6 purification of our domestic manners, and for the refinement and elevation of modern society, Mr. Tennyson's poetry has accomplished much, and will yet accomplish more; and those poems of his, such as the 'May Queen,' Lady Godiva' (which is also modern in its meaning), and others of the like great excellence, being perhaps the most perfect of their kind, will never be forgotten. This leads us, in conclusion, to consider again the great popularity of Mr. Tennyson's poetry, and to inquire anxiously whether this popularity is an argument against the permanence of his fame. If we have shown that it is a popularity based upon true sympathy with the noblest, the gentlest, and the most beautiful tendencies of modern life, and never with any of its flashy impulses, then we may not only congratulate Mr. Tennyson upon this reward of his patient labour, but also the English people upon their choice of a laureate, who, if he seldom soars beyond the limits of their gaze, has never, on the other hand, descended to any unworthy artifice or turned an ear to the ignoble or impure. ART. IV.-1. Port Royal. Par C. A. Sainte-Beuve, Vols. I. to V. Paris, 1840 to 1859. 2. Causeries du Lundi. Par C. A. Sainte-Beuve, de 1 Académie Française. Vols. I. to XV. Paris, 1851 to 1862. 3. Nouveaux Lundis. Par C. A. Sainte-Beuve, de l'Académie Française. Vols. I. to IV. Paris, 1863 to 1865. 4. Portraits Littéraires. Par C. A. Sainte-Beuve, de l'Académie Française. 4 vols. Nouvelle édition. Paris, 1864. 5. Portraits Contemporains et Divers. Par C. A. Sainte-Beuve, de l'Académie Française. 3 vols. 1860. Nouvelle édition. Paris, 6. Tableau Historique et Critique de la 16ème Siècle. Par C. A. Sainte-Beuve. 7. Poésies Complètes de Sainte-Beuve. mentée. Paris, 1845. Poésie Française au 8. Etude sur Virgile, suivie d'une étude sur Quintus de Smyrne. Par C. A. Sainte-Beuve, de l'Académie Française. Paris, 1857. 9. Chateaubriand et son groupe littéraire sous l'Empire. Cours professé à Liége en 1848-1849. Par C. A. Sainte-Beuve, de l'Académie Française. Paris, 1861. 10. Volupté. Par Sainte-Beuve. 2 vols. Brussels, 1834. SAINTE-BEUVE is an exceedingly able man-among M. the first, if not indeed the very first, of contemporary French critics. He has been a writer now for very nearly forty years. years. His own country has not been slow to set the seal of its approval on his talents; he has been a Member of the Academy since 1845, and has, within the last few months, been appointed to a seat in the Senate-a distinction but rarely awarded to one whose titles are so exclusively literary. His works are numerous, and embrace topics, not indeed so likely to attract the attention of English as of French readers, but which yet have no slight importance in the estimation of all educated men. Probably no living author has been on intimate terms with so many of his notable contemporaries. How is it then, that such a man should be so little known in England? The first essential qualification for success beyond the limits of an author's native land, is power, or at any rate some strong, distinctive feature in thought or style. Of the graceful and delicate in either, it is always difficult for the foreigner to obtain a correct appreciation. He cannot generally enter into those niceties, those subtle shades and gradations, that exquisite finish of literary workmanship which a native will value so highly. We should scarcely expect a Frenchman or German to entertain feelings of very enthusiastic admiration for Charles Lamb, for instance, or Mr. Tennyson. The more striking beauties of Byron or Macaulay would probably produce a far stronger and readier impression on his mind. Now the style of M. Sainte-Beuve is neither oratorical nor ambitious, and he has not made himself the consistent advocate of any doctrine or system. He is the very reverse of a dogmatic thinker-the peculiarity of his intellect consists in its power of assimilating the thoughts of others-its pliancy is its strength. He is not a smart or showy writer. Indeed, we could scarcely find in all his works a brilliant or a glowing page, or one that would not lose all charm by being detached from its context. Hence it comes that he has made little impression upon English readers in general, although he is well known (as will appear before the close of this article) to some of our ablest critics. The character of M. Sainte-Beuve's writings will be best understood if we regard them in connexion with the author's personal career, which they for the most part faithfully reflect. It was on the 23rd of December, 1804-scarcely more than a year after Boulogne had been the scene of Napoleon's gigantic preparations for the invasion of England-that Charles Augustin Sainte-Beuve first saw the light in that town. Even before his birth a grievous misfortune had fallen upon the child. He was born into a home of mourning; no father's love was destined to shine upon his youthful path. The care of his education thus devolved upon Madame Sainte-Beuve, a lady in whose veins flowed Vol. 119.-No. 237. English G English blood, and who early, it is said, initiated her son into the mysteries of our language and literature. When the boy had reached the age of from fourteen to fifteen years, he went to Paris and pursued his studies in one of the large metropolitan schools. Here he met with considerable schoolboy success, carried off more than the ordinary number of prizes, and made among his professors at least one acquaintance, destined to exercise an influence on his future career. In the mean while, medicine was the profession he adopted, and for some time he devoted himself zealously to the study of the healing art. We know how dangerous it is to take a work of fiction or semi-fiction, and endeavour to select those passages in which the author has given glimpses into his own life and character. Nevertheless, it is impossible to avoid remarking the numerous coincidences between the career of the imaginary person on whom M. Sainte-Beuve fathered his first volume of poems, and the early life of M. Sainte-Beuve himself. Equally impossible is it to avoid the conclusion, that if these marked coincidences exist in matters of which every one may judge, there must also exist others of a more subtle character. Like the author of his literary being, 'Joseph Delorme is born towards the beginning of this century,' is an only son, who has lost his father at an early age,' is brought up with great care by his mother, comes to Paris when about fourteen years of age to finish his education, and embraces the medical profession. Like M. Sainte-Beuve, also, Joseph Delorme has at this stage of his existence abandoned the religious principles he had learned at his mother's knee, and professed himself a disciple of the godless eighteenth century. Nor are these the only points of similarity; but we think they are enough, even if sundry passages in his writings did not warrant the same conclusion, to justify us in considering that in the Life, Poems, and Thoughts of the melancholy and suicidal Joseph Delorme, M. Sainte-Beuve intended us to see a poetised version of his own experiences. We may especially regard the book as a true account of the struggles which had taken place in the author's breast between the claims of medicine and science on the one hand, and of literature and the muses on the other. This conflict was a sharp and anxious one. Every motive of prudence probably impelled the young man to remain in a profession in which he had already won golden opinions, and in which success seemed pretty nearly certain. Literature, as Sir Walter Scott was in the habit of saying, is a good crutch, but a bad leg; and notwithstanding the fervour of his Wertherism, the probability is that M. SainteBeuve was aware of the fact. Even admirers of the literature of of despair' generally know the value of the material realities of existence. Nevertheless, there can be little doubt that with all its uncertainties, the world of letters seemed a far more enchanting sphere to the youth's ardent vision than the world of medicine and dry facts. The dull prosaic character of his duties weighed upon his soaring spirit, and he gradually formed the resolution to make a new start into more congenial paths. The times, be it remembered, were entirely in favour of such a resolution. Even to the most superficial, nay, to the most hostile observer, it could not but be apparent that a literary revolution was impending. Amid much that might be exaggerated and extravagant, there was in the rising generation of writers an energy of healthy life and originality that augured well for the future. The new French literature of the nineteenth century, which Chateaubriand had heralded in such mighty tones, was starting into life on all sides. In history, Guizot, Augustin Thierry, Thiers, and Mignet; in philosophy, Cousin; in criticism, M. Villemain and a host of younger men; in prose, Balzac; in poetry, Lamartine, Victor Hugo, Alfred de Vignyall were giving daily evidence of the vigour and activity of French genius. M. Sainte-Beuve was soon in the thick of the movement. In 1824, through the kindness of his old professor, M. Dubois, whose lessons he had attended at the Collège Charlemagne, he obtained a footing on the Globe' newspaper. This periodical was the organ of the Doctrinaires, and among the editors and contributors were Guizot, Jouffroy, Cousin, De Broglie, Dubois himself, and other notabilities of the Constitutional party. Though taunted with moderatism by the more extreme spirits of the romantic school, it was itself in a certain measure the representative of the new movement, and, as such, had attracted the serious attention of Goethe. The old sage of Weimar, ever watchful of all the signs of the times, and curious of new things, was much interested in the paper. 'The editors,' said he, on the 1st of June, 1826, in an interview with Eckermann, his more respectable Boswell, the editors are men of the world, lively, clear-spirited, and bold to the very highest degree. They have a manner of expressing disapprobation which is fine and courteous. Our German savants, on the contrary, always think it necessary immediately to hate a person if they don't happen to agree with him. I rank the "Globe" among the most interesting newspapers, and could not now do without it.' Though M. Sainte-Beuve was at this time, as he said himself, merely learning his profession, it would seem that he had soon obtained sufficient promise of real success to warrant his relying entirely on literature for a livelihood,for towards 1826 he finally abandoned the study and practice of medicine. It was in the same year that he made the acquaintance of Victor Hugo, then in the heyday of his youth and genius, battling brilliantly for fame. The manner in which this acquaintance was first formed has been described in a book* said to be the production of the exiled poet's wife, and which, to our thinking, bears ample traces of his own revising hand. Before giving our extract, we must premise that when the interview took place the Globe' had just, by the pen of M. Dubois, spoken more enthusiastically than was its wont of one of the rising poet's odes. 'M. Victor Hugo never kept his doors closed, even during mealtime. One morning when he was sitting at breakfast, the servant announced M. Sainte-Beuve. She showed in a young man who introduced himself as being a neighbour, and a contributor to a friendly newspaper. He lived in the Rue Notre-Dame des Champs, and wrote for the "Globe." The directors of that periodical did not intend to confine themselves to a single article on Cromwell; he himself would undertake to write the others. He had asked to be allowed to do so, fearing a change in the sentiments of M. Dubois, who was not always in so admiring a humour as he had shown himself on a recent occasion, and who would probably soon go back to his pedagogie habits. The interview was a very agreeable one on both sides, and promises of a renewal of intercourse were exchanged. This was the more easy, inasmuch as M. Victor Hugo was going to live yet nearer to his critic, and take apartments in the same street of Notre-Dame des Champs.' The acquaintance commenced under those happy auspices soon ripened into close friendship. Victor Hugo, as the ablest and most fearless of those who thought that it was time for poetry to disregard the pedantic rules of the 17th and 18th centuries, and to try untrodden paths to the hearts of men, had collected round him a small band of fellow-workers and disciples. Among these were the brothers Antony and Emile Deschamps, and Alfred de Musset, still a boy in years, but showing signs of that genius which has placed his name second to none in the musterroll of contemporary French poets. To the same set belonged also Alfred de Vigny, the officer and poet, who had already published the most original of his poems, and Cinq Mars,' the best known of his novels. These innovators used frequently to meet for the purpose of discussing the prospects of their art, reciting their new verses, and cheering one another amid the storm of adverse criticism by which they were assailed. *Victor Hugo, raconté par un témoin de sa vie.' |