I.

In early youth I had been repelled by the works of Renan, who is by no

means the author for youth. Moreover, his "Life of Jesus," the first

of his writings that fell into my hands, is perhaps his weakest work;

the trace of sentimentality, the occasional appearance of unction, that

last remnant of a priestly education, all that to a young person must

seem either unduly effeminate, or lacking in genuineness, prevented

me from arriving at a correct estimation of his literary qualities.

That first impression had later been lost; the noble collection,

"Etudes d'histoire religieuse," had opened my eyes to the almost

feminine delicacy of feeling that could only seem unmanly to very

youthful and inexperienced minds, and I found it quite natural that

he who had justly been called "the most gentle of the bold" should be

unable to speak without melancholy of his exceptional position. "The

worst penalty a man who has fought his way to a life of reflection is

compelled to pay for the independent stand he has taken, is to see

himself excluded from the great religious family to which belong the

best souls on earth, and regarded by the very beings with whom he

would most gladly live in spiritual harmony, as a corrupt man. One

must be very sure of one's position not to be shaken when women and

children clasp their hands and cry, Oh, believe as we do!"

I had, however, erred in my supposition that any reminder of this

elegiac tone would ring through Renan's every-day mode of expression.

The main characteristic of his conversation was a thorough intellectual

freedom, the magnificent repose of a genial child of the world. The

nerve and sinew of his words was an unbounded contempt for the majority

and for the masses, such as I had never before encountered in any one

who displayed neither misanthropy nor bitterness. The first time I saw

him he led the conversation to human stupidity. He said, evidently in

view of inspiring his younger fellow-laborer with tranquillity of mind

for the coming storms of life, "Most men are not human beings at all,

but apes"; but he said it without anger. The words of Géruzez occurred

to my mind, "L'âge mûr méprise avec tolérance." Traces of this calm

contempt may be found in the prefaces to his works; many years later

it received poetic expression in his translation of Shakespeare's

"Tempest"; but in his essay on Lamennais he has plainly defined it.

He says: "There is found in Lamennais quite too much anger and not

sufficient contempt. The literary consequences of this fault are very

serious. Anger leads to declamation, bluntness, often coarse insults;

while contempt, on the contrary, almost always produces a refined and

dignified style. Anger bears within itself a need of being shared.

Contempt is a subtile, penetrating delight which does not require the

sympathy of others. It is discreet and all-sufficient to itself."

Renan's manner of speaking has a certain upward-soaring flight, a

certain sprightly and redundant grace, without which no one ever gains

the praise in Paris accorded to Renan, that in social intercourse and

conversation he was "_charmant_." Of the solemnity which his style

often displays there was not a trace in its oral form. There was

nothing priestlike about him, and he was wholly devoid of the pathos of

a martyr of free thought. It was his wont to introduce a turn in the

discourse with his favorite expression, "_Diable!_" and he was so far

removed from striking the bitter and elegiac tone, that his equanimity

had rather a touch of Olympian cheerfulness. Whoever knew anything of

the childishly odious attacks with which he was daily assailed from the

orthodox ranks, and whoever, like myself, had observed in Veuillot's

journalistic circles how opinions wavered between whether the right

punishment for his heresy was hanging or shooting, could not but feel

interested to inquire of Renan if he had not suffered a great deal

for his convictions. "I!" was the answer; "not the least! I hold no

intercourse with Catholics; I am only acquainted with one of them;

we have one in the 'Academic des Inscriptions,' and we are very good

friends. The sermons preached against me I do not hear; the pamphlets

written against me I do not read. What possible harm could they do

me?" According to Renan's opinion, the devout Catholics of France

constitute about one-fifth of the population; and he thought they were

far more fanatical than the orthodox Catholics of other places, because

Catholicism in Spain and Italy is viewed almost as a matter of custom,

while in France it is stimulated by intelligent opposition.

I found Renan, in June, 1870, very much exhilarated by the events

in Rome. "A statue should be erected to Pius IX.," said he. "He is

an extraordinary man. Since Luther no one has rendered such great

service to religious freedom as he. He has advanced the cause about

three hundred years. Without him Catholicism might very well have

remained unchanged for three hundred years, shut up in a closed room

with its spider's web and its thick dust. Now we are airing the room,

and every one can see for himself that it is empty, and that nothing

lies concealed within it." He had entertained a fear that during the

negotiations concerning the infallibility of the Pope, even at the

last moment, some compromise or other would be effected, through which

everything would practically remain in the former channels; but this

possibility had just vanished, and it could readily be foreseen that

the bishops would shun no consequence, not even the result anticipated

by Renan, which was, that a dismemberment would take place within

Catholicism similar to that existing in Protestantism. It has been

proved that the policy of the Catholic Church was wiser than its

opponents at the first moment supposed. The division that took place

was neither deep nor important, and there is not the slightest prospect

of a dismemberment that can in any way be compared with the nature of

the sects of Protestantism. Renan, who thought chiefly of France, hoped

that time might open the eyes of the French bourgeoisie, which had

thrown itself completely into the arms of the Church since the February

Revolution, and was watching with profound anxiety the position so

inimical to civilization assumed by the papal power.

In his interesting novel "Ladislaus Bolski," Victor Cherbuliez has

turned into mild ridicule certain pet theories of Renan, by putting

into the mouth of the good-natured yet thoroughly unpractical mentor of

the hero, Renan's doctrine concerning the delicate nature of truth, and

the consequent necessity of approaching it with the utmost deliberation

and caution. George Richardet believes with Renan, that everything

depends on some shade of meaning; that truth is not simply white or

black, but is one shade of these colors, and he is wrecked because we

cannot act in shades, but must act totally or not at all. In fact,

Richardet aims at an actual realization of the idea expressed by Renan

in one of many passages on the subject, as follows: "We might as well

attempt to hit a winged insect with a club, as to grasp the truth in a

moral science with the coarse claws of syllogism. Logic cannot grasp

delicate shades of meaning, yet truths that are of a moral nature

depend solely and entirely upon these shades. It is, therefore, of no

avail to pounce on truth with the clumsy violence of a wild boar, for

fleet and nimble truth will escape the ruthless attack, and all the

pains taken to capture it will be in vain."

Whoever is familiar with Renan's literary activity knows how closely

he adheres to this thought when he writes. How different is the fate

of his beloved shades of meaning when he speaks! While Taine, whose

writings are filled with such bold utterances, is ever moderate and

subdued in conversation, only allowing himself to be guided by the

strictest considerations of justice and fairness, Renan, when he

speaks, goes to extremes, and is by no means the knight of the delicate

shades of thought. In one point alone were the two men equally decided

in their expressions. This was when the discourse turned on that

spiritualistic philosophy of France which strove to gain strength in

its tender alliance with the Church, that system of philosophy which

originally won the hearts of fathers of families, by bearing on its

shield dogmas and virtue, and that in the place of discoveries of new

truths, promised to furnish the entire land with good morals as the

fruits of its scientific research. It had at that time control of all

the professorships of France. In Sorbonne it was represented by Janet

and Caro. Janet, the more refined, more elegant spirit, endeavored to

understand his opponents and set them right, while Caro, a specimen of

genuine mediocrity, won the applause of the audiences he addressed, by

flinging out his arms and vigorously beating his broad chest, and by

his appeals to the freedom of the will. To Renan, who, nevertheless,

has treated of Cousin as an orator and an author in so elegant an

essay, the entire eclectic philosophy was orally mere "official

soup," "children's pap," "product of mediocrity, calculated for

mediocrity." Indeed, so obstinate was he on this point, that he, the

advocate of fine shadings, could never be persuaded that spiritualism

was not absolutely false. For Taine, on the other hand, he cherished

an admiration that was almost passionate, "_Taine, c'est l'homme du

vrai, l'amour de la vérité même._" In spite of the strikingly apparent

difference of their natures,--Taine's style has the strength of a

fountain, Renan's style flows as much like a stream as does the verse

of Lamartine,--Renan declared himself to be in accord with his friend

on all essentials. And when one day I led the conversation to the so

frequently discussed question, namely, how much justice there was

in the universal tendency to bewail the intellectual decadence of

France, Renan immediately referred to Taine. "Decadence, what do you

mean by that?" he exclaimed. "Everything is relative. Is not Taine,

for instance, of vastly more importance than Cousin and Villemain put

together? There is yet much intellect in France." Several times he

repeated the words, "_Il y a beaucoup d'esprit en France._"

In common with nearly all cultivated Frenchmen, Renan was a reverential

admirer of George Sand. This remarkable woman had been able to extend

her dominion over the younger generation of France, without being in

the least untrue to her youthful ideals. An idealist like Renan, she

had won through her idealism; a naturalist like Taine, through the

mysterious endowments that testified of her nearness to nature; the

younger Dumas, to whom we might believe the heroes and heroines of

George Sand, concerning whom his dramas often make bitter criticisms,

would be especially odious, was perhaps the one among the post-romantic

authors who stood personally nearest to her. The enthusiasm of Dumas

for George Sand was, upon the whole, only a consequence of his literary

susceptibility; the enthusiasm of Renan was of a deeper character.

As strong as must necessarily be his hatred for Béranger, in whom he

sees the personification of all that is frivolous and prosaic in the

French national character, and whose narrow "_Dieu des bonnes gens_"

is a thorn in the eye of the follower of Herder, the pantheistic

thinker and dreamer, quite as lively must naturally be his sympathy

for the authoress of "Lélia," "Spiridion," and so many other dreamily

enthusiastic writings.

Notwithstanding his wide range of vision, Renan is not without national

limitations in his literary sympathies. In a conversation about

England, he had nothing whatever that was good to say of Dickens; he

was not even inclined to be fair. "The pretentious style of Dickens,"

said he, "makes the same impression on me as the style of a provincial

newspaper." His well-known unjust article on Feuerbach fills us with

less astonishment, when we learn in how marked a degree the defects

of Dickens caused him to overlook the merits. It is the same morbidly

developed taste for a classic and well-tempered mode of expression

which gives Renan an antipathy to the humorous peculiarities in the

style of Dickens and to the passionate form of Feuerbach's style; the

genial mannerism of the English seemed to him provincial; the violence

of the German appeared to him to savor of a tobacco-like after-taste of

the pedantry of German-student atheism.