolescence ! Make way for the poet of eighteen whose heart beats at the 192 Literary Movement in France, first summons, whose forehead is gilded by the first rays of glory ! His heart opens; he suffers; he sings of his pain. The volatile ballads of the Cherubim are followed by Don Juan's impassioned accents. Every wave lures him, even the most impure, where he hopes to find a remote reflection of his adored ideal. And when love no longer blossoms on a prematurely withered stalk, he feels that all the charm of life has vanished with the spring, that genius itself cannot survive the incapacity to love. Eleven years after the petulant fervors and cavalier graces of his debut, when his years had scarcely sounded thirty, he sits down at his desk with his head in his hands to dream of a past of tarnished memories, of a future that favors no hope. For others, thirty is the age of vig- orous, productive maturity ; for Cherubim, it is the period of decline and lassitude. After several always more rare efforts to reform, follows a precocious old age, both idle and sterile, with no work assigned, no duty to accomplish. All is finished ; he resigns himself to existence, lacking interest in life, rather detesting it. He assists in his own ruin, further- ing it by recourse to fictitious intoxications. He seeks the waters of Jouvence even in the muddy pools of the gutters, always sinking lower into the depths of a mournful silence. With youth, the poet of youth had lost all ; when he died to love, he was also dead to poetry. Alfred de Musset abandoned his life to the hazards of fancy, and his genius to the caprices of inspiration. Later the poet bore the penance of Romantic Lyricism. 193 a natural inconstancy, indolence, and aversion to all discipline, already foreshadowed by an idle, desultory youth. Nervous and whimsical as a child, he continues to allow himself to drift without the power to restrain himself. His youth is scattered to all winds, and his soul's treasures are squandered. He makes his entire life consist in the delirium of a morbid, exalted passion, which, although it at first feeds his genius, is not long in consuming it. He was at times a great poet, but he was not an accomplished artist. His debut was made under the auspices and in the fellowship of the "Cenacle-" But the example of his elders — scrupulous arti- sans in composition — did not prevent him from giving free rein almost at once, and seeking even in negligence an originality of impure alloy. If, like Mardoche, he rhymes idee with fackee, it is " in order to distinguish himself from that rhyming school which considers pure form only." But such weak- nesses are, after all, quite excusable ; they may now and then pass for an added charm in the poet who has never been captivated by the descriptive school and who demands all his inspirations from sentiment. He shook off not only the yoke of rhyme ; with language he also took liberties, not to be atoned for by all the native seduction of a happy, facile genius. In his best works there are obscurities, inapt expressions, and sometimes solecisms. He composes almost " without thinking about it." Now, the poet should have said that " only the work of time and meditation is truly fine, that there is no true genius without patience." We find T3 194 Literary Movement in France. many " truly beautiful " pages in Musset ; but if there are few of perfect execution, it is precisely because he lacked patience. His poetics can be summed up in one line : — "Ah ! frappe-toi le coeur, c'est la qu'est le genie." When his hand writes, " it is the dissolving of his heart." Poetry, as he conceives it, consists in listening to the voice of genius within the heart." To works "constructed by art," he opposes those "created by the heart." To him "art is senti- ment;" and he writes to his brother: " Emotion is necessary to the artist or poet; when I experi- ence a certain beating of the heart that I well know, I am sure that my verse is of the best quality." Of all our poets, he has brought the most pas- sionate fervor into poetry. He voices his emotion while it is still expanding, allowing it to gush forth in its eager violence, unreservedly surrender- ing it vibrating with ardent sincerity. Pain or joy, — everything seeks to escape from his breast, and that immediately. Others part with their most personal impressions when the moment arrives ; but, like the pelican whose anguish he has cele- brated, he delivers up his own entrails for food. He allows not only his tears to flow, but also the blood from his wound. Herein lies his greatness, and in this also consists his weakness. Far from mastering his emotion, he becomes its prey. The ardor of his feelings bears him along in spite of himself, and he rushes on Romanize Lyricism. 195 unrestrained, unhindered by a single false step. He does not compose his subjects ; he dashes into them with lowered head. He one day remarked : " In the midst of a scene or a fragment of poetry, it suddenly occurs to me to change routes, overthrow my first design, and turn against my chosen char- acter ; though I had started out for Madrid, I am on the way to Constantinople." There are jerks and bounds in his works ; he proceeds by exclama- tions, apostrophes, — that is, by successive jets of passion. Hence the breaks, so to speak, those hiatuses for which he has been condemned, — not the intentional incoherences of his conies, de- signedly without head or tail, but the " solutions of continuity " sometimes evident in his most sustained poems, and also the main weakness of his dramas. He has no inventive power. His characters are beings of transparent ideality, colored by the caprices of his fantasy, and his subjects the first love tales presented, though animated by an exquisite sensi- bility and containing here and there admirable impassioned couplets. Neither does he possess vigor of thought. He feels, aspires, dreams, but does not think. It is scarcely worth while to take note of the frivolous, impious persiflage of the Bohemian, which finds its worthy interpreter in Mardoche. But two or three times has he seriously considered the supreme question ; yet what a limited and superficial philosophy do we find in I'Espoir en Dieu ! Alfred de Musset's is a purely emotional nature. Everything has its source in the 196 Literary Movement in France. heart, even esprit when he makes no pretence to it, even imagination which never unfolds of itself; with him imagination takes the color of sentiment, just as esprit is its lively, piquant charm. The poet first made himself known by songs whose graceful impertinence formed a striking con- trast to the melancholy, somewhat solemn gravity of his elders. He amused himself with college pranks ; scandalized the " chemists of good taste ; " performed childish capers with a wanton, waggish iirace. Later he finds in Reofnier a master of picturesque language ; his Contes d' Espagne et d'ltalie unite to their meridional vehemence quite a Gallic vein of candor in description and ingen- uousness in familiarity. He delights in scenes of murder and debauch, and leaves a tavern only to wander way ward : in these pictures his incisive verse pushes energy to brutality. Sometimes, however, the braggart cynicism of this poet of twenty from time to time allows a fresh ballad, a pure, sweet couplet, something naive and limpid, a native can- dor, to reappear. His esprit is often marred by the affectations of an antiquated dandyism, but, when unconscious, sports and frolics with charming airiness. His poetry already possesses facile bril- liancy, natural justness in imagery, ease and flexi- bility in movement ; while awaiting passion, it has grace, freshness, fantasy, a clear, frank ring, a ray of malicious gayety. After his Contes ct Espagne et dlialie, the poet passes through a period of transition, during which he seems to hesitate and seek himself. The defini- Romantic Lyricism. 197 tive Musset is to be found in his Voeux steriles and Raphciel. Here he lays aside fantastic costumes, and renounces all mannerisms and contraband exoti- cism. Henceforth he bares his heart to us. For the first time the spring of tears opens : — " Des pleurs, le croirais-tu, Tandis que j'^crivais ont baign^ mon visage." In la Coupe et les Levres and Namouna he por- trays himself. The extravagant verbiage and in- tolerable fatuity of the twenty-five or thirty lines of the latter are redeemed by their ardent lyricism. We also find the author in Rolla, an absurd tale, whose poverty of substance, many puerile invec- tives, and breathless tirades are atoned for by an incomparable eloquence of heart. Alfred de Mus- set divined passion before it clutched his vitals, for he had already inhaled its fervors and deliriums. Drawn into the abyss, the timid child leaning over the water's edge looks into the hearts of his older friends, seeking to discover their limitless pains, and envying not only love's frenzies, but also its wounds and stings. He is like a horse foolishly continuing to advance, its flanks pricked by the spur points until they reek with foam and gore. Now the poet is caught in the flames by which he sought to enkindle himself. On his return from Italy he passes four whole months weeping in his room. These tears purify and consecrate his genius. But what matters it now whether his May and December Nights sing of the same passion ? With Alfred de Musset, as with most poets, sentiment 198 Literary Movement in France. tends to renew itself. Once touched by passion, he is condemned to love without cessation ; and, as long as it is lighted by a ray of the ideal, will it continue to produce immortal songs. In reality, in all of his Nights, and in all of his most passionate compo- sitions, inspiration, sharpened by each new passion, always issues from the same wound, — from that sacred wound inflicted by evil seraphs. The five years following his return from Italy are the most fertile of his career. His compositions of this period hereafter place him among the greatest. He brings to the elegy an intensity of sentiment and a depth of emotion to which are allied the grace and freshness of a youth which, although wounded, still clings to life. His Nights, his Ode a la Mali- bran, and his Letter to Lamartine are the highest expression of his lyrical genius. He has parted with irony and sarcasm, and, far from revolting against suffering, accepts, blesses, and celebrates its sacred mission. He has no other Muse than that angel of pain which lifts him in its arms to the heights of immortal hopes. For Alfred de Musset love was " the only good here below." *' Wherefore, indeed, call love a pas- time, and law an important matter! " he wrote while still at college. And in his Confession : " I did not dream that one could do otherwise than love." His entire work hangs upon the idea that passion is a holy thing, that those who experience it should consecrate even its most cruel torments. For it alone is life worth living. One of his heroes says, " What ! you do not love, and yet you talk of liv- Romantic Lyricism. 199 ing ! " Love is the sole good, and only in suffer- ing do we divine the secret of the happy. What is o[:enius ? But the need of lovintr. Love is Mus- set's only religion ; one may doubt everything but love. His Tableau cTEglise shows us Christ kneeling at the feet of Mary Magdalene on that ghastly night in the Garden of Olives. Alfred de Musset has certainly profoundly ex- perienced true passion, — that into which enters a sort of exaltation superior to the senses, as it were, a sacred fervor. But debauch early implanted its first nail in his breast. If love really represents the sole good in the world, the poet will drink intoxication from no matter what flagon, and the habit of libertinage will finally render him incapa- ble of all love. Alfred de Musset's work, indeed his entire life, is absorbed by this struggle between love and debauch. He cannot do without loving, and happiness can be found only in enjoyment. He relapses ceaselessly, and each time lower. He ends by submerging in degradation the vision he pursues and cannot grasp. And when it reappears before him, debauch has finally stifled all true sentiment. He is Frank : Belcolor, the Siren of the senses, kills his Deimamia, the angel of pure, chaste affec- tions. He is Lorenzaccio : vice, which had first been but a cloak, ends by clinging fast to his flesh. He is Octave : when happiness smiles from the eyes of the woman he loves, an ineradicable pollu- tion leaks into the heart of his happiness to corrupt it. " A debauche too late repentant," says the " Enfant du Siecle," " is like a leaking vessel, able 200 Literary Movement in France. neither to return to shore nor to continue its route. In vain do the winds drive it onward ; the ocean draws it unto itself, but to turn over and finally dis- appear." Having been born several years too late to be drifted with his elders by the movement of moral re- naissance which vivified and fertilized their inspira- tion, upon his entrance into the world he witnessed thequarryof 1830. He cried: "Everything in Europe is dead." His lofty beliefs and valiant conceptions were soon tarnished by a precocious scepticism, withering all human and divine pity. Does he love liberty } On the condition of being able to sleep in the midst of the tumult. Does he love his country .? Why not as well as Turkey or Persia 1 The Maid of Orleans he constitutes Mardoche's ancestor; a glass of white wine he makes to contain the Rhine. He should not be judged by capricious fancies like these, but rather let us examine his entire work. We find neither a ray of generous cordiality in his youth, nor any conception of reflective wisdom in his maturity. He never became impassioned for any noble cause, never disposed his life in view of any task. He has been the poet neither of nature, nor of the conscience, nor yet of humanity. What of his work then lives ? Love alone. Yet he did not sing its sweet affections and pure pleasures, but its fervors, deliriums, and tumultuous transports fol- lowed by mute exhaustion. What is most feverish, most exasperated in passion is his sole domain. This sceptical scoffer, who ridicules his native land, mocks libert3% and despises himself at twenty, has Romantic Lyricism. 201 really believed only in love ; and if he was a great poet, it is less on account of having reaped its rewards than from having suffered through it. Theophile Gautier made his debut several months later, and at the same age as Musset. He took part in the great campaign of Hernani, and no one among the new recruits of Romanticism dis- played more enthusiasm or exhibited more gaudy vests. He was one of the leaders of the " Jeune- France," so violent against the vulgarity and insipidity of bourgeois manners, which he himself was to portray with light, sympathetic irony. Once the great revolution accomplished, Romanticism reverted to positive questions of art and compo- sition. While Musset broke away from the school at the outset, Gautier, on the contrary, became more and more involved in it, finally seeing only what is purely formal in poetry. He was presented to Victor Hugo in 1829, and appeared under his protection. He always continued to render hom- age to his master, only consenting to become the familiar friend of the Princess Mathilde under the second Empire, on condition of remaining free to do so. His admiration for Victor Hugo was confined particularly to the artist, and les Orientales always remained his poetic gospel. In fact, he made a place for himself among his contemporaries only by improving upon his master's art, by contracting and enclosing it in a denser form. As an artist only is he original. His first vol- ume owes its inspiration to Victor Hugo and 202 Literary Afovemeni in France. Sainte-Beuve ; to the mediaeval and oriental side of the one, and to certain attempts of the other in the line of familiar elegy, not always preserved from insipidity by their youthful grace. Albertus is an extravagant " legend," in which the poet develops a commonplace morality through all sorts of strange transitions and painfully absurd digres- sions. Here his imitation of Musset is quite marked, and, though its technical form is more se- vere, there are the same affectations of " dandyism," with him, however, blended with Macabrian gri- maces. His Comedie de la mort is animated by deep, intense feeling, but its substance was fur- nished by Goethe, Jean-Paul, and Quinet; the Don Juan he presents strikingly resembles that of Namouna. Theophile Gautier is in fact him- self only when he is restricted to material, descriptive poetry. We must not look to him for great depth of philosophical insight. His entire philosophy con- sists in weird, puerile superstitions. He believes in dreams and sorcery, also to a certain extent in the devil, and in the same manner in God. Of all the Romantic poets, he has given the least thought to problems and systems. Victor Hugo some- times draws from pantheism curious but very effec- tive inspirations ; Gautier makes it the framework of a dainty madrigal. He sees only the exterior appearance of things. Nature, his special domain, feasts his eyes without troubling his brain, and supplies spectacles without proposing enigmas. For " temporal affairs " he professes the most Romantic Lyricism. 203 scornful indifference. He concerns himself little about being a good citizen, considering the uni- form of the Garde National unbecoming to an artist. " Useful things " arouse his unconquerable aversion ; he finds them vulgar, trivial, and beneath attention. He is interested solely in what is beautiful. He thinks everything is as it should be, rhythm being granted, and prefers roses to the discourses of magnanimous tribunes. During the stormy days of '48 he closes his windows and composes his Emaux et Camees, paying no heed to the tempest that lashes about him. It is as useless to talk to him upon questions of morality as upon politics. His theory is that everything beautiful bears its own teaching. He does not write for little girls whose bread is cut into squares ; nor does he hesitate to shock the sickly modesty of the middle class. Gautier cannot be accused of immorality, for he has no notion of it, and furthermore does not wish to recognize it. Neither Nature nor the arts have taught it to him. In it he doubtless sees but an intricate " utilitarian " machine, constructed in the interest of the social police by honest law- makers who are not artists. Can he also be denied sensibility ? This would be the conclusion of a too superficial criticism. We will not consider his first volume, but in those that follow it he does not confine himself to description : the elegiac vein is by no means rare, and there are even many passages of penetrating melancholy. Among other selections of his Poesies diverses let us re-read his Laments also that so plain- 204 Literary Moveme^it in France. tive song with the refrain, mournful as a death- knell, — " H^las ! j'ai dans le cceur une tristesse affreuse." His pictures of Spain are very often animated by quite personal sentiments. Gautier veils his emotion when he does not conceal it. He dis- likes making a spectacle of himself and bemoan- ing his lot in public. A '• grief that makes a great stir" is not for him. Has he not said that his verses "very often weep when they seem to smg : Many poems of his Emaux et Camees contain ac- cents of emotion. What more melancholy lament than Tristesse en merl La Symphonie en blanc ma- jeur ends with a burst of passion: ah, who could melt the heart of that relentlessly white Madonna of ice and snow? In his Clair de lune sentimental the poet weeps an old love with tears of blood. He would burst out into sobs on hearing les Vieux de la vieille read. His always disguised or restrained passion does not wring from him cries like those of Alfred de Musset ; yet he is not the impassible dilettante he pretends : we can divine his emotion beneath the mask of irony with which he covers himself. Has he not compared the poet to the pine- tree of barren lands? When he is without wounds, he keeps his treasure to himself; it is through the sfashes in his heart that his verses leak divine O tears of gold. Fear of death was the deepest feeling Gautier ever experienced. There is no poet whom death Romantic Lyricism. 205 has not inspired ; also none for whom the thought has been so dolefully lugubrious. He meets with this sinister apparition while singing along the pathway of life's spring. Here, it is a woman radiant with youth and beauty ; there, a death-head with its toothless grin, its blunt nose, and hollow eye, — all that remains of youth and beauty. The horrible sorceress in Albertus is no other than *' living death," an " infamous hag," the " eternal courtesan," whose spectre always rises up before him. Terror is the muse of la Comedie de la morl ; and even though the tomb may not deliver up its secrets, the poet has, for all that, expressed in their poignancy the disgust and horror it arouses. The same shudder of anguish runs here and there through all his works. Although he brings back color and imagery from his first voyage to Spain, this chilling, funereal thought does not cease to haunt him. He reads the inscription on the Cathedral of Urrugue ; draws crystalline water tasting of corpses from the fountain of its cemetery ; leaves the woman of Ver- gara to watch a passing bier, and, when she seeks to detain him, it occurs to him that her flaming eye and beautiful perfumed form will also soon turn to fetid dust. Gautier dreads above all things the ugliness of death. Others are troubled by the uncertainty of what lies beyond. Nothing moral or philosophical enters into his terror: it is the invincible repug- nance of the lover of the beautiful for a hideous, grimacing skeleton. Fear of death and adoration for the beautiful — 2o6 Literary Move?7ient in France. the one explained by the other — is the real basis of the poet's nature, of the poet who says, — "Mes vers sont des tombeaux tout brod^s de sculpture." He has sung of beauty in its robust splendor, and by the cult of beautiful forms he has really made " a bifurcation from the ghastly corpses of the Romantic school," as he boasts of having done. The beauty he loves is merely plastic ; he demands not the expression of sentiment but the perfection of contours. The beauty he adores has no soul, no moral physiognomy. It is Beauty ; not a mortal to be loved, but a goddess at whose feet one may kneel. Gautier has voiced neither the tenderness nor the frenzies of love. To him woman is a sort of poem, the poem of a form without blemish, grouping its nude charms in a series of sculptural stanzas. He is a pagan ; he was born for Greece, and those happy times of ancient art when elegantly turned vases received the ashes of the dead. However, this pagan traversed the middle ages, and its terrors have clung to him. He is a pagan with Catholic superstitions. While standing in ecstasy before the Beautiful, the harmonious contours of the Grecian Venus assume the outlines of the horrible skeleton no longer burned on the funeral pyre. A cry escapes him : oh that ancient art might come and cover the skeleton with its glittcrinor marble ! Because he loved life has he so poignantly expressed the horror of the grave, the glories of nature, the wealth of the sensible world, all that is sonorous and luminous about us, — rhymes that caress the ear, Romantic Lyricism. 207 exquisite proportions that appeal to the eye. Gau- tier passed from painting into poetry. It has, doubtless, often been remarked that he sought to do with his pen what he might have accomplished with his brush. Through this the disciple of Romanti- cism in his turn became the leader of a school. The poet excels when he limits himself to the re- production of appearances, giving little place to thought and feeling, and without betraying more of himself than accuracy of eye and marvellous dex- terity of hand. Very often he observes nature only as already translated by art. In his first volume he reproduces a canvas by Lancresson and another by his former master, Rioult ; in Albertus he devotes a stanza to describing one of his hero's paintings. Belgian landscapes represent nothing more than " crude imitations of Ruysdael." As a novelist, he makes studies in color, removing his subjects from time and space in order to obtain more picturesque effects ; as a traveller, his relations to the countries he visits are represented only by a series of pictures; as a theatrical critic, pictorial effects interest him more than characters. He sometimes repents of having left the palette for the inkstand. Feeling himself powerless to reproduce beauty before Julia Grisi in her box, he deplores words without relief and rhymes without color. His entire effort is directed towards conquering the hopeless infe- riority of poetry as opposed to painting in respect to fulness of expression. Hence arises his superstitious cult for words. Poetry begins with the knowledge of words, for in 2o8 Literary Movement in France. this lies the poet's science, and proceeds by select- ing them ; for in this consists the poet's art, indeed his most precious gift. No one has more pro- foundly understood nor more skilfully employed the resources of our vocabulary. To Gautier, " that man was no writer who could not express every- thing, who might be caught unawares and without material to give form to an idea falling like a pearl from the moon, however subtle and unexpected that idea may be." His first advice to young poets was to read all kinds of dictionaries. He believed that words possess a value independent of the ideas they express. His manuscripts were never punc- tuated, because he wished no indiscreet sign to alter the appearance of his words. These he compared to precious stones cut by the jeweller. He loved them for themselves, for their form, for their shad- ing, and for their sonority. " Poetry consists in radiant words full of light, music, and rhythm," he says. In his grouping of words, less according to their logical import than for the purpose of musi- cal and picturesque effect, the present " decadent " or " symbolist " school can justly claim him as their ancestor. Adoration for form led Gautier to the theory of art for art's sake, already quite antiquated, having formerly been professed by the poets of the seven- teenth century. He succeeded in reviving this theory by his arrogant and systematic manner of presenting it. Indifferent to all that does not concern art, he confines it to pure form, pretending that it is sufficient unto itself, and concluding that, Romantic Lyricism. 209 if the artist requires matter, it can be of value only in an aesthetic sense. According to him, the sub- ject is " entirely immaterial to painters of pure race," and whatever he expresses in words in regard to painting, also applies to poetry. But if " motifs " are in themselves indifferent to him, he believes that the artist must naturally prefer those which permit him to employ his skill to the best advan- tage. Hence a more and more marked tendency to reduce matter to the minimum of what is indis- pensable to support art. The substance of his works is too often weighted by their form, and rarities of style also further accentuate the insignificance of their foundation. Besides the many studied refinements and em- bellishments of Gautier's style, the bareness and harshness sometimes evident in the marvellous clearness of his expression and the artificiality of his perpetual imagery can also be criticised. But whatever criticisms we may pass upon the artist, he remains, for all that, an excellent craftsman in style and versification, and in this is he distin- guished from all the poets of his time. In consid- ing art an object in itself, the author of Ematix et Camees exaggerates this idea until he no longer sees that, though form may be of great importance, it can only be upon the condition that it expresses something. Art is the only god he has served. He has had no other religion than a rigid, jeal- ous code of aesthetics, the guardian of clear forms and severe outlines. He has rejected convenient rhymes, despised soft clay to battle with marble, u 2IO Literary Movement in France. subjected inspiration to the constraints of rigorous technique, and fancy to the discipHne of rules. Lamartine too often allowed the reins to slacken, Musset affected a fashionable scorn for the poet's profession, and their disciples — all vapory elegiacs or bare-breasted humorists — were alike unscrupu- lous in the use of rhythm and language. It was, therefore, no doubt, a good thing that Theophile Gautier maintained the exigencies of art in all their severity, that he never pardoned an inapt word nor an inexact rhyme, and that he confined himself to expressing contours and appearances in an abso- lutely pure and correct form. Among the numberless poets of the Romantic school, there are two others, the authors of les lambes and Marie, who, though doubtless quite inferior to those just considered, differ essentially from them. Both of these poets possess an ori- ginal vein, — in the first, fervid and muddy ; in the second, contained and of pure and delicate tenuity. In Pianto Auguste Barbier, either in lamenting over Italy's coffin or predicting her glorious resur- rection, has found accents, sometimes of devout affection, sometimes of generous entreaty. We will not, however, find the poet's originality in this volume. Barbier will live as the author of la Cicree and ridole. Of Pianto, Alfred de Vigny said : " It is very fine, but not the author." The metre of les lambes has been borrowed from Andre Chenier, and, besides the metre, also some- thing of its structure and even of its tone ; but Romantic Lyricism. 2 1 1 Barbier has both forced the original note and charged its style. This ingenious artist, naturally turned towards refinement and elegance of form in the expression of the gentler sentiments, early in his career suffered an access of heroic fever, or, as has been expressed, a day of sublime intoxication. To portray the insolent habitues of salons, the mob beating the walls like a drunken woman, the pale street-ruffian, all the vices and infamies seething in the eternal caldron, he has invented a crude verse. It is a language " stained by cynicism of manners," a hyperbolical style urging energy even to brutality. With her impure liquors the tavern maid poured out for him a fervent, popular eloquence, which spurts up and overflows in great bubbles. His tirades are animated by a puissance of inspiration. Vibrating with passion, cynical words, coarse metaphors, im- pudent rhymes, harsh declamations are driven on in a noisy, glittering train which is torn asunder amidst noise and smoke. Brizeux was a cautious, scrupulous poet, whose art was infinitely painstaking, refined in feeling, complicated, and over-finished. He bears some resemblance to Alfred de Vigny, but is wanting in passion, lyrical range, — what is called sweep of wing. Brizeux's poetry is literally punctuated with scruples. He produced little, but all he wrote shows a restless, arduous elaboration. By repeated trials he aimed at that perfection of form which others attain at the first effort. He chastises him- self with jealous obstinacy. Even those produc- 2 12 Literary Movement in France. tions which he has given to the public still savor of the trade. He revises details, modifies rhymes, effaces words ; he polishes and files away without ceasing, just as if each line left some remorse for his exacting artist's conscience. This so scholarly poet aims at simplicity. " Learning," he says, " is very good for peoples, as for individuals, but only when they have followed out the whole circle and returned perfected to the starting-point." His pro- found, refined erudition would return to the primi- tive ; he is simple with effort, natural with artfulness ; he employs all the artifices of a subtle, laborious art in feigning naivete. No writer has given more attention to the unity and logical sequence of his work. He has been the poet of Brittany. " I first traced a slight sketch of this country in Marie','' he says ; " later, a more extended picture in the rustic epopee, les Bretons, which finds its complement in les Histoires poe- tiques'' Les Ternaires was the bond of union between this and his later style. When he exiled himself from Brittany, it was " to return soon, much better informed," and after having plucked from Italian soil that golden blossom which symbolizes art. We find both Breton rusticity and Florentine subtlety in Brizeux. The first of all his works is most to be admired for its greater spontaneity. The style of les Ter- naires is too heavy and laborious. There are, here and there, scenes and narratives in les Bretons and les Histoires poetiques, in which the poet has devel- oped a fuller, freer vein ; but most of these selec- Romantic Lyricism. 213 tions fall short through coldness, barrenness, and a painful, fruitless constraint. Brizeux is less in- genious in tormenting himself in Marie, in which art and nature, taste for reality and love of the ideal, are united in an exquisite degree. We, after him, may also say that he has found " a style of poetry almost unknown to our literature." Born of a race whose customs still preserve the original distinction of primitive peoples, he has known how to be true without ceasing to be a poet. He has portrayed the manners of his country in all their frank truth and native charm. Here he is a Bre- ton without bias and without effort, following the natural bent of his inspiration. The scenes of his elegies are laid among the rocks and heaths of the Armorique, at once both wild and charming. Their muse is a young peasant, Marie, a creature of native refinement and rustic grace, who formerly awakened the first sentiment of his dreamy child- hood, and whose idealized memory inspired verses of an infinitely tender melancholy. To the golden flowers the poet gathered abroad, we prefer those of the heath ; and among these, those from which he has woven a crown for Marie's dark brow exhale the purest, sweetest perfumes. 214 Literary Movement in France. CHAPTER V. THE ROMANTIC DRAMA. ROMANTICISM first had its lyrical poetry, which was the natural expansion of deeply aroused sensibility bursting beyond the bounds of all doctrines ; its dramatic poetry, on the contrary, was the application of long elaborated ideas and the- ories, in open and deliberate antagonism with those by which Classic tragedy had been governed. The words Classicism and Romanticism took their most precise meaning from the theatre, in reality the true battle-ground of these two schools. The inno- vators clearly perceived that they must become masters of the stage in order to win their cause. Here they were confronted by two of the greatest names in our literature, and a dramatic system per- fect of its kind and in touch both with the society in which it had been formed and with the peculiar temperament of our race as fashioned by centuries of Classic culture. All the militant activity of the young school turned to the drama for the final field of victory. Since Romanticism, at bottom but " liberalism " in art, aimed to substitute a " popular "' for a " court " literature, it was obviously necessary to address the The Ro'}nantic Drama. 215 people ; therefore a new theatre must be created. The people had formerly been but a " thick wall upon which art had only painted a fresco ; " now was the time to " move the multitudes and arouse them to their very depths." Only the drama could give a truly national character to the Romantic movement. While some of the contemporary poets were pure elegiacs, there were others who seemed to consider lyrical poetry only as a sort of " prelude." Victor Hugo, who assumed the direction of Romanticism from its inception, early deemed the drama its in- evitable and definitive culmination. In his mani- festo published in 1827, and adopted by the new school, the author of Cromwell summons poetry to the rebuilding of the theatre. According to his thinking, humanity has passed the age of lyricism and epopees ; the present is the age of the drama, and art, without renouncing its other forms, must eventually become more and more absorbed in it. The ode and the epopee contain the germ of the theatre, but, when developed, it includes both alike ; for our contemporary civilization it is " poetry complete." The great importance, indeed the necessity, of a dramatic renaissance had long been felt. It has been shown how jealous were the susceptibilities with which the innovators first came in contact. However, the public slowly passed through its ap- prenticeship, maintaining its respect for traditions not without some effort. " The principal indica- tion of the movement that was preparing," wrote 2i6 Literary Movement in France. M. de Remusat in 1820, "is the spectator's disgust for works conceived and executed according to rules. It seems as if every means of arousing him had lost its effect. In vain do we seek to renew old forms by disguising them ; he soon recognizes and grows weary of them." After having been immortalized by its many masterpieces, the tragedy of the seventeenth century had become exhausted. Created for an aristocratic, monarchi- cal society of beaux esprit s and courtiers, it was totally unfitted for the new social conditions. Certain poets attempted to effect its revival ; but it was no longer a question of concession to the spirit of reform : a complete revolution was imperative. This would replace conventional formulas by an entirely new order founded upon truth and nature. *' There are neither rules nor models," proclaimed Victor Hugo, "or, rather, there are no other rules than the general laws that embrace all art, and the special laws which in each composition result from the conditions proper to each subject." Moreover, the new theatre was in process of growth from the close of the eighteenth century. After Diderot and Mercier, Madame de Stael as- sailed everything that tended to make our tragedy artificial in respect to form. At the same time Manzoni was writing his letter upon the dramatic unities. A little later Stendhal, in a series of pam- phlets, collected and published under the title of Racine et Shakespeare, was skirmishing like a sharp- shooter before the old theatre. The journal, the Globe, then gave the reformers the support of its The Romantic Drama. 217 keen, weighty criticism. The new theatre pos- sessed a code of poetics before any attempt what- ever was produced on the stage. Victor Hugo had given a brilliant exposition of them in his famous preface ; shortly after this Alfred de Vigny resumed the subject in his introduction to Othello. These two manifestoes contained a com- plete theory of the Romantic drama. The seventeenth century conscientiously sepa- rated comedy and tragedy. It sacrificed reality to that ideal of noble harmony which governs all Classical productions. The public of those times demanded unity of both interest and impression. In tragedy everything was required to be grave, stately, sublime. Vices, the ugly, and the ridicu- lous were banished from it. Crime was only ad- mitted when presented with imposing grandeur. In the theatre life was divided into two distinct parts, one of which was ascribed to Melpomene, the other to Thalia. Tragi-comedy is by no means a mingling of two elements ; it is but a tragedy with a happy ending. Moreover, Corneille never wrote them, and Racine has but one upon his conscience. Tragic heroes never laugh ; they do not even smile ; indeed, they are only presented under circumstances in which their nobility is beyond cavil. It is rash of Racine to have hidden Nero behind a curtain, although it conceals him from the public no less than from Britannicus. The separation of the comic and the tragic is conventional ; and, although perfectly adapted to social environment during our Classical epoch, it is 2i8 Literary Movement ui France. no longer in harmony with the democratic society substituted by the Revolution for the ancient regime. Less polished and refined, and more in touch with the tumult of life, this society was destined to give birth to a theatre which would grasp reality closer, express it more fully and viv- idly, mingle the ugly with the beautiful and the amus- ing with the serious, just as they are associated in life. It is precisely this fusion of the comic with the tragic that brought about the Romantic drama. Reality is the distinctive feature of the drama, and, according to the reformers of 1830, the real is but the natural combination of the two types, the sub- lime and the grotesque. These should be interwoven in the theatre just as in human existence, which the theatre proposes to reproduce faithfully. The author of /^ taining it ! Renan seeks truth for the mere zest of the quest, not in order to find it. In recognizing the vanity of all belief, the philosopher, if he be also an artist, will perceive in the manifold evolutions of the human mind but substance for the pleasures of his curiosity, the caprices of his imagination, or the fine irony of his criticism. For him the final word of wisdom must consist in a play of ideas. He will 404 Literary Movement in Fraiice. reverence a sceptical Saint Paul, and, ascribing his own " distinction " to Christ, will represent him " with that calm, keen smile which implies the highest philosophy." Renan is an artist in thought. To give it form, he possesses a style exquisite in its rare simplicity and natural erudition. The name of artist, for fifty years lavished upon writers who had forced the elas- ticity, exhausted the resources, and violated the spirit of language, he merits for his tact, fitness, and expe- diency, — qualities in touch with the finely gradu- ated distinctions of his philosophy. " I very soon comprehended that Romanticism of form was an error, and that there is but one form to express what we think or feel," he said. As he has never forced his opinions in order to be heard, no more has he strained his style for the purpose of being applauded. His Vie de y'esus was first written in a more florid style ; then he spent an entire year in subduing its wealth of color. Renan, the writer, is not less " aris- tocratic " than the thinker. As an artist, as well as a philosopher, he addresses an elite. He scorns all rhetoric, all the graces of speech. He has too much good taste to swell his voice, or seek brilliant effects, gaudy colors, and pompous beauties. He has cur- tailed the "tinsel and spangles that bring success to others and provoke the enthusiasm of mediocre connoisseurs, that is, of the majority." Just as his extreme reserve caused omnibus-drivers to mistake him for a " traveller little inclined to seriousness," so the exquisite measure of his diction impresses the commonplace but very little. However, the " imper- Criticism, 405 ceptible minority of superior minds," for whom he writes, has tendered him in cultured admiration what he has lost in cheap applause. These unite in rec- ognizing in him one of the greatest writers of the century, — indeed the greatest of our epoch. This he merits for the rare precision, the sinuous grace, flexibility, and transparency of his style, the suavity of his harmony, the soberness of his assurance, and the sincerity of his refinement. He possesses a charm as subtle and mysterious as a perfume, and quite as indefinable. He is unqualified in his skill in all tongues, — to speak the language of the poet as well as that of the savant, to assume all tones, — the emotional and the facetious, the serious, the ironical, and the devoutly tender. Whatever his style and tone, he possesses the marvellous gift of fascinating without astonishing us, and we can ad- mire his exquisite art without perceiving its secret. 4o6 Literary Movement m France. CHAPTER IV, THE NOVEL. THE novel, which already held so important a place in our literature, during the second half of the century becomes the richest and most flourishing of literary styles. Owing to the infinite variety of its forms, it is also the most complete expression of that positive observation with which universal Realism colors all productions of the contemporary mind. The " Idealistic " school is represented only by a few survivors of former gen- erations ; for all the robust and original spirits among the new generation react against a now antiquated Romanticism by substituting fact for fiction, experience for lyricism, and the methods of "documentary" art for the suggestions of intuitive art. Victor Hugo composes great poems which he calls novels. These novels, dated from the Isle of Guernsey, are preserved from Realistic contagion, not only by the exile of their author, but by the peculiar character of a genius perceiving human life through a mirage of epic symbols, and there- fore essentially unsuited to the minute details of The Novel. 407 analysis. However, in remaining faithful to the historical novel, in which he freely unfolds his mar- vellous powers of evocation, Victor Hugo no longer seeks his subjects from the remote ages of our his- tory. The choice of more modern, of almost con- temporary, subjects is, perhaps, not due solely to social and political preoccupations. Realistic influence is also evident in the truer, simpler manner of the works of George Sand's declining age. They are no longer novels of theo- ries or of great passions. Without abandoning her ideal conception of art and the world, the author of Indiana and le Meunier d' Angibault finds her subjects in every-day life, and her characters among the middle classes, yean de la Roche and le Mar- quis de Villemer fall between the romantic inven- tions and sentimental effusions of her former manner and the prosaic crudeness and cynical in- difference of contemporary Realism. Octave Feuillet is, doubtless, the most notable of the new talents belonging more or less directly to the " Idealistic " school. The charming tales he relates so gracefully take place in a world con- ceived expressly for the delectation of pure souls. Le Roman d'un jeune homme pauvre is his master- piece in this edifying style, florid with chivalric graces and aristocratic virtues. Its author is much less concerned in picturing contemporary life accu- rately than in presenting the good society whose favorite novelist he is, — an image of itself faithful enough to be recognizable, and, above all, sufH- ciently poetized and embellished to be flattering. 4o8 Literary Movement in Fra7ice. Indeed, there are none but choice spirits in this aristocratic circle. Scarce figures discreetly outlined here and there barely prevent us from forgetting that there is anything but exquisite refinement and sublime generosity in this best-thinking and most select of worlds. The "poor young man" — the typical hero which Octave Feuillet delights in plac- ing before us — unites all the noblest qualities and most pleasing attractions in his person. An old servant discovers in him a marquis solely by the distinction of his manners. In this type he incar- nates honor, disinterestedness, and heroism. But this is not enough ; he is also the model of equer- ries. This perfect gentleman's only fault is his perfection, which all the novelist's skill can at times scarcely save from insipidity. When the contemporary novel had been renewed by a school more solicitous of exact portraiture, Octave Feuillet felt that there was no further place for his innocent fictions, that he must supply the demand for a frank, living reality which was trans- forming literature beneath his eyes. The elegant proverbs which had charmed salons by their arch grace and finical morality were succeeded by Dalila, in which he revealed unsuspected power in the por- trayal of passion in its maddest and most degrading forms. The amiable conceptions of a specious ideal- ism too chimerical to give the impression of truth were followed by novels in which the influence of Realism is evident not only in a stronger touch, but also in a more exact observation of life. M. de Camors is the type of the " superior " man who, in Tlie Novel. 409 rising above vulgar laws, recognizes no moral law but worldly honor, and admits no purpose other than to enjoy life without scruple as without re- morse. As the " poor young man " characterizes Octave Feuillet's earlier work, so M. de Camors impersonates his second manner. Into the latter he has introduced all the Realism consistent with his turn of mind and artistic conceptions, as well as with the tastes and habits of the public he ad- dresses. His later works are conceived in the same spirit. Their originality consists in the represen- tation of naturally intemperate passions in people whose native vulgarity is concealed beneath a charming exterior, exquisite urbanity of manners and language. If he soon breaks away from a candid optimism, he nevertheless always remains true to a certain ideal of social culture and polite- ness, without which his talent would be ill at ease. Octave Feuillet's " Realism," if the expression may be applied to him, is thoroughly aristocratic. He differs from contemporary Realists not only in his exclusive preference for a refined society not less " real " after all than all others, but particularly in a dogmatic tendency evident even in his strongest works, and impossible to conciliate with the faithful rendering of men and things. The too evident preoccupations of the moralist lead us to doubt the observer's impartiality. This self-constituted de- fender of that absolute, superficial Catholicism which holds sway over salons, devises at will events as well as characters in which to confide the Horifica- tion of his doctrines. Why is M. de Camors lost } 410 Literary Movement in France. Because he is an unbeliever. Why, in his Histoire de Sibylle, is Gandrax stricken with apoplexy? Because the materialist has just denied the exist- ence of God. Why, in la Morte, does Sabine poison Madame de Vaudricourt ? Because she was not educated in the Sacre-Coeur. Let us overlook what is ingenuously crude in this philosophy. Octave Feuillet's orthodox Catholicism is necessarily alien to the general spirit of the Realistic school ; indeed, whatever opinion may be expressed, there already exists a discord between the sincere study of life and the inclination to moralize and demonstrate, to pursue truth by means of arguments rather than by the aid of documents. Through Realistic influence Romanticism — a name synonymous with fictitious adventures and imaginary characters, a play of fancy or dream of the ideal — was transformed into an instrument of vast social and psychological inquest. To this influence even Octave Feuillet had submitted. But this great revolution was not caused by Balzac, who did not make the *' poor young man " impossible, but by Flaubert, who brought about M. de Camors. During the second half of the century Gustave Flaubert was the master, let us not say of Realism, since he would never admit a qualification discred- ited by common novelists, but of that school which, in poetry as in all domains of art, engages in the personal observation of things, in study based upon nature, upon living reality. Madame Bovary is the first masterpiece of the literary renovation long The Novel. 41 1 prepared and foreshadowed by philosophy, the progress of science, and the changes in moral and social conditions. But what of Balzac and his Human Comedy ? This question at once presents itself; why, instead of considering Flaubert a disciple of the great Realist, do we constitute him the leader of a new school ? After Eugenie Grandet, le Pere Goriot, and Cousine Bette, in what can consist the originality of Madame B ovary? Although Flaubert is certainly quite inferior to Balzac in force, breadth, and fertility, he possesses a distinctive originality. This originality lies in his complete abstraction from his work, and in its artistic conception, including all the perfection this signifies. Balzac introduced much of himself into his works ; not only did his impetuous imagination invent unlikely events and extraordinary heroes, but, under cover of the characters he portrayed, his expansive nature surrendered itself to interminable digressions. His works contain monologues giving us more or less direct confidences in regard to the author's tastes, political opinions, religious beliefs, and his personal manner of understanding life and the world. In so doing he transgressed that most essential law of the documentary novel which de- mands the complete effacement of an effervescent genius always in fermentation. He could not, there- fore, apply to its form that patient labor which sup- poses a more moderate temperament, or greater power of self-restraint and self-chastisement. The absolute neutrality of its author and his superstitious 412 Literary Movemeiit in France. devotion to art are the two characteristic traits by which Madame Bovary marks an epoch in the history of the contemporary novel. Gustave Flaubert places Romantic art at the ser- vice of reality directly observed. The subject mat- ter of his work in this sense belongs to Realism, while its form relates to Romanticism. He has employed the truths of both Realism and Romanti- cism, and has at times exquisitely combined them ; but, being radically inconsistent, these opposing in- fluences must necessarily impress his literary physi- ognomy with their contradictions. All his energy has been directed towards betray- ing nothing of his impressions and dissimulating what cordial humanitarian feelings he really pos- sessed. This was from aversion for that vulgar whimpering by which so many writers shamelessly demand facile successes, as well as through respect for art, which all indiscreet sentimentalism cannot but cloy and corrupt. For this reason his books sometimes seem cruel and almost always unfeeling. He forbids every sign of emotion, every mark of sympathy. He considers it his duty to represent things as they are, allowing nothing of himself to enter his picture but the penetration of the observer and the plastic methods of the artist. " Every work in which the author can be divined should be con- demned," he says. In his opinion impassive art only is true. In exercising a rigid control over his native sen- sibility, he is not less anxious to guard against betraying his personal impressions than to allow no The Novel. 413 particular doctrine or preconceived idea to enter his works. He has been accused of being egotis- tical, pitiless, immoral. What is that to him? But one reproach touches him, — that of being untrue. The first condition of truth consists pre- cisely in representing things as they are, and in excluding all reflections likely to dim our sight or falsify our judgment. He repudiates a " moral," no less than a " sentimental " literature. He rejects the one and the other in the name of science as well as in that of art. If art, having its own reason for existence, cannot be considered an object in itself, science, on the other hand, can gain nothing from testimony that does not imply impartial obser- vation. The novel, no longer solely a work of fancy purposing to divert the idle, but a sincere, faithful picture of human life, should be in league with no theory. The slightest tendency to preju- dice on the part of the author leads us to suspect that he has combined to suit himself imaginary events, from which it would be quite easy, and not less vain, to demand justification for a thesis. His work would lose all import and all probability. It would present neither an illusion as a work of art nor authority as a work of science. Moreover, whatever genius may be employed in the unfolding of a fable, nothing can be easier than to imagine another that will disprove it. A special case proves nothing, and the law one attempts to deduce from it has no value before science. Not only in his " objectivity " is the author of Madame Bovary directly opposed to Romanticism; 414 Literary Movement in France. like Balzac, Flaubert also subordinates psychology to physiology. What interests him most, and what he purposes to observe and portray, is the physical milieu in which his characters develop, — their in- stincts, their appetites, and all that depends upon their humors and constitutions. This son and brother of a physician has given us a sort of anatomical novel, in which he explains characters by temperaments and moral life by influences of flesh and blood. He does not believe the human creature capable of reacting against such influences. Where, indeed, would the necessary energy be found } For Flaubert there exists no exclusively psychical sphere of autonomous forces. With Taine and all the new school he believes that man develops like a plant. Psychology being a branch of natural history, the novelist must proceed like the botanist, — without imagining that there exist beyond the sensible world powers which have mi- raculously escaped the empire of physical laws. Flaubert's observation of moral life is limited to passions and sentiments whose exterior and ma- terial circumstances can be taken into account. He is a psychologist, if this may be understood to mean that he excels in unravelling the effects of race and environment upon the interior activity of his characters ; he is a psychologist, but as a Deter- minist only can and must be. While the Romanticists idealized human nature, Flaubert prides himself upon portraying it without adding anything to it. His characters are types, if you will, but types of the most commonplace reality. The Novel. 4 1 5 He has rendered their foibles, their egotism, and the insipidity of their existence. In order to make this odious paltriness interesting to us, it must be ex- pressed with all the relief of his art. There is not a single character in Madame Bovary, I do not say that inspires us with sympathy, but which is even distinguishable from universal mediocrity. In his Education sentimentale and Bouvard et Pecuchet Flaubert applies himself with indefatigable patience to describing the stupidities of human nature, and all that is most ordinary in the first characters pre- sented ; indeed so commonplace is it that ofttimes it risks passing unperceived. He makes a special point of portraying figures of contemporary society, in themselves tame, ingrate, insignificant, and of continuous, monotonous dulness. He holds himself on guard against all idealism, — against the idealism of evil no less than that of good. Reacting against Romantic heroes and monsters, he peoples his novels with neutral characters without physiognomy, and employs all the resources of art to give accent to vulgarity and character to platitude. The author of Madame Bovary also wrote 6"^- lammbb. His intention to be circumstantially exact in the portrayal of milieux and in the analysis of passions can with difficulty be reconciled with the choice of such a subject. But, if Realism here con- sists only in the description of the paysages which he personally studied, Flaubert's method in this field is nevertheless quite the same as that employed by him in the study of contemporary manners. With his own eyes he observes the places where his action 4i6 Literary Movement m France. occurs; one must be as Realistic in depicting Afri- can palms as Normandy apple-trees. From histor- ical documents he obtains the data not furnished by direct observation concerning monuments, edifices, and, what is much more important, concerning Car- thaginian civilization and the ideas and sentiments of the characters he places before us. In this work he aims at exactness no less than in Madame B ovary. To those who compared Salammbb with les Martyrs, Flaubert replied that Chateaubriand's system was directly opposed to his. The author of les Martyrs started out from an ideal point of view ; while that of Salammbb "applies to antiquity the method of the modern novel," doing for Carthage what he had already done for Yonville. Whatever fidelity Flaubert brought to legendary or archaeological romances, neither Salammbb nor la Tentation de Saint Antoine can pass for works of Realism. He is somewhat of a Romanticist, and this we find him in the most " modern " of his works, even in Madame B ovary ; indeed, the greatest ori- ginality of this work consists in reconciling what was legitimate in the aims of Romanticism with what is solidly based in the demands of Realism. Everything about Flaubert was in contradiction to the narrowness and pettiness of contemporary life. His tall figure, broad shoulders, vivid coloring, and long pendent moustaches gave him the air of an ancient "sea god." With his ample gestures, his trumpet-like voice, and his theatrical bearing, he produced a startling and quite formidable effect, which was further magnified by his costume. Not The Novel. 417 only in his attitudes, his manner of walking, speak- ing, and laughing, but even in the form of his hats did he protest against the routine and insipidity of bourgeois manners. These exteriors do not deceive. His soul was filled with scorn for vulgarity, and a craving for pomp and splendor, indicated by his face, bearing, dress, — in fine, by his whole person. In appearance he was a Romantic paladin. He more than once recalls the sublime dreams and glo- rious fantasies of his youth. In his sentimental exaltation we recognize the influence of Romanti- cism which persisted even to the end in this master of contemporary " Naturalism." He is believed to be insensible; his nerves are always in vibration. Indeed, he compares himself to one flayed. He might be thought completely disinterested in his creations ; his characters affect him, pursue him, and mingle with his life ; in fact, he relates the poi- soning of Emma Bovary with the taste of arsenic in his mouth. He is supposed to have been a surly, morose pessimist ; never was a man more naturally generous, enthusiastic, and fervent in sympathy and admiration. He is mistaken for one of Champ- fleury's emulators ; although a Realist, he is a fanat- ical hugolatre ; the painter of Homais and Bouvards pays homage to the singer of Eudore and Rene. This instinctive need for grandeur and all the dithyrambic sentiments explains such works as Sa- lammbo2in<\ la Tentation de Saint Antoine. Sainte- Beuve writes that " after Madame Bovary the author was urged to assure his former success by another somewhat different in character, but in the same 27 41 8 Literary Movanent in Fra7ice. sphere of reality and modern life ; and while await- ing him on the home ground, somewhere in Tou- raine, Picardy, or Normandy, he was setting out for Carthage." Is not this the irony of a proud, inde- pendent artist? In writing Salammbb he sought to withdraw from contemporary prosaism in order to satisfy his taste for thrilling legends and impos- ing scenery. As he says, it was granting himself full liberty to roar at ease. In choosing the subject of Madame Bovary he had obeyed Realistic influ- ence; in selecting that of Salam7nbb he allowed him- self to be guided by impulse. Salafnmbb should have been a poem rather than a romance; all the phrases in the first edition began with et ; indeed, not without difficulty did his friend Bouilhet per- suade him to efface these epic conjunctions. It seems that, after each of the novels for which he borrows data from real life, Flaubet experienced an irresist- ible need to flee, and turn his eyes away from them ; to wipe off a pen less fitted to conscientiously record current vulgarities than to retrace imposing scenes evoked from history or mythology by his poetic im- agination. Salammbb followed Mada77te Bovary; Saint Antoine succeeded V Education sentime^itale ; Herodias and Saint Julieri V Hospitalier are coun- terparts of Un coeur simple. Finally, when nearing the decline of life, he planned a great novel of mod- ern manners, in which the severe, scrupulous ob- server would find play for his talents, and in which the " old Romantic wizard " would find a setting worthy of his epic faculty. This included a nar- rative of the battle of Thermopylae, at once simple The Novel. 419 and grand, superb and terrible, — not an archaeo- logical study, but a heroic, symbolical poem, the very thought of which aroused him to violent enthusiasm. His native Romanticism is still evident in his ren- dering of thankless trivialities, even when his heroes are the most vulgar of characters, and his subjects the platitudes of contemporary life. Realists stupidly, reproduce the stupid. Flaubert's first novel was in- tended as a protestation against Champfleury and his disciples, who had always considered him antiquated. If Madame Bovary then passed for a work of Ro- mantic inspiration, it was not only on account of its style, but because of its artistic conception, and be- cause of that sentimental idealism, for all that, dis- closed by this so forcibly personal novel. When Realism is consistent, it is confined to the reproduc- tion of given reality. This was not Flaubert's method. Madame Bovary possesses the severe unity of a Classic work. All means are logically com- bined ; there are no idle descriptions, nothing that does not concur in the logical development of its action ; it is the triumph of an imperious, scholarly art. Not only has its author "composed" his char- acters ; he has summed up an entire species in one figure; he has created types. Its moral signifi- cation is not less contrary to vulgar Realism than its assthetical style. Flaubert turns the extrava- gances of Romanticism into ridicule, just as Cer- vantes derided the chimeras of the chivalric spirit We feel his secret sympathy for what poetry there was in the perversion of his miserable Emma. In 420 Literary Movement in France. fine, the fundamental idea underlying all his works is the bitter contradiction which he everywhere dis- covers between the real and the ideal. In spite of all his efforts to remain impassive, he never resigns himself to stupidity, routine, and the sordidness of current life. Indeed, what is more Romantic than this revulsion ? Has he not, moreover, and always, something of Rene's inheritance ? As a writer Flaubert is directly in touch with Romanticism. In this respect nothing is more characteristic than his admiration for Chateaubri- and, from whose works he recited whole pages. He has cared only for art. Even in his own life does he view everything as an artist. " As soon as one perceives the accidents of the world," he says, " they become so transformed into an illusion to be described, that all things, even conscience, seem to have no other utility." " Literature," which was his sole passion, he made consist entirely in form. " The idea is born of the form," he repeated ; and the Goncourt brothers relate how, for an entire afternoon, he read in stentorian tones, and with all the "vociferations of the boulevard theatres," a novel written in 1848, bearing no other title on the cover than Fragments de style quelconque. One day he remarked to Theophile Gautier : " My task is finished, I have now but a dozen pages to write and all my unpolished phrases ! " For him form possessed its own value independent of thought, and through the sole virtue of words and rhythm. One of his disciples tells that, in the beginning of Un coeur simple, the last word of each paragraph The Novel. 421 serving as a subject for the following paragraph produced ambiguousness. This fault was pointed out to him ; after having struggled long to remedy- it, he finally said : " Let the sense take care of itself, rhythm before all things ! " Bringing a sort of mys- ticism to his theory of style, he believed that each idea had its unique expression, and that each unique expression could be the most just only by being at the same time the most harmonious and most plas- tically beautiful. To his eyes the substantive with its epithet formed an absolute whole. In a well- constructed period he saw the most solid of edifices. He suspected necessary though occult relations between words, of which the artist only possesses the intuition. Form representing everything to him, he set out in pursuit of a perfection which tormented him until it had been attained. He toiled in fury until the beauty of words, the richness of sounds, and the harmony of cadences gave him full and complete satisfaction. He never pardoned the slightest blemish, and crossed out a page only to efface a few hiatuses. " Flaubert is tortured by a remorse that poisons his life," said Gautier ; " it is that of having heaped two genitives upon each other in Madame B ovary : Une couronne de fieurs d'orangerr We have been told how he passed his nights at his desk, sometimes silent and motionless, with fixed eyes pursuing for hours a retreating adjective, sometimes seized with an access of mad exasperation, beating with his clenched fists, swear- ing, groaning, a prey to what he called his " affres,'* exhausting himself in profitless difficulties created 422 Literary Movement in France. with a light heart. A maniac in respect to style, which might well have been treated more leniently, he pushed the cult of art even to puerile supersti- tion, bringing to his prose as many scruples as the most careful of poets ever brought to verse-making. For this our language is none the less indebted to him; and Madame Bovary marks a date not only on account of its historical signification, but also because it is the most "artistically" perfect novel produced by our century. Gustave Flaubert made his appearance with a masterpiece which at once made him celebrated, whereas the Goncourts worked long years before their name was known outside a narrow circle of fastidious spirits. " Woe to works of art whose beauty is for artists only ! " exclaimed d'Alembert. The Goncourts, who condemned this apostrophe as one of the greatest " stupidities " ever uttered, would have willingly said : " Woe to works of art whose beauty is not for artists only ! " Their precious, in- volved talents, charmed by subtle refinements, could never be popular. Even scholars were long in awarding them justice, so disconcerted were they by a manner so personal, so singularly choice, as well as scornfully rebellious of all discipline and all tra- ditions. However, the authors of Sceur Philomene and Germinie Lacerteux have finally succeeded, if not in forcing themselves upon the great public, at least in exercising a no less marked influence than Flaubert upon the contemporary novel. They began by historiographical studies, towards The Novel. 423 which their love of artistic objects and bric-a-brac first turned them. They were attracted by the eighteenth century with its veneering of finical ele- gance and artificial coquetry. In this century they also found the manners they wished to describe, utilizing not only documents, correspondences, "the black cabinet of the past," but also engravings, carvings, bronzes, furniture, tapestries, and all that stamps an epoch with its imprint. Their regard for a complete, scrupulous truth soon led them to contemporary monographs. In becoming novelists, however, the novel meant no more to them than a setting for the minutely exact analysis of the things and men found beneath their eyes. " One can only render well what one sees," is their favorite maxim. They reduced the " Roman- tic " element to the minimum of what is indispen- sable. With them imagination served not to invent, but to picture with the utmost vivacity what they observed about them. In this they truly merit the name of Realists. " What constitutes the original novelist is the direct vision of humanity," says Edmond. In the introduction to his Manifesies et prefaces, and as the highest title to fame, he claims for himself and his brother the honor of having; "imparted real life to a character by ten years of observation of a human being." The truth at which the Goncourts aim is that of the moment, what they snatch from life and note from day to day. They might be said to have applied to literature the methods of the instantaneous photograph. They reproduce the society of their times in the multi- 424 Literary Movement 171 France. piicity of its most circumstantial details, transcrib- ing them day by day, before the impression becomes enfeebled. Whether among the " lower classes " or the aristocracy, they have studied with the utmost care all the characters they portray as well as the milieux they describe. The pages of their journal during July and Au- gust of 1862 are the "documentary embryo" from which they composed Germinie Lacerteux two years later, their heroine having been studied while in the service of an old cousin. Clierie, a Realistic novel of Parisian aristocracy, was constructed from numer- ous notes taken by "coups de lorgnon," all their " delicate and fleeting elements being slowly and minutely collected." They themselves remark some- where that the " substitution of the particular for the general is what most differentiates modern from ancient literature." They are the most " modern " and the most "particular" of our novelists. By catching flagrant reality on the wing, they have portrayed their contemporaries with a curiously expressive similitude. Between the novel, as commonly considered, and their conception of its form, there is a contradic- tion which they themselves were the first to feel. Edmond confessed that he had been unsuccessful in giving it a new name. Books like those of the Goncourts only belong conventionally to Romantic literature. For them the novel is " history that might have been." But it is more than that, for, with the exception of what " fiction " they supple- ment, it is truly history that existed. In 1864 they The Novel. 425 remarked : " To-day the novel begins to assume a serious, impassioned, living form of literary study and social inquiry, and, through analysis and psycho- logical research, is becoming contemporary moral History." Madame Gervaisais is a psychological study of morbid religiosity in a woman. In Renee Mauperin they sought to picture with as little im- agination as possible the modern young girl, as de- veloped by the boyish and artistic education of the last thirty years. La Fille Elisa is entitled a severe monography of undisguised prostitution. Les Freres Zemgamno, written in one of those states of soul when the too-true truth becomes intolerable, never- theless discloses, together with its share of poetic fantasy, a "serious study of brotherly friendship." Faustin is a " psychological and physiological study of a young girl reared and educated in the hothouse of a capital." Cherie, also the "monography of a young girl," albeit of one " surrounded by elegance, wealth, power, and the best of good society," was written " with all the research necessary to the com- position of a historical work." The novel of the Goncourts "implies the tasks of science." It is an incorporation of "human documents." Of this expression, since so abused, Edmond claims the parentage, because he saw that it would " most clearly and significantly define the new method of the school which succeeded Roman- ticism." The authors of Germinie Lacerteux and la Fille Elisa have been censured for their coarse- ness. Germinie Lacerteux was not intended to be the ''decollete photograph of pleasure," but the "clinic 426 Literary Movement in France. of love ; " and la Fille Elisa is recommended as a " chaste, austere " book, in which the author some- times speaks as a physician. As understood by the Goncourts, the psychological, physiological, patho- logical, sociological novel is a work of exact science. The lack of incidents in the greater number of their works is the natural result of this conception. Having reduced action to what is strictly necessary, they confine themselves exclusively to the study of characters and the description of manners. If they profess scorn for that " temple of pasteboard and conventionalities," the theatre, it is because the grosser interest in intrigue here overpowers that higher interest towards which they aim. A spoken literary language is the only innovation which they grant the drama, and also the only one for which the drama seems to them to be adaptable. Edmond dramatized Germinie Lacerteux, while but three years previously he had remarked : " I do not be- lieve in the Naturalistic theatre." A literary form which is based upon action necessarily leaves no place for a minute, complicated psychology. Ac- cording to him, even novels, and he does not except his own, give much too large a place to incidents. In a preface which might be called his literary tes- timony, he responds to those likely to find the intrigue of his Cherie too simple, that it is not sufficiently so, that it still contains too many inci- dents, — adding that, if he were once more young, he would write novels with no more complication than the greater part of living dramas. He did not hesitate to express his last thought, wliich was, that The Novel. 427 the " Romantic " style would finally be reduced to pure analysis. With the Goncourts the preference for scientific exactness and precision is united with a nervous sensibility which is, perhaps, their most distinctive characteristic. While Flaubert repressed all per- sonal emotion by a constant, powerful effort, the Goncourts " sweat " their books " with their blood." *' We find the works we read written with the pen, the imagination, the brain of their authors," they say, *' while ours seem to be written with our nerves and our sufferings." And elsewhere : " We have been the first writers of nerves." Their originality among the writers of this school lies in that pecu- liar impressionability of the senses by which they grasp what is most subtle and most refined in that perpetual vibration of the being which gives to their works the sensation of a convulsive, quivering life. The Goncourts are physically crucified beings, mor- ally and sensitively flayed, wounded by the slightest impression, without envelope, bleeding. There is something morbid in their excessive nervous ten- sion. But is not something morbid necessary in order " to be able to render the exquisite refinement and melancholy, the rare and rapturous fantasies, which play upon the vibrating chords of the soul and heart " } They feel themselves that their " mal- ady " counts for much in their works. They pride themselves less upon the "possession of talent" than upon "discovering impressionable beings of infinite delicacy, pulsating in a superior manner." It is this impressionability, after all, that forms the basis of their talent. 428 Literary Movemeiit in France. So also is this true as regards their form. In their own line the Goncourts are as great artists as Flaubert. Now, Flaubert employs a language of severe and clearly defined contours, of full and sus- tained harmony, sober in its brilliancy, faithful to tradition even in its audacities, without neologisms and irregularities, having a Classical symmetry which gives the impression of definite perfection. The Goncourts, however, violate syntax, overload the vocabulary, and dislocate phrases, with no other purpose than to render their impression in all its vivacity. As their senses are always in vibration, their style might be said to have contracted a fever. Held by their restless hands, the pen traces at ran- dom hatchings and zigzags. There is a certain pulsation about their expression. They subordinate the rules and spirit of language to their own tem- perament and feelings, to their eager impatience to render everything. They have a ferocious dislike for the obscure, the formal, and for that regular, monotonous style taught in schools, upon which the University places its seal. The style of speech pre- ferred by them is that which "blunts and academizes the least." What concern of theirs what college regents call barbarisms or solecisms ? They do not write for college regents, but for those who have the most delicate, most fastidious appreciation of the French prose of to-day, for those who consider lan- guage not made but always making. Their "artistic writing " is but the direct and immediate portrayal of infinitely subtle sensations. In order to render them in all their poignancy, they hesitate neither to The Novel. 429 create a more expressive word nor to employ an irregular construction which will " impart life to their phrase." They admit both laborious inver- sions and the conjunction of absurd words, both the perturbation of rhythm and medleys of color, pro- vided that, with these unusual means, they can make the vivacity of their expression equal that of the impression. The two Goncourts have been the "convicts of the book." They were persecuted by sufferings which did not allow them an instant's repose, — Jules by intolerable headaches, and Edmond by stomach troubles "which only permitted him to live, or rather resuscitate, by gas-light." In spite of their maladies they obstinately remained " upon the breach of work and thought ; " one of them, however, passing away while still young. To them nature and humanity possess interest only as subject-matter for their observation and composition. On the street, in salons, and at table, they note every word, gesture, and intonation which may be of profit to their next book. Their own ego belonged body and soul to "literature." They spied upon themselves. They even observed their own dreams, " courted insomnia for the good for- tune of night fevers," and pictured themselves in the delirious moments of a malady likely to carry them off at any moment. Feeling himself mortally affected, Jules is seized with the fury of work, and toils without relaxation from morn till night over the last book he is to sign ; unwilling to lose a mo- ment, this "literary press wrings out the last hours 430 Literary Movement in France. of a mind and talent soon to sink." While his brother fights the terrible malady that has stricken his brain, Edmond, during nights of tears, records the notes which he has compared to the cries with which great physical anguish is assuaged. These notes are then delivered to the public. Believing it " useful to the history of letters to make this cruel study of the pain and death of a man dying of lit- erature," he "renounces all sensibility," to rewrite the words that rend his heart. These graphic words reveal the ghastly secrets of the illness, the intellectual abasement, the moral degradation, and the final humiliations of human nature. Edmond and Jules de Goncourt have had no other concern than for their art. In their bodily miseries they would have gladly made a compact with God to allow them but one brain with which to create, eyes with which to see, and one hand to hold a pen. But these very miseries they owe to that literature which devours them, and by that literature of the nerves which they glory in having created they also profit. Poets and physiologists at the same time, they were Naturalists in their observation and rendering of actual reality, as well as Romanticists in their su- perstitious regard for form, which almost amounted to mania, and in their choice of exceptional char- acters and circumstances. In reality, they belong to no particular school, and must be classed by themselves. Unacquainted with the Classics, not only with Greco-Latin antiquity, but also with that of our seventeenth century, they only appreciated The Novel. 431 that " modernity " of which their works are the most vivid expression. In Greek beauty they find neither fantasy, nor mystery, nor yet that " so exalting, so delusive, so strangely enigmatical grain of opium." They consider that antiquity was intended for the bread of professors. The finest works of French Classicism lack savor in their eyes ; for them they partake of that tiresome beauty which produces the effect of a pensum of the Beautiful. They have an aversion for simplicity, sobriety, and tranquillity. They delight only in what is reflected and dis- torted, — in the fastidious refinements of the eighteenth century, their favorite epoch, or in Jap- anese art, with its strange writhing figures of atti- tudes and proportions predetermined by no canons, which they boast of having been the first to intro- duce to us. They are invalids who find pleasure in their maladies and hold health in abhorrence. They are admirable artists, if this may mean they have rendered by words, forms of expression, and rhythm what is most poignant in sensation. They are, however, dangerous to language because they have severed its roots, and their decadent, neuropathic style must finally end in complete anarchy. Flaubert and the Goncourts have exercised a powerful influence upon the contemporary novel; indeed, they are the masters of the " Naturalistic '* method, and all our present novelists proceed more or less directly from them. These two works, Madame Bovary and Genninie Lacerteux, are, as Jules de Goncourt said of the second, the " models of all that 432 Literary Movement in Fraiice. has since appeared under the name of ' ReaHsm, Naturahsm, etc' " However, if the new form which these two typical works gave to the novel has been carried out in its essential features for thirty years, writers such as Zola and Alphonse Daudet have, by their peculiar originality, sufficiently diversified it to merit special study. Naturalism found its legislator in Zola. While others spontaneously followed their instincts and the natural bent of their fantasy, even in the most Realistic portraitures, Zola's voluntary, systematical mind grounded itself upon rational principles. These his narrow, persistent logic pursued to the limit of their application. Although the modern novel had long been in existence, he was the first to define its poetics. This is why, without having created anything really new, he can be considered as the leader of the school of which Flaubert and the Goncourts were the initiators and earliest mas- ters, and for which he prescribed the formulas. Everything about him seems suited to this role, — his resolute character and categorical mind, his obstinate determination, his militant disposition, and even that self-confidence which is no less a virtue in the leaders of schools than in the founders of empires. He was the first to give Naturalism a doctrine. Has he, then, been a Naturalist in the full sense of the word 1 Is he content with copying nature } Does he present it as it is without modifying it according to his mental bias and imagination ? He The Novel. 433 has never pretended that art might be reduced to a simple copy. Without applying to him those maxims with which his adversaries found it only too easy to place him in contradiction, it is evident that the hierophant of Naturalism has never strictly em- ployed his own theories. Zola is something of a Romanticist, and he is himself aware of it ; for whatever effort he makes, he never entirely succeeds in ejecting that "virus" which Romanticism has inoculated into his system. Although the implacable theorist of the scientific, experimental, documentary novel in his prefaces and manifestoes, this does not prevent him from being a poet. Zola is a poet in his invincible tendency to synthesis and idealization. The real world never gives us two examples of the same species, and true Realists must therefore picture individuals, — that is, men each of whom stands for himself. Now, the greater part of the characters presented by Zola are of general signification, and sum up all that cate- gory belonging to the same class of society, or that entire family having approximately the same com- plexion. He heaps upon a single subject all the traits which he has observed here and there in a great number of individuals, not to speak of those he invents. Thus composed, his creations assume a typical character, than which nothing is more contrary to the principles of his jealous, exclusive Realism. This need for idealization is no less evident in his delineation of things than in that of people. His imagination not only exaggerates them, accentuates their contrasts, enlarges their 28 434 Literary Movement in France. proportions, but even animates and imparts to them a mysterious existence. It has been remarked that for almost all his works he borrows from inert matter some symbol to sum up their purport; this emblematical monster, sometimes the Tavern, some- times the Shop, sometimes the Mine, he constitutes the principal personage of his novel. The titles of certain of his books, Germinal, rCEuvre, la Terre, indicate their symbolical character. Indeed, the general conception of the Rougon- Mac quart is very little Realistic. Of that family whose natural his- tory he wishes to write, Zola first composes a gen- ealogical tree so fictive in symmetry that it at once belies his pretension. The fundamental dogma of Naturalism is to por- tray only reality taken from actuality. Let us do justice to Zola's effort, the sincere, patient applica- tion which he brings to the study of his characters, circumstances, and conditions. But where and how does he study them ? We are told that he prepares each of his works by living several weeks, possibly several months, in the milieux he wishes to describe ; but who would not find such knowledge necessarily cursory and superficial, also subordinated to particular views and ideas, and in all cases to a predetermined plan } Moreover, the limits which Zola assigns him- self at the outset have long since rendered impos- sible the direct analysis of the men and things he represents, for such profound modifications have taken place in our manners during the past twenty years that the " notes " taken upon society to-day are no longer true of the second Empire. He is The Novel. 435 therefore reduced to two alternatives, both of which are equally unwelcome to the true " Naturalist," — he may apply the observations of the present to an already remote epoch, or he may search books for what actual reality cannot furnish him. He follows both of these methods, but most particularly does he substitute the " experimental " study of life by labo- rious readings, too often seeking in libraries the " human documents " upon which he works. His method of incorporating materials is no more in accord with his theory than the manner in which he has collected them. Zola does not reproduce what is accidental and unusual in reality ; he constructs his books solidly, working according to a geometrical plan and abandoning nothing to chance. His characters perform automatically ; all their activity seems to tend towards the demon- stration of the character with which he has endowed them. A method not less rigorous governs his "fiction": he dominates and disciplines reality, subjects its elements to his requirements, and com- pletes it by inventing the new data demanded by the logical progress of action. The doctrinaire of " Naturalism " obviously merits criticism for having submitted nature to his instinctive need for order and symmetry. He treats it as formless matter to be fashioned by art : his abstract, logical deductions determine both the combinations of action and the development of characters. In what does Zola's Naturalism, then, consist ? Can he not justly be condemned for presenting his Rongon-Macquart as a scientific work founded upon 436 Literary Movement in France. the laws of heredity ? When scientists themselves declare that these laws escape them, and scarcely dare hazard their conjectures, how can we credit a novelist, even supposing conscientious study ? Does he not rkecessarily add to all the suppositions of science upon this so obscure and uncertain ques- tion, not only all that is hypothetical and gratui- tous in Romanticism, but all the doubtful surmises of his incoercible imagination ? The fearless confi- dence with which Zola erects his monuments upon so precarious a foundation betrays the influence of the Romantic demon which he has never been able to exorcise. Romanticism is even evident in his "physiology." His physiological novel is no more serious in its line than Dumas' historical novel ; Dumas hung his pictures upon the nail of history ; Zola attaches his to that of physiology. If Naturalism be understood to mean what the word really signifies, — the scrupulous observation of nature, — the author of the Rougon-Macquart is not a true Naturalist. His originality cannot be found in an aesthetical conception which was in no sense new, and to which he did not remain faithful, but in a candid and cynical materialism which reduces human life to the fatal activity of appetites. He gives us his profession of faith in his preface to Therese Raquin ; his purpose is to study " tem- peraments, not characters." Zola is not a psychol- ogist. He may succeed in portraying coarse, simple natures, in whom sentiment cannot be distinguished from sensation ; but when he applies his analysis to less rudimentary souls, it becomes incapable of pene- The Novel. 437 trating their inner life, and all psychology is stifled by a brutal physiology. His favorite heroes are those in which neurotic disorders have ruined the slightest attempts at resistance. In such charac- ters the psychologist finds little to interest him. What subject-matter could he find in characters " supremely ruled by nerves and blood " 1 That Zola makes neuropathy the starting-point of all his works indicates their significance. In the same manner he suppresses as far as possible all those free forces of the will and intelligence that might serve to check the fatal influences of temperament. At the outset he announced himself for what he is, — the painter of man, but most particularly of what he calls the "bete humaine." This materialism is not without its greatness. Endowing it with some occult existence, Zola trans- fers to matter the ideal of the mind. There is a sombre, formidable poetry in this fatalism. The Rougon- Mac quart makes us feel the oppression of destiny. The fatality which reigns over them is purely animal ; but Zola forcibly expresses its mys- terious and inevitable consequences with relentless monotony, intense gravity, and a terrible imperson- ality. Particularly in this respect does his work resemble a poem rather than a drama, since it con- ceives man as a passive being, the slave of his tem- perament, and incapable of reacting against the domination of things. It is a mournful, grandiose epopee, inspired from beginning to end by the con<- sciousness of those blind forces that bend human life beneath their despotism. 438 Literary Movement m France. Zola's form is in close accord with this inspira- tion. There is nothing personal about his style : it is characterized by a uniform plenitude, something copious, slow, and spiritless, and a sturdy, patient regularity, without charm, delicacy, or invention of detail, having no other movement than that of large wholes. There is no flexibility, no vivacity; but a litany of massive phrases varied by no accident and enlivened by no picturesque features. His style partakes of the recitative. In so much as the move- ment of the Goncourts is nervous, convulsive, discon- nected, is that of Zola equal, uniform, imperturbable. In so far as the Goncourts delight in refinement and fastidiousness, does Zola, especially in his latest novels and recent manner, make light of what he calls "ragout." He avoids no opportunity of de- claring that our literature should " return to the clear, flowing language of the seventeenth century in order to react against the pernicious influence of Romanticism." He says excellently : " One writes well when one gives an idea or a sensation its just expression; and the whole art of writing consists in having a vivid impression of what we speak, and rendering this impression with the greatest possible intensity." He wishes to maintain the "simple grandeur of our national genius ; " and although he has not always avoided all circumlocutions, in the breadth of its vigorous rectitude his style may be said to belong to Classical tradition. However, the simplicity which he extols too often lacks accent and character, and the precision which he rightly regards as the fundamental of all qualities escapes The Novel. 439 him in the delicacy of its shading. Zola is not a great writer ; he has not marked language with his imprint. He is not always a good writer, — that is, an exact or even a correct writer. He writes not only without grace but without tact, and sometimes without precision. All this, however, does not pre- vent his gross, thick, cumbrous style from producing in the end the impression of stolid vigor and rigid grandeur in close accord with the dominion of that ponderous, inexorable fatality which hangs over the epopee of the Rougon-Macquart. Alphonse Daudet is of the same school as Zola, although not of the same family. There exists as much dissimilarity between these two novelists as is possible between those who make profession of Naturalism. Profession } In reality, this word is much more applicable to Zola than to Daudet, who can scarcely be said to have acknowledged any doctrine. In this consists an evident divergence ; and if we would note the contrasts of their natures, it will be well to begin by opposing what is delib- erate and methodical in the one with the sponta- neity, the indifference to doctrine and heedless vivacity of the other. In Daudet's words, Zola proceeds " like his engineer father ; " he advances slowly and surely, daily transcribing his three or four pages with mechanical regularity. Daudet com- poses his novels much less than they are composed unconsciously. Writing "wholesale," he throws ideas and events upon paper without giving him- self time for a complete or even a correct wording. 440 Literary Movement in France. In this condition he leaves them to return later to his first inspiration. While Zola studies printed documents or unwittingly abandons himself to his instinct of divination, Daudet confines himself closely to living reality, and his entire method con- sists in fixing the direct impressions he has gath- ered. The one betrays nothing of himself; indeed, in none of the actors of the Rougon-Macquart do we find a single individual in which the author displays the slightest interest. The other throws himself completely into his works, and from le Petit Chose, a sort of autobiography, he has neither ceased to tell about himself nor to engage both his curios- ity and his sympathy in the characters he pictures. The one does not retreat from what is ignoble, but rather seems to delight in it ; and his work only merits the name of Realism when it exposes to all eyes the vileness of human bestiality. The other portrays evil with no less force, but in always hold- ing himself above what is too obscene in reality, for his delicacy suffers from contact with vulgarity and certain odors nauseate him. The first employs a language too dense, too compact, and too forcible in its ponderousness ; the second writes in the airi- est, most flexible, most evanescent of styles, always in motion, intangible in its variety, so vivid, so rapid, and so spontaneous that it seems to speak. But, in order to make a complete study of Daudet, we must successively take up the points upon which we have just touched in comparing him with Zola. Daudet works in a sort of fever. Even before beginning to write his books, he has related, acted, The Novel. 441 and almost " lived " them. This habit responds to a necessity of his nature, and this he also consti- tutes his process of composition. The original sketch is only an improvisation, but with the second version begins what he calls the painful part of his labor. He first abandons himself to his fancy, giv- ing free rein to his troubadour instincts. The sub- ject urges him on and outstrips him ; his hand glides rapidly over the paper without writing all the words, or even pausing to punctuate, in the effort to follow the fever of his toiling brain by hastily stenograph- ing ideas and sentiments. Only with that " trem- bling of the fingers," with him a sign of inspiration, does he take up his pen. He at once launches into the full current of the action. As his figures are already " on foot in his mind," he loses no time in introducing them in full activity. The greater part of his novels consists in a series of pictures or epi- sodes which pass in file beneath our eyes. There are no preludes either at the outset or in passing from one chapter to another ; he explains the situa- tion by a word, leaving the reader to imagine such events as are not adapted to an entirely actual mise 671 scene. He renders only what moves his heart and sets his nerves in vibration, — what is dramatic, picturesque, and animated in human affairs. His books are not derived from an abstract con- ception. They do not start out from some point of view anterior to observation, predetermining the dis- position of events and personages, but from a per- sonal and immediate impression of real things. He has described the growth of the novel in his mind. 442 Literary Movement in Fra^tce. Early in life he formed the habit of " collecting a multitude of little note-books, in which his remarks and thoughts, sometimes condensed into a single line, sufficed to recall a gesture or an exclamation to be later developed and enlarged into harmony with some important work." With watchful eyes, ever-ready ears, and, as Edmond de Goncourt says, " all his senses like the feelers of an octopus," he lies in wait to absorb reality. Each day he notes down his impressions while still fresh. At Paris, while travelling, or in the country, he covers the pages of his note-book, giving no thought to the "work heap- ing up before him." When particularly impressed by a certain figure, about which his notes accumu- late, it evokes the idea of a book in which it will play the principal role. Characters pre-exist his works; he but writes their actual history. The events and milieux found in his works are as strictly exact as are his types of character ; types, events, and milieux are copied from nature. " To copy from nature," he has said, "has been my only method of work." It is his ideal to " write in the atmosphere of his sub- jects." One of his sweetest recollections is of the time he passed writing Fromont jeujie et Risler atne in an old dwelling of the Marais. From his study, opening on the garden, he could see the "bustling life of the faubourg, the curling smoke of the factories, the rumbling trucks . . . The whole quarter toiled for me," he said. To the action of his novels Dau- det adapts foreign episodes; so also in the same novel does he bring together characters observed in different places. However, he supplies as little as Tlie Novel. 443 possible, only inventing what is required to bind together his episodes and characters. The most humble figures he represents are "reminiscences," and his superstition for the real carries him so far that he sometimes retains his models' names, fearing that something of their integrity might be lost in the transformation of their names. Others uncon- sciously substitute their own inventions for nature ; he cannot dispense with the true, and " not without remorse," says Goncourt, "has he more than once immolated a relative, a memory," to this imperious necessity of working upon a living model, of biting into the raw reality. To the impressionability of the Goncourts, Daudet unites tenderness. Not only are his nerves sensi- tive, but also his heart. With him the vivacity of sentiment equals that of sensation. He interests himself in his characters, and, in loving them, makes us love them. He does not force himself upon the scene, — indeed, nowhere directly intervenes in his narrative; but his sympathy animates them from beginning to end, and a gesture, an exclamation, sometimes escapes, unwittingly betraying his emo- tion. If his figures give us the illusion of life, it is because they live in his heart as well as in his imagi- nation. Flaubert remains insensible to the misfor- tunes of Charles Bovary; he withdraws into an implacable conserv^atism, refusing our ready sympa- thy the expected word. Like Bovary, Risler also has his short-comings; but they do not forbid our pity. Daudet "feels the love of Dickens for the poor and disgraced." His favorite heroes are the 444 Literary Movement in France. refined rendered unhappy by their refinement. In order to write Jack, he lays aside le Nabab, already begun, and in less than a year produces that so ten- der and cruel book, in which cruelty is but a form of tenderness. This work caused the intrepid toiler, George Sand, such a heart-ache that she was unable to write for three entire days after reading it. His sympathy embraces the most uncouth and most vul- gar of characters, however little they seem to merit it; and we feel that he takes pleasure in rescuing them from ridicule and even from scorn by some noble attitude or generous enthusiasm. He really loves his Nabab, is not without affection for his Roumestan, and finds means of raising up his Astier- Rehu by giving him at the last a dignity that com- mands our esteem. Daudet is spontaneously optimistical, and in this is he distinguished from all the novelists of the con- temporary school. There are characters quite as depraved as those of Flaubert and Zola to be found in his works ; but we feel by the manner in which he presents them that he despises their bestiality. Now, the pessimist who considers bestiality the basis of man's nature is not accessible to indignation. Furthermore, Daudet does not find it necessary al- ways to portray human nature as stupid, false, or ab- ject, admitting no element of goodness, kindness, or virtue. His books almost always, if only incident- ally, present some chosen individual who is an honor to humanity. When he varies his constant method of working only upon models, it is precisely to invent, when not supplied by reality, a sweet, amiable crea- The Novel. 445 ture to bear the burden of his invincible need of believing that pure, high, refined souls still exist in the world. Perhaps his imagination is sometimes too complaisant ; perhaps his works sometimes con- tain fictitious, conventional types, whose features it has evidently pleased him to embellish. Relentless pessimists do not forgive him characters like Aline Joyeuse and Andre Marsanne, and accuse him of falsifying human nature, of endowing it with imagi- nary graces and virtues ; but does not their unruly pessimism also falsify human nature by presenting only its baseness and horrors under the pretext of being true to life? Alphonse Daudet's characteristic originality con- sists in an exquisitely measured union of poetry and reality. He began by verse, — charming madrigals, elegies of airy grace, dainty nothings, in which his aesthetic fantasy and delicate tenderness found play. It is a long way from his Amoureuses to his Nabab and Sapho. Nevertheless, something of the poetic spirit which inspired his youth is to be found in the works of his vigorous maturity. Daudet possesses the lightest, keenest, and boldest of the poet's gifts. It is needless to recall those delicate creations which exhale so fresh and so pure a charm, — a Desiree Delobelle, a sweet, humble invalid, giving her dreams the wings of the birds she feeds. Even in his most Realistic books is the poetic vein revealed, not only by his personal emotion and human sympathy, but also by that grain of the Romantic which imparts greater interest to the reality. He is a poet in the delicacy of his psychological analysis, In his repug- 446 Literary Movemeni in France. nance for the grossness of physiology, in his prompt- ness in grasping things on the wing, in the vivacity of an imagination which lends them an incom- parable relief. Nor is the poet less evident in that perpetually inventive language which is instanta- neously created in order to render what he sees in the richness of its coloring and the clearness of its contours. Daudet's style, doubtless, retains something of its first process of improvisation. He does not, of course, give us his first sketch; he has supplied the omissions and effaced the blemishes of the hastily written draught, which was dictated by his poetic fury. He has re-read it several times, and, in copy- ing it, retouches many phrases, revising and " refin- ing " them. This facile prose, seeming to have cost no effort, is the triumph of an ingenious and schol- arly art. The writer has himself called it his "slow and conscientious method." In order not to yield to that " tyrannical desire which causes artists to re- write a page ten or twenty times," he gives his first chapters of his novels to one of the journals as soon as they are finished. If he returns to his work, it is only to correct the faults of improvisation, always preserving its audacious freedom and passionate verve. Instead of describing things, his active, living style transcribes them as they appear, thus suppress- ing all surfeit of words likely to impede movement, and adapting rhythm to his successive impressions. He multiplies ellipses, inversions, and alliances of un- expected words, employs the most significant terms from all vocabularies, and subordinates style to the The Novel. 447 portrayal of the natural vivacity of sensations. In his free, unequal style Daudet recalls the Goncourts. He is, however, more scrupulous, has a firmer equi- librium, and is less involved and less agitated. He neither delights in gratuitous singularities of diction, affects curious neologisms, nor prefers expressions remote from common usage. His style is admirably flexible without being disjointed, mobile without rest- lessness, expressive without grimaces. Even in his audacities and irreverences he conciliates "modern- ity " and " nervosity " with appreciation for measure, fitness, and harmony. There is something of the Classicist to be found in this impressionist. 44S Literary Alovenient in Fraiice, CHAPTER V. THE THEATRE. IN making the drama a complete representation of life, Romanticism attempted to substitute it for the two styles which the ancient poetics had maintained with such severe distinction. In bring- ing tragic and comic elements together, its creators expected the drama to replace both tragedy and comedy. Classic tragedy, having a form in open discord with society as brought about by the revolu- tion, could not exist in opposition to the new de- velopment to which it at once abandoned the stage. Through an inevitable reaction against its extrava- gances, while demanding the support of Romanti- cism, it only momentarily regained public favor less than fifteen years later, when the downfall of les Burgraves seemed to leave the field open. Al- though tragedy might henceforth have no other form than the drama, whatever place it might give to the comic, the drama could never be a substitute for comedy. Victor Hugo had talked of supple- menting Corneille by Moliere ; but who could not see contradiction in such a pretence.'' In vain did the Romanticists mingle tears with laughter, and succeed the " grotesque " by the " sublime ; " com- The Theatre. 449 edy, considered as pictures of modern society, was necessarily excluded from the Romantic drama. Ignoring the realities of contemporary environment, they found themselves at home in legend or history ; and although several of the new school, Alexandre Dumas among others, sometimes found their sub- jects and characters about them, they were dramas of passion rather than comedies of manners. In- deed, does not one of the characters in Anthony ex- plain to the public why comedies of manners have become impossible '^. Could any one deny that such works of Alfred de Musset as Fantasio and O71 ne badine pas avec r amour express what is most spark- ling in the poet's mind, most fresh and graceful in his imagination, most delicate and penetrating in his tenderness } But he does not portray that contemporary reality which is the true sphere of comedy ; he creates an ideal, capricious world of fanciful dreams, in which he seeks refuge from the platitudes and vulgarities of the real world. During the reign of Romanticism comedy was con- fined to Scribe. This wonderful practician never allowed other than phantoms to pass over the stage. His '' pensioitnaires of much-sought-after wealth, his millionaires of unbounded aspirations, his artists sup- ported by bankers' wives," found no more favor with Realism than the respectable bandits of the Roman- tic drama or its earthworms sighing for stars. Realism began by transforming the novel, which was better adapted than other literar^^ styles to the direct, faithful representation of modern life. It turned but slowly to the theatre, for the fundamen- 450 Literary Movement in France. tal necessities of dramatic art at first seemed to ex- clude the fine, detailed analyses of the Realistic novel. Balzac was the first to attempt to give dra- matic form to the characters, manners, and envi- ronments which he had so vividly and truthfully pictured in his novels. This was, however, only during the latter part of his life, and neither through preference nor by vocation, but urged by the ever- increasing need of money. Furthermore, he be- lieved the theatre an inferior form of literary art, — the most false and the most facile of all styles. With the exception of Mercadet, which was only placed on the stage, considerably revised, after his death, all his dramatic works failed to win public approval. Some of them, Quinola for instance, were received with hisses; others, like Pamela Gi- raud and la Maratre, with indifferent silence. Bal- zac's talent could not be adapted to the theatre. In respect to neither action nor character did he grasp that sober, lucid unity so necessary to the drama. Forced to abridge the minute features, the exact descriptions, and the patiently accumulated details which succeeded in imparting to his novels the semblance of reality, he thus lost what was most significant in his complex, painstaking genius. Time and space were necessary to him : he could not contract and condense. Of the elements which the novel allowed him to place in contrast, but from which he was obliged to select for the drama, he did not succeed in making evident those best suited to the optics of the stage, and which must, as we say, pass over to the audience. He was admirably en- The Theatre. 451 dowed for representing human life in the intricacy of its inextricable ramifications. Although a mar- vellous analyst, he did not possess the theatrical gift, which consists not in analyses but in syntheses. Nature can only enter into so inflexible a form by simplifying data and rectifying errors, being thus mutilated and falsified in order the more surely to seize that truth which is necessarily conventional and fragmentary. To this truth the dramatic poet must sacrifice what is confused, dispersed, and in- finitely circumstantial in nature. If Balzac opened a new field to comedy, it is as a novelist and not as a writer of comedies. The masters of modern comedy were not long in adapting to the particular conditions of their art that Realism which had already renewed the novel. Both Herna7ii and la Dame atix camelias have made dates in the dramatic history of our century. The poetic, historic drama brought into vogue by Her7iani introduced the sentimental exaltation of the Romantic soul into the theatre. During the second half of the century, when Romanticism had exhausted its transports and been consumed by its fervors, historical and legendary subjects were fol- lowed by studies of contemporary manners. Lyri- cal outpourings were succeeded by keen analyses, and, in place of the plumed heroes of the middle ages, there were the bluntly realistic types of modern life. The former pompous, sonorous alexandrines were replaced by an exact, condensed prose, as clear and sharp as steel. Alexandre Dumas Jils wrote la Dajize aux camelias without very well 452 Literary Movement in France. knowing how; perhaps "in virtue of the audacity and good fortune of youth." This work, neverthe- less, marks a great revolution in the theatre, — a revolution minus proclamations, theories, and noisy prefaces. These it could so much the better dis- pense with since it was thoroughly in conformity with the drifts and needs of the contemporary genera- tions. Voluntarily and without the bias of schools, Dumas gave dramatic form to Realism, for the rev- olution which he soon brought about on the stage had already influenced minds and manners. The young author of la Dame aux camelias, how- ever, met with lively remonstrances. Although Balzac had accustomed the public to the crude aspects of reality, the peculiar conditions of dra- matic art are such that what the novel admits without reservation risks shocking prejudices and formali- ties when introduced on the stage. With admira- ble skill Scribe "had patterned from contemporary society more than four hundred works whose char- acters were already beginning to fade." Dumas shaped out of the whole cloth substantial comedies moulded upon life, — works of direct, severe obser- vation, which represented men of flesh and blood, " real from head to foot." They were not vaude- villes without consistence, having no object other than to divert the spectator by the play of amusing silhouettes. Dumas recognized no conventions but the inherent requirements of dramatic art and the innate refinements of human nature. He relates in one of his prefaces how he resolutely and indepen- dently set out in search of the truth, after having The Theatre. 453 written la Dame aux camelias in eight days, less by " sanctified inspiration " than " urged by the need of money." Greek and Latin antiquity had been ex- hausted by two hundred years of tragedy ; national antiquity, by twenty years of drama. There was nothing left but modern life, which had scarcely been touched upon by Scribe's sketches. Dumas aimed to render modern life with absolute frankness, at the risk of offending the affected proprieties of a narrow art and the self-satisfied susceptibili- ties of a superficial morality. " No writer, particu- larly at the beginning of his career, has had more to struggle against than the author," he says. La Dame aux camelias was prohibited for a year, and Diane de Lys for eighteen months. Le Demi- Monde, written for the Theatre-Fran9ais, was styled " impossible, dangerous, and abounding in . mon- strosities." Not only had the young author to contend with general disapprobation ; even the parterre more than once rose in anger against this unscrupulous artist and shameless moralist. Du- mas made light of prejudices and predilections, boldly informing his spectators just what they did not wish to be told. He defies that convention- ality in virtue of which natural sons have through- out all time mourned the misfortune of their birth, who, when brought for the first time into the pres- ence of the father to whom they are indebted only for that misfortune, throw themselves upon the paternal breast in transports of tenderness. He makes the son of Madame Aubray marry a woman with a lover without first having had her lover killed 454 Literary Movement in France. by the future husband, according to consecrated rules. After having " led the public as far as pos- sible in the fatal deduction of a passion or a charac- ter," he delights in " finally making it brusquely face its logical result." He would rather offend his public by a blunt, true conclusion than win it by a false solution " unworthy of art and the ac- quired truths." In fine, where tragedy and comedy had either glorified or deified the " eternal femi- nine," he sacrilegiously unveils and violates the mysteries of the " Sex," exposing to ridicule and contempt the conventional ideal of woman. De- spoiling her of all prestige, he disrobes her before the public eye ; treating her sometimes as a child to be punished with the rod, sometimes as the " guenon de Nod " to be destroyed. Courageous enough to brave public disapproval, Dumas was also sufficiently skilful and energetic to force it to accept his audacities. " The dramatic author who knows man as did Balzac, and the the- atre as well as Scribe," he said, " would be the greatest that has ever lived." If Dumas possesses a knowledge as keen as Balzac of some though not of all characters, he is Scribe's equal in throw- ing a subject into action, in evolving all its develop- ments, as well as in his appreciation of movement and effect, and his instinctive talent for situation and dialogue. " The methods of other arts are learned," he says ; " in theatrical art they are divined or in- herent. We do not become dramatic authors ; we are so at first or never, just as we are born blond or brunette without having so wished it." And else- The Theatre. 455 where : " The dramatic author may in time acquire more elevated 4;houghts, develop a higher philoso- phy; but his first comedies are just as well, and often more ably, constructed." La Dame aux camelias showed at once that Dumas was master of his art. He has indicated the method first applied by him, and the one he continued to employ: it consists in writing as if his characters were living beings. The theatrical gift is so natural to him that things first present themselves from the dramatic point of view. Hence, in order to compose a drama, he has only to convey these spontaneous images to the stage without the work of transposition. Logic, "that which governs and commands," is the most indispensable of all the qualities necessary to the drama. The theatre supplies imagination in the person of interpreters, in its decorations and accessories ; consequently dramatic writers can very well dispense with it. Neither does invention concern them ; for a dram- atist's duty is not to invent what does not exist, but to reproduce, to " restore " what exists by adapt- ing what he has seen and felt to the conditions of his art. In this we recognize the fundamental maxim of Realism, which was introduced on the stage by Dumas the first. Particularly in the first half of his career has the painter of the Demi- Monde, the author of la Dame aux camelias, Diane de Lys, le Pere prodigue, le Fils naturel, TAmi des femmes, represented episodes from his life, situa- tions he has witnessed, people he has known, and milieux he has personally studied. Invention and 456 Literary Movement in France. imagination being useless on the stage, logic is the quality which Dumas esteems above all others, and that which he possesses in the highest degree. Al- though a Realist in the selection of his subjects as well as in his freedom of treatment, he makes no concessions to Realism in what pertains to dramatic composition. The theorists of certain " Naturalist " theatres censure him for having deformed reality by confining it within artificial limits, for having built up his works like theorems, for having mounted characters that walk, act, and speak like automata, as if worked by springs. These criticisms do not touch him ; he knows his art better than any one, — its resources as well as its limits and demands. He knows that a dramatic work cannot be a copy of reality; that it represents life " relatively; " that what is true upon the stage is in accord either with its primordial conventions or with the perspective and sonority peculiar to the theatre. If its truths cannot be absolute, its logic must be rigid. No dramatic author has ever been a more relentless logician than Dumas. Why does he advise us never to begin to write a drama until we have found its last scene, its movement, and its final word } Because he considers that its conclusion should be the point towards which the author should direct the develop- ment of his action. Even at the outset he must have his eyes fixed upon his destination, and pro- ceed with inflexible rectitude, permitting neither hesitation nor digression. His logic has been often called brutal in its mathematical precision. He must not be expected to modify a conclusion. His The Theatre. 457 dramas are a " mathematical progression multiplied scene by scene, event by event, act by act," until their conclusion is reached, — a " product " both fatal and inexorable. To logic, his master faculty and that whence all others proceed, belong " the talent of continually placing in evidence those aspects of things and beings from which he draws his conclu- sions," as well as " dexterity in arrangement " and the " science of counterparts." To this faculty must also be attributed the judgment with which he dis- tributes light and shade, disposes opposing elements, and equalizes effects. Nor must we overlook the rapid movement which urges his works on towards their final crises, his animated manner of entering at once into the spirit of things, his readiness in throwing overboard all useless baggage, his skill in presenting only the essence of action, and pitilessly cutting out all that is not indispensable to the understanding of a keen, impatient audience, — also due to this faculty. He certainly handles logic with masterly command and marvellous knowledge of the theatre and the public he addresses. Even in his rapidity and violences, no one has understood better than Dumas the secret of screening difficul- ties, refuting objections in advance, arousing the expectation and imperative desire for the most hazardous scenes, — in a word, that consummate art of " preparation " without which his sharp- edged, despotic rationalism would so often have revolted his spectators. Dumas' language is in perfect accord with what is concise and incisive in his dramatic system. He 45 8 Literary Moveinent in France. taxes himself with never having written pure French, recalhng that MoHere did not write it purely. Care- lessness, imperfections, and "barbarisms" are unper- ceived by the public, provided the form is clear, salient, vigorous, and sonorous. What matters it if Dumas' style does not always observe academical rules; what if irregularities and faults of grammar are not uncommon with him } His is a living lan- guage ; and this quality alone can not only dispense with all those which it does not include, but also redeem that license which never detracts, but rather conspires in its favor. Dumas' every phrase bears its message ; and as there are no idle words in his works, so none are lost. It is a style all muscles and nerves; it is action itself. It carves out his ideas, giving them a clear, bold outline. Though often wanting in literary purity and grammatical accuracy, it certainly always possesses dramatic relief. To Dumas the theatre is essentially a school. He tells us how he leaned in his youth over the great crucible, Paris, in order to study " in that medley of the human being of special habits and laws " those moral problems which he believed every dramatic author should attempt to solve. Being born a moralist as well as a dramatist, he did not consider that the theatre's sole object was to amuse the idle. He thought that the " art that had pro- duced Poly cue te, AtJialic, Tariic/e, and Figaro was primarily a civilizing art, incalculable in its bearing." He wished to found this art upon truth, having morality for its aim. In the cynical painter of con- The Theatre. 459 temporary manners, there was something of the savior of souls. Dumas sent le Demi-Monde, re- fused by the Comedie Fran9aise " on account of its indecency," in competition for the prize offered by Leon Faucher at the time of his debut for a useful comedy of manners. La Dame aux canielias is, perhaps, the only one of his dramas which does not attempt to demonstrate a moral truth. He interests himself in problems of conscience, and particularly in those that concern society as a whole. From le Fils naturel he becomes engrossed in the devel- opment of social theories. To portray characters, idiosyncrasies, and passions is not enough for him. He wishes to leave his spectators " something to think about," to force them to listen to " things that ought to be said." At the risk of offending the fanatics of art for art's sake, he founds the " theatre utile " with " plus-value of mankind " for its object. He is not content with being a moralist; he rises up before us like a prophet. Certainly, no one will question a dramatic author's right to interpret the highest questions of social morality. In judging a theatrical work, however, we do not consider it from the moral, but rather from the artistic point of view. Its merit consists in what it portrays, and not in what it purposes to teach us. Moliere, whose name Alexandre Dumas loved to use, did not aim at the "plus-value of mankind ; " and although his Femmes savantes de- velops ideas in reality quite ordinary, it is never- theless considered one of his masterpieces. In fact, almost all Dumas' comedies unfold a proposition, 460 Literary Moveme7it hi France. almost all contain reasoning individuals whose ha- rangues give free vent to his didactic, sermonizing mania. Most of them, it is true, present his favorite ideas in a concrete, impassioned, dramatic form. More and more absorbed by social reform, he at length loses himself completely in hollow, declama- tory metaphysics. Instead of considering and ren- dering nature as it is, he attempts to incarnate his own ideas in lifeless types. He no longer represents the individual, but the human creature. In con- junction with the visionary's illuminations, his geometrical logic results in the conception of emblematical characters whose activity is regulated by preconceived theories. They are not real living beings, but entities. \rv la Fem^ne de Claude, Claude is Man, and Cesarine, the Beast. L' Etrangere, con- sidered an "excellent melodrama and a detestable comedy " by a well-known critic, is neither a comedy nor a melodrama, but a sort of mythical poem. Dumas finally discovers that it will soon be impos- sible for him to adapt his " already troublesome abstractions " to the theatre ; and although he did not retire as early as he announced, his last dramas have, at least, reacted against his preference for "complete incarnations." Laying aside both sym- bols and theses in his most recent work, Francillon, he confines himself to the development of real char- acters through action commanding our interest. Love is the inspiration of Dumas' theatre. Seek- ing the " point towards which he might turn his faculty of observation to the best effect," he at once found it in love. From la Dame aux cajnelias to The Theatre. 461 Francillon, it is the constant subject of his thought. There is nothing ideal in Dumas' conception of love. As a physiologist, he analyzes it; as a moralist, he studies its social effects. Despoil- ing it of all Romantic glamour, he represents it as a necessity, not a sentiment. He does not deny the existence of " true love," being even ready to honor it as the equal of genius and virtue ; but he believes it as rare as real genius and virtue. In fact, he has not represented it at all. What he has pictured is love as found in the society about him, — a love in reality nothing more than a physical appetite or curiosity of the senses, a love which clothes brutality with superficial gallantry and dis- guises bestiality beneath hypocritical stratagem. This love Dumas portrays with the cynicism of a physician; and, though fastidious criticism cry out against immorality, he nevertheless accomplishes his moralist's duty, "removing veils from things and people alike." He has been condemned for not loving woman; yet it is in her interest that he wishes to inspire her with disgust for sin, when he makes Lebonnard say to her, " To what end ? " and puts, " This, then, is love ! " in the mouth of Jane de Simerose. Prostitution is the "monster" against which Dumas has directed his blows. La Dame aux cafne- lias was written when he was twenty-one years of age. To reinstate the courtesan was, however, so far from his purpose that he closed with the words, " The history of Marguerite is an exception." War against love without marriage might be said to be 462 Literary Movement in France. the device of his theatre. The higher authority of the husband is brought out in Diane de Lys, his second work. The drama we at first thought con- secrated to the glorification of adultery ends with a pistol-shot which shows its true signification. Though the count is not blameless in his relations with Diane, he confesses, and only asks to repair his wrongs. He points out the disgrace and disillu- sion which attend irregular liaisons, and informs the man she loves that he will kill him if he finds him again in her presence. When this finally occurs, he refuses to accept a duel, and coldly ac- complishes an act of justice by striking him dead at his feet. Whether husband or wife, the one who remains faithful to duty always plays the fine role with Dumas. If sometimes the wife, as in la Prin- cesse Georges and in Francillon, it is more often the husband. Although la Princesse Georges and espe- cially Francillon, assert absolute equality in the duties which marriage imposes upon husband and wife, Dumas, viewing adultery as a legislator, pre- fers to represent the combat in the woman where its social consequences are otherwise serious. In la Princesse Georges Severine pardons the prince ; in Francillon, the husband who has sinned finally discovers that his wife is still pure; and if, in I'Etrangere, Clarkson kills the duke, Septmonts, we have been informed, was nothing but a vibrion in human form. Dumas has virtuous and courageous heroines, but the general idea dominating and giving special significance to his plays is the superiority of man The Theatre. 463 over woman. From Monsieur de Ryons, his favorite characters, and those in which the author can be recognized, scorn the Sex with mild condescension, sometimes profiting by its weaknesses, sometimes throwing hght upon its artifices, sometimes defying its seductions with cold, lashing irony. Monsieur de Ryons is a physiologist, albeit an indulgent, in- telligent physiologist. From VAmi des femmes to V Etrangere, as Dumas advances in life, his concep- tion of morality becomes more satirical and aggres- sive. To crudity he unites cruelty ; he performs "executions." At the same time illuminism invades his clinic of love. The mystical formulas, of which his plays are the exposition, become more evident. He glorifies the " man who knows," and prostrates woman, " who is but a tool," at the feet of man, who is " God's instrument." After having exhibited the courtesans of interloping social circles and those of the great world, he finally rises to his conception of the " Beast." This apocalyptical Beast, clothed in purple and scarlet, adorned with gold, pearls, and all precious stones, resembles a leopard having the feet of a bear, a lion's jaw, and the strength of a dragon. This fawning, bellowing Beast, with its seven half- open mouths glowing like coals of fire, is woman as he has seen and known her, — the woman of the half-world and the great world, the woman of all so- cieties, as presented by him on the stage, — Suzanne d'Ange, Albertine de Laborde, Iza, Madame de Terremonde, finally Cesarine. For himself he has no fear, for she has no power over the " man who knows ; " but he distrusts her in marriage, fearing 464 Literary Movement in France. her influence upon social hygiene. He has Claude put her to death, and, having killed her, return to work, leading back Antonin. Considered in itself, the work of Emile Augier is of no less significance than that of Dumas. Per- haps, as his surer judgment and language and more human art have already secured him a calmer, more certain, and more equal admiration, they will also in- sure him a future less subject to relapses, because of its broader and firmer foundation. Notwithstanding this, he does not hold so important a place as the author of la Dame aux came lias in the history of the literary movement of our times. Alexandre Dumas was the progenitor of the contemporary theatre. His first works renewed the drama, com- pletely modifying both its form and matter by bring- ing it back to the direct observation of life. Vivacity of movement, rapidity of dialogue, and simplicity of treatment — its characteristic traits since the middle of the century — can all be traced to him. When Dumas appeared, Augier, who had preceded him by eight years, had already been ap- plauded for the delicacy of his youthful talent, not without a certain virile candor. He had replaced the vaudeville by true comedy, substituting for in- trigues passions and characters, faithfully observed and sincerely rendered in their manners and habits of life. It must not be forgotten that Gabrielle was played more than two years before la Dame aux camelias. Dumas pays tribute to his elder by recognizing his just part in the regeneration of The Theatre. 465 dramatic art. " A keen, loyal, vigorous mind ap- peared," he said. " Gabrielle, with its simple, touch- ing action, its noble, beautiful language, was the first revolt against a now antiquated conventional theatre " having Scribe for its hireling builder. Gabrielle, however, does not possess that decisive quality of originality for which la Dame aux camelias merits the honor of having brought about the modern drama. In its substance we neither find that bold Realistic manner of treatment, nor in its style that swiftness of movement, vigor of touch, and sharpness of relief which constitute la Dame aux camelias the first type of a new art. Only in a system invented by Dumas did Emile Augier em- ploy in all their force those faculties of observation and delineation which were to be so brilliantly dis- played in le Gendre de Monsieur Poirier and le Mariage dOlympe. He might possibly have discov- ered for himself this new art towards which he was already directing his steps, and, perhaps, so soon and so thoroughly appropriated its conception only because it responded to his own instincts. His temperament, however, was not revolutionary; had he inaugurated a dramatic revolution alone, it would doubtless not have been by a single bold stroke, but little by little, step by step, and with measured, deliberate courage. It is certain that Augier received his impulse from another; he pro- duced a historical drama in verse in February, 1852, the same month that la Dame aux camelias appeared, and Philiberte was played the same season as Diane de Lys. 30 466 Lite7'ary Movement in France. Emile Augier's career is divided into two periods of quite unequal extent. He began as the " Musset of Ponsard ; " in other words, he started out by attempting to relax and enliven the wisdom of the " restorer of tragedy " by imparting to it something of the airy grace which Alfred de Musset brought to the stage. After la Cigu'e, and with r Homme de bien, he enters upon the study of contemporary manners and the analysis of characters; but this work is patterned upon traditional models, and con- tains nothing that announces a new comedy. In r Aventuriere, the scene of which is laid in Italy during the sixteenth century, he displays a vigor and spirit to be found neither in V Homme de bie^t nor even in la Cigu'e. Following Gabrielle, appeared le Joueur de flute, a work in the same style as la Cigu'e, Diane, a historical drama, and Philiberte, a fantasy of exquisite grace and freshness, which in its eighteenth-century setting is perhaps his most pleasing work, though not a serious study of manners. So far the poet had attempted all styles, and, even after having found his true sphere, almost at once laid it aside for others. During this period he belongs to what is now called the school of good sense. Having reconquered possession of the theatre with Lucrece, the Classical party opposes its sober, self-poised talent, ripened by healthy tradi- tions, to the exaggerations and monstrosities of Romanticism. Frank, clear, and exact in its verse, it is exempt from all redundance and confusion. Even in its archaisms it recalls sometimes Corneille, sometimes Moliere. At this staofe of his career Emile Augier is the Eliacin of Classicism. The Theatre. 467 But it was not the Classicists who really profited by the fall of Romanticism. While they dallied with superannuated conventions, the intellectual movement of the age brought about a new school with the loyal, faithful reproduction of reality for its only rule. With Dumas fits. Realism transformed dramatic art. Augier henceforth confines himself to the comedy of manners, first attempted in r Homme de bien and Gabrielle, and to which he now brings a vigor and freedom so far unknown to him. From le Gendre de Monsieur Poirier to Fourchambault, all his works contain subjects drawn from contemporary society. In renouncing light comedy, the historical drama, and neo-Greek imi- tations, he also casts off poetical form, heretofore solely employed. With the exception of la Jeunesse and Paul Forestier, from this time forth he writes only in prose. He certainly does not profess Alex- andre Dumas' scorn for the " rhymed form," but he considers that, while verse was adapted to the drama, which was sometimes epic, sometimes lyrical in character, and to the whims and jests of the comic muse, prose, always sincere, substantial, and moulded upon reality, is the only proper language for the comedy of contemporary manners. Like Dumas, Augier believed in the moral influ- ence of the theatre. Having in mind the experi- ments by which " Flourens demonstrated that the bones are ceaselessly renewed by the action of a coloring aliment," he significantly called literature the " coloring aliment of the public mind," and the theatre the " most active, if not the most nutritive, 468 Literary Movement in Frartce. part of literature." Being in touch with the masses, the theatre has this advantage over other forms of literature, — that its " teachings reach their objec- tive point directly and violently." It "guides the confused observation of the greatest number of peo- ple," and is also the " most easily grasped as well as the most penetrating form of thought." A political pamphlet on universal suffrage, a few short prefaces, his discourse on the event of his reception into the French Academy, if we except his volume, Parietaires, comprise all that Augier has written beyond his comedies. As a moralist, Augier has never been misled by chimeras. In his clear, well-balanced mind there is no place for daring theories, brilliant paradoxes, or vapory hallucinations. He is not carried away by Utopias ; if he often soars high, it is without losing sight of the solid ground of reality. Increasingly fascinated by physiology and mysticism, Dumas ends by preaching Christian virtue after the manner of a medical student, while Augier limits himself to an honest man's code. With a sturdy simplicity opposed to all declamation, whether fault of taste or tact, he preserves from all inconstancy and relapses a robust and refined morality, which unites the solidity of bourgeois integrity with what is most elevated in the aristo- cratic conception of honor. He appreciates the fact that the " theatre has never redeemed any one ; " for its " object is not to reclaim any one person, but the whole world." He has not ceased to keep this purpose in view. He is spar- ing of monologues ; neither advertises by theses, nor The Theatre. 469 substitutes symbolical abstractions for the living people of the real world. In avoiding pedantism and abstractions, he has not, on the other hand, consid- ered comedy as a simple diversion. He has taken the castigat ridendo mores quite seriously, and, with- out assuming the role of a reformer or apostle, has aimed to correct the public through the efficacy of laughter. Augier's field is more extended than that of Dumas. However, love and the marriage relations hold a very considerable place in his works. Even before Dumas had produced anything whatever, Gabrielle had given serious consideration to violated duties in which Scribe had seen only the facetious. Somewhat later le Mariage d Olympe introduced upon the stage the courtesan transformed into a countess, yet incapable of leading an honest life, where she smothers in a stifling atmosphere, desir- ing only to return to the mire which gives her nos- talgia. Les Liomtes pauvres reveals prostitution among the bourgeois, and Madame Caverlet dedi- cates what is most vigorous and effective in dra- matic art to the divorce question. Whereas Dumas employs his moralist's solicitude as well as his fac- ulty of observation only in the relations of the sexes, Augier interests himself in all the questions that concern society. Works like le Gendre de Mon- sieur Poirier, les Effrontes, le Fils de Giboyer and la Contagion have a more general signification than fAmi des femmes or la Princesse Georges. They represent more extended circles, are addressed to a larger public, and are less confined in their obser- 470 Literary Movement in France. vation of life. Augier portrays the conflict of honor and money as found in its many diverse aspects, showing scruples of conscience at variance with the temptations of fortune. He has given us the rich manufacturer, in whom wealth breeds ambition, and who, because he has known how to steer his own bark, believes himself capable of placing his hand to the helm of State. He has given us the ruined gentleman, who sells his name to the first bourgeois rich enough to support his idleness, and satisfy his elegant tastes and finical honor at his own expense. He has given us the brewer who lights upon his feet after a perilous jump, and, braving his condemnation like a strong man instead of meekly swallowing it, pays the price of his au- dacity; doubling the power of money by that of the press, he finally succeeds in forcing himself upon a society which tacitly consents to accept people as they appear, looking through windows only when they are broken. To these must be added the penniless adventurer of high life, who, envied for his horses and mistresses and admired for his swagger, finds the means of living in Parisian clubs and salons as if he possessed an in- come of fifty thousand dollars a year ; the bohemian of letters ready to empty his poisoned inkstand upon any one whomsoever ; the country notary, ma- lignant, tenacious, covetous, at once practical and prndho7mnesque, oblique, and nai'f, who in all candor attests to his respect for the law by twisting it. . . . Poirier, the Marquis de Presles, Vernouillet, d'Estrigaut, Giboyer, Maitre Guerin, and many The Theatre. 471 others of his creations invest with characteristic physiognomies the most original figures to be found by the moralist. Emile Augier has dared to intro- duce upon the stage, and make his characters dis- cuss, the most important interests and the most serious problems relating to the present or future of a society in which clash so many heterogeneous elements and opinions. He derides aristocracy of birth, both clerical and legitimist, alike submerged by the current it vainly attempts to arrest. He derides aristocracy of wealth, — both its doubtful financiers, who begin to be honest when enriched by their dishonesty, and divinely constituted bourgeois, who have held the Revolution in horror since they have been able to gain nothing thereby. To these he opposes the democratic society which is the outgrowth of '89, — not an equalizing level, but a hierarchy with the formula : To each accord- ing to his works, that aristocracy of birth and wealth be replaced by personal merit. Les Effrontes and le Fils de Giboyer are comedies without parallel in our contemporary theatre. The ideas developed in them are expressed with vigor and clearness, being incorporated in individuals and fixed in our mind as types for all time, after having existed on the stage as real people. A poet as well as a moralist, Augier's chief qual- ity is good sense, — not the timid, narrow good sense to which the neo-Classicists attempted to reduce art, but a robust sanity, nothing less than the equilibrium of all the faculties. All has, however, not been said in commending his wisdom. We 472 Literary Movement in France. shall not, of course, find in Augier tlie eclat, ardor, and impetuous spirit which gave Alexandre Dumas a more stirring and apparent originality ; yet the author of works so forcible in their moderation exercises the potent influence of a solid, vigorous talent in full self-possession. Like Dumas, he has the two fundamental qualifications for the drama, — logic and movement; but his logic is less rigid, and his movement more tranquil. His plays de- velop with a regularity uninterrupted by coups de theatre. They unite in a just measure what is suf- ficiently vivid in action not to permit the dramatic interest to relax, with ample space for the develop- ment of characters. At the same time they pos- sess greater freedom of composition, a broader and easier manner of treatment. The hand of the author is less evident, and reality is not so strictly submitted to the demands of theatrical art. Augier's observation is keen, but without severity, because we feel his generous sympathy for human nature. There is something cordial even in his satire. His esprit may often lack sudden sallies and the charm of the fantastic, yet how spirited we find certain scenes of t Aventuri^re, le Mariage cCOly77ipe, la Contagion and les Effrontes I It is frank, vivid, clear, and, above all, possesses those virtues, essential to the dramatic author, of being always found in situations, and of summing up vividly the import of a scene and add- ing some feature to the portrayal of a character. His simple, forcible language, at once precise and picturesque, sober and highly colored, follows in the path of French tradition. It is a style in which a The Theatre. 473 Gallic flavor is allied to Parisian invention. What contemporary reality enters into fimile Augier's works should not prevent us from recognizing their " Classical " qualities, — not confining ourselves here to the scholastic signification of the word as applied to the author of Tartufe and tAvare, before being applied to that of la Bourse and V Honneur et V Argent. As Augier proceeds directly from Moliere, so Sardou's first master was Eugene Scribe. Sardou, however, has employed his talent in many diverse styles ; not to speak of his Patrie, one of our best contemporary dramas, certain of his comedies of manners fall little short of masterpieces, were their conception more vigorous and their execution better sustained. Sardou places silhouettes, rather than types, upon the stage. He neglects features of general signifi- cance in favor of curious and amusing details which procure his works immediate success by compromis- ing that of the future. He often disintegrates a character by incorporating it in three or four per- sons, in each of which we find one of its aspects ; but as the peculiarities to which he directs his analysis are too trifling to hold our attention, he is naturally tempted to exaggerate them, thus reducing them to caricatures, doubtless diverting, though without durable interest. His works denote an in- comparable dexterity of composition, but we almost always detect their artificiality. His most " seri- ous " plays lack unity, because they so often bring 474 Literary Movement in France. the drama and comedy into too close contact, and because the action of the drama has no connec- tion with the situations represented by the com- edy. The severe simplicity of Augier and Dumas is to be preferred to the most ingenious of com- binations. Movement is Sardou's essential faculty. It, however, very often pertains to the bustle of actors rather than to the logical development of action. Such rapidity of movement could not be consistent with the exhaustive portrayal of man- ners and characters. Indeed, how could we grasp the physiognomy of personages constantly chang- ing place ? Sardou's style is, perhaps, his most personal feature. It possesses all the peculiarly dramatic qualities of eclat, spirit, here and there color, and everywhere vivacity of movement. It is a style suited only to the stage, for it is sometimes wanting in accuracy, and almost always in breadth. The author of Divor^ons is, above all others, the most expert, most flexible, most ingenious, and most entertaining of vaudevillistes. His originality consists in having revived the ancient vaudeville transmitted to him by Scribe, in having renewed shattered conventions, and in having introduced into them more truth, and a vivid, piquant, though by no means profound observation of life. Conclusion, 475 CONCLUSION. A S our century nears its close, we find little to J. 1^ indicate that its remaining years will wit- ness a new revolution. Notwithstanding the in- evitable return of Idealism, already evident, the scientific spirit still rules over all spheres of in- tellectual activity, and Realism, its outgrowth, over all forms of art. Poetry holds but a small place in the literary movement of the declining century. During the Romantic period the impulse had been derived from lyricism, Romanticism having been the retal- iation of sentiment and imagination over analysis. Realism, on the other hand, is essentially prosaic. Though several of our poets have sought inspira- tion in poetry, either in attempting to unite science and lyricism, or in portraying real life with descrip- tive exactitude, the greater part have been at vari- ance with the spirit of the age, or have no other concern than for words and rhymes. Poetry be- comes more and more absorbed in curiosities of composition. Incapable of reacting against the cur- rent which bears our epoch along, it seems to have renounced all association with it. The novel is the most flourishing of all styles, because it is the form most in unison with the spirit 476 Literary Movement iji France, of the times. Observation applied to either material or moral life is the instrument of the novel. One of our young novelists sees in human nature but blind instincts and impulses. His frank, sober nar- ratives, vivid and virile in touch, simple, direct, and robust in language, portray with strong relief the purely physical activity of characters. Another brings to psychology that curiosity which is typical of our generation. He is a disciple of Stendhal, as is the former of Flaubert and Zola ; he interests himself solely in " states of soul," or " conditions of conscience," making "designs in moral anatomy." Whether the novel be the work of the delineator or the moralist, — whether it reproduce exterior man in the grossness of his appetites, or unravel the attenu- ated shades of sentiment, it always assumes the char- acter of a study. The novelist observes more than he invents, and his work only contains enough fiction to serve as a setting for the " notes " which he takes from real life. Since Dumas and Augier, the theatre has been entirely confined to comedies of contemporary man- ners. Several poets have tried to restore the histor- ical drama, but whatever talent they possess cannot avail in reviving a form which seems as antiquated as tragedy. The most curious and significant fea- ture of the history of the theatre during the last few years is the effort of Naturalism to apply a new " formula " to dramatic art. Naturalistic novelists have believed that the liberties allowed the novel might be introduced upon the stage. After a lively campaign against the fundamental laws of theatrical Conclusion. 477 art, they have brought out plays which have so far produced no revolution. Some have succeeded by submitting to these laws, while others have failed through neglect of their demands. Dramas with and without the introduction, development, or con- clusion of action have been seen on the stage ; their entire art consists in placing before us a series of pictures connected by a mere thread of action dif- fused in many directions. " There are but two kinds of plays," wrote Dumas yf/f, — " those which are well or badly constructed." The new school has invented a third, — those which have no construction w^iat- ever. Moreover, this audacit}^ upon which the sup- posed regenerators of our theatre plume themselves, often only exposes to public view revolting igno- minies and indecencies. They then boast of having reproduced the real truth, the whole truth, — as if they could broaden the confines of art by returning to its infancy and violating its essential rules and ele- mentary conventions ; as if there were anything new but their own crudeness and cynicism in the attempt they proclaim so noisily. The effort is, none the less, characteristic. It is in touch with the passion for scrupulous exactness, which renewed art during the second half of the century, and the defeat of the Naturalists doubtless signifies that Alexandre Dumas and Emile Augier had already incorporated in their works all the truth admissible in an art necessarily founded upon the conventional. The excesses of which it cannot be accused with- out injustice have not succeeded in compromising 478 Literary Movement in France. that Realism which has dominated our literature during the past thirty or forty years. It remains the one great strength against a decadence which has lured away so many of the best minds of the young generation. There is a school of " Decadents." This school declares the citizens of a decadence " inapt in public and private action," "inefficient reproducers of fu- ture generations," "incapable of the devotion of deep-set faith." They hold that the cause lies in their proneness to solitary thought, the many refine- ments of their sensations, the rare delicacy of their sentiments, sterilized while being subtilized. They also find its origin in the culture of their minds, which, after having sounded all ideas, end in a scepticism disqualifying them for enthusiasm in any, because they comprehend all, conceptions, — in fine, in the superiority of their "minds" and their " nerves." But of what real value to literary pro- duction is this vaunted superiority ? What was called the mal du Steele fifty years ago has been followed by another evil which saps the very source of life. The one was the malady of exalted, vehement souls revolting against a destiny too narrow for their heroic, grandiose dreams ; the other is that of complex, ingenious natures, volup- tuous without passion, accomplished in intellectual pleasures, possessing a dexterity in danger of disso- lution, together with all active energy, all power of loving, every principle of faith. A vague mysticism seems to be mingled with this dilettantism. Herein lies no contradiction. Conclusion. 479 In addition to the desire to uphold some belief, this mysticism also betrays the inability to adopt any creed. It is not the awakening of a sturdy, budding faith ; its cause is to be found in the fatigue of minds overwrought by the intellectual activity of the age, or in the infirmity of souls which foster a sentimental religiosity. It also contains an element of affectation, perhaps a secret pleasure in feeling one's self capable not only of understanding, but also of arriving at, a moral condition so alien to the drifts of the times. Realism leaves Decadents to delight in the refine- ments of their sterile curiosity, neo-mystics to feed their mournful, enervated sensuality upon the verses of the hnitation. Neither do the affectations of the one corrupt its sincerity, nor the exaltations of the other trouble its equilibrium. It is too robust to find enjoyment in unnatural reveries, too conscious of its own strength to believe in decadence. Realism is, in fact, a loyal, virile effort towards truth. Let us free it from gratuitous violences and indecencies, and, rather than oppose it to Idealism, let us introduce the ideal into what is fundamentally real. It is a sane, direct, valiant conception of art, and the only form of art consistent with the critical, scientific spirit of our times. BIBLIOGRAPHY. LIST OF AUTHORS WHOSE WORKS HAVE BEEN UTILIZED AS EXAMPLES OF THE LITERARY MOVEMENT. (The names are presented chronologically according to the dates of birth.) Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 1712-1788. La Nouvelle He'lo'ise, 1761 ; Emile, 1762 ; Du contrat social, 1762 ; Confessions, 1782 ; Correspondance, 1858, 1892. Diderot, Denis, 1713-1784. Pensees philosophiques, 1746 ; Bijoux indis- cretes, 1748. Drama: le Fils naturel, 1757; le Pere de famille, 1758. Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, J. H., 1737-1814. Voyage a V Isle de France, 1773 ; Etudes de la nature, 1784 ; Paul et Virginie, 17S7. Chenier, Andre, 1762-1840. Poesies, 1819; Commentaire sur Malherbe, 1842; Lettres critiques d' Andre Chenier, 1881. Sta£l, Anne Louise Germaine Necker, Madame de, 1766-1817. Crit- icism : De la littdrature, 1800; De rAllemagne, 1813 ; la Revolution frattfaise, 1818. Fiction : Delphine, 1802 ; Corinne, 1807 ; Dix ann^es d'exil, 1 82 1. Chateaubriand, Francois Auguste, 1768-1S48. Fiction : Atala, 1801 ; Rdne, 1805. History : Essai sur les revolutions, i']<^'] ; le G^nie du christianisme , 5 vols., 1802 ; les Martyrs, 2 vols., 1809. Biography: Itin^raire d'un voyage de Paris a Jerusalem, 3 vols., 1811 ; les Me- moires d'outre-tombe, 1849-1850. BfiRANGER, Pierre Jean, 1780-1854. Chansons, 1815 ; (Euvres posthumes, CEuvres cotupletes, 2 vols., 1857 ; Correspondance, i860. Barante, Amabel Guillaume Prosper BRUCifeRE de, 1782-1866, Histoire des Dues de Bourgogne, 1838 ; Tableau de la liiterature fran- fais au XVIII. siecle, 1848 ; Histoire de la Convention nationale, 1851 ; Histoire du Directoire, 1855. Stendhal (Henri Beyle), 1783-1842. Miscellaneous : Rome, Naples, et Florence, Histoire de la peinture en Italic, 18 17; Essai sur I 'amour, 1822 ; Racine et Shakespeare, 1827 ; les Memoires d'un touriste, 1839. Fiction: Armance, 1827; le Rouge et le Noir, 1831 ; la Chartreuse de Parme, 1839. GuizoT, Francois Pierre Guillaume, 1787-1874. History : Histoire de la Revolution d'Angleterre, 2 vols., 1827-1828 ; Cours d' Histoire moderne, (Histoire de la Civilisation en Europe, Histoire de la Civilisation en 481 482 Bibliography. J^ra»ceJ, l?i2S-l8^0, Miscellaneous: Corneille et son temps, 1852; Du gouvernemeiit representatif et de I'^tat actuel de la France, 1816 ; IVask- ington, 1 841 ; De la Democratie en France, 1849 ; Me'moires pour servir hVhistoire de mon temps, 1858-1867 ; Meditations sur V ^tat actuel de la religion chrMenne, 1866 ; Lettres de Guizot, 1884 and 1887. ViLLEMAiN, Abel Francois, i 790-1870. Criticism : Cours de litte'rature francaise (^Tableau de la litte'rature fran^aise au XVIII. siecle, 4 vols., Tableau de la littJrature francaise au moyen age, 2 vols.), 1828 ; Ta- bleau de r eloquence chrMenne au IV. siecle, 1849 ; Essais sur la ge'nie de Pindare et sur la poesie lyrique, 1859 i Souvenirs contemporains , 2 vols., 1862. Lamartine, Alphonse de, 1 790-1 869. Poetry : MMitations, 1820 ; Nou- velles MMitations, 1823 ; Harmonies, 1830 ; Jocelyn, 1836 ; la Chute d'un ange, 1838 ; Re'cueillemejits poetiques, 1839 ; Pot'sies inedites, 1873. Prose : Voyage en Orient, 1835 ; Histoire des Girondins, 1S47 ; Confi- dences, 1849 ; Raphael, 1849 I Nouvelles Confidences, 1851 ; Graziella, le Tailleur de pierres de Saint-Point, 1852. Scribe, Augustin Eugene, 1791-1861. Michel et Christine, 1820; le Mariage de raison, 1826 ; Bertrand et Raton, 1833 ; la Camaraderie, 1837; la Calomnie, 1840; le Verre d'eau, Une chaine, 1841 ; Adrienne Lecouvreur, 1849. Thierry, Jacques Nicolas Augustin, 1795-1856. La Conquete de V An- gleterre, 3 vols., 1825 ; Lettres sur P histoire de la France, 1827 ; Dix ans d^dtudes historiques, 1834; R^cits des temps m&ovingiens, 2 vols., 1840 ; Assais sztr I' histoire de la formation et du pr ogres du Tiers Etat, 1853. MiGNET, FRANgois AuGUSTE Marie, 1796-1884. Ne'gociations relatives h la succession d'Espagne, 4 vols., 1836-1844 ; Antonio Perez et Philippe II., 1845 ; Histoire de Marie Stuart, 2 vols., 1851 ; Charles Quint, 1854. Thiers, Louis Adolphe, 1797-1877. Histoire de la Revolution frati^aise, 10 vols., 1823-1827 ; Histoire du Consulat et de P Empire, 10 vols., 1845-1862. MiCHELET, Jules, i 798-1874. History : Principes de la philosophie de I'histoire, Precis d' histoire jfioderne, 1828 ; Histoire Romaine, 1831 ; les Memoires de Luther, 2 vols., 1835 ; le Proces des Templiers, 2 vols., 1841-1852 ; Histoire de France (nioyen age, 6 vols., 1833-1843 ; Revolu- tion, 1847-1853 ; Renaissance et Temps modernes,ii\o\?,., 1878-1880). Posthumous : Histoire du XIX. sikle, 3 vols., 1876. Miscellaneous : Du Pretre, de la Femme et de la Famille, 1844 ; le Peuple, 1846 ; I'Oiseau, 1856 ; I'Insecte, 1857 ; l' Amour, 1858 ; la Femme, 1859 ; la Mer, i86r ; la Sorciere, 1862 ; la Bible de I' humanity, 1864 ; la Montagne, 1868. Posthumous: Un hiver en Italie, 1879 and 1893 ; Ma jfeunesse, 1884 ; Mon Journal, 1888. Bibliography. 483 Balzac, Honorie de, 1799-1850. La ComMie Humaine, including Scenes de la vie privde. Scenes de la vie de province. Scenes de la vie pari- sienne. Scenes de la zie politique. Scenes de la vie militaire, and Scenes de la vie de campagtie. La Peau de chagrin, 1S30 ; le Colonel Chalbert, 1832 ; Contes drolatiques, 1832, 1833, 1837 ; la grande Bretcche, 1832 ; la Cure'e de Tours, 1832 ; Louis Lambert, 1832 ; Eugenie Grandet,Fer- ragus, 1833 ; la Duchesse de Langeleais, Se'raphita, 1834 ; les Lllusions perdues, 1837, 1839, 1848 ; Splendeurs et miseres des courtisanes, 1838, 1847; Un menage de gar^-on, 1841, 1842; les Parents pauvres f Cousin Pons, Cousine Bettc), 1S46, 1847. Drama: Quinola, 1840; Pamela Giraud, 1842 ; la Mardtre, 1847 ; Mercadet, 1855. ViGNY, Alfred Victor de, 1799-1863. Poetry : Poemes, 1822 ; Eloa, 1824 ; Poemes antiques et moderties, 1826, 1864 ; les Destinees, 1864. Fiction: Cinq-Mars, 1826; Stello, 1832; Drama: Othello, 1829; Mare'chale d'Ancre, 1S30 ; Chatterton, 1835 ; Autobiography : your- nal d'unpoete, 1867. Hugo, Victor Marie, 1802-1SS5. Poetry, first period : Odes et Ballades, 1822; Orientates, 1827 ; Feuilles d'automne, 1831 ; Chants du Crepus- cule, 1835 ; Voix intericures, 1837 ; les Rayons et les Ombres, 1840. Second period: les Chdtiments, 1853; les Contemplations, 1856; la L/gende des siecles, 1859-1883 ; Chansons des rues et des bois, 1865 ; rAnnee terrible, 1872; l' Art d'etre grand-pere, 1877; Quatre vents de Vesprit, 1881 ; Toute la lyre, 1889. Drama: Cromwell, 1827; LLer- nani, 1830; Marion de Lorme, 1831 ; le Roi s'amuse, 1832 ; Lucrece Borgia, Marie Tudor, 1833 ; Angelo, 1835 ; Ruy Bias, 1838 ; les Bur- graves, 1843. Fiction : Lfan d'Islande, 1823 ; Bug-Jargal, 1825 ; le Dernier jour d'un condamn/, 1828 ; Notre-Dame de Pans, 1831 ; les Mise'rables, 1862 ; les Travailleurs de la mer, 1866 ; T Homme qui rit, 1S69 ; Quatre-vingt-trieze , 1S74 ; Correspondeftce, 1896. Dumas, Alexandre, 1803-1870. Drama: Henri III., 1829; Christine, 1830 ; Antony, 1831 ; Charles VIL., Richard Darlington, 183 1 ; la Tour de N'esle, 1832 ; Kean, 1836 ; Mile, de Belle-Isle, 1839 ! "'^ Mariage sous Louis XV., 1841 ; les Demoiselles de Saint-Cyr, 1843. Fiction : le Comte de Alonte Cristo, 12 vols., 1 841-1845 ; les Trois Mosquetaires, 8 vols., 1844 \ ^<^ Reine Mar got, 6 vols., 1845. Merimee, Prosper, 1803-1870. Drama : Theatre de Clara Gazul, 1825 ; la Guzla, 1826 ; la yacquei-ie, 1827. Fiction : Tamango, la Venus d'llle, Matteo Flacone, Colomba, 1830-1841 ; Carmen, 1847 ; les faux Demetrius, 1854. History: le Chronique de Charles IX., 1829; Essai sur la guerre sociale, 1841 ; 3Ie'langes historiques et litteraires, 1855 ; Correspondance, 1897. 5and, George, 1804-1876. Fiction, first period : Indiana, 1832 ; Valen- tine, 1832 ; Ldia, 1833 ; Jacques, 1834 ; Andre', 1835 ; Leone Leoni, 1835 ; Mauprat, 1836. Second period : Spiridion, 1838 ; Compagnon 484 Bibliography. tie tour de France, 1840 ; Horace, 1842 ; Consuelo, 1842 ; la Comtesse de Rudolstadt, 1843 ; le Meunier d'Afigibault, 1845 : le Pec he de M. Antoinc, 1847. Third period (including Jeanne, 1844 ; and le Mare au Diable, 1846) : Teverino, 1848 ; Piccinino, 1848 ; la Petite Fadette, 1848 : Francois le Champi, 1850 ; Filleule, 1851 ; Mont Revcche, 1851 ; les Maitres sonneurs, 1852 ; les Beaux messieurs du bois dortf, 1858 ; Jeatt de la Roche, i860 ; le Marquis de Villemer, 1861 ; Mademoiselle de la Quintinie, 1863 ; la Confession d'une jeune fille, 1865; Made- moiselle de Merquen, 1870. Autobiography : Histoire de ma vie, 8 vols., 1855 ; Correspondance, 10 vols., 1882-1884. Sainte-Beuve, Charles Augustin, 1804-1869. Criticism : Tableau his- iorique de la poisie frant^aise au XVI. siecle, 1828 ; Critiques et por- traits litter aires, 5 vols., 1832-1839; Port-Royal, 5 vols., 1840-1860; Portraits litt^raires, 2 vols., 1844 ; Portraits contemporains, 2 vols., 1846 ; Chataubriand et son group littdraire, i860 ; Causeries du Lundi, 15 vols., 1857-1862 ; Nouveaux Lundis, 13 vols., 1863-1869 ; Premiers Lundis, 3 vols., post. Poetry : Poesies de Jostph Delorme, 1829 ; Con- solations, 1S30 ; Pens^es d'aout, 1836. Fiction : Voluptd, 1834. Cor- respondance, \'i>11 and 1880. Barbier, Henri Auguste, 1805-18S2. lambes et poemes, 1831 ; Pianto, Lazare, 1833 ; Satires et poemes, 1837 ; la Curde, F Idole. Brizeux, Julien Auguste Pelage, 1805-1880. Marie, 1840 ; les Bretons, 1846; les Histoires poe'liques, 1856; les 7'ernaires, 1858. Nisard, Desire, 1806-1888. Histoire de la (lit.) fran^aise, 1 844-1861 ; Etudes sur la Renaissance, 1855 ; Etudes de critique litter aire, 1858 ; Atudes d' histoire et de littilrature, 1859 ; N^ouvelles Etudes d' histoire et de littt'rature, 1864; Melanges d' histoire et de litter ature, 186S ; Nou- veaux Melanges d' histoire et de littdrature, 1886 ; Portraits et Etudes d'histoire litteraire, 1886. MussET, Louis Charles Alfred de, 1810-1857. Poetry: Contes d'Es- pagne et d'ltalie, 1829 ; Rolla, 1833 ; les Nuits, Lettre a Lamartine, I'Espoir en Dieu, 1835-1838 ; le Souvenir, 1841. Comedy: Caprices de Marianne, 1833 ; Lorenzaccio, Fantasia, On ne baditie pas avec Famour, 1834 ; le Chandelier , 1835 ; // ne faut jurer de rien, 1836. Fiction : Confession d'un homme du siecle, 1836 ; Contes, 1837-1844. Gautier, Theophile, 1811-1872. Poetry : Poesies, 1830 ; Albertus^ 1832 ; ComMie de la mort, 1838 ; Emaux et Camt'es, 1853. Fiction : les jfeunes France, 1833 ; Mademoiselle de Maupin, 1835 ; Fortunio, 1838 ; les Grotesques, 1844 ; le Roman de la momie, 1856 ; le Capitaine Francasse, 1861-1863 ; Spirite, 1866. Travel : Tra los monies, 1843 ; Zigzags, 1845 ; Italia, 1852 ; Constantinople, 1854 ; Loin de Paris, 1864 ; Quand on voyage, 1865 ; Russie, 1866 ; I'Orient, 1876. Criticism : Portraits et souvenirs litter aires, 18 — ; Histcnre du Romantisme, 18 — ; Portraits contemporains, 1 8 — . Bibliography. 485 PONSARD, Francois, 1814-1867, Lucrhe, 1843 ; Charlotte Corday, 1850; le Lion amoureux, 1866. SCHERER, Edmond Henri Adolphe, 1815-18S9. Melanges d'histoire re- ligieuse, 1864; Etudes stir la litte'rature contemporaine, 9 vols., 1886- 1889 ; Diderot, 1881 ; Melchior Grimm, 1887. AUGIER, Emile, 1820-1889. La Cigue\ 1844 ; F Homme de Hen, 1845 ; I'Aventuriere, 1848 ; Gabrielle, 1849 ; le Joueur de fldte, 1850 ; Diane, 1852 ; la Pierre qui touche, 1853 ; Philiberte, 1853 ; le Mariage d'Opytnpe, 1855 ; le Gendre de M. Poirier, 1855 ; la Ceinttire dor^e, 1855 ; la Jeunesse, 1858 ; les Lionnes pauvres , 1858 ; un beau Mariage, 1859 ; les Effronte's, 1861 ; le Fils de Giboyer, 1862 ; Maitre GuMn, 1864 ; la Contagion, 1866 ; Paul Forestier, 1868 ; Lions et Renards, 1869 ; le Proscriptum, 1869 ; Jean de ThomT?ieray, 1873 ! Madame Caverlet, 1876 ; les Fourchambault, 1878. Leconte de Lisle, Charles Marie, 1820-1894. Poemes antiques, 1853 ; Poemes barbares, 1859 I Pohmes tragiques, 1884 ; Dernier s poemes, 1895. Flaubert, Gustave, 1821-1880. Madame Bovary, 1857 ; Saldmmho, 1862; Education setitimentale, 1869; /a Tentation de Saint Antoine, 1874 ; /^j' Trois Contes, Saint Julien V Hospitaller, Herodias, Un caeur simple, Bouvard et P/cuchet, 1881. GoNcouRT, Edmond Louis Antoine Huot de, 1822-1896 ; Jules Alfred Huot de, 1830-1870. Historiographical studies : Histoire de la society fran(;aise (Revolution et Directoire J, 1854-1855 ; la Revolu- tion dans les ?nceurs, 1854 ; Portraits intimes du X VLII. siecle, 1856- 1858 ; Marie Antoinette, 1858 ; les Mattresses de Louis XV., 1878- 1879; la Femnie an XVIII. siecle, 1862 ; VArt au XVIII. siecle, 1874 ; V Amour au XVIII. siecle, 1877. Fiction : Charles Demailly, i860 ; Soeur Philomene, 1861 ; Ren^e Mauperin, 1864 ; Gertninie Lacer- teux, 1865 ; Manette Salomon, 1867 ; Madame Gervaisais, 1869 ; Ed- mond : la Fille Elisa, 1878 ; les Freres Zemgamno, 1879 i ^"^ Faustin, 1882 ; Ch&ie, 1884 ; yournal des Goncourts, 7 vols., 1 887-1 894. Banville, Theodore Faullain de, 1823-1891. Poetry: Cariatides, 1842 ; Stalactites, 1846 ; Odelettes, 1856 ; Odes funambulesques, 1857 ; Nouvelles Odes funambulesques , 1869 ; Idyles prusiennes, 1871. Drama : Gringoire, 1866 ; Socrate et sa femme, 1885. Fiction : Contes feeriques, Esquisses parisiennes, 1859. Renan, Ernest, 1823-1892. Ecclesiastical history, 1848 : AverroesetVaver- ro'isme, 1852 ; Histoire g^ndrale et systthne co/npare' des langues se'mi- iiques, 1855 ; Etudes 2^^^ Nouvelles d'histoire religieuse, 1857 and 1884 ; les Origines du Christianisme, 8 vols. (Vicde yjsus, 1863 ; les Apotres, 1866; Saint Paul, 1869; P Antichrist, 1873; les Evangiles, 1877; PEglise chre'tienne, 1879; Marc Aurele, i88ly' ; Histoire du Peuple- Israel, 5 vols., 1888-1894. Miscellaneous : I'Avenir de la Science, 1848 ; Essais de morale et de critique, 1859 ; Questions contemporaines, 486 Bibliography. 1868 ; Dialogues philosophiques, 1878 ; MtHanges d'histmre et de voy- ages, 1878 ; Conft'rances d'Angleierre, 1880 ; Marc Aurele, 1881 ; Souvenirs d'Enfance et de Jeunesse, 1883 ; Feuilles ddtach^es, 1892 ; Letires intimes, 1896. Philosophical drama : (Caliban, I'Eau de youvence, le Pretre de N^mi, VAbbesse de jfouairej, 1879-1886. Manuel, Eugene, 1823- . Poetry : Pages intimes, 1866 ; Palmes populaires, 1871 ; Pendant la guerre, 1872 ; En voyage, 1881. Drama : les Ouvriers, 1870. Dumas, Alexandre, fits, 1824-1895. La Dame aux cam^lias, 1852 ; Diane de Lys, 1853 ; le Demi-Monde, 1855 ; un Question d'argent, 1857 ; le Fils naturel, 1858 ; le Plre prodigue, 1859 "> I' Ami des femmes, 1864; les Idi!es de Madame Aubray, 1S67 ; tme Visite de noces, 1871 ; la Princesse Georges, 1871 ; la Femme de Claude, 1873 ; M. Alphonse, 1873 ; I'Etranglre, 1876 ; la Princesse de Bagdad, 18S1 ; Denise, 1885 ; Francillon, 1887. Fiction : la Dame aux catndlias, 1848 ; l' Affaire Clemenceau, 1867. Taine, Hippolyte Adolphe, 1828-1892. Assai sur La Fontaine, 1853 ; Essai sur Tite-Live, 1856 ; les Philosophes fran^ais du XLX. sihle, 1856 ; Essais de critique et d'histoire, 1857 i Histoire de la litte'rature anglaise, 1863 ; Thomas Graindorge, 1S63-1865 ; N'ouveaux Essais, 1865 ; Philosophie d'art en Ltalie, 1865-1869 ; Notes sur Paris, 1867 ; r Ldeal dans I'art, 1867 ; Philosophie d'art dans les Pays-Bas, 1868 ; De r intelligence, 1870 ; Notes sur I'Angleterre, 1872 ; Origines de la France contemporaine, 1876-1890. Sarcey, Francisque, 1828- . (Critique du Temps.) Feuillet, Octave, 1829-1S90. Le Roman d'un jeune homme pauvre, 1858 ; le Comte Kostia, 1863 ; M. de Camors, 1867 ; Ladislas Blowski, 1869 ; yulia de Trccoetir, 1872 ; Mt'ta Holdennis, 1873 ; Samuel Brohl et Cie, 1S77 ; Histoire d\ine Parisienne, 1881 ; la Morte, i886 ; la BHe^ les Amours de Philippe, 1887 ; Honneur d'artiste, 1896. Baudelaire, Charles de, 1831-1867. Fleurs du mal, 1857. Sardou, Victorien, 1831- . Les Pattcs demouche, 1861 ; N'osintimes 1861 ; les Ganachcs, 1862 ; la Famille Benoiton, 1865 ; Nos bons vil- lageois, 1866 ; Stfraphine, 1S68 ; Patrie, 1869 ; Fernande, 1870 ; le Roi Carotte, 1871 ; Ragabas, 1872 ; Oncle Sam, 1875 ; la Haine, 1875 Dora, 1877 ; les Bourgeois du Pont d'Arcy, 1878 ; Datziel Rochat^ 1880 ; Divor(ons, 1883 ; Odette, 1881 ; FMora, 1882 ; Theodora, 1884 Georgette, 1885 ; la Tosca, 1887 ; Thermidor, 1891 ; Madame Sans- Gene, 1893 ; la Gismonda, 1894 ; Marcelle, 1895. Barbey, d'Aurevilly, 1839-1876. L Amour impossible, 1841 ; la B ague d'Annibal, 1843 ; Pr ophites du passt'e, Une vieille maitresse, 1851 ; VEnsorcelie, 1854 ; Une pretre marie, 1865. Sully Prudhomme, Rene Francois Arm and, 1S39- • Stances et Bibliography. 487 po^mes, les Epreuves, 1865 ; les Solitudes, 1869 ; les Destins, 1872 \ Vaines iendr esses, la Vie interieure, 1S75 ; la yustice, 1878 ; le Prisme, 1886; le Bonheur, 1888. Poetic criticism, 1884-1896. Zola, Emile, 1840- . Les Mysleres de Marseilles , le Vceu d'une morte, Contes a Ninon, 1864 ; le Confession de Claude, 1865 ; TJUrese Raquin, 1867; Madeleine Ftfrai, 1868 ; les Rougon-Macquart : First Series (la Fortune des Rougon, la Cure'e, le Ventre de Paris, la Con- quete des Plassans, la Faute de V Abbd Mouret, son Excellence Eugene Rougon, rAssommoir, une Page d'amour. Nana), 1871-1881 ; Second Series : (Pot Pouille, Au bonheur des dames, la yoie de Germinal, FGEuvre, la Terre, le Reve, la Bete humaine, V Argent, la Debdcle, le Docteur Pascal), 1882-1893 ; Lonrdes, 1894; Rome, 1895. Criticism; le Roman experimental, 18S0 ; les Romanciers naturalisies, 188 1 ; les Auteurs democratiques, 1881 ; Documents littt'r aires, 1880 ; une Cam- pagne, 1881. Daudet, Alphonse, 1840- . Poetry : les Amour euses, 1858. Fiction: Fromontjeune et Risler aind, 1874; Jack, 1876; le Nabab, 1880; les Rois en exil, V Evang'eliste , 1883 ; Sapho, 1885 ; Nouma Roumestan, 1887; rimmortel, 1888 ; Rose et Ninette, 1891 ; la Petite Paroisse, le Soutien de famille , 1S95. Satire: Tartarin de Tarascon, 1872; Tar- tarin sur les Alpes, 1886 ; Port Tarascon, 1890. Autobiographical, etc. : le Petit Chose, 1868 ; Lettres de mon moulin, 1869 ; Lettres d'un Absent, 1871 ; Robert Helmont, 1874 ; Contes du Lundi, 1875 J ^^^ Cignes, 1883 ; les Femmes d' Artistes, 1885 ; la Belle Niverttaise, 1886 ; Trente ans de Paris, Souvenirs d'un homme de lettres, 1888. Drama: la De7-niere Jdole, 1862 ; VCEillet blanc, 1865 ; le Frere atn/, 1868 ; le Sacrifice, 1869: Lise Tavernier , F Arlesienne , 1872; le Char, 1878; I'Obstdcle, 1890; {le Tr^sor d'Artalan, 1897). COPPEE, Francois Edouard Joachim, 1842- . Poetry : le Reliquaire, 1866 ; les Intimites, 1868 ; Poemes modernes, 1869 ; les Humbles, Pro- menades et int^rieures, 1872; le Cahier Rouge, 1874; Olivier, 1875; Pendant le si^ge, 1875 ; ^^^ Mois, 1877 ; le A^aufrage, 1878 ; Poesies, 1879; Contes en vers, 1881-1887. Drama: le Passant, 1869; Pour la couronne, 1896. Heredia, Jose Maria de, 1842. Les Trophies, 1893, France, Anatole, 1844-1884. Criticism : la Vie litte'raire, 1888-1890. Fiction : le Crime de Sylvestre Bonnard, 1881 ; Thais, 1890 ; les Opi- nions de yerome Coignard, 1893 ; le Lys rouge, 1894 ; le yardin d'£pi- cure, 1894. Faguet, Emile, 1847- . Seizicme siecle, 1884 ; Dix-septieme siecle, 1889 ; Dix-huitihme siecle, 1890 ; Politiqucs et moralistes au XIX. siecle, 1892 ; Notes sur le the'dtre contemporain, 8 vols., 1885-1894 ; la Trag/die au XVI. sikle, 1883. Brunetiere, Ferdinand, 1849- • Etudes critiques, 5 vols., 1880- 488 Bibliography. 1882 ; le Roman naturaliste, 1S83 ; Hisioire et litt^rature, 3 vols., 1884-1886 ; Questions de critique, i838 ; Notivelles Questions de critique, F Involution des genres, F Evolution de la critique, les Epoques du thtfdtre franfais, V J^volution de la poe'sie lyrique, 1890-1893. VogOe, Melchior de, 1830- . Le Roman russe, 1886; Souvenirs et Visions, 1888 ; Regards historiques et litteraire, 1892 ; Devant le siecle, 1896. Pellissier, Georges, 1852- . Editions classiques (I'Art po/tique de Boileau, V Art po/tique de Vauquelin de la Fresneye, les Martyrs de Chateaubriand, le Misanthrope de Moliere, le Nicomede de Corneille), 1887-1890 ; le Mouvcment litt&aire au XIX. siecle, 1889 ; Essais de litt&attire contemporaine, 1893 ; Nouveaux Essais de litf/rature con- temporaine, 1894 ; Morceaux choisis des pontes du XVI. siecle (Marat, Ronsard, Dti Bellay, d'Aubign^J, 1897. Bourget, Paul, 1852- . Poetry: la Vie inquiete, 1874; Edel, 1878 ; les Aveux, 1882; Poesies, 1885. Criticism: Essais de psychologie con- temporaine, 1883 ; Nouveaux Essais, 1885. Travel : Sensations d'ltalie, 1891. Fiction : V Irreparable, 1S84 ; Cruelle /nigme, 1885 ; un Crime d' amour, 1886 ; Andr^ Corne'lis, Mensonges, 1887 ; Pastels, 1888 ; le Disciple, 1889 ; Un coeur de femme, 1890 ; Nouveaux Pas- tels, 1891 ; la Terre promise, Cosmopolis, 1892 ; un Scruple, 1893 ; Outre-Mer, 1895 ; une Idylle tragique, 1896 ; Recommencements, 1897, LemaItre, Jules, 1853- . Criticism : les Contemporains, 5 vols., 1886- Impressions de the'dtre, 8 vols., 1888. Fiction: Sifrtfnus, 1886; Dix Contes, 1889; les Bois, i?>()2 ; My rr ha, 1894. Poetry: les Medaillons, 1880; Petites Orientates, 1883. Drama: Revoltde, 1889; le D^puti Leveau, 1690 ; le Mariage blanc, 1891 ; Elipotte, 1893 ; les Rois, 1893 ; I' Age difficile, le Pardon, 1895. Rod, Edouard, 1857- • Criticism : Etudes stir le XIX. siecle, 1888 ; les Idt'es Morales du temps present, 1891. Fiction: la Cotirse h la Morte, 1887 ; le Sens de la Vie, 1889 ; la Vie de Michel Tessier, 1892 ; la Seconde Vie de Michel Tessier, 1893. Hennequin, Emile, 1858-1888. La Critique scientijiqtie , 1888 ; Etudes de critique scientifique, 1889. TissoT, Ernest, 1867- . La Pohie de Vigny, 1887 ; les Evolutions de la critique fran^aise, 1890. INDEX. Abelard, 29 Aben-Hamet, 106 Academy, French, 126, 241, 279, 28 I, 468 Adolphe, 108 yEsop, 7 A' Kempis, Imitation , 16, 479 Album, 128 Alceste, 12 Alexander, 240, 344 Alexandrine, of Ronsard and the Pleiade, 47, 48, 138, 139, 141 ; of Classicism, 138-145 ; its rhythm in Malherbe, 138, 139, 142, 146, 147 ; in Boileau, 142, 146, 147 ; in Racine, 142-144 ; its rhyme, 140, 141 ; of Romanticism, 139- 149 ; its rhythm in Chenier, 47, 48, 144 ; in Victor Hugo, 139, 141, 14S ; in Sainte-Beuve, 148, 189 ; in Gautier, 148, 210 ; its rhyme, 138, 140, 141 Amphion, 372 Amyot, 130 Ancients, 5, 15, 267, 268 Antiquity, in Classicism, 5-10 ; in Romanticism, 112-114, 119, 120 Art {see Antiquity), Classic, 4-1 1, 13-15, 18-20, 84-97, 322, 323; pseudo-Classic, 86, 87, 98 ; Ro- mantic, 46, 112-114, 118-122, 133-125 ; Realistic, 333-338, 368, 369 , Augier, Emile, 344, 464-473, 476, 477 ; preceded by Dumas, 464 ; replaces vaudeville by true com- edy, 464 ; Dumas' opinion of Gabrielle, 465 ; influence of Du- mas, 465 ; first manner, 466 ; second manner, 467 ; confines himself to prose, 467 ; moral in- fluence, 467, 468 ; equilibrium, 468 ; extent of his sphere, 469- 471 ; good sense, 471, 472 ; Clas- sical qualities of style, 472, 473 ; Gabrielle, 464, 466, 467, 469 ; le Gendre de M. Poirier, 465, 467, 469 ; le Mariage d'Olympe, 465, 469, 472 ; Philiberte, 465, 466 ; la Cigue, 466 ; l' Homme de bien, 466, 467 ; V Aventuriere, 466 472 ; le youeur de FliUe, 466 ; Diane, 466 ; Fourchambault, 467 ; Paul Forestier, 467 ; la yeunesse, 467 ; les Lionnes pauvres, 334, 469 ; Madame Caverlet, 469 ; les Effrontes, 469, 471, 472 ; la Con- tagion, 469, 472 ; le Fils de Giboyer, 469, 471 ; la Bourse, r Honneur et I' Argent, 473 B Bacon, 36, 287 Ballades, of Hugo, 175 ; of Ban- ville, 343 Ballance, 289 Balzac, J. de, 268, 395 Balzac, Honore de, as novelist, 36, 307, 308, 311-320, 332, 410, 411, 454; as initiator of Realism, 311, 332; abstraction and idealization, 311, 312 ; his Romanticism, 312 ; idealizes the vulgar, 312, 313, 315 ; his materialism, 313 ; good unconscious, 313, 314; appear- ance and mannerisms, 314, 315 ; lack of refinement, 315 ; portrays details in objects, 315 ; portrays details in character, 316, 317, 450 ; his creative power, 317 ; historian of his times, 318, 319 ; style, 319, 320 ; " Human Com- edy," 304, 312, 313, 315, 317- 319; Phe Goriot, 41 1 ; Cousine Bette, 411; Eugenie Grandet, 411; as dramatist, 450, 451 ; Quinola Mercadet, la Alardtre, Pamela Giraud, 450 Banville, Theodore de, 120, 347- 349, 368 ; disciple of Gautier, 347 ; his cult for rhyme, 348 ; superficiality, 349 ; opposed to Realism, 349 4S9 490 Index. Barante, 24S, 249, 270, 271 ; applies narrative method to history, 248 ; impersonality, 248, 249 ; facts speak for themselves, 24S ; applies Madame de Stael's method to criticism, 270, 271 Barbier, Auguste, 210, 211 ; as author of Pianto, 210 ; originality in la Cure'e and I'Jdole, 2IO ; in- fluence of Chenier in les lambes, 210, 211 ; vigor of style, 211 ; popular and cynical, 211 ; les lambes, 210 ; Pianto^ 210 ; I'ldole, 210; la Cicree, 2ro Barthelemy, 77 ; Voyage d' Anachar- S2S, 77 Baudelaire, 311, 349-353, 368 ; dis- ciple of Gautier, 349 ; sensuality and mysticism, 350 ; originality, 351 ; conception of nature and art, 351 ; style, 352 ; fanatical ad- mirers, 353 ; Fleurs du Mai, 349, 352 Beaumarchais, 43, 91 Beethoven, 147 Beranger, 150-153 ; separated from Romantic movement, 150, 151, 153 ; new treatment of chanson, 150, 151 ; popular and scholarly, 151, 152 ; faults of style, 152 ; commonplace philosophy, 152, 153 ; compared with Romantic poets, 153 ; Roger Bontettips, 153 ; le Gaiidriole, 153 Bertin, 154, 155 Boileau, 2, 3, 5-7, 9, 14, 16-18, 85, 128, 142, 146, 147, 274, 280 ; Art pOc'tique, 2, 6, 20, 23 Bonald, 74, 102 Bonstetten, 57 Bossuet, 3, 4, 14, 72, 74, 100, 200; Di scours sur V histoire univer- selle, 4 Bouhours, Father, 126, I2g Bourbons, 115 Bourdaloue, 18 Brifaut, 89, 90 ; Minus II., 89 Brizeux, 211-213 ; resemblance to Vigny, 211 ; scruples in form and substance, 211, 212; as poet of Brittany, 212 ; Marie his purest work, 210, 212, 213 ; les Bretons, 212 ; les Histories poctique, 212 ; les Ternaires, 212 Buddhism of Leconte de Lisle, 356, 358, 370 Buflon, 44, 65, 76, 135 Byron, 115, 116, 155 Cabanis, 317 Cagliostro, 312 Camoens, 169 Camors, M. de, 408, 409, 410 Campistron, 86, 121 Cartesian rationalism, 17 Catholicism, of Classicism, 15-17, 19 ; in Chauteaubriand, 55, 59, 67, 68, 72-74, 75, 76, 102-104, 119, 321 ; of poets of Romanti- cism, 102-105 ; in Baudelaire, 350, 351 ; in Renan, 396-399 ; in Feuillet, 409, 410 Cenacle, 128, 179, 184, 193, 379 Cervantes, 419 Champfleury, 417, 419 Chanson of Beranger, 150-153 Charlemagne, 240 Charles VI., 241 Charles X., 95 Chateaubriand, 34-36, 46, 52, 53, 55, 58, 59. 64, 65, 67-83, 99, 102- 104, 106, III, 112, 114, 116, 119, 132, 133, 135, 156, 180, 24^, 244, 269, 291, 293, 305, 30S. 321, 336, 339, 416, 420 ; as leader of Ro- manticism, 52, 8r, 83, 99, 339 - compared with Madame de Stael, 52, 53, 65, 67-69, 81 ; revives. Christianity, 55, 59, 67, 68, 72- 76, 102-104, 1 79, 321 ; paganism, 46, 75, 76, 119 ; as painter of na- ture, 35, 64, 76-78, III, 305. 416 ; as artist, 68, 69, 73-77 ; subjec- tive and objective, 70-72, 106, 2gi ; melancholy, 70-72, loS ; travels, 69, 77 ; as politician, 69, 70 ; revives criticism, 74, 75, 269 ; renovates history, 77-79 ; 243- 245, 293, 336 ; restores art of Middle Ages, 112, 119; intro- duces English literature, 114, 116; renovates language, 80, 81, 83, 132, 133, 135 ; decline, 82, 308 ; considered in his influ- ence : see Thierry, 78, 83, 243, 244, 293 ; see Lamartine, 156 ; see Victor Hugo, So, iSo ; see Flau- bert, 416, 420 ; Essais sur les Revolutions, 53, 67, 72, 80 ; les Martyrs, 46, 74, 75, So, 82, S3, Index. 491 Chateaubriand — C071. 243, 244, 293, 416 ; le G^nie dii chrlstianisme, 67, 68, 72, 73, 80, 102, 103, 112, 157; Aiala, 73, 74, 132 ; la Vie de Ranee, 68 ; ritim'raire, 76, 77 ; les Alt'moires d'outre-tomhe, 82 Chatterton, 106, 169, 236, 332 Chenedolle, 80 Chenier, Andre, 23, 24, 44-51, 52, 119, 144, 155, 165, i6g, 210, 211, 348 ; as precursor of Romanti- cism, 23, 24, 44, 46-48, 50-52, 119, 144, 165, 210, 211, 348 ; conception of love, 45, 46, 50 ; of art, 23, 24, 46-4S, 51 ; of nature, 49-50 ; of antiquity, 45, 46, 119 ; paganism, 44-46, 155, 348 ; reno- vates versification, 47, 48, 50, 144 ; genius rises in Fanny, 50, 51 ; premature death, 51, i6g ; Hermes, 44, 45 ; V Invention VEpitre a Lebrutt, 47 ; Fanny, 50, 347 Chenier, Marie Joseph, 157 Chilperic, 261 Choisy, Abbe, 241 Christianity, revived by Rousseau, 27. 33. 34. 35 ; by Madame de Stael, 56-60, 103 ; by Chateau- briand, 55, 59, 67, 68, 72-76, 102-104, 119. 321 ; in Romantic poets, 101-105 ; see Hugo, La- martine, Vigny. Classicism, 1-2 1 ; duration and character of, i, 2-4, 84, 85, 97, 322 ; most brilliant period of, 3, 22, 84 ; two great masterpieces, 4 ; Greco-Latin antiquity in i6th and 17th centuries, 5-7, 8-10, 97 ; antipathy for national antiquity, 7, 8, 112; conception of art, 4, 5, 19, 20, 121, 122, 323 ; of love, 12, 13, 28 ; of nature, 13-15, 121 ; suppression of ego, 11-13 \ Cathol- icism of, 15-17, 19 ; reason of, 4, 17, 18, 20, 122, 396 ; dogmatism of, 4, 20-22, 322 ; types of, 10, II, 18, 218-220, 227 ; tragedy of, 20, 214, 217-220, 223, 224, 227 ; see Corneilie and Racine ; comedy of, 217-219 ; see Moliere ; history of, 17-20; 240-242, 249, 250; poetry of, 2, 4, 5, 17, 20, 121, 122, 364; criticism of, 18, 19, 267, 268 ; optimism of, 21, 108 ; decadence of, 84, 85, 97, 98 ; language of, 20, 124-127, 130, 135-137 ; versification of, 138, 139, 141-144, 146, 147 ; see Boi- leau, Corneilie, Maiherbe, and Racine. Clovis, 19 Comedy, of Classicism, 217-219, see Moliere ; of precursors of 19th century : see Diderot for Serious Comedy, 38-40 ; of Romanticism : see Scribe, 239, 449 ; of Realism (Comedy of Manners), 449-473 ; see Balzac, 450-451; j^^ Dumas fits, 451-464; see Augier, 464- 473 ; see Sardou, 473, 474 Constant, Benjamin, 57, 114 ; Adolphe, loS Constitutionnel, 157 Corinne, 58, 291 Corneilie, 5, 5, 8, li, 16, 18, 117, i2g, 217, 218, 284, 334, 44S ; Cid, 5, 6, 334 ; Don Sancho, 5 ; Nicomede, 5 ; Polyeucte, 16, 45S Cowper, 190 Crebillon, Cromwell, 241 Crebillon,_/f/j, 28 Criticism, of Classicism, 18, 19, 267, 268 ; of pseudo-Classicism, 85-87 ; 269, 270, 272 ; of Romanticism, 267-290 ; see Villemain, 273-277 ; see Nizard, 277-281 ; see Sainte- Beuve, 281-290 ; of Realism, 337, 338. 385-405 ; see Sainte-Beuve, 385-387 ; ^^^ Taine, 387-396 ; see Renan, 396-405 Cromwell, 226 Curtius, Quintus, 126 Cyril, 358 D Dagobert, 261 D'Alembert, 422 Dante, 83, 117, 121 Danton, 137, 263 D'Aubignac, 86 Daudet, Alphonse, 432, 439-447 ; contrasted with Zola, 439, 440 ; with Flaubert, 443, 444; with the Goncourts, 443, 447 ; spon- taneity, 439-441, 446 ; subjec- tivity, 440 ; novels a series of pictures, 441 ; method of collect- ing materials, 441-443 ; impres- sionability and sympathy, 443, 445 ; native optimism, 444, 445 ; 492 Index. Daudet, Alphonse — Con. as poet, 445, 446 ; method of composition, 440, 441, 446, 447 ; style, 440, 447 ; le Petit Chose, 440 ; From ant jeune et Risler aine, 442 ; Jack, 444 ; le Nabab, 444, 445 ; Sapho, 445 ; les Amou- reuses, 445 Decadents, 191, 208, 353, 478, 479 Delille, 95, 96 ; as " prince of poetry," 95 ; his didactic poem, 96 ; followers, 96, 97 ; les Trois Rl'gnes, 96 Delorme, Joseph, i85-iS8, igo, 284, 238, 382 Delphine, 58 Demosthenes, 77 Descartes, 3, 15, 20, 26, 36, 317 Determinism, 327-329, 337 ; in Taine, 393 ; in Flaubert, 414 Dictionary, 127 Diderot, 23, 24, 35-41, 43-45, 52, 74, 85, 91, iiS, 134, 216 ; as ini- tiator of Realism, 23, 35, 36 ; sense of Reality, 35 ; liberality of mind and heart, 37 ; lack of dra- matic talent, 37 ; subjectivity, 37, 39 ; serious comedy and bourgeois tragedy, 38, 39, 40, 43 ; moral preoccupation, 39 ; substitutes in- dividuals for types, 39, 40 ; lib- erty in action and stage setting, 40, 41 ; employs prose, 41 Dilettanteism, 478, 479 ; see Renan, 397 Don Juan, 192, 202 Drama of Romanticism, 214-239 ; initiators of, in Diderot, 35-41, 216; and Mercier, 41-44, 216; j^"^ Vigny, 94, 116, 117, 137, 217, 222-224, 232, 233, 235, 236, 294 ; his poetics, 217, 222-224 ; com- pared with Victor Hugo's, 235 ; Chatterton his best work, 235, 236 ; favors drama of thought, 236 ; jif^ Victor Hugo, 94, 95, 113, 114, 215, 217, 220, 221, 224-226, 228, 230-233, 235-238, 294, 448, 449, 451 ; poetics of Preface to Crom- 7vell, 104, 105, 113, 114, 215, 217, 221, 225, 237 ; revolution effected by Hernani, 91, 93, 94. 451 : aims to unite comic and tragic, 104, 105, 113, 114, 2i3, 219, 227, 228, 231, 232, 448, 449; his lyrical bias, 233, 234 ; embodies thoughts. 234, 235 ; falsifies nature by vio- lence of contrasts, 235 ; failure of les Burgraves, 238, 448 ; see Dumas, 43, 232, 236, 237 ; fertil- ity, 236, 237 ; historical in ex- teriors, 237 ; appeals to curiosity, 237 ; Romanticism substitutes in- dividuals for types, 219, 220, 227 ; abolishes unities, 220-223, 228, 231 ; introduces history into theatre, 221 ; multiplies action and characters, 224, 225, 228 ; admits entire vocabulary, 226 ; more Classical than Realistic, 228-230, 234 ; employs abstrac- tion and idealization, 229, 230 ; always conservative, 231 ; a juxta- position rather than union of ele- ments, 232 ; decline of, 237, 23S, 334. 44S, 449 Ducis, 90, 91, 93 ; adapts Shake- spearean drama, go, 91 ; Hamlet, 90 ; Macbeth, 90 ; yean sans Terre, 90 ; Othello, 90 Dumas, Alexandre, as novelist, 294, 296, 297, 436 ; fertility, 296, 297 ; lack of historical truth, 297, 436 ; further faults, 297 ; as dramatist, 43, 232, 236, 237, 294, 296, 449 ; fertility, 236, 237 ; historical only in exterior features, 237, 296 ; superficiality, 237 ; appeals solely to curiosity, 237 ; Henri III., 236 ; Tour de Nesle, i^i ; An- thony, 449 Dumas Jils, Alexandre, 333, 451- 465, 467-469, 472, 476, 477 ; revolution brought about by la Dame aux camelias, 451-453, 464, 465 ; introduces Realism into theatre, 452 ; opposition aroused, 452, 453, 459; innovations, 453, 454 ; technical skill, 454-457 ; logic his master faculty, 455-45 7; style, 333, 457, 458 ; moral preoccupa- tions, 458, 459 ; drama judged as work of art, 459, 460; characters symbolical, 460 ; love his sole in- spiration, 460, 461 ; prostitution his "monster," 461, 462; supe- riority of man over woman, 462, 463 ; influence over Augier, 465 ; compared with Augier, 464-469, 472 ; la Dame aux camiflias, 452, 453, 455, 459, 46o. 461, 464, 465 ; Diane de Lys, 453, 455, 462 ; le Index. 49: Dumas _/f/j, Alexandre — Con. Demi-Monde, 333, 453, 459 ; le Pere prodigue, 455 ; ie Fils natu- rel, 455, 459 ; I 'Ami des femmes, 455> 463, 469 ; la Fcinme de Claude, 460, 464 ; V ^trangere, 460, 462, 463 ; la Princess Georges, 462, 469 ; Francillon, 461, 462 Dussault, 85 E Elee, 373 Elegy, in Andre Chenier, 50 ; in pseudo-Classicism, 87, 88 ; in Berlin and Parny, 154 ; in Lamar- tine, 88, 153-164 ; in Alfred de Musset, 198 ; in Sainte-Beuve, 186-1S8, 202 ; in Gautier, 202 ; in Coppee, 381 ; in Daudet, 445 Elvire, 153, 156 Emile, 54 Empire, gr, 104, 105, 115, 118, 126, 127, 271 Encyclopaedia, 45 Epopee, Greek, 9 ; Classic, 20 ; in Chenier, 50; in Chateaubriand, 75 ; in Victor Hugo, Notre-Dame de Paris, 1 14, 296 ; Le'gende des Siecles, 341-343 Esmenard, 48, 95 Eudore, 106, 417 Euripides, 6, 13, 77, 358 Europeanism, 57 Fauriel, 114 Feletz, 85 Fenelon, 130, 280 ; T^Umaque, 135 Feuillet, Octave, 407-410 ; first manner idealistic, 407, 408 ; second manner Realistic, 408— 410 ; its aristocratic character, 409 ; dogmatic tendencies, 409, 410 ; le Roman d'unjeune homt?ie pauvre, 407 ; Dalila, 408 ; His- toire de Sibylle, 410 ; la Morte, 410 Flaubert, Gustave, 81, 410-422 ; 427, 428, 432, 443, 444; brings about revolution in novel, 410, 422, 431 ; Madame Bovary, first masterpiece of Realism, 410,411 ; Balzac personal, 411 ; originality of Madame Bovary, 41 1, 412 ; ob- jectivity, 411-413 ; unites Roman- tic and Realistic art, 412 ; as Ro- manticist in choice of subjects, 416-418 ; in respect to form, 420- 422 ; a Realist in method, 411- 416 ; subordinates psychology to physiology, 413, 414 ; portrayal of types of mediocrity, 414, 515 ; appearance and bearing, 416, 417; sensibility, 417; classic qualities of Madame Bovary, 414 ; a satire of Romantic spirit, 414 ; cult for form, 420-422 ; Madatne Bovary, 410, 411, 415-419, 421, 422, 431 ; Education sentimentale, 415, 418 ; Bouvard et Pecuchet, 415 ; Saldmmbo, 415-418 ; la Ten- tation de Saint Antoine, 416-418 ; Herodias, 418 ; Saint Julien V Hospitalier, 418 ; Un cceur sim- ple, 418, 420 Florian, 44 Flourens, 467 Fontanes, 68, 88, 159 Fox, 275 Foy, General, 258 Fredegonde, 261 Freret, 241 Fronde, the, 19, 85 Funambulesques, 344 Gaudissart, 315 Gautier, Theophile, 46, 120, 133- 135, 148, 149, 184, 201-210, 238, 339, 347-349. 353, 36S, 420, 421 ; as leader of art for art, 184, 201, 208, 209, 347, 368 ; cult for plas- tic beauty, 46, 120, 206, 347 ; dis- ciple of Victor Hugo in form, 201, 202, 347 ; influences of Sainte- Beuve and Musset, 201, 202; superficiality of thought, 202, 203, 209 ; sensibility, 203, 204 ; fear of death, 204, 205 ; love of the beautiful, 206 ; paganism, 206, 347 ; at best in reproducing appearances, 202, 207 ; cult for words, 207, 208 ; as renovator of language and versification, 133, 134, 148, 149, 208-210, 320; in- fluence upon Banville, 347 ; upon Baudelaire, 349, 353 ; Albertus, 202, 205, 207, 349 ; Comedie de la niort, 202, 205 ; Emaux et Cam^es, 203, 204, 209, 347 ; Ponies di- verses, 203 494 hidex. Gavarni, 2S9 Gayot, Causes C/lebres, 42 Geoffroy, 85, 276 Gessner, 60 Gilbert, 169 Gil-Bias, 86 Globe, 137, 216, 272 Gliickist, 100 Goethe, 115, 121 Goncourts, Edmond and Jules, 420, 422-431, 438. 442, 443. 447; tardy popularity and influence, 422, 431 ; early historiographical studies, 422, 423 ; their applica- tion of Realistic method, 423, 424; "modern" and "particu- lar," 424 ; the novel contempo- rary history, 424, 425 ; a work of exact science, 425, 426 ; not adapted to theatre, 426 ; aim to reduce action, 426, 427 ; abnor- mal impressionability, 487, 443 ; originality of style, 42S, 429, 431 ; compared with Flaubert, 428 ; with Zola, 433 ; with Daudet, 443, 447 ; the convicts of the book, 429, 430 ; works confined to modernity, 430, 431 ; method of incorporating materials, 423, 424, 427, 429, 430 ; decadent tastes dangerous to language, 431, 538 ; Germi?iie Lacerteux, 422, 424— 426, 431 ; Scetir Philomene, 422 ; Chhie, 424-426 ; Madame Ger- vaisais, 425 ; Rpiee Mauperin, 425 ; la Fille £lisa, 425, 426 ; les Freres Zemgatnno, 425 ; Fans- tin, 4.2$ Gottsched, 60 Gudin, 97 Guiraud, 92 ; Cotnte yulien, 92 Guizot, 250-253, 336 ; renovates history by philosophy, 250 ; four primitive factors, 250 ; method defined, 451 ; defects of his gen- eralizations, 251, 252 ; gives his- tory a solid foundation, 252 ; in narration, 252 ; style, 253 H HeloTse, 29 Helvetius, 307 Henry IV., 2, 3 Heredia, Jose-Marie de, 362-364 ; compared with Malherbe in tech- nical skill, 262, 264, 265 ; dis- ciple of Leconte de Lisle, 363 ; treatment of the sonnet, 363 ; admits only sentiment for the beautiful, 363 ; always Spanish in inspiration, 364 ; objectivity, 364, 365 ; les Trophees, 368 ; les Conqu^ratits , 364 ; la Dogaresse, 364 ; Floridum mare, 364 ; le Dahnio, 364 ; le Samourai, 364 History, of Classicism, 18-20, 240, 242, 249, 250 ; of Romanticism, 242-266, 292, 336 ; for descrip- tive, see Thierry, 243-247 ; for narrative, see Barante, 248, 249 ; for philosophical, see Guizot, 250- 253 ; also Mignet, 253-256 ; for details, see Thiers, 257-260 ; for poetic, see Michelet, 260-266 ; of Realism, 336, 337 Hoffman, 85 Homer, 6, 9, 10, 47, 75, 268, 274, 358 ; Iliad, 6, 75 Horace, 5 Hugo, Victor, as poet, 46, 48, 81, 99, 104, 106, 109, no, 112, 113, 117, 150, 166, 173-184, 201, 202, 324. 339-348, 353, 355, 365, 366, 376, 38 1 ; in his antecedents, see Chenier, 46 ; see Chateaubriand, 81, 180; see Vigny, 166; first period ; classic spirit of Odes, 174, 175 ; medieval spirit of Bal- lades, 112, 175 ; les Orie7ttales re- veal plastic resources, 176 ; greater depth of les Feuilles d^automne, 176, 177 ; similar inspiration of les Chants du crepusctde, les voix intt'rieures, and les Rayons et les Ombres, i"]"], 178; second period : les Chatime7its retaliate against Realism, 340 ; maturity in les Contemplations , 340, 341 ; la L^gende an epopee of progress, 341-343 ; early vocation, 173, 174, conception of nature, no, 176, 178 ; of Christianity, 104, 182, 342 ; melancholy, 106, 109, no, 177, 178; optimism, 178, 341, 342,346; equilibrium, 179, 181, 182, 344-346 ; objective and sub- jective, 106, 174, 180, 181 ; con- ception of poetic vocation, 179, 180 ; moral preoccupations, 182, 183, 346 ; continued fertility. 173, 174. 343. 344 ; historical sense. Index. 495 Hugo, Victor — Con. 342, 343, 345 ; primitive character, 344, 345 ; magician rather than philosopher, 345 ; renovates lan- guage and versification, 128, 131, 133, 137-139. 141. 148, 149. 176, 179, I So, 320 ; in his followers, see Gautier, 201, 202, 347; schools, 344 ; see de Lisle, 353, 355 ; see Coppee, 381 ; Odes et Ballades^ 112, 113, 174, 175 ; Orientales, 176, 177, 182 344 ; Feuilles d'au- tomne, 176, 177, 341 ; Chants du trepusctcle, 177, 178 ; voix intd- rieures, 178 ; les Rayons et les Om- bres^ 174, 178; les Chdtiments , 340, 343, 344 ; les Contemplations, 340, 341, 344 ; la Legende des slides, 166, 341-344, 355, 381 ; r Annee terrible, 343, 344 ; Toute la lyre, 344 ; as dramatist, 94, T04, 105, 114, 215, 217, 218, 220, 221, 224-226, 228, 230-233, 235, 237, 238, 294, 448, 449, 451 ; poetics of Preface to Cronnvell, 104, 105, 113, 113-115, 217, 220, 221, 225, 237 ; revolution effected by Her- nani, 91, 93, 94, 451 ; aims to supplement Corneille by Moliere, 218, 448 ; introduces history into drama, 221, 225 ; abolishes unities, 224, 225 ; employs a new lan- guage, 226 ; conser\'atism, 230, 231 ; lyrical bias, 233, 234 ; em- bodies thoughts, 234, 235 ; falsi- fies nature by violence of con- trasts, 235 ; failure of les Bur- graves, 238, 448 ; Cromwell, 225 ; Hernani, 91, 93, 94, 20 r, 218, 232, 334, 451 ; le Roi s' amuse, Lucrece Borgia, Marie Tudor, Angela, 234 ; Ruy Bias, 234, 344; as novelist, 114, 295, 296, 406, 407 ; Notre-Dame de Paris an epopee of Gothic art, 114, 175, 295, 296 ; its symbolic character, 114, 296 Hume, 28 Hypatia, 358 Idealism, of Classicism, 10-15, 18, 19 ; in tragedy, 218-220, 223, 224, 227, 334 ; of Romanticism, introduced by Rousseau, 36, 291 ; in poetry, 106, 107 ; see Hugo, Lamartine, Musset, Vigny ; in drama, 230, 334 ; see Hugo, Vigny ; in criticism, see Nizard, 277, 278 ; in novel, 291, 292 ; see George Sand, 297-301, 304, 407 ; see Feuillet, 407, 408 ; Romantic idealization of the spiritual, 321, 322, 324, 325, 332, 414, 415 ; de- cline of, 82, 308, 327, 329 ; Real- istic idealization of the material, 327, 32S ; introduced into poetry by Sainte-Beuve, 1S7, 188 ; by Gautier, 207-210 ; see Manuel, and Coppee ; see Parnassians ; see Le- conte de Lisle and Sully Pru- dhomme ; see Banville and Baude- laire ; in criticism, see Sainte- Beuve and Taine ; introduced into novel by Stendhal and Merimee, 306-311 ; by Balzac, 312-318 ; see Flaubert, 412, 416, 419 ; seeXo^d., 433-435. 437 ; in Daudet, as sep- arated from Realistic idealism, 444-446 ; also in Renan, 396, 397, 399 ; in theatre, see Dumas, 460, 461, 463 ; decline of Realistic idealism, 475, 479 J Jacobins, 242 Jansenists, 16 Jesuitism, 16 Jomini, General, 258 Joubert, 132, 164 Jouffroy, 289 Julie, 25, 29, 54 Jussieu, 287 L La Bruyere, 7, 16 La Fontaine, 6, 7, 14 La Harpe, 85, 270, 274-276 ; Phi- loctete, 11^ Lamartine, 36, 45, 46, 88, 105, 106, 109, no, 116, 150, 153-T64, 166, 174, 179, 181, 184, 339, 368, 371, 376; precedes Beranger, 153; rapid growth of fame, 153, 154 ; early imitation of Bertin and Parny, 153, 154 ; late vocation, 154; antipathy for Byron and Chenier, 46, 155 ; influences of Rousseau and Saint- Pierre, 155 156 ; of Madame de Stael and Chateaubriand, 156 ; spontaneity, 496 Index. Lamartine — Con. 156, 163, 174, 179, 371 ; effect of Meditations, 157 ; their novelty, 157. 158 ; his primitive character, 153, 158 ; frees poetry from scho- lastic rules, 1 58 ; progress in Nou- velles Meditations and Harmonies, 159; decline after yocelyn, 159, 160 ; idealism, 160, 166 ; optimism 109, 160, 161 ; melancholy, 109, 156, 160, 184 ; early education, 156, 161 ; shallow sensibility, 162 ; subjectivity, 106, 156, 158, 162, 163 ; conception of nature, no, 163 ; improvisor and amateur, 163, 164 ; dislike of effort, 164 ; defects of style, 164 ; MMitations, 153-155, 157-160, 164; Har- ?nonies, 155, 160, 164 ; Noiivelles Mt'ditations, 159 ; jocelyn, 159, 164 ; Chute d'un ange, 166 Language, of Classicism, 20, 124- 127, 130, 135-137 ; see Ronsard, 125, 128 ; see Malherbe, 125, 128 ; see Vaugelas, 126, 129, 130 ; see P. Bouhours, 126, 129 ; see Marot, 128 ; see Sainte-Gelais, 12S ; see Amyot, 130; see Fenelon, 130; Buffon, 135 ; Diderot and Rous- seau, 134; ^t?£? Voltaire, 127, 129, 136 ; of pseudo-Classicism, 94, 127, 128, 135-137 ; of Romanti- cism, 128-138 ; see Chenier, 47, 165 ; see Chateaubriand, 80, 81, 132, 133, 135 ; see Victor Hugo, 128, 131-133, 137, 138, 174, 175, 179, 320, 344, 347 ; see Sainte- Beuve, 189 ; see Gautier, 133-135, 207, 208, 210, 220 ; see Balzac, 320 ; of Realism, 333, 475 ; see Parnassians, 368, 369 ; see Sully Prudhomme, 377 ; see Coppee, 378 ; see Renan, 405 ; see Flau- bert, 421 ; see the Goncourts, 428, 429, 431 ; see Zola, 438 ; see Dau- det, 446, 447 ; see Dumas yf/j', 457 Lebrun, Pierre, 87, 89, 92, 93, 136, 137 ; as poet, 87 ; as dramatist, 89, 92, 93, 136, 137 ; Marie Stuart, 89, 92, 93, 136, 137 ; le Cid d' Andalousie , 92, 94, 137 Lemaistre, 102 Lemercier, Nepomucene, 91, 93, 94 ; Pinto, Christophe Colomb, 91, 93, 94 ; Cours de litttfrature, 91 Lemierre, 48 Ligue, 19, 85 Lisle, Leconte de, 8r, 120, 353- 363, 365, 368, 370, 378 ; influ- ences of Chateaubriand, Hugo, and Vigny, 80, 120, 353, 355, 360 ; as historian, 353, 355, 360 ; condemns subjectivity, 354, 355 ; aesthetics, 120, 353-356, 358, 359 ; native Buddhism, 356-358,370; beauty symbol of impassive hap- piness, 358 ; decadence of Greek arti 358 ; style, 359, 360 ; subject- ive in spite of effort, 360, 361 ; unpopularity, 361 ; pessimism, 360-362 ; considered in follow- ers, in Parnassians, 354, 365, 368 ; in Heredia, 362, 363 ; in Sully Prudhomme, 370 ; in Coppee, 378 ; Pohnes antiques, Polmes barbares, 363 Livy, Titus, 23S Louis, Saint, 19 Louis XIV., 3, 15, 16, 19, 22, 23, 61, 84, 127, 241, 268, 271 Lucretius, 374 Luther, 226, 263 Lyricism, of pseudo-Classicism, 87, 88; of Romanticism, 104-112, 153- 214, 291, 322, 324, 325, 332, 334, 475 ; as foreshadowed by Chenier, 44-51 ; by Rousseau, Madame de Stael, and Chateaubriand, 62, 106, 291, 339 ; in Lamartine, 153-164 ; in Vigny, 165-173, 235, 236 ; in Victor Hugo, 173-183, 233, 234; in Sainte-Beuve, 184-191 ; in Musset, 191-201 ; in Gautier, 201-210; in Barbier, 210, 211; in Brizeux, 211-213; evident in Michelet, 263-266 ; evident in George Sand, 297, 298 ; decline of, 322, 324, 325, 332, 475 ; in Realistic period, see Banville, 346-349 M Mably, 242 Machiavellism, 352 Malady of the Century, 28, 108, 478 Malherbe, 2, 3, 47, 48, 85, 125, 128, 133, 138, 139, 141, 142, 146- 148, 268, 362, 364 ; Odes, 362 Manuel, Eugene, 365-36S, 381, 382 ; originality, 365, 366, 381 ; familiar and popular, 366, 367 ; hidex. 497 Manuel, Eugene — Con. sincerity, 367, 368 ; les Pages in- times, 365-367 ; les Poetries popu- laires, 365-367 ; En voyage. Pendant laguerre, V Ascension, la Veillee du niMecin, la Priere des folks, 367 ; drama : les Ouvriers, 367 Manzoni, 216 Marchangy 83 Mardoche, 193, iqs, 200 Marot, 128 Martin, Aimee, 97 Materialism in poetry, of Romantic period, form, see Victor Hugo, 176, 182, 347 ; subject and form, see Sainte-Beuve, 184-igi ; see Gautier, 207-210, 347 ; of Real- istic period, 333, 334 ; see Ban- ville and Baudelaire, 347-353 ; see Leconte de Lisle, 354, 359 ; Heredia, 362-365 ; Parnassians, 368, 369 ; Sully Prudhomme, 372, 373 ; Coppee, 378 ; in novel, 335, 336 ; introduced by Stendhal, 304-309 ; see Balzac, 313-315 ; see Flaubert, 414, 415 ; see Zola, 436-438 Melancholy of Romanticism, see Pessimism Mercier, 41-44, 85, 216 ; influence of Diderot, 41, 43 ; condemns Classic styles, 41, 42 ; replaces antiquity by contemporary reality, 42, 43 ; considered in his followers, 43, 44 ; Essai stir Part dra- tnatique, 41 Mercure, 68 Merimee, 308, 309-311, 315, 332 ; influence of Stendhal, 309 ; as initiator of Realism, 308, 332 ; appreciation of real, 309 ; imper- sonality and conservatism, 310, 315 ; artistic style, 310, 311 ; la Chronique de Charles IX. , 309 ; Colnmba, 310, 31 1 Mesmer, 312 Mezerai, 241 Michelet, 260-266, 336, 400 ; power of divination, 260, 261, 265, 266 ; erudition, 261 ; early vocation, 261 ; sense of life, 261, 262 ; sym- pathy, 262, 263 ; subjectivity, 263-265 ; defects of style, 264, 265 ; influence over Renan, 400 ; Histoire de France, 400 Middle Ages, antipathy for, in Classi- cism, 7, 8, 112 ; sympathy for, in Romanticism, 112, 113, 128 ; in Chateaubriand, 75, 76, 112; in Victor Hugo, 113, 114, 175, 296, 297 ; in Gautier, 347 Mignet, 253-257, 336 ; method philosophical, 253, 254, 257, 336; in P Histoire de la Revolution and N^gociaiions relatives a la succes- sion d'Espagne, 254 ; strictly his- torical works, 254, 255 ; pufall of philosophical history, 255, 256; makes history science and art, 256 ; style, 256 ; P Histoire de la Revo- lution, 254, 255 ; Negociations relatives a la succession d'Espagne, 254 Millet, 373 Millevoie, 87, 154 Milton, 169, 275 Minerve, 157 Mithridates, 218 " Moderns," 5, 15, 267, 268 Moliere, 11, 14, 117, 218, 459, 466, 473 ; I Avar e, 473 ; les Femmes savantes, 459 ; Tartuffe, 473 Monarchism, 331 Montesquieu, 240 Morellet, 157 Moses, 106, 168, 170, 360 Musset, Alfred de, 45, 105-107, 109, 117, 120, 166, 181, 184, igi-202, 204, 339, 368, 370, 371. 449. 466 ; poet of youth, 191 ; and early de- cline, 192, 193, 199, 339 ; as artist, 193, 196 ; love his sole inspira- tion, 194, 197-199 ; greatness and weakness, 194, 195 ; lack of in- ventive power, 195 ; in religious aspect, 45, 105, 195, 200 ; affec- tations, 196 ; transition period, 196, 197 ; subjectivity, 106, 107, 117, 197 ; divines passion, 197 ; consecrates sorrow, 197, 198 ; love the sole good, 198-200 ; struggle between love and de- bauch, 199 ; limitations, 200, 201 ; Comedies, Fantasio, On ne badine pas av>'c Vamour, 449 Mysticism, in Diderot, 36 ; in Vigny, 165 ; in Sainte-Beuve, 186 ; in George Sand, 298 ; in Baudelaire, 350. 351 ; it^ decline of Realism, 476, 477 498 Index. N Nanteuil, Celestin, 238 Napoleon, 94, 102, 226, 242 Naturalism, introduced by Diderot, 23, 35, 36 ; in criticism, see Sainte- Beuve, 284-287, 385-387 ; in the novel, see Flaubert, 417 ; see the Goncourts, 426, 431, 432 ; see Zola, 432, 439, ; in the theatre, 426, 456, 476, 477 Nature, in Classicism, 13-15, 29, 121 ; in precursors of XlXth cen- tury, see Rousseau, 29-31, iii ; see Bernardin, 34, 35, 76, iii ; see Chenier, 49, 50 ; see Madame de Stael, 63, 64 ; see Chateau- briand, 35, 64, 76-78, III, 305, 416 ; in Romanticism, 109-111; see Lamartine, iio, 163 ; Victor Hugo, no, 176, 178 ; Gautier, 207 ; George Sand, 300, 305, 306 Neo- Hellenism, 119 Neo-mysticism, 478, 479 Neo-Romanticism, 46 Nihilism, 360 Nizard, 277-281, 282; idealistic, didactic method, 277, 278 ; triple ideal, 278 ; criticism a philosophy, 278, 279 ; confined to French masterpieces, 279, 280 ; resistance and coercion, 280, 381 Novel, as considered by Classicism, 292 ; of Romantic period, 291- 320 ; subjective as introduced by Rousseau, Madame de Stael, and Chateaubriand, 291, 292 ; histori- cal as introduced by Vigny, Hugo, and Dumas, 292-297 ; Idealistic, see George Sand, 297-306 ; see Feuillet's first manner, 407, 408 ; Realistic as introduced by Sten- dhal, 306-30S ; by Merimee, 309- 311 ; by Balzac, 3 1 1-320 ; of Real- istic period, 406-447 ; Realistic influences in Victor Hugo and George Sand, 406, 407 ; in Feuil- let's second manner, 408-410 ; see Flaubert, 410-422 ; see the Gon- courts, 422-431 ; see Zola, 432- 439 ; see Daudet, 439-447 O Oberman, 70-72, 108 Objectivity, of Classicism, 11-13 ; of precursors of XlXth century, sec Diderot and Chenier ; see Madame de Stael, 53, 56 ; Chateaubriand, 70 ; of Romantic period, for po- etry, see Victor Hugo, 106, 174, 180, 181 ; see Vigny, 170, 360, 376 ; see Gautier, 207-210 ; for novel, see Balzac, Merimee, Sten- dhal ; of Realistic period, 326-338 ; for poetry, see Leconte de Lisle, Parnassians, Sully Frudhomme (scientific) ; see Baudelaire and Banville ; see Heredia ; see Cop- pee and Manuel ; in novel, see Daudet, Flaubert, the Goncourts, and Zola Ode of Classicism, 20, 362 ; of pseudo-Classicism, 87, 88 ; of Romanticism, see Victor Hugo, 174, 175, 215 Optimism, of Classicism, 21, 108 ; of precursors of XlXth century, in Diderot, 39 ; in Chenier, 44, 45 ; in Madame de Stael, 53, 55, 56 ; in Lamartine, 109, 160, 161 ; in Hugo, 178, 341, 342, 346; also Banville, Heredia, and Manuel ; in George Sand, 299, 300, 305 ; in Daudet, 444, 445 Ossian, 155 Pantheism, Greek, 10 Parnassians, 365, 368, 369, 372, 378, 379, 381 Parny, 154, 155 Pastoral, in Andre Chenier, 50 Patin, 190 Pericles, 119 Perrault, 6, 18 Pessimism, in Rousseau, 27, 28, 54 ; in Madame de Stael, 56, 63 ; in Chateaubriand, 53, 67 ; also Rene, 70-72, 108 ; in Senancour's Oberman, ']0-']2, 108; Romanti- cism, 106-109, 329. 333. 478 ; ii^ Lamartine, 105, 109, 160-162 ; in Musset, 105, 106, 109, 197- 200 ; in Vigny, 109, 168, 170, 184, 236, 332, 339 ; in Victor Hugo, 106, 109-177, 178, 340; in Christianity, 107, loS ; in Sainte-Beuve's Joseph Delorme, 184-186, 189 ; in Gautier, 204, 205, 347 ; in Barbier, 2Ti ; Real- ism, 340, 478 ; in Baudelaire, 350- Index. 499 Pessimism — Con. 352 ; in Leconte de Lisle, 356- 360, 362 ; in Sully Prudhomme, 369, 370, 376 ; in Coppee, 379, 380, 382; in Flaubert, 417; in Zola, 437, 439 ; in Dumas Jils, 463 Petronius, 190, 352 Philippe-Auguste, 19 Philosophy, of Classicism, 4, 17, 20, 21, 29, 33, 45 ; of Romanticism, 103-106, 325 ; see Madame de Stael, 53-55 ; see Chateaubriand, 67 ; see Vigny, 172, 173 ; see Musset, 195 ; see Gautier, 202 ; see Victor Hugo, 341, 342, 345 ; of Realism, 326-330 ; see Leconte de Lisle, 356, 357 ; see Sully Prud- homme, 370-376 ; in criticism, see Nizard, 277-279 ; see Taine, 387- 396 ; in history, see Guizot, 249- 253 ; see Mignet, 253-256 Piccinist, 100 Pindar, 9, 136 ; Odes, g Poetry, Classic period, 2, 4, 5, 63 ; of pseudo-Classicism, 87-89, 95- 97 ; of Romantic period (prefigured by Andre Chenier, 46-48, 50, 51), 104-123, 333, 475 ; see Beranger, 150—153 ; see Lamartine, 153-165 ; see Vigny, 165-173 ; see Hugo, 173-183 ; see Sainte-Beuve, 184- 191 ; see Musset, 191-201 ; see Gautier, 201-210; see Barbier, 210, 211; see Brizeux, 211-213; of Realistic period, 332-334, 475 ; see Hugo, 339-346 ; see Banville, 347-349 ; see Baudelaire, 349- 353 ; see Leconte de Lisle, 353- 362 ; sec Heredia, 362-365 ; see Manuel, 365-368 ; see Parnassians, 368, 369 ; see Sully Prudhomme, 369-378; j^^ Coppee, 153-164 Pompignan, 23, 139 Ponsard, 158, 238, 239, 466 ; Lu- crke, 238, 466 ; Charlotte Corday, 239 Positivism, 327, 328, 337, 338, 374, 385, 387, 399 Pleiade, i, 2, 48, 125, 128, 141 ; language of, i, 2, 125, 128 ; poetic styles of, 2, 48, 128, 138, 141 Plutarch, 24, 126 Propertius, 45 Prudhomme, Sully, 366, 369-378, 380 ; Parnassian influence, 369, 372 ; conception of poetry, 369 ; compared with Leconte de Lisle, 370; with Musset, 370, 371 ; with Lamartine, 371, 376; with Victor Hugo, 376 ; with Vigny, 376 ; with Coppee, 380 ; exalts action, 370, 371 ; personal, 371 ; accord be- tween poetry and science, 372- 374 ; dialogue between Seeker and Voice, 375 ; antagonism be- tween Heart and Reason, 375, 376 ; style, 369, 372, 377 ; Stances et Poemes, 366 ; la Vie inte'rieure, 366, 377, 380; la Justice, 370, 374, 375. 377 ; l^s Ecuries d'Au- gias, 373 ; le Rendez-votts, 373 ; le Zenith, 373 ; le Bonkeur, 377 Pseudo-Classicism, 84-98 ; character and duration of, 84, 85, 97, 98; criticism of, 85-87 ; 269, 270, 272 ; poetry of, 87-89, 95-97 ; comedy of, 88 ; tragedy of, 88-95 ; language of, 94, 127, 128, 135- 137 Quinault, Mademoiselle, 33 Quinet, 202 Quintillian, 6 R Rabelais, 315 Racine, Jean, 4, 6, 8, 11, 13, 16, 18, 43, 48, 57, 74, 80, 85, 100, 116, 117, 128, 133, 135, 137, 142, 144, 217, 223-225, 274; Athalie, 4, 16, 135, 137 ; Britan- nicus, 7, 143, 144, 223 Racine, Louis, 95 Rambouillet, Marquise de, 14 Rapin, Father, 241 Raynouard, 89, 92 ; les Templiers, 89, 92 . . _ Realism, initiators of, see Diderot, 23, 35-41 ; Sainte-Beuve, 184- 191, 281-290 ; Stendhal, 306-309 ; Merimee, 309-311 ; Balzac, 311- 320, 450, 451 ; evolution of, 321- 338 ; duration and character of, 321, 322 ; philosophy of, 326- 332 ; poetry of, 332-334, 475 : ^^e Victor Hugo, 339-346 ; see Ban- ville, 347-349 ; see Baudelaire, 349-353 ; see Leconte de Lisle, 353-362 ; see Heredia, 362-365 ; 500 Index. Realism — Con. see Manuel, 365-368 ; Parnassians, 368, 369 ; see Sully Prudhomme, 369-378 ; see Coppee, 378-384 ; theatre of, 334. 335, 448-474, 476, 477 ; see Alexandre Dumas Jils, 451-464; see Augier, 464- 473 ; see Sardou, 473, 474 ; novel of, 335, 336 ; ^^^ Octave Feuillet, 408-410; see Flaubert, 410-422; see the Goncourts, 422-431 ; see Zola, 432-439 ; see Daudet, 439- 447 ; criticism of, 337, 338, 385- 405 ; see Sainte-Beuve, 385-387 ; see Taine, 387-396 ; see Renan, 396-405 ; history of, 336, 337 ; conception of art, 327, 333, 368, 369, 479 ; heroes of, 336, 337 ; language of, 333, 334, 368, 369 Regnier, 196 Remusat, 215 Renaissance, 5, 140 Renan, 396-405 ; contrasted with Taine, 396 ; sympathy, 369, 397, 401 ; dilettantism, 397, 402, 403 ; tolerance, 397 ; idealism, 397- 399 ; sense of divinity, 398 ; scep- ticism, 398, 399, 402 ; analysis, 398, 399 ; as critic, 399, 402, 403 ; influence of Michelet, 410 ; as historian, 400-402 ; as artist, 402- 404 ; style, 404, 405 ; Vie de Jesiis, 404 Rene, 70-72, 106, 108, no, 291, 417, 420_ Republicanism, 331 Restoration, 92, 99, 136 Revolution, 55, 56, 85, lOi, 105, 118, 127, 128, 215, 471 Rhyme, in Ronsard and thePleiade, 141 ; in Classicism, 140, 141 ; in Romanticism, 140, 141 ; see Victor Hugo, 141, 179; see Lamar- tine, 164 ; see Sainte-Beuve, 189 ; see Musset, 193 ; see Gautier, 210 ; in Realism, 333, 343 ; see Banville, 34S, 349 ; see Heredia, 362 ; in Parnassians, 368 ; see Sully Prudhomme, 372 Rhythm, in Ronsard and the Pleiade, 138, 140; in Classicism, 13S, 139, 141-146 ; see Malherbe, 138, 142, 146 ; see Boileau, 142, 146 ; see Racine, 142, 144, 145 ; in Ro- manticism, 139, 143-147 ; see Victor Hugo, 139, 148, 176, 179, 341, 347, 347 ; see Lamartine, 164 ; see Gautier, 148, 210 ; in Parnassians, 369 ; see Heredia, 363 ; see Coppee, 378 ; of prose, see Cliateaubriand, 80 ; see Flau- bert, 421 ; see the Goncourts, 429, 431 Richter, Jean Paul, 202 Rivarol, 136 Robespierre, 137 Romancero, 117 Romanticism, initiators of, see Rous- seau, 23-34 ; see Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, 34, 35 ; see Andre Chenier, 44-51 ; see Madame de Stael, 52-67 ; see Chateaubriand, 67-83, 99-123 ; origin and adop- tion of word, 99-101, 112 ; dura- tion and character of, 297, 321- 325 ; Spiritualism of, 27, 34, loi- 105, 327-329 ; subjectivity of, 25, 105-107, 325 ; Pessimism of, 28, 106-109, 329, 333, 478 ; sentiment for nature, 109-111 ; spontaneity of, III, 112; sympathy for Mid- dle Ages, 112-114; for Hellenic tradition, 119, 120; English and German influences, 100, 114-118, 275, 276; conception of art, 46, 118-123, 323-325 ; heroes of, 329 ; poetry of, 104-123, 150-213. 333, 475 ; ^^^ Lamartine, 153- 164; j-^^ Vigny, 165-173 ; Victor Hugo, 173-183 ; j-f^ Sainte-Beuve, 184-191 ; see Musset, 191-200; see Gautier, 201-210 ; see Barbier, 210, 211 ; see Briseux, 211— 213 ; drama of, 94, 95, 113, 114, 150, 214-239, 334, 448, 449, 451 ; see Victor Hugo, 94, 95, 113, 114, 215, 216, 220, 221, 224-226, 228, 230-235, 237, 238 ; see Vigny, 94, 217, 222-224, 232, 235, 236; see Dumas, 232, 236, 237 ; comedy of, 239, 449 ; see Scribe, 239 ; see Musset, 449 ; history of, 242-266, 292, 293, 336 : see Thierry for descriptive, 242-249 ; see Guizot for philosophical, 250-253 ; also Mignet, 253-256 ; see Thiers for details, 257-260; see Michelet for poetic, 260-266 ; criticism of, 267-290 ; see Villemaii'. for histori- cal, 273-277 ; see Nizard for di- dactic, 277-281 ; see Sainte-Beuve for literary, 28 1-290 ; novel of. Index. 501 Romanticism — Con, 291-320 ; see Vigny for historical, 294, 295 ; also Hugo, 295, 296 ; also Dumas, 296, 297 ; see George Sand for idealistic, 297-306 ; see Stendhal for psychological, 306- 309 ; also IVIerimee, 309-311 ; see Balzac for " Comedie humaine," 311-320; language of, 128-138; versification of, 1 39-141, 143- 149 ; see Gautier, Hugo, Sainte- Beuve. Ronsard, 1-3, 5, 48, 125, 128, 133, 138, 139, 365 Rousseau, Jean-Baptiste, 23, 50, 15S ; influence, Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 23-34, 44. 52, 54, 55. 1^\ 86, III, 118, 134, 134, 280, 291 ; initiator of Ro- manticism, 23, 25, 28, 31, 35, 52, III ; early life, 24 ; social attitude, 24, 25, 54; message to re-enter self, 25, 26 ; sensibility, 26, 27 ; source of his weakness, 27, 28 ; revives poetry of passion, 29, 30 ; poetry of nature, 29-31, iii ; love of domestic life, 31, 32 ; an- imates parental sentiment, 32, 33 ; inspires spiritual renaissance, 27, 33. 34. 55 ; style, 34, 76 ; la N^ouvelle Helo'ise, 29, 34, 291 ; le Contrai social, 54; les Reveries, 34 ; les Confessions, 25, 31, 34 ; Entile, 54 ; V hijluence des pas- sions stir le bonheur, 54 Sainte-Beuve, as poet, 46, 128, 148, 184-191, 339. 348, 366, 382 ; compared to Lamartine, 184 ; to Vigny, 184; to Hugo, 184; to Coppee, 382 ; Pessimism of yoseph Delorme, 185 ; character of his Muse, 185, 186 ; reaction in Consolations, 186, 187 ; matured wisdom of Pensees d'aoui, 186, 187 ; originality, 187, 188 ; limi- tations, 18S, 189; style, 189; as critic-poet, 190 ; as moralist, 190, 191 ; yoseph Delorme, 1S5-189, 382 ; Consolations, 1S6, 187 ; Pensees d'aotit, 186, 188, 382 ; ATonsieiir yean, 382 ; as critic, 48, 76, 77, 93, 139, 151, 163, 167, 172, 173, 235, 238, 281-290, 308, 385-387, 417 ; compared with Nizard, 2S1 ; method, 282, 284- 288, 387 ; as poet-critic, 282, 283 ; as moralist, 287 ; as artist, 2S7, 288, 387 ; as physiologist, 284, 385, 386 ; adaptability, 288, 289 ; painter of portraits, 386 ; Lun- dis, 190, 385 Saint-Gelais, 128 Saint-Hillaire, Geoflroy, 317 Saint-Lambert, 44 Saint-Pierre, Abbe de, 241, 156, 291 Saint-Pierre, Bernardin de, 34, 35, 44, 76, 88, III, 134, 156, 305 ; dis- ciple of Rousseau, 34 ; painter of nature, 35, 76, 305 ; style, 34, 88, 134 ; originality of manner, 35, 156 ; Paul et Virgittie, 156 Saint-Preux, 25, 28, 29, 156, 291 Saint-Simon, 289 Samson, 360 Sand, George, 36, 82, 297-306, 312, 444 ; lyrical, 297, 298 ; early life, 298, 299 ; first manner, 299 ; second manner, 299, 300 ; third manner, 300, 301 ; three concep- tions of love, 301, 302 ; spon- taneity, 302, 303 ; appearance and bearing, 302, 303 ; pastorals, 300, 305, 306 ; idealism, 302 ; Realistic influence, 407 ; Indiana, 299, 302, 407 ; yacques, 299 ; Lelia, 299 ; Simon, 299 ; Matiprat 299 ; la Mare att Diable, 300 ; Valentine, 300 ; le Meunier d^ Angibatdt, 300 ; yean de la Roche, 407 ; le Mar- quis de Villetner, 407 Sardou, 473, 474 ; disciple of Scribe, 473 ; characters silhouettes, 473 ; lack of unity, 474 ; rapidity of movement, 474 ; dramatic style, 474 ; revives vaudeville, 474 ; Patrie, 473 Scherer, Edmond, 381 Schiller, 60, 115, I17, 271 Schlegel, 57 Scott, Walter, 115, 243, 248, 293; Ivanhoe, 244 ; Quentin Durward, 295 Scribe, 239, 452-454, 465, 473 ; comedy of, 239 : fertility, 239, 455 ; artificiality, 239 Scudery, 86 Sedaine, 43 Senancour, Oberman, 70-72, 108 Seneca, 6 Sesostris, 241 502 Index. Sevigne, Madame de, 13, 190 Shakespeare, 90, 91, 115-117, 121, 275 ; Hamlet, Macbeth, Othello, go Sheridan, 275 Sismondi, 57, 114 Socialism, in Romanticism, 330 ; in George Sand, 299, 300, 305 ; in Realism, 330 Solon, 241 Sonnet, of Sainte-Beuve, 190 ; of Heredia, 362-364 Sophocles, 43, 75, 77, 119, 275, 358 ; Aidipus tyr annus, 75 ; Philoctetus, 275 Sorel, Julian, 307 Soulie, Frederic, 312 Soumet, 92 ; Jeanne d'Arc, Elisa- beth de France, 92 Spiritualism, Romantic, 101-105, 327-329 ; introduced by Rousseau, 27, 33-35 : in Saint-Pierre, 35 ; in Madame de Stael, 55, 58, 59, 103 ; in Chateaubriand, 72-74, 102- 104 ; in Lamartine, 105, 160, 161 ; in Victor Hugo, 104, 182, 342 ; in Vigny, 105, i6g, 170 ; decline in Musset, 105, 195, 200 ; also in Gautier, 202 Stael, Madame de, 36, 52-69, 81, 99, loi, 103, 106, 114, 116, 269, 270, 273, 291, 321, 339, 385 ; as leader of Romanticism, 56, 57, 59-63, 65-67, 69, 99, 114, 269, 270, 291, 385 ; influence of Rous- seau, 54, 55 ; of Chateaubriand, 58 ; German and Italian influences, 57) 58 ; Optimistic philosophy, 53. 55i 5*^ ; Christianity, 56-60, 103 ; melancholy, 56, 63 ; intro- duces Septentrional spirit, 59, 60 ; favors renaissance, 60 ; inimical to imitation, 61, 116 ; introduces new code of poetics, 61, 62 ; ren- ovates criticism, 61, 66, 273, 385 ; liberates art, 56, 57, 61, 62, 66 ; conception of nature, 63, 64 ; Allemagne, 59, 63, 65, 270 ; la Litterature, 53, f,5, 59, 61, 65, 269, 270 ; Lettres sur Jean- yacques, 54 ; Corinne, 58, 2gi Stendhal, 36, 82, 100, 216, 289, 306-311, 332, 335, 476; as initiator of Realism, 306, 308, 311, 332 ; early Romanticism, 306 ; scepticism and materialism, 307 ; style, 307 ; psychologist and mor- alist, 307, 308 ; lack of creative power, 308 ; Racine ct Shake- speare, 216, 306 Subjectivity of Romanticism, 105— 107, 2gi, 292, 323-325 ; intro- duced by Rousseau, 25, 26, 291 ; in Madame de Stael, 66, 106, 291 ; in Chateaubriand, 70, 72, 106, 291 ; in Lamartine, 106, 162, 163 ; in Vigny, 106, 170, 235, 236, 360 ; in Victor Hugo, 106, 175-178, 181, 233, 234 ; in Mus- set, 106, 107, 197, 19S ; in Gau- tier, 204 ; in Leconte de Lisle, 360; in Sully Prudhomme, 371 ; in Michelet, 263-265 ; in George Sand, 297, 29S ; in Balzac, 411 ; in Daudet, 440 Sue, Eugene, 312 Suetonius, 247 Swedenborg, 312 Symbolism of Vigny, 170, 360 ; of Victor Hugj, 344 ; of Leconte de Lisle, 359, 360 ; of Zola, 433- 434 ; of Dumas, 463 Symbolists, 208, 344 T Tacitus, 7 Taine, 284, 308, 385, 387-30. 4i4 ; criticism a positive science, 387 ; not considered as works of art but for historic facts, 387-389 ; influences of race, place, and time, 390-392 ; man not free, 393. 394 i does not apply analysis, 3g4, 395 ; style, 395, 396 Talleyrand, 25S Tasso, 169 Terror, 55 Theatre of Realism, 448-474 ; con- sidered as comedy of manners, 239, 44S-474, 476, 478 ; see Bal- zac, 450, 451 ; see Dumas fils, 451-464 ; see Augier, 464-473 ; as vaudeville, see Sardou, 473, 474 Theocritus, 47 Theophrastus, 7 Thierry, Augustin, 78, 83, 242- 249, 250, 293, 336 ; influence of Chateaubriand, 78, 83, 243, 244 ; of Walter Scott, 243, 244 ; most Romantic of historians, 242, Index. 503 Thierr}-, Augustin — Con. 243, 336 ; renovates historical studies, 244, 250 ; method of Letires sur Vhisioire de France, 244, 245 ; of la Conqticte d'Attgle- ierre, 245 ; of les Recits me'fo- vingiens, 245, 246 ; imagination and sensibility, 246, 247 ; history work of art and science, 247 ; h-s Recits merovingiens , 244-246, 293 ; la Conquete de f Angleterre, 244, 245 ; Letires sur I'kistoire de France, 244, 245 Thiers, 257-260 ; reproduces details, 257 ; values insight, 257, 258 ; moral neutrality, 259 ; style, 259, 260 Tibullus, 45 Tours, Gregory de, 245 Tracy, Destutt de, 307 Tragedy, of Classicism, 20, 214, 217- 219, 223, 224, 227 ; see Corneille, 5, 6, II, 16, 18, 217 ; see Racine, 4, 7, ir, 13, 16, 43, 57, 217, 223- 225 ; antiquity in, 6-9, 18, 220 ; universal hero of, 10, II ; types of, 18, 218-220, 222, 227 ; unities of, 216, 220-222, 227 ; tirades of, 21S, 223, 226 ; separates tragic and comic, 217, 218 ; truth of, 224, 227 ; style of, 10, 225, 226 ; Bourgeois Tragedy of precursors of igth century, see Diderot, 37-41 ; see Mercier, 41-44 ; of pseudo-Classicism, 88- 94 ; preserves tirades and unities, 89, 90, 92 ; Ducis adapts Shake- spearean drama, 90, 91 ; innova- tions made by Lemercier, 91, 93, 94 ; regenerated under Restora- tion, 92 ; novelty introduced by Lebrun, 92, 93 ; revived by Pon- sard, 238, 239 Tragi-comedy, 38, 217 Vaugelas, 126, I2g, 130 Velly, 242 Versification, of Ronsard and the Pleiade, 48, 138, 139, 141, 142 ; of Classicism, 138-144 ; see Mal- herbe, 13S, 142, 146-148, 362 ; see Boileau, 142, 146-148 ; see Racine, 142-144 ; of Romanti- cism, 139-143, 145-149 ; see Andre Chenier, 47, 48, 144, 165 ; see Beranger, 150, 15 1 ; see La- martine, 164, 210 ; sec Vigny, 165 ; see Musset, 193, 210; see Brizeux, 211, 212 ; see Victor Hugo, 139, 141, 148, 149, 176, 179, 180; see Sainte-Beuve, 148, 149, 189, 190 ; see Gautier, 14S, 149, 209, 210; of Realism, 334 ; see Parnassians, 364, 368, 369 ; see Leconte de Lisle, 362 ; see Heredia, 362, 363 ; see Sully Prudhomme, 372, 373 ; see Coppee, 378, 379 Vicar of Savoy, 33, 55, 155 Vigny, Alfred de, as poet, 46, 48, 81, 94, 105, 106, 109, 120, 150, 165-173, 179, 184, 332, 339, 360, 376 ; influence of Chenier, 46, 165; originality, I17, 165, 166; idealism, 166 ; deceptions, 167 ; fatalism, 168 ; art sole principle of action, 168 ; seeks consolation in Genius and Glory, 168, 169 ; accuses Nature, Man, and God, 169, 170 ; resignation and pessim- ism, 109, 168-170, 184, 236, 336, 339 ; employs evasions, 170, 360, 376; obscurities, 171, 172; as philosopher, 172 ; as artist, 172, 173 ; as historian, 106, 294, 295, 360 ; purity, 173 ; impressionabil- ity, i6g, 179 ; /