was of a kind, however, that had no relation to that of men instructed
and cultivated by study, or by society, such as England and France
possess examples of. But his conversation indicated that quick
perception of circumstances the hunter has in pursuing his prey.
Sometimes he related the political and military events of his life in
a very interesting manner; he had even, in narratives that admitted
gaiety, a touch of Italian imagination. Nothing, however, could
conquer my invincible alienation from what I perceived in him. I saw
in his soul a cold and cutting sword, which froze while wounding; I
saw in his mind a profound irony, from which nothing fine or noble
could escape not even his own glory: for he despised the nation whose
suffrages he desired; and no spark of enthusiasm mingled with his
craving to astonish the human race....
His face, thin and pale at that time, was very agreeable: since then
he has gained flesh--which does not become him; for one needs to
believe such a man to be tormented by his own character, at all to
tolerate the sufferings this character causes others. As his stature
is short, and yet his waist very long, he appeared to much greater
advantage on horseback than on foot; in all ways it is war, and war
only, he is fitted for. His manner in society is constrained without
being timid; it is disdainful when he is on his guard, and vulgar when
he is at ease; his air of disdain suits him best, and so he is not
sparing in the use of it. He took pleasure already in the part of
embarrassing people by saying disagreeable things: an art which he has
since made a system of, as of all other methods of subjugating men by
degrading them.
VISCOUNT DE CHATEAUBRIAND
Born in France in 1768, died in 1848; entered the French
army in 1786; traveled in America in 1791-92; emigrated to
England, where in 1797 he published his "Essai Historique,
Politique et Moral"; returned to France in 1800; converted
to the Catholic faith through the death of his mother;
published in 1802 "The Genius of Christianity"; made
secretary of legation in Rome by Napoleon in 1803, and later
minister to the republic of Valais, but resigned in 1804
after the execution of the Duke of Enghien; supported the
Bourbons in 1814; made a peer of France in 1815; ambassador
to England in 1822; Minister of Foreign Affairs in 1823;
published his "Memoirs" in 1849-50.
IN AN AMERICAN FOREST[48]
When, in my journeys among the Indian tribes of Canada, I left
European dwellings, and found myself, for the first time, alone in the
midst of an ocean of forests, having, so to speak, all nature
prostrate at my feet, a strange change took place within me. In the
kind of delirium which seized me, I followed no road; I went from tree
to tree, now to the right, now to the left, saying to myself, "Here
there are no more roads to follow, no more towns, no more narrow
houses, no more presidents, republics, or kings--above all, no more
laws, and no more men." Men! Yes, some good savages, who cared nothing
for me, nor I for them; who, like me, wandered freely wherever their
fancy led them, eating when they felt inclined, sleeping when and
where they pleased. And, in order to see if I were really established
in my original rights, I gave myself up to a thousand acts of
eccentricity, which enraged the tall Dutchman who was my guide, and
who, in his heart, thought I was mad.
[Footnote 48: From the "Essay on Revolutions." While in America,
Chateaubriand visited Canada, traveling inland through the United
States from Niagara to Florida. He arrived home in Paris at the time
of the execution of Louis XVI. His "Essay on Revolutions" was
published five years later.]
Escaped from the tyrannous yoke of society, I understood then the
charms of that independence of nature which far surpasses all the
pleasures of which civilized man can form any idea. I understood why
not one savage has become a European, and why many Europeans have
become savages; why the sublime "Discourse on the Inequality of Rank"
is so little understood by the most part of our philosophers. It is
incredible how small and diminished the nations and their most boasted
institutions appeared in my eyes; it seemed to me as if I saw the
kingdoms of the earth through an inverted spy-glass, or rather that,
being myself grown and elevated, I looked down on the rest of my
degenerate race with the eye of a giant.
You who wish to write about men, go into the deserts, become for a
moment the child of nature, and then--and then only--take up the pen.
Among the innumerable enjoyments of this journey one especially made a
vivid impression on my mind.
I was going then to see the famous cataract of Niagara, and I had
taken my way through the Indian tribes who inhabit the deserts to the
west of the American plantations. My guides were--the sun, a
pocket-compass, and the Dutchman of whom I have spoken: the latter
understood perfectly five dialects of the Huron language. Our train
consisted of two horses, which we let loose in the forests at night,
after fastening a bell to their necks. I was at first a little afraid
of losing them, but my guide reassured me by pointing out that, by a
wonderful instinct, these good animals never wandered out of sight of
our fire.
One evening, when, as we calculated that we were only about eight or
nine leagues from the cataract, we were preparing to dismount before
sunset, in order to build our hut and light our watch-fire after the
Indian fashion, we perceived in the wood the fires of some savages who
were encamped a little lower down on the shores of the same stream as
we were. We went to them. The Dutchman having by my orders asked their
permission for us to pass the night with them, which was granted
immediately, we set to work with our hosts. After having cut down some
branches, planted some stakes, torn off some bark to cover our palace,
and performed some other public offices, each of us attended to his
own affairs. I brought my saddle, which served me well for a pillow
all through my travels; the guide rubbed down the horses; and as to
his night accommodation, since he was not so particular as I am, he
generally made use of the dry trunk of a tree. Work being done, we
seated ourselves in a circle, with our legs crossed like tailors,
around the immense fire, to roast our heads of maize, and to prepare
supper. I had still a flask of brandy, which served to enliven our
savages not a little. They found out that they had some bear hams, and
we began a royal feast.
The family consisted of two women, with infants at their breasts, and
three warriors; two of them might be from forty to forty-five years of
age, altho they appeared much older, and the third was a young man.
The conversation soon became general; that is to say, on my side it
consisted of broken words and many gestures--an expressive language,
which these nations understand remarkably well, and that I had learned
among them. The young man alone preserved an obstinate silence; he
kept his eyes constantly fixt on me. In spite of the black, red, and
blue stripes, cut ears, and the pearl hanging from his nose, with
which he was disfigured, it was easy to see the nobility and
sensibility which animated his countenance. How well I knew he was
inclined not to love me! It seemed to me as if he were reading in his
heart the history of all the wrongs which Europeans have inflicted on
his native country. The two children, quite naked, were asleep at our
feet before the fire; the women took them quietly into their arms and
put them to bed among the skins, with a mother's tenderness so
delightful to witness in these so-called savages: the conversation
died away by degrees, and each fell asleep in the place where he was.
I alone could not close my eyes, hearing on all sides the deep
breathing of my hosts. I raised my head, and, supporting myself on my
elbow, watched by the red light of the expiring fire the Indians
stretched around me and plunged in sleep. I confess that I could
hardly refrain from tears. Brave youth, how your peaceful sleep
affects me! You, who seemed so sensible of the woes of your native
land, you were too great, too high-minded to mistrust the foreigner!
Europeans, what a lesson for you! These same savages whom we have
pursued with fire and sword, to whom our avarice would not leave a
spadeful of earth to cover their corpses in all this world, formerly
their vast patrimony--these same savages receiving their enemy into
their hospitable hut, sharing with him their miserable meal, and,
their couch undisturbed by remorse, sleeping close to him the calm
sleep of the innocent. These virtues are as much above the virtues of
conventional life as the soul of tho man in his natural state is above
that of the man in society.
It was moonlight. Feverish with thinking, I got up and seated myself
at a little distance on a root which ran along the edge of the
streamlet: it was one of those American nights which the pencil of man
can never represent, and the remembrance of which I have a hundred
times recalled with delight.
The moon was at the highest point of the heavens; here and there at
wide, clear intervals twinkled a thousand stars. Sometimes the moon
rested on a group of clouds which looked like the summit of high
mountains crowned with snow: little by little these clouds grew
longer, and rolled out into transparent and waving zones of white
satin, or transformed themselves into light flakes of froth, into
innumerable wandering flocks in the blue plains of the firmament.
Another time the arch of heaven seemed changed into a shore on which
one could discover horizontal rows, parallel lines such as are made by
the regular ebb and flow of the sea; a gust of wind tore this veil
again, and everywhere appeared in the sky great banks of dazzlingly
white down, so soft to the eye that one seemed to feel their softness
and elasticity. The scene on the earth was not less delightful: the
silvery and velvety light of the moon floated silently over the top of
the forests, and at intervals went down among the trees, casting rays
of light even through the deepest shadows. The narrow brook which
flowed at my feet, burying itself from time to time among the thickets
of oak-, willow-, and sugar-trees, and reappearing a little farther
off in the glades, all sparkling with the constellations of the night,
seemed like a ribbon of azure silk spotted with diamond stars and
striped with black bands. On the other side of the river, in a wide,
natural meadow, the moonlight rested quietly on the pastures, where it
was spread out like a sheet. Some birch-trees scattered here and there
over the savannas, sometimes blending, according to the caprice of the
winds, with the background, seemed to surround themselves with a pale
gauze--sometimes rising up again from their chalky foundations, hidden
in the darkness, formed, as it were, islands of floating shadows on an
immovable sea of light. Near all was silence and repose, except the
falling of the leaves, the rough passing of a sudden wind, the rare
and interrupted whooping of the gray owl; but in the distance at
intervals one heard the solemn rolling of the cataract of Niagara,
which in the calm of the night echoed from desert to desert and died
away in solitary forests.
The grandeur, the astonishing melancholy of this picture can not be
exprest in human language: the most beautiful nights in Europe can
give no idea of it. In the midst of our cultivated fields the
imagination vainly seeks to expand itself; everywhere it meets with
the dwellings of man; but in these desert countries the soul delights
in penetrating and losing itself in these eternal forests; it loves to
wander by the light of the moon on the borders of immense lakes, to
hover over the roaring gulf of terrible cataracts, to fall with the
masses of water, and, so to speak, mix and blend itself with a sublime
and savage nature. These enjoyments are too keen; such is our weakness
that exquisite pleasures become griefs, as if nature feared that we
should forget that we are men. Absorbed in my existence, or rather
drawn quite out of myself, having neither feeling nor distinct
thought, but an indescribable I know not what, which was like that
happiness which they say we shall enjoy in the other life, I was all
at once recalled to this. I felt unwell, and perceived that I must not
linger. I returned to our encampment, where, lying down by the
savages, I soon fell into a deep sleep.
FRANÇOIS GUIZOT
Born in France in 1787, died in 1874; became a professor of
literature in 1812, and later of modern history at the
Sorbonne; published his "History of Civilization" in
1828-1830; elected to the Chamber of Deputies in 1830;
Minister of the Interior, 1830; Ambassador to England, in
1840; returning, entered the Cabinet where he remained until
1848, being at one time Prime Minister; after 1848 went into
retirement and published books frequently until his death.
SHAKESPEARE AS AN EXAMPLE OF CIVILIZATION[49]
Voltaire was the first person in France who spoke of Shakespeare's
genius;[50] and altho he spoke of him merely as a barbarian genius,
the French public were of opinion that Voltaire had said too much in
his favor. Indeed, they thought it nothing less than profanation to
apply the words "genius" and "glory" to dramas which they considered
as crude as they were coarse.
[Footnote 49: From "Shakespeare and His Times."]
[Footnote 50: Voltaire's references to Shakespeare were made in his
"Letters on England." From them dates the beginning of French interest
in the English poet.]
At the present day all controversy regarding Shakespeare's genius and
glory has come to an end. No one ventures any longer to dispute them;
but a greater question has arisen--namely, whether Shakespeare's
dramatic system is not far superior to that of Voltaire. This question
I do not presume to decide. I merely say that it is now open for
discussion. We have been led to it by the onward progress of ideas. I
shall endeavor to point out the causes which have brought it about;
but at present I insist merely upon the fact itself, and deduce from
it one simple consequence, that literary criticism has changed its
ground, and can no longer remain restricted to the limits within which
it was formerly confined.
Literature does not escape from the revolutions of the human mind; it
is compelled to follow it in its course, to transport itself beneath
the horizon under which it is conveyed, to gain elevation and
extension with the ideas which occupy its notice, and to consider the
questions which it discusses under the new aspects and novel
circumstances in which they are placed by the new state of thought and
of society....
When we embrace human destiny in all its aspects, and human nature in
all the conditions of man upon earth, we enter into possession of an
exhaustless treasure. It is the peculiar advantage of such a system
that it escapes, by its extent, from the dominion of any particular
genius. We may discover its principles in Shakespeare's works; but he
was not fully acquainted with them, nor did he always respect them. He
should serve as an example, not as a model. Some men, even of superior
talent, have attempted to write plays according to Shakespeare's
taste, without perceiving that they were deficient in one important
qualification for the task; and that was to write as he did, to write
them for our age just as Shakespeare's plays were written for the age
in which he lived. This is an enterprise the difficulties of which
have, hitherto, perhaps, been maturely considered by no one.
We have seen how much art and effort were employed by Shakespeare to
surmount those which are inherent in his system. They are still
greater in our times, and would unveil themselves much more completely
to the spirit of criticism which now accompanies the boldest essays of
genius. It is not only with spectators of more fastidious taste and of
more idle and inattentive imagination that the poet would have to do
who should venture to follow in Shakespeare's footsteps. He would be
called upon to give movement to personages embarrassed in much more
complicated interests, preoccupied with much more various feelings,
and subject to less simple habits of mind and to less decided
tendencies. Neither science, nor reflection, nor the scruples of
conscience, nor the uncertainties of thought frequently encumber
Shakespeare's heroes; doubt is of little use among them, and the
violence of their passions speedily transfers their belief to the side
of the desires, or sets their actions above their belief. Hamlet alone
presents the confused spectacle of a mind formed by the enlightenment
of society in conflict with a position contrary to its laws; and he
needs a supernatural apparition to determine him to act, and a
fortuitous event to accomplish his project. If incessantly placed in
an analogous position, the personages of a tragedy conceived at the
present day according to the romantic system would offer us the same
picture of indecision. Ideas now crowd and intersect each other in the
mind of man, duties multiply in his conscience and obstacles and bonds
around his life. Instead of those electric brains, prompt to
communicate the spark which they have received; instead of those
ardent and simple-minded men, whose projects like Macbeth's "will to
hand"--the world now presents to the poet minds like Hamlet's, deep in
the observation of those inward conflicts which our classical system
has derived from a state of society more advanced than that of the
time in which Shakespeare lived. So many feelings, interests, and
ideas, the necessary consequences of modern civilization, might become
even in their simplest form of expression a troublesome burden, which
it would be difficult to carry through the rapid evolutions and bold
advances of the romantic system.
We must, however, satisfy every demand; success itself requires it.
The reason must be contented at the same time that the imagination is
occupied. The progress of taste, of enlightenment, of society, and of
mankind, must serve not to diminish or disturb our enjoyment, but to
render them worthy of ourselves and capable of supplying the new wants
which we have contracted. Advance without rule and art in the romantic
system, and you will produce melodramas calculated to excite a passing
emotion in the multitude, but in the multitude alone, and for a few
days; just as by dragging along without originality in the classical
system you will satisfy only that cold literary class who are
acquainted with nothing in nature which is more important than the
interests of versification, or more imposing than the three unities.
This is not the work of the poet who is called to power and destined
for glory: he acts upon a grander scale, and can address the superior
intellects as well as the general and simple faculties of all men. It
is doubtless necessary that the crowd should throng to behold those
dramatic works of which you desire to make a national spectacle; but
do not hope to become national, if you do not unite in your
festivities all those classes of persons and minds whose well-arranged
hierarchy raises a nation to its loftiest dignity. Genius is bound to
follow human nature in all its developments; its strength consists in
finding within itself the means for constantly satisfying the whole of
the public. The same task is now imposed upon government and upon
poetry: both should exist for all, and suffice at once for the wants
of the masses and for the requirements of the most exalted minds.
Doubtless stopt in its course by these conditions, the full severity
of which will only be revealed to the talent that can comply with
them, dramatic art, even in England, where under the protection of
Shakespeare it would have liberty to attempt anything, scarcely
ventures at the present day even to try timidly to follow him.
Meanwhile England, France, and the whole of Europe demand of the drama
pleasures and emotions that can no longer be supplied by the inanimate
representation of a world that has ceased to exist. The classical
system had its origin in the life of its time: that time has passed;
its image subsists in brilliant colors in its works, but can no more
be reproduced. Near the monuments of past ages, the monuments of
another age are now beginning to arise. What will be their form? I can
not tell; but the ground upon which their foundations may rest is
already perceptible.
This ground is not the ground of Corneille and Racine, nor is it that
of Shakespeare; it is our own; but Shakespeare's system, as it appears
to me, may furnish the plans according to which genius ought now to
work. This system alone includes all those social conditions and all
those general or diverse feelings, the simultaneous conjunction and
activity of which constitute for us at the present day the spectacle
of human things. Witnesses during thirty years of the greatest
revolutions of society, we shall no longer willingly confine the
movement of our mind within the narrow space of some family event, or
the agitations of a purely individual passion. The nature and destiny
of man have appeared to us under their most striking and their
simplest aspect, in all their extent and in all their variableness. We
require pictures in which this spectacle is reproduced, in which man
is displayed in his completeness and excites our entire sympathy.
ALPHONSE DE LAMARTINE
Born in 1790, died in 1869; famous chiefly as a poet, being
one of the greatest in modern France, but successful as an
orator and prominent in political life during the troubled
period of 1848, when he was Minister of Foreign Affairs;
author of several historical works, among them the "History
of the Girondists."
OF MIRABEAU'S ORIGIN AND PLACE IN HISTORY[51]
He was born a gentleman and of ancient lineage, refugees established
in Provence, but of Italian origin. The progenitors were Tuscan. The
family was one of those whom Florence had cast from her bosom in the
stormy excesses of her liberty, and for which Dante reproaches his
country in such bitter strains for her exiles and prosecutions. The
blood of Machiavelli and the earthquake genius of the Italian
republics were characteristics of all the individuals of this race.
The proportions of their souls exceed the height of their destiny:
vices, passions, virtues are all in excess. The women are all angelic
or perverse, the men sublime or depraved, and their language even is
as emphatic and lofty as their aspirations. There is in their most
familiar correspondence the color and tone of the heroic tongues of
Italy.
[Footnote 51: From Book I of the "History of the Girondists"--the
translation of R. T. Ryde in Bonn's Library, as revised for this
collection.]
The ancestors of Mirabeau speak of their domestic affairs as Plutarch
of the quarrels of Marius and Sulla, of Cæsar and Pompey. We perceive
the great men descending to trifling matters. Mirabeau inspired this
domestic majesty and virility in his very cradle. I dwell on these
details, which may seem foreign to this history, but they explain it.
The source of genius is often in ancestry, and the blood of descent is
sometimes the prophecy of destiny.
Mirabeau's education was as rough and rude as the hand of his father,
who was styled the friend of man, but whose restless spirit and
selfish vanity rendered him the persecutor of his wife and the tyrant
of all his family. The only virtue he was taught was honor, for by
that name in those days they dignified that ceremonious demeanor which
was too frequently only the show of probity and the elegance of vice.
Entering the army at an early age, he acquired nothing of military
habits except a love of licentiousness and play. The hand of his
father was constantly extended not to aid him in rising, but to
depress him still lower under the consequences of his errors. His
youth was passed in the prisons of the state, where his passions,
becoming envenomed by solitude, and his intellect rendered more acute
by contact with the irons of his dungeon, his mind lost that modesty
which rarely survives the infamy of precocious punishments.