It has been said that Christianity, by concentrating man's thoughts upon himself, dries up within him the sources of the feeling for nature, and that in opening the eyes of the soul it has closed the eyes of the body. The theory is contestable; for it takes no account of the songs of St Francis, of Bossuet's Méditations, of the poetry of Lamartine, and many other works which are at once Christian in character and picturesque. But there is a kind of devoutness, such as Jansenism or Pietism, which savours too much of the cloister-too much of the cell. There are heavens which do not declare the glory of God. There are souls which wither and fade away through excessive devotion to the inner life. Further, it must be confessed, it is but an indifferent sign of moral health to commit one's soul "to the mercy of the winds." Nature, with its purity of atmosphere, with its vast horizons, with so much in it that is primitive or awe-inspiring, may act as peace-maker; but it is none the less true, as Rousseau more than once with sufficient emphasis remarks, that "all great passions are born of solitude," and that Rousseau himself is full of gratitude that it is so. Lastly, to consider that mere sensibility to natural beauties is a virtue, or even, as the disciples of JeanJacques would have it, the whole of virtue, becomes a paradox as soon as we cease to admit that wisdom consists in losing or annihilating oneself in nature. A famous follower of Rousseau, the poet Shelley, pushed the master's theory to its extreme consequence, when he wrote that "whosoever is free from the contamination of luxury and licence may go forth to the fields. and to the woods, inhaling joyous renovation from the breath of spring, or catching from the odours and signs of autumn some diviner mood of sweetest sadness, which improves the softened heart." 1 This delicious exaltation becomes a recompense, an encouragement, a talent conferred on virtue by "the divine." It differs little, if at all, from virtue itself. But what sort of a virtue is that which totters at the faintest breath? And how much more sure of himself was Grandison than the weak and wavering Saint-Preux ! 1 Essay on Christianity. Babbitt The truth is that Rousseau's genius was profoundly lyrical, whereas Richardson's was not, or was so only during those rare moments when the pathos of his subject lent him wings and carried him beyond the reach of the sordid things of life. This lyrical quality of Rousseau's genius is due to his concep'tion of love. For him it is more violent, more enthralling, more sensual. Clarissa cannot help loving Lovelace, but she strives against her passion. Julie acknowledges herself vanquished at the outset, with the excuse that she has "only the choice of her faults." Genuine love, in fact, "is a devouring fire, which inspires the other sentiments with its zeal, and animates them with fresh vigour."1 Richardson had depicted its matchless power and nobility, but he had also set forth its dangers. Rousseau, thoroughly convinced that "cold reason never did a great deed," reached the same conclusions, but at the same time took a delight in portraying the exquisite agitation experienced by a fiery soul under the sway of passion, a passion "which penetrates and burns even to the marrow." In short, it is repugnant to the poet in Jean-Jacques to bring himself into harmony with the moralist. But what the moralist has lost thereby, the poet, the great poet, has gained. Moreover, Rousseau describes not only the sensual, but also the melancholy aspect of love. In this there was nothing absolutely fresh: Prévost, in Cleveland and Manon Lescaut, and Richardson himself, in certain parts of Clarissa, had attempted to portray the fierce yet sweet unrest which follows sensual pleasure. But their delight in indulgence was unaccompanied by the same exaltation. Their heroes had never sought love for the sake of the bitter taste it leaves behind it. To them the yearning for "enchanting sadness," for the "languor of the melted and impassioned soul," 2 were unknown. They had never experienced to the same extent that sense of the irreparable which accompanies trangression and leaves the heart "empty and swollen 1 I., 12. 2O enchanting sadness! O languor of the melted and impassioned soul! By how much you surpass the stormy pleasures, the wanton gaiety, the passionate delight, and every other transport, which the unbridled desires of lovers can derive from passion unrestrained."—I., 38. like a balloon filled with air." They had not fostered within themselves "the sweet yet bitter recollection of a lost happiness." Rousseau is infinitely their superior, and all comparison would be futile. No novelist had shed tears so sincere over "the sweet charm, now vanished like a dream, which attends on virtue." No poet had said to his mistress, with a richness of language previously unknown: "Our souls, exhausted with love and anguish, melt and flow like water.” 2 Nor, lastly, had any one clothed sentiments so sincere in so poetical a form. "It may be very funny," wrote Voltaire, "to see a soul flow; but as for water, it is usually just when it is exhausted that it ceases to flow."3 Voltaire says no more than he is entitled to say; but neither do we when we assert that Voltaire understands neither Rousseau, nor what constitutes the essence of lyricism, nor what separates the author of Julie from the author of Clarissa. Richardson wrote a novel, and Rousseau I writes a poem. The one is a very great novelist, but a very The bad writer; the other is an incomparable artist in words. one has no style at all; the other renewed the French language from its very foundation. Feeling for nature, melancholy, the lyrical faculty :—in each of these respects, which at bottom may be reduced to one, Rousseau excels Richardson by the full stature of genius. Nevertheless, something of Richardson is transmitted to every one who reads Rousseau. It should be remarked that for nearly a century, most of the disciples of Jean-Jacques have been disciples of Richardson as well. All the romantic writers who preceded or followed the Revolution piously associated his name with that of his glorious imitator. From Rousseau Bernardin de Saint Pierre learned to love and imitate the author of Clarissa. André Chénier praises him in the warmest terms. Mme. de Staël acknowledges that the abduction of Clarissa was "the great event of her early life.” 5 "Let neither man nor woman, of grovelling mind or corrupted 1 II., 17. 5 2 I., 26. See Fragments sur J.-J. Rousseau. 3 Lettres sur la nouvelle Héloïse. Lady Blennerhasset, Mme. de Staël et son temps, vol. i., p. 185. heart, dare to touch the books of Richardson, . . . they are sacred! "1 Chateaubriand earnestly invokes a revival of his reputation.2 Charles Nodier admires his nobility and freedom from affectation.3 Sainte-Beuve, in his earliest lines, recalls with emotion "the pure passion" of Clarissa and Clementina.* Lamartine, as well as Michelet, makes Richardson one of the studies of his early life.5 George Sand is enthusiastic in her admiration of the writer whom Villemain describes as "the greatest and perhaps the least conscious of Shakespeare's imitators," and of whom Alfred de Musset says that he has written "the greatest novel in the world." 1 Du sentiment, 1801, p. 221. 3 Des types en littérature. 2 Essai sur la littérature anglaise, pt. v. 4 Poésies complètes, P. 352. 5 F. Reyssié, La jeunesse de Lamartine, p. 89; Michelet, Mon journal, p. 81. 6 XVIIIe siècle, lesson 27. Book Ill ROUSSEAU AND THE INFLUENCE OF ENGLAND DURING THE LATTER HALF OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY Chapter I ROUSSEAU AND THE DIFFUSION OF THE LITERATURES OF I. Development of English influence in the latter half of the century-Intercourse with England-Influence of English manners. II. Growth of the cosmopolitan idea-Diffusion of the English language and literature: newspapers and translations. III. Wherein Rousseau assisted the movement-The revolution accomplished by him in criticism-Manner in which he effected the union of Germanic with Latin Europe. THE influence of England had paved the way for the literary revolution accomplished by Rousseau, and, conversely, during the latter half of the century, the influence of Rousseau furthered the spread of English and of the Northern literatures generally among the French. The cosmopolitan spirit in France was born of the union of the Latin with the Germanic genius in the person of Jean-Jacques Rousseau. By the year 1760, the date of the appearance of La Nouvelle Héloïse, "an experiment extending over a period of thirty years" to use the expression, already quoted, of an eighteenth century writer1" had been made upon one of the neighbours of France, namely England: it had long been impossible to doubt that the crossing of races is beneficial to every species of plants and animals; and it was a necessary conclusion that in the human species, which the faculties of thought, speech, and conscience render so especially capable of being brought to perfection, the 1 Garat, Mémoires sur Suard, vol. i., p. 153. |