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Do not deface books by marks and wriHng. Cornell University Library PQ 2384.Q6Z7 Edgar Quinet 3 1924 027 279 466 EDGAR aUINET. Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tlie Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924027279466 <\vT5" C^^ DED ICATE D TO THE MEMORY OF ONE •WHO DESIRED MUCH TO SEE THIS BOOK SHE LIVES IM ns PAGES WITH MANY OF HER. SISTEKS IDEALISED BY THE POET AS THE ANGEL RACH EL viii PREFACE. reason to believe will be its readers. But knowing it to be a work of conscience from beginning to end, knowing that I have spared no pains to make it as perfect as possible, I offer it fearlessly, certain that whatever its shortcomings, it must, from the nature of its subject, be found a real contribution to the literature of the day, a real help to the elucidation of some most important problems. For Quinet wrestled with the spirit of the age during a long night, refusing to let it go until he had learnt its secret and obtained its blessing. The man who has done this must prevail. It matters little, as regards Quinet, whether this book effects its object or no ; he is certain in the end to be acknowledged a prince among thinkers. He can afford to wait, but we cannot ; for he is the kind of teacher we need — the teacher who will revive not only our faith in Truth, Justice, Liberty, but in the History of Humanity, in the Order of Nature, and in that Reli- gion which is the chief source of life and purification : — the religion of Jesus Christ. I do not say this in the interest of any Church or of any theo- logy, for Quinet acknowledged neither. A man more free from ecclesiastical ties or theologic bias it would be difiicult to find ; to identify him, therefore, with any formulated view of modern Christianity would be entirely misleading. But if words mean anything, there was to Quinet no force in the history of Humanity so pure and strong as that life lived eighteen hundred and fifty years ago in Galilee and Jerusalem. It was not in his nature to entertain any theological conception of that life ; it was simply to him the expression of a soul that found itself too large for this universe, an infinite soul from which had sprung, as from the well-head of some mighty river, that moral influence, that self-regenerative power which, working in the civilisation of the modern world, has rendered it so progressive and beneficent.. And this thought was in entire conformity with one of the leading ideas of Quinet's teaching : that Eeligion is the forma- tive power in history, the real substance of Humanity, the force that moulds the life of every nation as well as every man ; and with this other : that the nature of every religion depends on PREFACE. ix the nature of the soul of its founder. If, then, the soul of the Christ was infinite, it follows that his religion is capable of infinite expansion ; a thought borne out by several remarkable passages in Quinet's writings, some of which will be found in this book. No one was more alive to the corruptions of Christianity than Edgar Quinet ; in his more purely historical works he has traced the development of a Catholic Brahminism and a Catholic Buddhism in Europe, and their blighting effects on the countries which have remained influenced by Komanism ; and in one of his latest works he has signalled the rising in Europe, in our own day, of a Brahminism and a Buddhism more thoroughly Oriental than that of the Middle Ages. I should extend this preface indefinitely were I to attempt any delineation of Quinet as a man, a philosopher, a poet, and a patriot. I will only refer to one point which springs out of what has just been said, and which to my mind constitutes his highest claim to attention. It is the possession of what he called "philosophic intuition," but which I cannot distinguish from what both the Hebrew and Christian Churches have always understood by "the gift of prophecy.'' Dr. Edward Dowden, in his essay on Edgar Quinet, has said most happily that Quinet was one of those men that made the conscience of a nation; may we not say that he was one of those men that make part of the conscience of Humanity, and are not such its true prophets 1 if there be any meaning in the word. I shall say no more except to express my unfeigned thanks to all who have helped me to produce this book. Conscious of my own incapacity, I have sought aid, human and divine, and have received it in a way quite surprising. If I were to record the names of all who have helped me by sympathy or subscrip- tion, it would look like self-glorification. I cannot, however, refrain from thanking by name those who have actually laboured with me to produce this work. To Madame Edgar Quinet for many notes, and especially for the permission to copy some precious family portraits ; to Professor Flint of Edinburgh, to Monsieur and Madame Alfred Dumesnil of Vascoeil, and to Mr. and Mrs. M. W. Moggridge of Leatherhead, for their careful X PREFACE. supervision of the whole work, I cannot sufficiently express my obligation. Without the help of so constant and faithful a friend and critic as Mr. Moggridge, the work would never have been what it is. I have also to thank Monsieur L^on Feer, of the Biblioth^ue Rationale, Paris; Mr. Henry Stevens, the eminent bibliographer, and Dr. Whittemore of Sutton, for inci- dental help tending to its improvement. Lastly, it owes much to the skilful rendering of the portraits by my friend Mr. Charles Butterworth. For all the opinions, however, in this preface, or for any view of Quinet's life and writings taken in this work, I am alone responsible. The letter inserted opposite p. 28 is a facsimile of one written by Edgar Quinet from College at Bourg in the spring of 1816 ; the portrait is probably a year earlier in date. Thus they both belong to the most interesting period of his life. EICHARD HEATH. CONTENTS BOOK I.— GENESIS. CHAPTER I. BouRG— Wbsel. 1 803- 1 807. PAGE Birth — Family — Parentage — Infancy — Army of tlie Rhine — Petted by the soldiers ..... 3-7 CHAPTER II. Certinbs. 1807-1810. Ancestral home — A natural education — ^Learns to labour — First teachers — His mother's influence — Certines — The fever — Father Pichon . . . . .8-14 CHAPTER III. BoURG. 1807-1814. A French boy who had never heard of Napoleon — Militarism — The violet eagle — Spanish prisoners — Leipsic and Mos- cow — The Kaiaerlicks are coming — The Austrians in Bourg — Te verberabo — A rough time — Practical joking 1 5-19 CHAPTER IV. BODBG. 18 1 5. Elba — A hot-headed little Bonapartist — Corpse of the deserter —The spectre — The legend of Waterloo — The musical Croat — A touch of character — Isolation and misanthropy — Hiatus in the illuminations — Sent to college . . 20-27 CONTENTS. CHAPTER V. BonEe — Cbrtines. 1815-1817. The young captive— An aiigelic face — A Provenjal missionary — A revelation of the Eternal — Enchanted by Pulcheria — Is delivered by a flash of lightning . . . 28-34 BOOK I I. — THE VOCATION. CHAPTEE I. Lyons. 1817-1820. The CoWge Royah at Lyons — The Abbe Eousseau — The bar- ring out — Personal traits of mother and son — A den on , the Ehone — Fiddler in the church choir — Burst of intel- lectual life — Voracious readings — The Bible at Mass — Petrified history — The Italian authors by lanthorn light — Poetry of mathematics ..... 37-45 CHAPTEE II. Certines. 1820. Struggle about the Scale Polytechnique — The lonely ponds of the Dombes— What he learnt in the Desert — The Creative Spirit — His vocation — Which path? . .46-52 CHAPTER III. Paris. 1821-1822. Enters a bank— Resigns— Left to shift for himself— Endures privations— Purity of life— "Note-book of the Wandering Jew "— Student-at-law— New Yeart prayers—" History of the Human Conscience and Moral Personality " A Parisian Duessa — Orestes and Pylades in love— Musi every young man sow his wild oats ? . . . 53-61 CONTENTS. xiii PAGE BOOK 11/.— THE WANDERER. CHAPTER I. The Juea— Switzerland — Paris— England. 1822-1826. Source of the Rhone — Shepherds of the Jura — The shrines of Voltaire, Rousseau, and Madame de Stael — Pilgrimage of filial piety — Struggle with his father — Compulsory- residence at Charolles — Mr. Smith, of the "Morning Chronicle " — Herder — Hamann — Visit to England — " In- troduction to Herder's Philosophy of the History of Humanity '' — Comparison between Herder and Vico — Quinet separates himself from Herder's necessarianism — History the unfolding of the drama of liberty — How to understand history-^A piece of Autobiography . . 65-81 CHAPTER II. Strasbtjeg — Heidelberg, i 826-1 829. Introduction into literary society — Victor Cousin — Jules Michelet — Vice's "Science Nouvelle" — "Essay on the Works of Herder '' — Illness at Strasburg — Mental conflict — Heidelberg University — Creuzer — German ladies — His love of horses — Walk in the Odenwald — The Rhine — German celebrities— His studies and literary projects — '• Origin of the Gods " . ... 82-95 CHAPTER III. Gbtjnstadt. 1827-1829. The ideal and the real — "Merlin TEiichanteur"— A miisical party develops unexpected harmonies — Minna Mord — A German Vicar of Wakefield — Living in the spirit of the Sermon on the Mount — Love the enchanter's wand — Breaking another link in Nature's chain — Romantic epi- sode — A portrait of Edgar Quinet drawn core amore . 96-104 CHAPTER IV. Greece. 1829. Greek War of Independence — Appointed on a commission to the Morea — Adventures in Greece — Thunderstorm in xiv CONTENTS. PAGE the Lj'cseus — Night in an Arcadian hovel — Disasters in the Taygetus — Laconia — A people nigh to death — De- population — Gloom of women — Desire for instruction — Mutual schools — The child's duties — Corinth — A night on the sea — The Piraeus— Athens in desolation — The Bimhachi — His atrocities — Almost shipwrecked— Super- stition of Greek sailors — Return to France — "Modem Greece" ...... 105-114 CHAPTER V. Paris. 1830. Revolution of July — Quizot at home — Victor Cousin — Philo- sophy in its relation to Political history — Cousin and Hugo — Dazzling hopes come to nothing, and why-r- " Revue des Deux Mondes " — Discovery in the BihlioMqw Rnyale — " Unpublished Epics of the Twelfth Century " 1 1 5- 123 CHAPTER VI. Paris. 1831. Interviewing the Lieutenant-General — Tlie Republicans of 1830 — Every one at home, every one for himself — "Ger- many and the Revolution '' — The leadership of civilisation — French ignorance of Germany — Its political changes — Prussia : its position, despotism, part it was to play — Bis- marck foreshadowed — Value of the Rhenish provinces — " Warning to the Monarchy of July " — What France ought to do — The French Revolution — Foreshadowing of the Revolution of 1848 and of the fall of the house of Orleans — Between whom there will be war— Democracy must have its day — Will consume itself and be followed by a new order of things — Effect of pamphlet on Quinet's fortunes ...... 124-134 CHAPTER VII. Certines. 1831. Cause of his mental trials — Winter at Certines — Death of his father — Jerome Qiiinet, his character and researches — Death of Goethe — "German Art and Literature" — Goethe — Wieland and Herder — The Schlegel— Schiller — Tieck — Richter — Koerner — Uhland — Goerres . 135-142 CONTENTS. XV PAGE CHAPTER VIII. Italy. 1832. Cholera in Paris — Visit to Lamartine — Alps in winter — Italian Lakes — Milan Cathedral — Italian Gothic — Bridge of Areola — Fireflies — Venice by night — Venetian policy and Art — Tasso's cell — Ariosto's parlour — The Austrians in Italy — Dante and Florence — Florentine art — Are religious epochs favourable to art? — II Penseroso — Alpine vol- canoes — Roman Campagna — Antique Rome — A storm in Rome — Rome of the Middle Age — The Christ meditat- ing over his ruined church — Rome of the Renaissance — Raffaelle— Michael Angelo— Invocation to Rome — Reli- gious temptations — Ahasuerus — Prometheus — Ascent of Vesuvius by night — An Improvisatore — Roman corrup- tion — Adventure in the Grotto of Azura— Exhibiiion of skulls — Street of Tombs — Dream at Psestum . . 143-157 BOOK IV.— THE POET. CHAPTER I. France, Germany, Italy, i 831-1832. Ahasuerus — When composed— What it depicts — Legend of the Wandering Jew — Character and form. Prologue — In Heaven. First Bay — The Creation. — The Solitary Ocean — Monsters, giants. Titans — Tribes of men— Migrations of humanity — Desire for religious unity — Jerusalem heralding the birth of the Christ— The Magi— The Infant— The Shep- herds. Interlude. Second Bay— The Passion.— The Via Dolorosa— How Aha- suerus brings on himself the curse — St. Michel and the horse Semehe— Ahasuerus commences his journey— The Goths, the Huus, &o., avenge the death of the Just One. xvi CONTENTS. PACK Interlude. Third Day — Death. — A king and a saint talk of the approaching end of the world — Mob, the incarnation of Death — Rachel, exiled from heaven, servant to Mob — — Meeting of Ahasuerus with Mob and Eaehel— Love of Ahasuerus and Raoliel — Mob destroys his faith — Stras- burg Cathedral — Dance of Death. Interlude. Fourth Day — The Last Judgment. — The roar of cities and of mankind Adying out — 11 things lose their faith — Valley of Jehoshaphat— The cities appear for judgment — Ahasuerus aspires to heaven — Rachel content with earth — Transfusion of their souls — Judgment of Ahasuerus — A glorious career given him. Epilogue. ...... 161-176 CHAPTER 11. Germany. 1834-1835. Meaning of the mystery of Ahasuerus — The Christ of the Middle Ages not the real Christ — The Epilogue — What it foreshadows — Progress of Scepticism in Germany — Common infidelity of Germany, France, and England — Why Germany has not known the anguish felt elsewhere — Protestantism and Catholicism helping each other to perish — Goethe — The Schlegel — -Tieck — Voss — Heinrich Heine — Marriage of Edgar Quinet — Epithalamium — Baden — Heidelberg — A Goliah in verse — Peace and Hope ....... 177-1S4 CHAPTER Hi. Baden. 1834-1835. Wishes to write a trilogy showing Man in his three great forms — Napoleon, the second poem of the series — The autlior's justification of his subject — The Field of the Battle of Waterloo. Napoleon, an epic of no less than fifty-two songs or poems. Description of the poems, with short portions of some rendered into English verse .... 185-2CI CONTENTS. xvi PAG CHAPTER IV. Heidelberg— Paris, i 837-1 838. The third poem in the trilogy — Prometheus — Quinet's profes- sion of faith — The Greek myth un3erstood in the light of Christianity — Of what Prometheus is the type— The struggle of Faith and Doubt. I. Prometheus, Inventor of Fire. II. Prometheus Chained. III. Prometheus Delivered. Tlie spirit of the poem given by a description of the course of the drama, and the translation of portions into English verse ....... 202-21 5 CHAPTER V. Paris. 1836. Struggle of the Infinite to escape its bounds — How man first realised the Infinite — All emanates from the Individual — The great individualities of history — Their importance — The Epic poets — Has Homer ever lived? — Wolf's hypothesis — Reasons for objecting to it — Early history of Rome — Niebuhr — His character and that of his period — Refutation of his system — The marvellous no proof that history is mere poetry — Decline of Greek inspira- tion — Latin imitation — Epopees of the Middle Ages — Authenticity of the Gospels — Reality of the existence and character of Jesus Christ — Justification of Quinet's pro- phetical gift — Examination of Strauss's " Life of Jesus " — The indictment like a legal document — Theservice Strauss has rendered — His system conceived in advance — Its in- tolerance — Its book knowledge — Miracles occur every day — His analysis of the Temptation — The points yet to be examined — Christianity an effect without a cause — Where the grandeur of the Christ is most seen — The miracles to which Christianity can appeal — The question one of all personality — Is Humanity the new Christ? — Relations between Philosophy and Religion — A Christianity with- out Christ — Parallel between these days and those follow- ing the Crucifixion — The faith of Edgar Quinet . 219-242 xviii CONTENTS. PAGE CHAPTER VI. Paris — Germany — Strasburg— Lyons, i 836-1 839. Summer.s in Heidelberg, winters in Paris — Writings for "Revue des Deux Mqpdes" in 1836-37 — De Lamennais and " Le Monde " — General Denibinski and Poland — Deadness of Parisian society — Magnin — Francis Cor- celles — A weelc's engagements — Lamartine's salon — Guizot— Louis Philippe — Madame R^eamier's salon — A reading at the Abbaye-au-Bois — Ohateaubriaud — Prome- theus at Madame Recamier's — Salon of Madame Hoche — The Princess Belgiojoso — Cousin — Odilon Barrot — Princess Stephanie of Baden — Talleyrand — Thiers — Hebdomadal dinners with Montalembert, &c. — Mickie- wicz — Heinrich Heine^ — Character Sketch of Qui net by Heine — Liszt — Armand Carrel — Ary Scheflfer — Princess Mary of Orleans — Bas-relief by David — Stuttgart — Tu- bingen — Uhland — Dr. Strauss — Quinet becomes literary executor to an old Con/entionnel — Age of Louis XIV. — ■ Literary Cosmopolitanism — Unity of Modern Genius — Political letter on Russia — Cobden quoted — University of Strasburg — Appointed Professor at Lyons — Louis Philippe thereon ..... 243-258 . BOOK v.— THE TEACHER. INTRODUCTORY. Lyons. 1839. Character and institutions of a country formed by its religion — Unity of modern peoples — Genius of the Ancient Reli- gions and Christianity and the French Revolution, one work — Their object — Main idea of the former . 261-265 Genius of the Ancient Religions. I. Revelation by the Organ of Nature. 1. The Spiritual Genesis ..... 266 2. The Earth considered as the first Temple . . . 267 3. The Filiation of the Human Race .... 267 4. The Religious Institution of Society . . . 268 5. The Migrations of the Human Races in their relations with the History of the Religions . . . 269 CONTENTS. xix pAaE II. Tradition. 1. How Oriental Tradition has been lost and recovered . 273 2. The Oriental Renaissance — The Lusiad — Discovery of the Cape of Good Hope — France — England . . . 274 3. Continuation— Germany .... 275-276 4. How the Eeligions of Antiquity have been regarded . 277 5. Eeligious Revolutions in their relations with Social Revolutions — The East— Greece — Rome— Feudalism . 278 6. Religious Revolutions in their relations with Art — In what the Ideal of Art is found and when it changes . 279-282 III. The Religions of Upper Asia. 1. Revelation by Light — The Vedas — The Religion of the Patriarchs. The visible Dawn exciting the Dawn of thought — Indian patriarchal theology — Universality of the symbol of the Burning Bush ..... 282-285 2. The Indian Genesis — Revelation of the Infinite by the Ocean. Second age — The people on the shores of the gulfs — Har- monies of Brahma with the Ocean — The Indian genesis — The Gospel prophesied by the Old Testament of the human race — India's function in history . . 285-288 3. Indian Religion in its relations with Epic Poetry. The Ramayana and the Maha-bharata — Their form — The author — How published — The heroes incarnate gods — Man and the animal creation — Civil and domestic life of ancient India — The primitive monarch — Position of the priest — Who the Indian heroes resemble — Love of Nature — Meaning of Hindu asceticism — Indian epics the work of many generations — Their style . . . 288 -293 4. Indian Pantheism in its relations with the Institution of the Family and of Caste. Immobility of India — Existence under a series of con- querors — Want of great men, and of a history — Gentle law — Polygamy and idea of the family — Caste — Why caste is not found in China — Equality among the Hebrews, Fraternity among the Greeks, Liberty among the Romans — Their sanction in religious dogma . 293-29S h XX CONTENTS. PAGB 5. The Indian Drama in its relations with Religion. When the dramatic era commences in a country — The reason of the great difference between the Indian and Greek drama — The drama of SakoontalS, . . . 298-301 6. Philosophy in its relations with Religion — Buddhism. Indian thought, its characteristics — Similarity in East and West of the duel of Reason and Faith — Indian scep- ticism — Buddhism contrasted with Brahminism — Intre- pidity of Eastern logic — Buddhist theory of Equality — Likeness between spiritual Catholicism of Middle Ages and Buddhism — What has preserved Indian society . 301-304 7. The Religions of China — Revelation by Writing. Eo-hi, the Chinese revealer — The lines of the Universe — The basis of Civil order in China — To write, a religious duty — Chinese philosophy in its relation to Religion — China, rationalist — God ignored in China — Collection of popiilar songs — Judaea and China . . . 304-308 IV. Religions of Western Asia and of Egypt. 1. The Religion of Persia — Revelation by the Word. Persepolis — Its bas-reliefs — A people on migration — The Zend-Avesta — Zoroaster — The luminous Word, the liturgy of the Universe — The struggle between Darkness and Light — The Persian wars — Religion and Industry — Relation to Christianity — Sublime eschatology — Mithra — The want in the Persian Religion — Hard for a Reli- gion to die . . . . . . 309-312 2. The Religion of Egypt — Revelation by Organic Life. Egyptian civilisation born of Asia and Africa — The foun- dation of Egyptian Religion— An Egyptian temple— The marvel of organic life — Incarnation the universal doc- trine of the East — The Egyptian priesthood — Messiah — Trinity — Human personality — Resurrection — Future judgment — What alone overcame this granite civilisa- tion and fulfilled its prophecies . . . 3 1 ^-■317 3. The Principle of the Religions of Babylon and Phenicia. The sentiment of the Infinite in Pagan Love — An indivi- dual rite of the worship of Light— Its cruel voluptuous- ness — Its effect on the industrial arts, on the condition of woman — What made Idolatry easy for the Jew . 317-318 CONTENTS. V. The Hebrew Religion. 1 . Jehovah— Revelation through the Desert. Criticism of the Old Testament — Personality of Moses — Originality of the idea of Jehovah — The Trinity veiled in the Old Testament — Necessity of a revelation through the Desert — Its characteristics imprinted on every Hebrew institution — Seen above all in the God-Spirit . . 319-321 2. The Prophets. The Hebrew people isolated— Oppressed by the thought of their destiny — No prophets in pantheistic religions — Connection of the personality of God and the miracle of liberty in the world — The work of the Hebrew prophets — What they alone saw — Their tone — The prophecies accomplished — When prophecy began to decline, and why ....... 321-324 3. The Principle of Hebrew Poetry — The Psalms. Correspondence between the Psalms and the character of Jehovah — An echo of many generations— The God who dwells beyond all worlds listening to the expression of individual complaints — The Psalms compared with the Rig-Veda ...... 324-325 4. Hebrew Philosophy — Job. Hebrew doubt— Job a Hebrew book — The heart of Job divided, not the poem — The friends — No solution given to Job's questions — Incomplete without Christianity — Period when written — Ecclesiastes, the consummatum est of the Old Testament ..... 326-328 5. Continuation — Comparison of Oriental with General Scepticism. The stages of scepticism traced and compared in Job, Prometheus, Hamlet, and Faust . . . 328-331 6. Slavery in its relations with the Eastern Religions. Connection between polytheism and slavery, between the independence, liberty, and unity of God, and the indepen- dence, liberty, and unityof man — Slavery couldnotbecome a Hebrew institution — In Islamism the slave avenged 331-333 VI. The Greek Religions. I. The Aspect of Nature in Greece — Its ruins. The horizon of the Greek writers — Greek genius elective :xii CONTENTS. PAGE — What sentiments the Sea awakened in Greece — Cor- rection of Nature— The Greek Temple . . 333-334 !. The Divine in Humanity— The Greek Religions in relation to Poetry and Art. What the Greek discovered in himself — Influence of Homer in altering the old religion — Greek Society tended to form itself on the Iliad and the Odyssey— Influence of sculpture on the Greek religions — Their decline coin- cident 335-337 j. Continuation — The Drama in its relations with the Greek Religions. The poets transform the Homeric gods — Pindar — Growing spirituality of Greek poetry — Wherein tlje power of its drama lies— Function of the Chorus — Greek comedy — Aristophanes — Greek humour — The good reached by the beautiful . .... 338-340 .. History. When history develops most- — The unconscious art of Herodotus — Greek history, its two stages — The Greek orators — The tyranny of reason — Thucydides — Alexander — Plutarch's lives ..... 340-343 ;. Philosophy in its relations with Religion — Fall of Poly- theism. The one revolution in Greece — Religion and the first philo- sophies — Second stage — Pretensions of philosophy — Socrates — Greek scepticism — Ground of Greek philo- sophy — Hercules — The hymns of Orpheus — Contribution of Greece to the Old Testament of the profane world . 343-345 VII. The Roman Religions. . Religion and Policy. A Society founded on no religious dogma — How Rome conquered the world — Foundation of the aristocracy — Worship of Fear and Terror — Why all the efforts against the patricians failed— True day of emancipation for the plebeian — The only revolution upon which you can cer- tainly count ...... 346-350 . Rome and the World. Superstitious jealousy of Rome — The conquered conquer — The art of moral extermination — Why the slave was a cause of anxiety — Why the conscience of social life and the peoples were welded into one — Why Hannibal failed CONTENTS. xxiii PAGE to attract the Italian peoples — Why Sj'lla's work never stood — Spiritual timidity of the Romans — The basis of the Religion of Rome — Fall of each class of gods coinci- dent with the revolutions in the Roman State . . 350-354 . The Cresars — The Religion of the Law — End of the ancient city. Policy in religion, how it ends — Deification of the Caesar the patrician idea of the gods — Birth of idea of divine unity — Power of the new dogma — Roman law the last miracle of Antiquity — The greatest trial for a society — The invasions of the barbarians, their religious sanction — Contributions of Rome to the religion of the world . 354-357 ' LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. Portrait or Edgar Quinet (aged 12), . . Frontispiece TO FACE PAGE Portrait of his Mother, 3 The Atjsteians approaching Botjrg, . . . . 18 Facsimile of Letter to his Mother (i8i5), . . 28 Portrait of his Father, 37 Venice by Moonlight, 65 Portrait of his First Wife, 161 Certinbs, his Ancestral Home, 183 Portrait of Edgar Quinet, 261 asooft I. GENESIS. "If a man would truly attend to the course of his inner life he would discover the entire series of the ages burled, as it were, in his own mind." —Introduction to Herder. a VlMt U^^t/^^y^— ^VW f tV-^ Eugenie Quinet-JRozat (1807, c(( (Ae or/e 0/23). To /ace p. 3. ( 3 ) CHAPTER I. BOURG, WESEL. 1803-1807. " Never, perhaps, was a child surrounded hy persons of a more opposite character." — Mes IcUes. Edgar Quinet was bom February the 17th, 1803, at Bourg, the chief town of Ain in France, a department bordering on Switzerland. When he came into the world the Temple of Janus was closed. But the very next day, the second of his life, it was re-opened, and the fiends of war came hurrying out to desolate Europe for more than twelve years. The babe who thus made its appearance at so unpro- pitious an hour was a pale-faced little creature, and it was doubtful whether its exit would not be almost coeval with its entry. The Quinets were an old Catholic family established in Bresse for three centuries. Edgar's grandfather, Phili- bert Quinet, was Maire of Bourg, his grandmother being the daughter of a lawyer in the Dauphiny. She was a character. A conventual life of some years had made her terribly hard. Her domestic discipline was more than monastic ; once a week she employed a garde- de-ville to whip her three children (one was a girl) naughty or not. When- her son was only three she shut him up in a drawer. When he was a young man she had all the flowers he loved torn up ; and when he was fifty years old she rebulced him as unceremoniously as if he were still a boy. This awful old lady had a strange 4 EDGAR QUINET. admiration for beauty. She surrounded herself with engravings and works of art, and would have no domestic in her employ who had not regular features. There must have been something beautiful in the face of her new-born grandson, since, at the sight of him, she relaxed her stern- ness and said, " He will have mind." The son who was treated so severely was the father of Edgar Quinet, and his early experiences ought not to be forgotten in estimating his relations with his own son. Driven from home by these austerities, Jerome Quinet enrolled himself among the volunteers of '92. His ener- getic intellect and strong will found ample scope in the activities of the time. Although just by nature and principle, and really kind in heart, he inherited some- thing of the stern and repellent manner of his mother. If his choice in marriage be any indication, he must also have had her appreciation of beauty ; for his wife pos- sessed that gift in a triple degree.' Eugi^nie Eozat Lagis was on the paternal side of an old Calvinist family, the Eozats of the south of France, while on the maternal, she was descended from Italian Huguenots,, the Lagis of Verona, who, at the time of the Eeformation, had taken refuge in Geneva. Being in the diplomatic service, her father travelled about a great deal, and this course of life early developed the intellect and self-reliance of his daughter. Educated in Switzer- land and at Versailles, she was a very unique mixture of solid Genevan principles, with the stylish manners, bold ideas, and restless curiosity of old French society. As a school-girl of ten years of age, she had resisted the attempts of certain high dignitaries to bring her into the Eoman Church. And yet she does not appear to have felt the slightest difficulty in marrying into a Catholic family, or in having her children baptized into their religion. The fact was, that she and her husband were really of the same faith, both being ardent believers in the principles of the Eevolution, and caring little for HIS PARENTS. S theological dogmas. Jerome Quinet's admiration for his wife was unbounded, and with relation to his children he seems to have generally yielded to her judgment. Perhaps this cost him little, as he does not appear to have had much sympathy for the young. His derisive tone and the stare of his great blue eyes frightened Edgar. Wrapt up in his own thoughts and projects, M. Quinet permitted all the affections of the family to centre in the mother, who was quite worthy of this confidence. Madame Quinet's face portrayed the character of her mind ; great black eyes sparkling with light, yet full of depth and feeling, a fine forehead set in a frame of long black ringlets, a most engaging smile, its whole contour was charming. Edgar Quinet possessed his mother's intense, impulsive nature. He had her gaiety and joy of heart and mind, and suffered as she did at times, from an unreasonable melancholy. Another person who exercised some influence over his childhood was his aunt, the daughter of the old lady who believed in beauty, and in having her children whipped once a week. Under this system Madame Destaillades had developed into a hater of all severity, and a rebel against every yoke. She would a thousand times rather be unjust than unkind. She petted every creature she came across; animals she loved exceedingly, especially ugly ones, because they were the most miserable. Con- ventionalism she abominated, the freedom of the country was her delight, the wilder and more uncultivated the better she liked it. Her chosen dwelling-place was a little house in a wood. There was no pain she would not endure that she might have the pleasure of spoiling her little nephew. He might yoke her to his plough, strike her with the goad, be as wilful as he chose, she found it all perfectly adorable. As a granite rock is sometimes concealed by soft ver- 6 EDGAR QUINET. dure which the ever-changing atmosphere dapples with alternate light and shade, so beneath her impulsive tem- perament Madame Quinet hid the soul of a stoic. She had such an elevated conception of life and its duties, and such a conscientious determination to fulfil them, that rather than arrest the development of any noble trait of character in her son, she would willingly jeopardise his life, showing always, and consistently, how far she esteemed the soul above the body. Sometimes, indeed, she appeared almost reckless about him, but it was not so, for he was never out of her thoughts. Her one absorbing idea was how to make a man of him after her own heart. On the other hand, his faith in his mother's power and goodness knew no bounds. Having heard how true penitents mixed their bread with cinders, the child one day tried to make a cake of ash-dust. A puff of wind blew some of the fine, sharp powder into his eyes. His mother, hearing his screams, ran to his relief. Edgar thought he was blinded, and in a piteous voice exclaimed : " If my eyes are put out, will you know how to make me new ones ? " Grifted with singular purity of heart, great moral deli- cacy, much sensibility, and with a never-faUing goodness that harmonised all his faculties, the aureole was so manifest in infancy that an English uncle exclaimed, the first time the child was shown him, " He resembles Marcus Aurelius." " A delicate child, very affecti6nate, but very roguish," such was the testimony of the nurse of these early days, la bonne Madeleine, who lived to be the first to welcome Edgar Quinet to Brussels, when, forty- two years later, he came there an exile. In 1806 Madame Quinet took her son, then three years of age, to Paris, from whence they set out for Wesel, to join M. Quinet, who was acting as Commis- sioner of the Army of the Ehine. At Wesel Edgar was allowed to be continually with the soldiers. Auster- litz had been fought in the previous December, and some INFANCY. 7 of the cavalry who had been in the battle were at Wesel. They petted Edgar, would have him at mess, making him drink their soup. When they marched he accompanied them, with two large sheep, harnessed like horses. When they returned he went with the regiment to the stables, and combed and curried his sheep as he saw the soldiers did the horses. No doubt his parents argued that French boys were only born to be conscripts, and Edgar could not begin too early. ( 8 ) CHAPTEE II. CER TINES, CHAROLLES. 18O7-I8II. " She is in love with the immortal part of me." — Flint's Letters. At the commencement of 1807 the boy and his mother returned to Prance, and went at once to Certines, a country place about six or seven miles from Bourg, his father possessing a small estate there, which had been in the family three hundred years. Certines was one of those out-of-the- world spots, rarer and rarer every day, but which in the early part of this century were not uncommon even in England. The sun set behind vast oak forests, so illimitable that people got lost in them for days ; it rose over a ridge of mountains, the first step in the mighty ranges of the Jura and of the Alps. Between the forests and the mountains lay heaths, copses, alder woods, vast plains of grass or of corn; over this immense ocean of broom, of heath, of rye, the sultry summer air hung silent and peaceful, while in the autumn, from the marshes and the dark pools in the forest arose miasmas, bringing fever into every cottage and home- stead. On a little hill in this vast waving ocean stood the ancestral home of the Quinets, half cottage, half chateau, in the midst of acacias and poplars, and of pear, nut, and cherry trees, the latter pushing their long branches right into its windows. The building was very old, and Jerome Quinet had ornamented it with two semi-circular summer houses, with slate roofs and columns. A NATURAL EDUCATION. 9 Here his family lived a rural life, and the little Edgar received a natural and, for that very reason, a singular education. In the early summer time the boy rose with the dawn, shouldered his little hay-fork, and went to the meadows with the mowers. In harvest time he gleaned after the reapers, made a sheaf, beat out the corn with a little flail, took it to the . miller, fetched the flour when ground, and making it into cakes, baked them in an oven he had built himself. Although his mother believed jn the great advantage of being well born, she was far too enlightened to imagine its benefit consisted in being able to separate oneself from the common herd. On the contrary, she had faith in the inherent dignity of Humanity, and conceived nothing could be better than to live in con- tinual contact with it, especially under its most unso- phisticated form. Besides, she had herself drunk at the fountainhead of the new democratic ideas, and no doubt thought that as her son had to find a career amongst the people, the sooner he understood them the better. His experiences were simple, but they revealed in primitive and childlike language the main idea that most entertain as to the only possible basis of society — the rule of the strongest. Edgar had for his playmate a peasant boy named Gustin, three or four years older than himself, but very much stronger. Gustin thought it quite natural that he should always give in to the young gentleman's whims, and act the part of a little slave. Calling the two boys before her, Madame Quinet reproved the one for his servility, and the other for his insolence, telling them that they were equals, and that she expected them to act as such in future. The young peasant understood that there was to be a change, and that birth was no longer to have the rule, but the idea of equality between a boy of five or six and one of eight or nine was more than he could comprehend. So in his turn he played 10 EDGAR QUINET. the tyrant, and Edgar had submissively to carry Gustin's sabots when the latter was tired of running about in them. Gustin, however, was one of the kindest boys in the village, and in his society Edgar not only learnt to love human nature, but to love all nature. Thus he came to know the birds by their notes, or by their manner of perching on the hedges, or on the trees, and to distinguish the many voices of nature. When about three years of age, Edgar wanted to be a ploughman. He y^s accordingly allowed to lead, day after day, two oxen up and down the furrows. For these patient creatures he had as great an affection as they had for him. He considered them as his own, and could not bear that any one else should drive them ; and when tired or melancholy, a condition into which a child might easily fall in such a languid atmosphere, a visit to the stable of Bise and Froment proved an unfailing remedy. In their society the boy's spirits returned, and he felt quite consoled by the sympathetic way in which they looked at him with their large tender eyes. Every winter was spent in Bourg, and then, his father disliking the noise of children, he was sent to school. His first master was a learned man, a professor of mathematics. He was kind enough to his little pupil, but very hard upon his own son, whom he wished to make as good a mathematician as himself. Edgar could not have been above six years old when he came under this master, and it was he who taught him to write and to read. For, to his mother's serious alarm, the usual order of these accomplishments was reversed in his case. This was no doubt due to the method of instruction. Taking him into the garden, his master would make him draw letters on the sand, or if that could not be done, he would show him how to trace them on a blackboard. The result was, that he could not only write before he could read, but could make a FIRST TEACHERS. ii pen out of almost anything, as the following letter, the earliest that has been preserved, testifies : — "A Jasseron, le 22 Octobre (1808). " Ma bonne Maman, — Presque toujours on dit que je suis bieii sage. Je m'amuse bien et je pense k toi toi:ijours. Je serai bien content de te voir. C'est Virrieu qui m'a donn^ le papier, les plumes et I'encre. Je voulais bien t'^crire ce matin, mais je n'avais pas pu parce que je n'avais que des aUumettes pour plumes. Edgab, ton fils et ton ami" Directly he could read his master commenced Latin with him, but just as he had got his little pupil into the verbs the unfortunate mathematician was seized with a sudden fit of madness in the presence of Madame Quinet. In fact, the poor man tried to strike her, and was only prevented by a gentleman coming in, who took him home. These two religiously kept the matter a secret, but Edgar was removed, and allowed, to his great chagrin, to believe that he had in some way offended his good master. His next teacher was an old captain in the dragoons, and the schoolhouse — an ancient convent, used as a place for storing forage for the passing troops. When a room could be found a class was held, but the teacher spent the time in going over his cavalry manoeuvres, using the boys' primers to represent the columns in platoons. When the convent finally became inaccessible for such purposes, he was sent to pick up a little knowledge from a priest who had got married, and who had been nearly starved in consequence. This teacher was so ignorant that Edgar learnt nothing from him ; but as a set-off against this poor schooling, he had a music master. This worthy had been a chorister in youth, but now his round, bistre-coloured face was furrowed with age. He was a universal genius, music being the least of his cares. A great inventor, a great politician, he was the first to enlighten the future historian about feudal rights, tithes, and forced labour, as they existed before the 12 EDGAR QUI.NET. Eevolution. He taught him the " Marseillaise," which everybody else had then forgotten. This was the first piece of music Edgar Quinet ever learnt. If from these odd schoolmasters he obtained little ordinary knowledge, he picked up from them facts or notions which in after- days he turned to account. His real teacher in these days was his mother, and from her he was daily imbibing thoughts and ideas which coloured his whole life. When at home he was con- stantly with her, when away they kept up continual correspondence ; she always playing the part of the serious, earnest mother, ever searching out his faults, and urging him to overcome them for her sake. She treated him when only a small child as her confidant and inti- mate friend. She read Shakespeare, Eacine, and Madame de Stael to him. When he came home from the plough she would sometimes appear on the gallery and, assum- ing the air of a tragedy-queen, begin to recite Eacine's "Athalie," expecting him to take up the role of Joas. At seven years of age he was thus acquainted with Hamlet and Macbeth, and not only with the dramas of Eacine, but with those of Corneille and Voltaire. Madame Quinet shrunk instinctively from Eousseau, and had no sympathy whatever for Chateaubriand, but for Voltaire she entertained an unbounded admiration. His was the first name Edgar could recollect hearing. When he asked his mother who was the cleverest man in the world, she replied, " An old gentleman called Voltaire." He thought that this old gentleman lived in the town, and that it was very strange that he never came to see them ; however, he supposed it must be because he was so very old. It so happened that though he was born and lived for ten years under the Empire, he heard the name of Voltaire long before he knew that of Napoleon. Voltaire and Madame de Stael were Madame Quinet's literary idols, and she must have deeply resented the exile of the latter, for Edgar always HIS REAL TEACHER. 13 remembered it as the first thing that ever troubled him. But his mother's work would not have been what it was had she only influenced his mind. It was the ardour of her soul that really embraced him and enabled her to hold him, so to speak, close to her heart as long as she lived. Sometimes, when they wandered alone in the garden at Certines, she would stop and pour out her soul in audible prayer. These prayers were, often elo- quent, always different, and full of feeling. But though so truly pious in thought and action, she taught him nothing special in the way of Christian doctrine. That he had a Father in heaven who cared for him, and who would listen to his prayers for wisdom, was the sum of aU her dogmatical teaching. On one of these occasions she told him that now he was seven years of age he was responsible, and would have to answer for his own faults. For several days he kept close watch upon himself, but at last he was naughty. He was in despair; nothing would console him. All day long he walked up and down the outer gallery, crying in a lamentable voice, Je suis damnd, je suis Aamni. The atmosphere at Certines was unhealthy. Pever prevailed so constantly that its dread was even upon the children. The first time Edgar saw a butterfly crawling on the ground and fluttering its wings, he thought it had the fever. The time came when he was stricken himself. Nine or ten children had already died, some even in the Quinet household. As he lay in a sort of lethargy, a companion came, looked at him, and said, " He is not for long." However, the care of his mother and nurse were rewarded, for he woke at last out of his deadly slumber. In their delight they both sprang on the chairs and sung for joy. Everything and every- body welcomed him back to life ; even his grandmother, terrible to every one else, actually smiled at him, and looked quite charming. 14 EDGAR QUINET. Though a Protestant, Madame Quinet went on Sundays to the little Catholic Church at Certines, where an old Trappist officiated, named Father Pichon. Poor man ! he had fallen on an unbelieving age, so that his only consolation in the general neglect was the con- sideration shown him by his Protestant parishioner; in fact, he used to go the length of publicly pointing her out as an example to his flock. This humble village church, with its cross and chalice of wood and its bare unadorned walls, seemed to Madame Quinet to recall the primitive days of Christianity. In the autumn of 1 8 1 1 they went to live at Charolles, a little town in the department of Sdone-et- Loire, the centre of the district from whence come the breed of cattle called Gharollais, well known in the markets of Paris and Lyons. Suddenly the gentle culture of Certines was arrested, and the boy was thrown into the society of Charollais cattle-folk, soldiers, and prisoners of war. Very soon he became abrupt in manner and q^uite a tease. ( IS ) CHAPTEE III. BOURG. 1811-1815. " They are coming — they are coining — they are taking everything — there is no one to help us — we are lost." — V Invasion. The republicanism of the Quinets was so thorough that they could never bear to speak of the man who had dared to chain the free-will of France. Though all the world now swore by the fortune of Caesar, the name of Napo- leon was not allowed to pollute their home. Thus it was that one little French boy living at the very time of Austerlitz and Jena, and quick enough to catch up knowledge, was some years old before he heard the name that was on every tongue in Europe. This reticence, where in every other matter there was so much freedom, proved a great mistake, for Edgar was left to learn about the Emperor from popular sources, and so learnt to admire the man his father abominated. It was hardly possible for any French boy to escape from the military fever which then raged in France. Eegiments were continually passing through the town for the frontier, and during their stay some of the soldiers were billeted on the Quinets. To Edgar they all appeared heroes, but there was one especially who won his admi- ration — a bronzed soldier, who had been taken prisoner in the Spanish war, and had been confined on the isle of Cabrera, a mere rock under a burning sun, sometimes without water and without anything to eat. To while away those dreary days the corporal had amused himself by tattooing his arms. ISTothing would do but Edgar must i6 EDGAR QUINET. be tattooed as well, and the child of these stern republi- cans bore in his own flesh the symbol they so much detested — a violet eagle. However, his mother did not entirely leave him to pick up his political opinions in the stables and in the streets. Later on she tried to read to him a book called " Con- siderations sur la E^volution Frangaise," but the language of liberty had so completely fallen into oblivion that she might as well have read Hebrew or Greek to him. So she gave up the attempt, and he became more and more filled with militarism ; for soldiers were ever passing before his eyes, either as heroes going to the war, or as prisoners going to be interned, or as local levies raised for the defence of the country, or as invaders coming after the final overthrow. Thus the spirit of soldiering took posses- sion of him, as it did of all his companions. Mimic war was their one sport. In these battles Edgar constantly took part, getting severely hurt. It was a brutalising expe- rience, and would have made a young savage of him had he not through it all been watched over by a mother, who nourished his heart and mind with elevated thoughts. One day a long column of wretched, half-starved, ragged soldiers came into Bourg. They were Spanish prisoners, with bloodshot eyes and tottering limbs. Some of these poor skeletons begged alms of Madame Quinet. She threw them her purse, and ran weeping into the house. Over and over again she would say to Edgar, " They may conquer Spain, but never the Spaniards." It was Edgar's first lesson in the rights of other nations. His poem " Saragossa " shows how this incident was burnt into his soul. His mother's dislike to speak of anything that con- cerned Napoleon was so great, that he who was to become in after-years an encyclopaedia of historical knowledge was nearly twelve years of age before he had almost heard of the great events in the midst of which he was living. From the almanac of the fair he first came to THE AUSTRIANS IN BOURG. 17 know of the battle of Leipsic, and the death of Ponia- towski. A boy of his own age was the first to tell him of the burning of Moscow, as they sat together perched on some logs in a cart returning from the woods. But it made no more impression on him than the history of Montezuma. These events seemed so far off as to appear fabulous. It was not until one morning in the winter of 1814 that their real importance began to dawn upon him. Going out, he met, returning into the town, a half-witted fellow who carried parcels for the people of Bourg. With hat despoiled of its wonted ornaments, tricoloured ribbons and Easter daisies, and without the oak branch he was in the habit of waving to and fro as a sign of victory, the poor carrier was hurrying along, crying, " Bad news ! the ' Kaiserlicks ' are not far off ! " The whole town seemed in commotion. On the square Edgar found about thirty citizens collected, and their officer dealing out cartouches to them. The last man in the file was his quondam schoolmaster, the dragoon cap- tain, who was brandishing his sword. Eeturning home he found his father casting bullets. 'Not was this all, for ere long came marching into the town a regiment of boys, about fifteen years old, raised by an absurd nobleman, and commanded by a terrible-looking captain. Edgar's parents took alarm, and knowing his excitable character and love for soldiering, imprisoned him for a couple of days. When he got his liberty, he saw, to his amazement, the armed citizens come back and quietly dis- band, and the juvenile warriors march out at the wrong gate. Then the defence of the town was left to a hundred Piedmontese, who, brave enough, went out like the rest, sent a shot at the enemy for honour's sake, and then, seeing they were innumerable, returned and followed in the wake of the boys. The Piedmontese gone, even children, ignorant as this little Quinet, began to realise B 1 8 EDGAR QUINET. the situation. The invaders were upon them, and they were helpless. Edgar felt as if the end of the world had come. However, a strange fascination led him to go to the highroad where the fight had taken place, and to watch for the appearance of these terrible " Kaiserlicks." Not a single person was to be seen, but on walking to a rise in the road, he saw an interminable file of horse-soldiers stretching to the very limits of the horizon. They came slowly on in silence, the two ranks apart on either side of the road. As there was nothing menacing about them, he waited until they were close upon the town before he went to tell his mother. Ere long the Austrians were in Bourg. Madame Quinet and her son watched them defiling under their windows, she weeping at the ignominy of France, he, catching instinctively her sentiment, feeling as if his heart would break. Four horse-soldiers were quartered on them. They proved to be Hungarians, and spoke to Edgar in Latin. To the boy's astonishment he not only found that he could understand them, but was able to forage up a few words in reply. Then he believed for the first time that the ancients really did talk Latin. Communication established, the barbarians, as the boy thought them, could do nothing without him. Nobody else dared to approach them, and his father was too proud or too deeply chagrined to do so. At last, one of them fancying that he was cheated by a man who wanted to sell him a pipe, got angry and threatened his young interpreter. " Te verberabo," he shouted to him. Edgar's pride was touched, and not another Latin word would he utter, although they coaxed and flattered him. " Te verberabo " had changed everything ! Flying from them, and from the hosts of foreign soldiers who passed through the town, he sullenly took refuge in his boat at the end of the garden. PRACTICAL JOKING. 19 Here, with some of his young companions, he passed his time fishing, and on one occasion was very nearly drowned. Forbidden in consequence to go on the river, the spirit of mischief took him again among the town boys, who, left at this time of public calamity very much to their own devices, spent their days in playing at war, dividing into parties, besieging and being besieged. The game grew too real, and Edgar had his arm broken. While he was laid up he read a tale of knight-errantry — " Les Quatre Fils d'Aymon." This gave him his first ideas about the Middle Ages. The troubles into which he thus fell were partly due to the absence of his mother in Paris. She had there witnessed the return of the Bourbons, and had been touched by the dignity of Louis XVIII. But Edgar felt no kind of interest in what she told him ; he had of late lived so much among the people that he called the king, as they did, " Eoi Cotillon," a mere old woman. A favourite amusement with the little Bonapartists in Bourg was to go into the depths of the neighbouring forests, and there to find the whitened skeleton of some horse that the wolves had devoured, and dragging it into the neighbourhood of the town, to set it up when evening came in front of the door of a royalist neighbour. ISText morning the mischievous crew were up early, lurkiug in some hiding-place, waiting to enjoy the enemy's astonishment when he opened his door. ( 20 ) CHAPTER IV. BOURG. 1815. " Ab for this young Ali, one cannot but like him, a noble-minded creature, as he shows himself now and always afterwards, full of affection and fiery daring." — Heroes and. Hero-worship. One day there was a party at Charolles. The guests ■were playing at cards. A traveller arrived from Bourg. " Have you heard the news ? " he exclaimed. " The Emperor has come back from Elba ! " Hitherto Edgar had been Bonapartist because the empire had represented to his imagination Prance in uniform and fighting, now he began to get a distinct idea of a great figure coming out of the pell-mell of war — Napoleon. That figure became his ideal hero. Napoleon had landed in France, alone ; how tremendous the dangers he had dared to face ! Every morning the boy looked anxiously for news. "Was his hero conquered or con- queror ? Many persons said he was already a prisoner, some even spoke of an iron cage. For twelve days Edgar endured a series of hopes and fears, of shocks and transports, all the more trying because he could not share them with his mother. The memory of that fortnight remained indelibly impressed on his mind ; he wondered that he ever survived it. An officer was billeted at his father's house. He would neither eat nor drink, and seemed in despair. At last Edgar heard him reveal the cause. He had taken an oath to the Bourbons, but now the Emperor had A HOT-HEADED LITTLE BONAPARTIST. 21 returned he felt certain that his regiment would desert in a body. The crisis had come, for at Bourg the roads parted ; how would he be able to prevent his soldiers going off in the direction in which Kapoleon was march- ing ? Edgar listened, he was sorry for the officer, but delighted at the thought that so fine a regiment should go to swell the ranks of the Imperial army. Next morning, however, he saw it march in the opposite direc- tion ; he followed, wearing a tricoloured cockade, in which was hidden a bunch of violets. He went after the sol- diers until they were out of sight, but ere long the regi- ment reappeared again, returning without its officers. He waited, and directly the serjeant-major, who was now in command, saw him, he cried out — " Youngster, give me your cockade." Edgar was only too delighted, and was allowed in recompense to march into the town at the head of the troops by the side of the Serjeant. With a tricoloured flag which a young lady had made, Edgar and his companions went about the woods, the fields, and over the heaths, singing patriotic songs. When they came to a village they struck up a new song of B^ranger which they had just learnt — " II faut partir, Agnfes I'ordonne, Adieu plaisir, adieu repos The boys were terrifically in earnest, but no one else was. To their surprise not a peasant left his plough, nor a shepherd his flock, to follow their standard. Wandering about the woods in this slightly demented state, the boy came upon a dreadful sight. In a little copse, among the primroses and violets, lay the dead body of a soldier who had been shot in the back; his mouth was wide open, his arms, tattooed with eagles, were stretched out, while a long trace of congealed blood marked the distance of the place where the ball had entered his body. The man was evidently a deserter, 22 EDGAR QUINET. probably he had thought that the little wood presented a favourable opportunity to quit the white flag in order that he might rejoin the Emperor. What ! an old soldier thus to perish ignominiously ! For weeks after that bloodstained corpse haunted Edgar. In the middle of the night he would wake, and there by his bedside stood the figure, red and lurid, as if crying for help. Afraid that his father would laugh at him if he said that he had been frightened by a ghost, he dared not cry out, but sat up in bed, his mouth open with terror. Again and again the spectre returned, until one night the boy threw off the clothes, groped his way out of the, room, and went downstairs. ,He returned, and putting his hand on the banister saw the bleeding soldier move on before him. In horror he rushed along a narrow passage, fancying that he felt the spectre's hot breath over his shoulder. He ran into a servant's room, closed the door, and rushing up to the bed, cried out, " The soldier ! the soldier ! " The servant awoke and tried to pacify him, but even then the awful figure did not at once disappear. Up to this time the boy had never read a newspaper ; in fact, he had only seen one now and then by chance. What was more, he did not understand that it was a vehicle of news. He saw a retired captain every morn- ing read to a silent group what he called "the papers," but to Edgar the word conveyed no meaning. AH the news he believed in came by word of mouth, the living word, handed on from village to village, from man to man. Thus he heard of Waterloo. Eorty-two years later, a hundred leagues away, he heard the story repeated in the identical terms in which it had reached him when a boy, and in which he had heard it again and again in other lands. The popular legend about Waterloo which thus obtained currency in France on the morrow of the battle, and maintained so persistent existence, ran thus : — THE LEGEND OF WATERLOO. 23 " The Emperor's aide-de-camp, mounted on the top of a hill, says, ' Sire, I see an innumerable army of Prussians ! ' Napoleon goes to the top, and looks through his telescope. ' No,' says he, ' you are wrong, they are our own people, that is Grouchy. You are nervous, you make a mistake.' " ' Sire,' replies the aide-de-camp, ' I tell you it is an army of Prussians.' ' Then,' says the Emperor, ' we are lost, we are hetrayed ! ' " <( i ' Betrayed ! Treason ! this was the popular explanation of Waterloo. But, however it had come to pass, the fact that France and her Emperor were finally defeated was soon brought home to every eye and heart in Bourg. Disbanded soldiers in all sorts of uniforms, horse-soldiers, and lancers on foot, mixed up with infantry, carrying sticks instead of arms, were seen passing through the town, each finding his way back as best he could to his own village. T)-eason ! was their explanation when interrogated, and the thought struck panic into people's hearts, two hundred leagues away from the battlefield. This rabble-rout of a broken-down army was followed by hordes of foreign invaders, and now there was even less good feeling than before. The invaders were more savage — the invaded more sullen. Monsieur Quinet shut himself up in his study. He was a great physicist, and had undertaken a stupendous work on the theory of terrestrial magnetism, which he had already identified with the principle of electricity. While his house was invaded by all kinds of foreigners, while the Tyrolese were beating their drums and the Hungarians blowing their trumpets at his very door, he sat absorbed in abstruse calculations. His wife, on the other hand, tried to forget her chagrin in reading Tasso, Ariosto, or Shakespeare, her son sitting at her side, follow- ing his mother as far as he was able into the enchanted land of poesy. But at best this was only an exercise of the imagination ; his first real glimpse of a world, a hidden world of celestial harmony and beauty, came 24 EDGAR QUINET. through the sense of sound. He had learnt to play the violin, and was so passionately fond of it that he was scraping away at it from morning till night. He sat up in bed with his fiddle-stick in his hand, he jumped up before he was dressed and tortured every- body's ears in his efforts to make the instrument talk to him. One morning in September 1 8 1 5 he was thus engaged, standing in his night-shirt, at the end of his bed, when suddenly the door opened, and in stalked a great Croatian hussar. Before he could remonstrate the tall soldier had seized the violin, had got it into position, and was scraping on it himself. Edgar's arms had gone out automatically after the rapt violin, they continued extended in sheer astonishment at the wonderful manner in which this strange intruder was playing. Such melodies, such ravishing strains, had never fallen on his ear before, He stood entranced. Meanwhile his mother, lying awake in a neighbouring room, noted the strange change, and marvelled what had come to Edgar, he seemed inspired. Moved to verify the miracle, -she sprang out of bed, and ran undressed to his room. A domestic, smitten with the same notion, had followed her mistress, and the two women opened the door. Edgar saw them, and the three looked mutually horror-struck at the contretemps. Happily the Croat stood, violin in hand, with his back to the door, so that they had time to rush away before he perceived the increase in his audience. In a few minutes after, with- out uttering a word, the invader replaced the fiddle in Edgar's hands and stalked out of the room. He never knew the admiration and amusement his passion for music had evoked. Edgar had two friends, Leon and Charles Bruys, who also learnt to play the violin. One day Charles played a piece so badly that Madame Bruys stopped him and asked Edgar to play it. But he obstinately refused. His HIS PASSION FOR THE VIOLIN. 25 mother scolded and he looked cross, until at last, finding no entreaties would prevail, the elders shrugged their shoulders and gave it up. When they were alone his mother began to upbraid him. "Didn't you see," he said, " that Charles had played badly, and that if I had tried the same piece his father and mother and grand- father would have thought that I played better than he did." Some days after, being alone in his room, Madame Bruys overheard him playing this very piece. " I see how it was Edgar would not play that piece the other day," and she ran into the room, and embracing him, told him. He became very red, struggled to get away, and ran out of the room. Like all who are afflicted with thoughts profounder than their age warrants, Edgar was no doubt more reticent than he ever imagined. Sensitive of ridicule, he said nothing to his elders of that which he could neither explain nor defend. "Whether even his mother had any idea that a little hot-brained Bonapartist lived so near her heart, does not appear. If his parents knew anything about it, they were wonderfully wise people neither to try to argue nor to laugh him out of it. All they did was to sow in his heart a love of liberty, belief in the dignity of human nature, leaving it to the future to teach him what to preserve or to reject. It was not long before this method of education bore fruit. He adored what the world around him adored, but every day there grew up stronger and stronger within him a feeling of aversion to the mental tendencies hidden under all he idolised. Somehow or other everything he heard outside his own home troubled him. A hatred of thought had sprung up, an excessive reaction in favour of the principle of authority. People seemed to take a delight in appearing stupid, and in snubbing those who stUl pretended to think for themselves. If Edgar uttered sentiments such as he had heard at home, he was answered by a sardonic, "I don't understand you." 26 EDGAR QUINET. If he spoke of books which to him ■were as familiar as household words, it was ever the same parrot-like reply, " I don't understand you." This fashion of despising all that did not appear armed with some visible force oppressed him.^ He began to feel a desire for solitude. A short distance from Bourg was a hill surrounded by firs. Here he took his books, read aloud his favourite authors, and comforted himself with the thought that, if men would not understand them, Nature could. His surprise and distress at the want of mental sym- pathy he experienced were intensified by the discovery that the world had changed its opinions as it were in one night. Everyone had been for Napoleon, now his name was not only despised, but forgotten. All who were still suspected of Bonapartism, or who had shown special enmity to the old regime, were proscribed. His schoolmaster, the old dragoon captain, had to fly ; an old Conventionnel, a friend of his parents and the father of one of his companions, was put in prison. This fickle- ness of mankind deeply impressed him, but his little world was frightened by " the White Terror." Hence- forth he could never throw off a certain anxiety that nothing, would remain long as it was. The portrait here given of him when a boy accords very well with this period in his life. An oval face, and the most dreamy eyes, strangely dreamy for a boy, are its characteristic features. The head is said to be too long as a matter of fact, and the little old mannish, high-collared coat, with the grieved expression" amounting almost to sulkiness, convey an impression which does not do him justice. Nevertheless, it is most precious as giving the only idea of him in early life. 1 These characteristics of the time were due to its militarism. Madame de R^musat says, that having once entered into a conversation with the First Consul about Shakespeare, she felt obliged to keep silence for several days after, or at least only to take part in idle talk, in order to efface the sensa- tion she had produced among the silent and attentive audience in epaulettes. Memoirs, vol. i. p. i8. AN HIATUS IN THE ILLUMINATIONS. 27 To return to his history; he gratified his opposition to the world by an act which might have got him into serious trouble, had he not been the son of a man known to have always hated Bonaparte. CharoUes was to illu- minate in honour of the fall of the Empire and the return of the Bourbons. Going out into the streets, Edgar saw his father's house sparkling like the rest. In an instant he ran in, rushed up the staircase, opened the windows, and extinguished the lights, throwing the lamps on to the floor and kicking them to pieces. The result was that the brilliant street was cut in half by a great patch of black. Shortly after the king's procureur passed, and inquiring the meaning of this hiatus in the illuminations, learnt that it was caused by young Quinet. The same evening he met Monsieur Quinet at a party at the sub- prefect's, and told him of his son's audacity. But not a word of reproof did Edgar receive. Nevertheless, this adventure probably had something to do with the determination his father took about this time to change the method of his education. It was decided he should enter the college at Bourg. Now indeed did Edgar feel one with his hero. He too was going, a prisoner to his St. Helena. Like the great eagle, the young lark was henceforth to live in a narrow cage. He acted as one about to retire from the world. He bade adieu to his young friends, distributing among them all his treasures. To one he gave his magpie, to another his rabbits, and to a third his lame raven. His sparrow- hawk, who had remained faithful to him through every change, now rose in the air, and, poising itself for a moment high above its master's head, uttered a wild warning cry, and fled back again to freedom. ( 28 ) CHAPTEE V. BOURG, CERTINES. 1815-1817. " This moment is unique. Ifc has not returned, it will not return. It was at once to eclipse all others, and to illuminate them with the true Light." — Mes Idies, In the College of Bourg, it seems to have been thought that the only way to keep the boys from doing wrong was to imprison them within its walls, and never to permit their egress except under guardianship. To one who had breathed nothing but the free air of liberty since he was born, such chains were doubly galling. Between school-hours Edgar used to go to the top of an old rampart in the outworks of the college, and standing there, look sadly out towards the edge of the forest. He often was tempted to run away, but the thought of his mother stopped him. The plan of teaching was unendurable. He felt no interest in dry mechanical learning, of which he could not imagine the object. However, that principle of duty which from his earliest years had been implanted in his soul came to his aid, and he tried to conquer his dislike. But it only increased his discontent, for he felt his efforts were but those of a slave. Thanks to his industry, and the early instruction which he had received in Latin, he found himself the classmate of young men of eighteen or nineteen years, he being only twelve. They appeared to him a set of young coxcombs, thinking only of their dress. He OUM if^nMUiA ■ ^., <^^o- ^ :^ X^^S^^ , 4.^^, '^' B^ ecM . <«* ^Qer- uxoW (jMS-^y^sio cfOJisiSi -ft»-o^^{^ /vBLeLt aA^Udi^'*'^ Vcrcs^mile of « letter wriit^tn hy Edgar Quintt to hii mother from college at Bourgj March iith, i3i6. AN ANGELIC FACE. 29 fell into moodiness and silence, a misanthropic state ■which brought sterility into his mind and heart. The boys never referred to their relatives, especially their female ones. If their mother or sisters came to see them, they avoided all demonstrations of affection, and talked to them at as great a distance as possible from where their schoolfellows were playing. It happened, however, on one such occasion, that Edgar was sufficiently near to see the way in which a com- panion was greeted by his sister. She had the. typical face of an angel, fair hair, and eyes of celestial blue. She was dressed with rustic simplicity, but that was nothing ; the smile of her innocent face, and the tone of love in her voice, affected him like a summer's zephyr after cold sleet. His sullen humour fled, his mind and heart burst out in joy and praise. That sweet form was ever by his side smiling upon him. He saw it every- where and in everything. He never knew her Christian name, nor did he want to know. The family lived near Certines, and he might have been invited to the house, but he had no desire. It was enough to love, he never thought about being loved. It was entirely a poetical sentiment, the bursting again into life of his mind and heart. Things that lately looked black and wretched now wore an air of sweetness and beauty. As the violin had introduced him into the world of poetry through the sense of sound, so now the apparition of that fair young face had introduced him again into that world through the sense of form. The violin and the smile of Mademoiselle Genevier were the portals through which he caught glimpses of the inner light of the universe, and through which he felt a vibration of the far-off music of its harmonies. But he was to have a still deeper sense of its glories, a momentary insight into one of those secrets in the knowledge of which his father had said would consist the eternal felicity of the just. 30 EDGAR QUINET. The Easter of 1816 arrived, and his confessor was surprised to learn that he had never made his first communion. Living in such matters above mere fashion, Madame Quinet had wished to put off this solemn season until she thought that her son was capable of understanding its significance. The priest, on the contrary, thought that not a moment should be lost, seeing that he was thirteen years of age. So they set about preparing him, a task which proved very easy, thanks to his mother's influence and the gentleness of his director, an eloquent Provencal missionary. This good man understood him. He saw that his reserved nature was longing for sympathy, above all for infinite sympathy. He saw, too, how he had been edu- cated, and wisely avoiding every controverted point, he spoke only of the common truths of the Gospel. Yet because he was not quite courageous enough to throw overboard all his clerical formulas, he fell into a grave error, and in the confessional almost spoilt the good he was permitted to do. Happily his penitent did not un- derstand what he meant ; Edgar was, in fact, too much moved by higher thoughts to notice anything of the kind. He was living above all earthly things, and felt very happy. All through this time of preparation he was in constant communication with his Protestant mother, who assisted him throughout with prayers and exhorta- tions. She told him to look gently on the infirmities of the Eoman Church, to pierce the earthly veil and the corruptions of time, and to fix his gaze on Eternal Truth. Thus he went to the altar, supported on the one side by his Protestant mother, and on the other by a Eoman Catholic missionary. As he knelt in the Church of Notre Dame de St. Nicholas de Bourg, admitted for the first time into fuU communion with the Eoman Catholic Church, he, a mere boy, realised in himself the unity of Christendom, for he mingled his Protestant tod Catholic A REVELATION 'OF THE ETERNAL. 31 prayers together, and trying to preserve a relation to both churches, he felt most filled with the one he could not see : the persecuted, despised church of his mother. After the communion the missionary preached a ser- mon, which to Edgar proved a real word of God. When it was needful for him to rise and make the round of the church he could scarcely stand for emotion. His eyes were blinded with tears, not of sorrow but of joy. That moment never returned, nor did he expect it ever would. Often in after-years he experienced religious emotions, but they had a literary and intellectual character. This excelled them all, and illuminated them all with a ray of the True Light. From the joy of this unique hour he passed into the wilderness of trial and temptation. The escape from Elba, the march to Paris, Waterloo, and the Invasion, the sudden realisation of the Napoleonic Epos, had been, to his young mind, like the steaming manure by means of which the gardener antedates a season, but which, bring- ing some plants to precocious perfection, only develops in others the worst qualities. From early childhood Edgar Quinet so breathed the atmosphere of militarism, that every sense had been filled with it ; but when that sudden and marvellous apparition of the Hero of the Hundred days flashed before his eyes, he was suddenly changed from a mere day-fly, rejoicing in the scorching sunshine, into a conscious idolater of its centre and source. But under the Eestoration the French world utterly forgot the Emperor. Even his portrait was proscribed, so that his very form was unknown. Thus it came to pass that those who had merged their whole existence in the glory of Napoleon, felt they must live at war with all around, or change their entire nature. The first effect, as we have seen, in Edgar was misanthropy. Under its influence he had entered the college at Bourg, but there in that apparently gloomy spot he had seen the aurora; 32 EDGAR QUINET. the clouds had lifted, one rift after another of golden light had opened to him, and a distance had appeared where the sun shone with eternal glory. But the clouds closed again, and he had many a weary mile to trudge before he reached the daylight. The glamour of the false light withdrawn, the love of liberty, the dignity of human nature, the claims of duty — all these ideas, planted so early in his mind, gained more and more power over him. The writings of Madame de Stael aroused his conscience to a sense of the servitude of the Napoleonic rdgime. However, he did not readily give up his hero, but rather sought to conciliate his reli- gious admiration of Napoleon with his belief in liberal ideas. He eagerly welcomed the report of the deathbed conversion of the exile of St. Helena to the principles of liberty, and imagined that the defeated tyrant had admitted at last the ideas he had used his colossal power to tread under foot. But when he came to compare his ideal Napoleon with the popular one, he realised the immense change that had taken place in his own mind. The discovery distressed him, but he found that moral advance is only possible to those who are not afraid to differ from public opinion. A deeper tendency lay at the roots of his nature, one not so much the result of the atmosphere which he had breathed, as inborn. We have noted how the admiration of beauty was the one agreeable feature- in the character of his paternal grandmother, and it is not strange therefore to find it come out in equal intensity in her grandson. The question was, should it be his master or his servant ? It took him three years to settle the question, and then he did not deliver himself. In the neighbourhood of Certines lived a brother and two sisters, nearly allied to Bonaparte. Although so highly connected, they were in narrow circumstances, and on friendly terms with the Quinet family. Edgar paid them a visit. He found them concluding a meal, and as he AN ENCHANTRESS. 33 entered, the young ladies rose to remove an immense rye-loaf, almost too heavy for them to carry. He came forward to assist them, and as he did so his eyes met those of the youngest, and he fell conquered at the first glance. She had the bust and mien of an antique statue : a Eoman profile, a rather low brow, with clusters of jet-black hair, dressed and bound like sculptured tresses, eyes motionless but sparkling under their dark lashes, a neck swan-like, a Southern complexion — altogether the dazzling look of an Agrippina. Edgar felt as if another soul than his own had mastered him and was going to lead him wherever it pleased. He struggled, he groaned, he reasoned with himself, he tried every artifice he could think of ; do what he would he could not get rid of the intruder. By a sure presentiment he knew that he should never find behind this finely-chiselled form a heart to answer to his own. And yet the fascination of her beauty held him enchained in more than iron bonds. Certines, once so beloved, became insupportable. Its gentle rustic melan- choly ill consorted with the classic beauty of Pulcheria. He longed to go to Italy, to Greece, to shores lapped by the deep blue of the Mediterranean. He made great walks in an aimless sort of way, passing the distant hills, wan- dering in wild and lonely spots. But all this energy was to no purpose, until at last his struggles for freedom became maddening. One day after a long march, gun in hand, he was returning home through the marsh lands and by the great ponds; tired and oppressed by their heavy vapours, the thought of his bondage became unbearable. He felt himself sinking beneath the load of his chain, and falling a victim into the jaws of fate. In a moment, without reflection, save that in some indistinct, almost unconscious way there was a rash appeal to destiny to decide whether he should live to be a man or not, he cocked his gun, put the barrel in his mouth, and ran some fifty paces. It was a moment of chaos ; never did he fall lower. The c 34 EDGAR QUINET. awful danger he had run woke him somewhat out of his fevered nightmare, and he saw a streak of dawn. Every term he came back from college to find his sister Blanche, who was a few years his junior, growing as himself, in knowledge and in stature. The two with their mother formed a perfect unity. It was impossible in the long run for Edgar to keep his secret from them ; and when they knew it, and appreciated his struggles to free himself, they used every art to help him, espe- cially ridicule, in which Edgar himself joined, having a firm belief that laughter would often overcome evils when nothing else would. But these united efforts would perhaps have been altogether vain, had not a circum- stance occurred which revealed in his nature a force stronger than that which was misleading him. One warm September evening, at the end of a long walk in the wood, Edgar with his mother and sister were surprised by a thunderstorm. It was more than usually terrible. At last a fearful flash played around them, and, seemed to envelop them in flames. They clung together, uttering the same cry. In that moment Edgar realised what his mother and sister were to him. The lightning flash had set him free. aSoofe M. THE VOCATION. " Is it for human will To institute such, impulses? still less To disregard their promptings . . . Be sure that God Ne'er dooms to waste the strength He deigns impart ! Be sure they sleep not whom God needs ! nor fear Their holding light His charge, when every hour That finds that charge delayed, is a new death." — Paracelsus. /: CfitoUf^ ^-«tr* ^ y - - ^ ■^Ji4jictJ^^^{!au.^ff2ff^ JilROME Qi'iNF.r (1807, at [!>': (itn of 38). To face p. 37, ( 37 ) CHAPTEE I. LYONS. 1817-182O. "What oppressive joy was mine Wlieu life grew plain, and I first viewed tlie thronged, The eTerlasting concourse of mankind." — ParaceUua, In the autumn of 18 17 Edgar Quinet left the College of Bourg for that of Lyons. Here he met with smgular sympathy from the director, the professors, and even from his schoolfellows; and being himself a different being from what he had been two years before, the new world into which he now entered wore a totally different hue. His life at Lyons was the aurora of his existence. The heavy clouds which had hung over his mind and heart had dispersed, and the bright, warm rays of his intelli- gence went forth, lightening up the great world spread out before him, his heart leaping for joy as each new vista unfolded itself. The College of Lyons had a man of original mind for its director. A tall, spare man, with head bent low, pallid and severe-looking, the Abb6 Eousseau had the sweetness and the mildness of the truly wise in heart. That his wisdom and goodness were not always appre- ciated, we may gather from the fact that, six months after Edgar Quinet came to Lyons, there was a barring- out in the college. No cause existed sufficient to have brought it about, but a spirit of rebellion had seized other colleges, and Lyons caught the infection. The fire smouldered some little time, and then burst forth. One evening the pupils in one of the halls suddenly rose. 38 EDGAR QUINET. extinguished the candles, drove out the masters, locked the doors, and made a tremendous uproar. Next day, when the director tried to speak to the malcontents, his voice was drowned in murmurs. He called six boys out, and summarily expelled them from the college. This, however, did not allay the trouble, for that evening the pupils of another quarter of the college rose in the night, took possession of their hall, barricaded it with the desks, and, collecting all the books and candlesticks to serve as ammunition, prepared to stand a regular siege. The arrangements complete, they began to make a horrible noise. The whole college was soon in commotion. The servants got great biUets of wood, with which they battered the doors of the barricaded hall, while others tried to break them open with hatchets ; the besieged meanwhile uttering cries of " No more omelettes ! " " No more haricot beans ! " After an hour's assault and battery the doors gave way, the desks were overturned, and the masters entered victorious. Eight more of the boys were at once expelled, and four others were singled out for the same punishment. Madame Quinet seems to have been afraid that Edgar had lost his good sense. In his exculpatory letter he answers her, that he is not quite such a fool as to hazard his own happiness and hers for the pleasure of joining in a purposeless riot. " Calm yourself, then, my good mother," he writes, " and be sure that the thought of the harm I should do you will all my life prevent me from running into the way of error, even if duty itself were not a suffi- cient motive." But these expressions, used in a moment of self-asser- tion, give no idea of the admiration the young collegian had for his mother, and the immense influence that she exercised over him. Nearly three hundred of Edgar Quinet's letters, the majority of them written to his mother, have been published. Those written from college at Lyons, when he was between fifteen and eighteen, are PERSONAL APPEARANCE. 39 Ml of lamentations at his separation from her, and of assurances of his intense devotion. Incidentally they give several graphic touches, which enable us to realise the personal appearance both of the young man and his mother. We see the latter in her " triumphant beauty," either walk- ing in her hat adorned with a large flower, and a tightly- fitting dress trimmed with lace, or at some evening party, wearing a head-dress of blue velvet, " which became her marvellously well ; " we see her exercising a charm so peculiarly entrancing that her son can only liken it to " an unheard-of manner,'' and especially devoting herself to the lad, whom she consoled in strains eloquent and tender. Then we have Edgar himself, getting dusty and out of repair at school, wanting new clothes and new boots, his father coming and taking him to a tailor's, where he is arrayed in a blue cloth coat and pantaloons, a waistcoat of goat's hair, and a hat with a very broad brim, then the fashion, called a lolivar. Ardent, sensi- tive, nervous, it is clear from these letters that he is fonder of making poetry than studying mathematics ; that, as it often happens to such minds, memory fails at the most important moments, and the problem on which he has spent an earnest and toilsome hour suddenly dis- appears from his mental tablets, leaving no trace behind; that he is nervously anxious for extra instruction ; that he dreads the examination, eagerly deprecating the pre-i sence of his father on the occasion ; and that when the time arrives he does not succeed so weU as his more phlegmatic companions. French college life was certainly dull in the extreme. Shut up in almost conventual seclusion, apparently only going out under supervision and in file, or when relatives or friends came and begged for a day's holiday, it would not be surprising if Edgar's letters to his mother were far more homesick than they are. But they are infinitely more than mere unavailing regrets for her society ; they are a really intelligent effort to supply the want by cor- 40 EDGAR QUINBT. respondence. In them he gives expression to his inmost thoughts, using no reserve ; he refers freely to his masters, his schoolfellows, his relatives, his father, and above all to himself. If there is anything in the world a youth shrinks from discussing with his elders, it is his loves and his rhymes, but it was just on these topics that Edgar was most unreserved with his mother. The way in which they work together to destroy the remains of the chain which had once bound him to the fair Pulcheria is quite amusing. Madame Quinet was evidently thoroughly French in the ability with which she used the art of killing by ridicule. Edgar is made at last to laugh at himself for ever yielding to attrac- tions so commonplace as those of a cold and coquettish Celimene. But not only the tenderest feelings of his heart are thus laid bare for his mother's criticism, but the stiU more susceptible emotions of his mind. " Here, my dear mother," he writes two days before he attained his seventeenth year, " are some bad verses, but I have little mind indeed when I cease to think of thee. It seems as if all my faculties reside in thy heart. If Tibullus and Proper- tius had had such a mother as I, they would not, I imagine, have written so many verses upon profane love." Doubtless these lines, one hundred and eighty in num- ber, would have appalled an ordinary mother. But Edgar was sure of a critic at once sympathetic and unsparing. So on another occasion he writes : — "I find in thy sweet rebukes a thousand times more charm than in reading a romance. Every moment I am tempted to cry out with the prophet king, who had also loved a Pulcheria (but had not, as I, forgotten her), ' Thy language is for me sweeter than the honey of the valley of Jehoshaphat ' (a quota- tion, by the way, quite patristic in its freedom). . . . " The Jews taught their children to read out of the Bible, the Mahometans out of the Koran, mine shall have no other books than thy letters. " The first sj^Uables that they learn to spell shall be those which thou hast written, then the first tears which they will A DEN ON THE RHONE. 41 shed over what they read will be tears of love. I will pronounce over their heads the word of blessing which thou hast pro- nounced over mine ; I will address to thy ' children's children ' the hymn of tenderness that I have consecrated to thee ; they shall embrace me in pronouncing thy name. And if I am to have evil days, where but from thy letters shall I draw strength to cope with misfortune 1 Where othervfise shall I seek conso- lation in sorrow ? Is it not from thee that I can learn how to struggle against destiny? Adieu, adieu." This tendency in Edgar Quinet to fall into idolatry at every stage in his youth shows how deeply the religious sentiment was rooted in his being. It was in him, as in every great mind, the most living force ; and it discovered itself in adoring veneration for whatever was strong, beautiful, loving, and true. That he was led step by step through an idolatrous worship of the humanly strong, beautiful, loving, and true, marks him out as one fitted hereafter to deal with the same expe- rience in humanity, of whose history his own life thus afforded so interesting a microcosm. A passionate devotee of the violin, Edgar Quinet was an acquisition to the church choir ; to enable him to practise, the priests gave him a kind of tool-house which had been made in the thick wall of the college over- looking the Ehone. By heaping up the broken bricks on the floor, and removing a few others overhead, he was able to stand upright amongst the cobwebs which covered the walls, and even to introduce a reading-desk and a cane chair. The only light came through a lattice window, overhung by a heavy roof ; but the den had a door and a key, and here he could indulge that taste for solitude so necessary to the born thinker. The Abb^ Eousseau watched what Quinet would do with his retreat, and was apparently satisfied, for although his pupil constantly violated rules, missing his classes, daily worship, and even his meals, he never gave him a reprimand. During the three years Edgar was at Lyons the only approach at fault-finding he could remember was 42 EDGAR QUINET. on one occasion, when he presented himself at the review held every Sunday with one of his shoes uncleaned, and then all the Abb^ did was to smile and sigh and pass on. Hardly anywhere but in a semi-monastic institution could Edgar have enjoyed the advantage of such arbitrary beneficence ; almost free to study how and what he would, he soon felt a delight in learning equal to any- thing that he had ever experienced in the wildest rambles of his childhood. The classes, which at Bourg had seemed so detestably dry and difficult, now appeared easy and interesting. Opening a copy of Ovid, he began to read. To his astonishment the mechanical difficulties of translation were gone. He felt that he not only understood the sense, but enjoyed the poetry. He began to read not only the Latin authors, but their commentators, Casaubon, Scaliger, Erasmus, and others, in an old Elzevir edition which had belonged to his grandfather. The Abb^ Eousseau, perceiving the intellectual hunger which had seized the youth, opened his own library to him, but not without some trepidation as to where all this reading would end. It was while he was thus drinking in draught after draught of old-world lore that the historic faculty arose, and the vision of the old Roman world began to appear on his mental horizon. So great was his enjoyment in this new world, that falling ill, his consolation was to hear a schoolfellow read by his bedside the finest books of the " JEneii." Tacitus was his favourite author, and after him Gregory of Tours. And why ? Because they both treated of persons and times his own experience enabled him to . understand. His childhood , had passed among political convulsions, and he himself had been dazzled by the colossal form of the imperial tyrant who bestrode the world; he himself had seen wave after wave of invaders pouring over the soil of France ; he had even talked with them and lived in their society : naturally then he found a peculiar charm in histories VOICES OF THE PAST. 43 ■which related parallel events and delineated parallel characters in a previous epoch of the world. But he did not confine himself to the Latin authors. In reading them he had caught a glimpse of the true historic method : the traces of the past lying petrified in the present, the whole to be vivified arid understood in the light of the eternal sameness of human nature ; and henceforth all history became to him a field of research. Few things interested him more than the revolutions of language. When only fourteen he would not let a word pass without examining it closely, and searching out its history in that of manners, customs, opinions, and laws. Such was the freedom of the times, that every day when he went to mass he always carried with him a great Latin Bible, in which he read during the function. He read it through in this way, and when he had finished it he took in its place the Confessions of St. Augustine, and the "Imitation of Jesus Christ," the series ending with the sermons of the Protestant N'ecker. A word from one of the masters would have stopped these Bible readings, but no one spoke that word. He read on, and made his own reflections. It shows the bent of his mind when he teUs us that they were purely historic. If he paused to look at what was going on, it was to discover, if he could, the origin and meaning of the ritual, and to consider what relation it had to the text which he was reading. Absorbed in his book, his ear sometimes caught the monkish monotone of the liturgy ; in a moment he was living in the atmosphere of Oriental antiquity or of the Middle Ages. Thus to his fine sense of sound spoke the voices of the past, and he had but to recall their accents, and the circumstances under which he heard them ; and what more easy than for a door of history to fly open, and ages apparently dead and buried to live again in his imagination ! Such was the intensity of his enthusiasm, that after working all day at mathematics, he would spend the 44 EDGAR QUINET. greater part of the night in reading in the original: Dante, Petrarch, Ariosto, and Tasso. His custom, in the study of the past, was to wake up before daybreak, light up a dark lanthorn, and begin to pore over his favourite authors. In reading the Italian poets in after- life he never could divest himself of a certain weird, early-morning feeling : the first glimmerings of sunlight, and the solemn notes of the clocks striking all over the city. Although read under such circumstances, the Italian poets quite supplanted in his. affections their elder Eoman brothers, and henceforth Italy rather than Eome became the object of his devotion — a devotion which, after that he owed to France, never waned as long as he lived. He had had the notion that the study of mathematics dried up the imagination ; his first master soon convinced him that there could not be a greater mistake. The pro- fessor was himself a li,ving witness to the contrary, for he had an equal devotion to two things : the integral cal- culus and fairy tales. M. Cachuat very soon inspired his pupil with a sense of the sublimity of the higher mathematics. His imagination thus fired with the immeasurable possibilities of the science, he went on to study it Tinder a mind of less romantic mould. M. Clerc's severe method was of the greatest advantage to Edgar. His pupil's habit of covering his papers with rhymes much annoyed him ; he would not suffer a single error to pass, but required absolute correctness. Algebra struck Edgar's imaginative mind by its singular language, so mysterious yet so full of light, and by its ability to express general and universal truths, while it refused to condescend to explain particular ones. It suggested literary ideas, for he saw that its professors eliminated from their problems all that was needless, expressing the truth to be conveyed in the smallest number of terms, thus giving him the idea of a style brief, concise, radiant. The application of algebra to HIS FELLOW STUDENTS. 45 geometry, the properties of the curves, delighted him. Its equations, shining forth into an infinity of truths, all alike indubitable, fortified his innate love of truth, and gave him more and more a taste for light. Though living so solitary a life, he seems to have had not only the good-will of his masters, but also of his fellow-collegians. All his recollections of them were pleasant and agreeable. This immunity from the suffer- ing which other boys of like tendencies would have cer- tainly had to endure was owing partly to the impression made by his genius, and partly to a powerful sentiment of self-respect, indigenous and strengthened by his peculiar education, but chiefly to a fineness of nature that caused him instinctively to comprehend the feelings of others, and to shrink from inflicting any real wound, combined with a philosophic tone of mind and a gaiety of heart, which made him ready to laugh over evils he could not ciire. One of his fellow-students was a merry-faced youth, named Jules Janin, in after-years among the most distinguished of Parisian litterateurs. Janin, like Quinet, was in the choir, playing the harp to the violin accompaniment of his fellow-minstrel. However, their companionship was cut short, Janin being one of those expelled in con- sequence of the barring-out. Quiuet will be his fellow- student a^ain at the £cole de Droit. CHAPTER II. PARIS, CERTINES. 182O. " I am wandering in a vague infinitude stretching out around me." — Mei Idees. M. QuiNET appears to have designed his son for the army ; at any rate, he determined that he should go to Paris and enter the lEcole Polytechnique. When, there- fore, Edgar left the college at Lyons in September 1820, his father proceeded to carry out his plan, not expecting, it would seem, any opposition from his son. But Edgar had a double reason for objecting to the military life : he did not wish to serve under the Wliite flag, and he was already dreaming of making literature his profession. In those days, and in Prance especially, little account was taken of the personal desires of any young man ; a family council was held, and his fate decided. Edgar found himself in this position when he reached Paris, and he inveighs, in a letter written to his toother, who remained at home, against the cruelty of imprisoning him again in a college, and the absurdity of the family saying it is for his benefit and not for theirs. " To avoid taking care of one's children, the best way is to shut them up carefully ; so thought my grandmother when she put my father into a drawer of the commode : so it is now thought when they propose to shut me up in a bigger drawer." In his anger he did not even spare his mother ; find- ing satirical remarks did not move her, he sought to INFLUENCE OF CERTINES. 47 work upon her feelings by a picture of his possible death in the college, and asks her what response she will give when called to account for his fate. But, concludes he, with amusing bitterness — " Those who consent during my life to see me so unhappy, so desolate as I am, wiU not be capable of a regret after my death." This opposition, coming from one who had hitherto been so dutiful, was finally successful. The women, his mother and his aunt, exerted their influence in his favour, and M. Quinet at length gave way. His aunt proposed that in six months he should go into the office of one of her relatives, who was a banker. To this arrangement his father agreed, it being understood that during the interval he was to study commercial law, political economy, the English language, &c., and to learn to write in a style suitable for a counting-house. When he left college he passed a short time in company with his mother and sister at Certines. Here they dis- cussed every possible calling but the one he was to follow. To all he found an objection, until his mother in despair said that she saw very well that he had a dislike for every profession by which he could live. With his sister he wandered about the neighbourhood, sometimes joyous, sometimes melancholy, taking long rides, reaching to the highest ridges of the distant mountains. As they looked down upon the scenery on either side — the one an Arca- dian land where the light and shade scarcely moved, so gentle was the wind that played over it; the other a desert, full of deep shadows, of marshes, of wild soli- tudes, of unfathomable mysteries — Edgar felt that these two landscapes allegorised the condition of his own soul. Speaking of this period of his existence, 1820, he " I, who have admitted to such a degree the influence of in- animate things over man, then felt this influence as much as 48 EDGAR QUINET. any creature in the world, could feel it. It possessed me, it tyrannised over me. A nature uncultured and neglected, in a land where the deaths exceeded the births, was my nurse, my master, my teacher. "Even to-day I feel myself to be the child of our vast un- peopled deserts, of our wastes, of our heaths, of our tracks of rolling granite in the Crau, of our uninhabitable maremmas, of our lonely ponds " (there were about fifteen hundred in this wild land, the desert of the Dombes), " wooded lakes which no wind ever ruffles, and of which the serenity is so deceitful. However little I descend into myself, there again I find all these things. " My whole youth has been embarrassed, enveloped by the influence of this primeval nature, not yet conquered, not yet regulated, not yet made obedient to man. It has exercised over me a sovereign sway. jSTot knowing to whom to betake itself, from the depth of its solitudes it has sought me, it is I whom it has possessed with its complaints, its sighs, its m-iseries, its inscrutable contagious desolations. It has plunged me into an atmosphere where men can scarcely live, an atmosphere full of aspirations without end, of hopes without body, of imaginary beings, impossible in this present existence. " This caressing and murderous nature did not kill me as it did all my companions, it revenged itself in filling me at one and the same time with enchantment and despair. For my companions it was death ; for me worse than death — anguish, agony of heart, irrestrainable visions, discouragements without cause, that enervating languor which follows the vision of a world which one had imagined one's own ; the mirage of a leafy desert, stagnant, sighing, from whence constantly rises a vapour, coloured like a prism by the dying light of day. When the autumnal mists, creeping, born of the earth, arose like mournful ghosts across a blotch of setting sun, dropping as they went their robes on every bush, and mounting slowly towards the light, how was it possible for the spirit not to dart forth to seize them 1 And when to all these phantoms were joined those bom of the hungry heart of a youthful soul wandering in these maremmas, it was indeed too much. Nothing remained but to bow the head and let the sweet scourge pass over it in silence." Byron in the third canto of " Childe Harold," written in 1 8 1 6, seems to teach that man is nothing save as he becomes the impersonation, the incarnation of the spirit which dwells in E"ature. He asks this question — " Are not the mountains, waves, and skies, a part Of me and of my soul, as I of them 1 " WHAT HE LEARNT IN THE DESERT. 49 A question to which in a previous paragraph he had thus replied — " I live not in myself, but I become Portion of that around me ; I can see Nothing to loathe in nature, save to be A link reluctant in a fleshly chain, Classed among creatures, when the soul can flee. And with the sky, the peak, the heaving plain Of ocean, or the stars, mingle, and not in vain. And thus I am absorbed, and this is life." Quinet, on the contrary, felt this life by absorption to be the slavery and death into which all are born. He did not, of course, understand at the time the effort his soul was making to assert its own moral personality, but it prepared him to grasp and uphold tenaciously the leading idea of his own life and of all his works : namely, that the purpose of man's being is to develop the ideal within him, and that in doing so he must assert his liberty, must free himself from the world that enchains him. ■ It was from the scenes of his childhood and of his youth that he learnt that lore which gave him such an insight into the sources of all human things. From the dismal scenes in the Dombes he learnt to understand the hearts of primitive men, subject all their days to the tyranny he had himself felt so oppressive, and to sympa- thise with their blind but heroic efforts to assert their independence, and to become somethiug more than a portion of that around them. Thus he was not only able to enter into the thoughts of the barbarous Frank, of the lonely hermit, and of the sad-hearted serf toiling on through ages : a thrall in body and mind; but the im- pression of these scenes gave him an insight into the hopes and fears, the aspirations and depressions, of all who lived among similar influences the wide world over, so that he was able even to become the companion and revealer of the thoughts of those whose traces have long since passed into the dim twilight of the prehistoric D 50 EDGAR QUINET. ages. Every institution, every idea he henceforth traced to the place of its birth, demanding its true meaning of the nature which had cradled it. It was doubtless the instinct which he even then had of being possessor of some of the secrets of the universe, that was driving him to rest content with nothing but a career in which he should live to unfold them. But how ? that was the question. He stood on the threshold of a new world. Between the past and the present there was the terrible gulf of the Eevolution. And not only had the old land been ploughed and harrowed, but the heavy tread of the imperial armies had gone over the luxuriant shoots of the new seed, and intellectual Europe was apparently trodden into one hard, flat plain. How to cultivate this waste, how to drop a seed of living thought, and when ? And yet beneath that dead level a secret vegetation was at work. Minds like Quinet's were everywhere, the life-throbs urging them to effort, but despairing and self-distrustful because they thought themselves alone called to the task. ' In that autumn of 1 820, in the midst of the Forest of Seillon, nigh to the fifteen hundred ponds, in company with the heron and the teal, surrounded at once by a physical and mental vegetation, working silently and secretly, the Creative Spirit came upon him with such power that he felt as one intoxicated. He knew not one of those great names who were to join in the intellectual revival, but he already sympathised with them ; nay, his impatience was so great that he longed to run before them and beckon them on. His mind was uneasy as a bird about to migrate, only the migration was to a new moral world rather than to a foreign land, to ideas of which he had caught a glimpse, but which had hitherto baffled his approach. In his ardour he made the effort, but soon learnt that his wings were not yet strong enough for flight. One idea summed up all his longings, the idea which FEELS HIS VOCATION. 51 also filled the souls of his contemporaries. Prance — France who had aimed so high only to fall so low; France, at whom the Pharisees of Europe pointed with scorn, as she who would free the nations, herself at last the willing slave of a little Corsican ; France judged, punished : — what noble heart would not feel for her, above all among her own sons ? But in considering how to help her at such a crisis, who could avoid feeling the torture of a mind rent in twain, a mind which looked back with longing towards the faith and chivalry of the Middle Ages, and forward to the hopes and aspirations of the nineteenth century ? Chateaubriand and Madame de Stael were the literary powers of the day. The first, under the guise of free thought and poetic colouring, sought to enchant France with the past; the latter pointed her to liberty and the future. Although Chateaubriand had first awakened the literary faculty in him, Quinet decided unhesitatingly to follow the female voice. " Here," he said, " is the side on which to advance. Here I shall find the age, life, — the fulfilment of all my presentiments." But when he contemplated the cynical despair which the terrible disillusions of Leipsic, Moscow, Waterloo, and the Eestoration had produced in the popular mind, so that the least effort to find new paths was met by. unbelief, sneers, and mockery, he sank back in dismay, crying, " Who wiU dare to lead the way ? Is there no one ? " No answer, save astonishment in some, incredulity in others, and anxiety on the part of his mother. " What ! " he said to himself, " I attempt such a task ! What folly ! How could I dream of it ? These ideas of mine, so shadowy and vain, how could I live by them ? Is it not the most insensate of enterprises, the most culpable, to judge by the terror of my friends ? '' So the thought died down, and he awoke as from a fine dream. All the lights which had shot up so 52 EDGAR QUINET. brightly around him went out in darkness. This hidden movement enclosed in a solitary soul gave place to stern reality. In place of all their feverish hopes there remained nothing but a world of emptiness, over which the biting north wind blew in gusty squalls, upon whose leaden sea played the lambent light of a meaningless phosphorescence, and whose forests bent down with an eternal moan. ( S3 ) CHAPTEE III. PARIS. 1821-22. " I fear that for a poor man, and indeed for every man, tlie possession of a sen- sitive constitution and a lively intellect are decided disadvantages." — Peasant Life in the North. It was under the influence of such emotions that Edgar Quinet went with his father to Paris in 1820, not of course that he consciously realised them in the distinct manner now described. This is the form in which after nearly forty years more of thought and culture he recalled them, giving their meaning and intention as truly as was possible for human veracity. At the opening of his autobiography, he devotes a chapter to the question of its being permissible to colour, exaggerate, or fill up a lapse of memory in such works, and he rigidly decides against the slightest deviation from truthfulness, declaring emphatically of his own work, "All that which will be offered to the reader will be of scrupulous exactitude." We may therefore believe that in a way then quite undefined, but most real, all these emotions were struggling in his heart, prompting him to that first act of opposition to his father's will, when he obstinately refused to be content with the decision that consigned him to the Polytechnic School and the military profession, working stUl when he was in the banker's office, and driving him at the end of six months to throw up his situation, 54 EDGAR QUINBT. and appear for a time in a guise so contradictory to his whole nature, that of an undutiful and disobedient son. For some time he was under the parental frown. His father was so annoyed that he refused to support him. Left thus to his own resources, he showed the stuff he was made of by the vigour and purity of his life. Far from yielding to the temptations of vice, he worked away at law, mathematics, poetry, history, philo- sophy, and foreign languages. His poverty, however, was great, and he endured many privations. Later on, when things were better with him, his breakfast in Paris was only a tablet of chocolate and a piece of bread, his dinners costing little over twenty sous (p-g-d.) a day, a reading-room being his refuge in cold weather, so that at this particular time he probably lived even more economically. The trial was the greater since he was already a favourite in high society at Paris. At such houses as those of his aunt and of the Marechale Ney, he met persons of distinction. Yet such was the independence of his spirit, that he refused to make any use of their friendship, accepting only the help of a yoimg artisan, whose family were under considerable obligation to Madame Quinet. This friend had been a companion of his boyhood, and was then a designer of stuffs in Paris. He offered Edgar a share in his humble lodging, and it is possibly to this place he refers in a letter written to his father at the end of 1821, wherein he tells him that he is going to change his lodgings for one where he wlU only have to pay eighty francs {£1, 4s.) a year, and where he will have a window that looks over the trees, so that he will be out of the noise of the city. From October 1820 to July 1822 he was in Paris. How much of that period he was in disgrace, it is dif&cult to discover; probably it was only for a short RESCUES A PRODIGAL. 55 fime that his parents entirely withdrew their coun- tenance from him. For two months in the latter part of the year 1821 his correspondence even with his mother ceased. In December he wrote to his father, seeking to appease his wrath, and to defend himself from the charge of lightness. Learned M. Quinet had evidently paid little attention to his son's character, or he never would have feared that fickleness would be its weak point. It is not too much to say that in that winter of 1 8 2 1 it would have been difficult to find in all Paris a young man of steadier purpose. Moreover, the purity of his heart and manners, and the general amiability of his character, won him the confidence of old and young, the careful and the reckless, as the following incident, which occurred some time in 1821, will serve to show. Writing to his mother, he says : — " I met at my restaurant Adrien de LatourneUe, who begged me to come and see him in a week without fail. I went, and what was my surprise when the landlady informed me that she had sent all her servants to the Morgue to see if Adrien's body had not been brought up by the drags. She told me that he was overwhelmed with debts, had sold his watch, his clothes, and for a week had not been heard of. Just at this moment his uncle arrived ; he asked my name, and implored me to go to Melun, where I should find his nephew, ready to enlist in a regiment of dragoons. He gave me a letter for the colonel, and authorised me to use armed force if my eloquence proved insufficient to induce his nephew to return. A desire to emulate my grandfather, whom you have always represented as a great peacemaker, made me at once decide to go. The difficulty was to unearth the delinquent in a city of 20,000 inhabitants. - 1 went round to all the public-houses, beginning at the lowest floor. After many useless visits, I saw at a little round table a taU pale form, leaning motionless over the Qaotidienne. It was the poor prodigal, without a sou in his pocket. I came like Providence to help him to pay for the milk-posset which he had had the audacity to order. It was only after a long fight that he promised to return to his father. " I gave the host half the money I had in my pocket, and used the rest to bring us back to town. Adrien dared not go out at first ; and my lodging served him as a refuge. Before 56 EDGAR QUINET. going to the ofBce I prepared his meals, and I found him there again in the evening. Happily this did not continue many days." M. Quinet, absorbed in his calculations, only knew that his son had opposed his wishes, and it would appear to have been years before he could get over the annoyance. In the letter just quoted, written January 1822, in the slightly bitter vein into which Edgar Quinet fell when much hurt, he says : " I do not forget my father, but I so well understand my wrong doings that I do not know what tone to take with him.'' This letter was to let his mother know of his first literary venture. The idea occurred to him of a series of pictures of the manners, prejudices, knowledge, and men of different epochs ; and to link them all together, and to catch popular interest by representing them as " The Memoirs of the Wandering Jew." He took the idea to a publisher, who, looking coldly at him at first, sent for him the next day, telling him that if the work answered to the conception he should be pleased to engage him to undertake it. However, it would seem that in the long run he printed the book at his own expense, selling his mattress and chairs to do so, and looked after the publish- ing to some extent himself. This little book, philosophic and witty, came out eventually under the title " Tablettes du Juif Errant." It was an equally clever and perhaps a more original idea than the " Diable Boiteux " of Le Sage to make the wandering Jew relate the history of the ages through which he had lived, especially as the author had no intention of being seriously understood, but only of giving a few satirical ■ sketches of the Middle Age. A jeu d'esprit in form, it came however from a soul that never could be anything else but in earnest, and it was at bottom as serious as anything Edgar Quinet subsequently wrote. The romantic movement was flowing swift and strong, a little spent perhaps in Germany, but beginnino- THE NOTE-BOOK OF THE WANDERING JEW. 57 in Trance and England to set in with a tide which was to carry before it many of the finest minds in both countries. It was just the time when Chateaubriand and Walter Scott were in the heyday of their popularity. With a nature as imaginative and poetic as either of these great romanticists, with a soul singularly capable of realising the past and living in it, Edgar Quinet felt the fascination of the movement, and feared to be entangled again in bondage to the old superstitions. For with that discernment of spirits which was so specially his gift, this young man of eighteen felt instinctively that it was an ignis fatuus, and would lead him back into the land of shadows. Thirty-five years later he was able, therefore, in the midst of a most serious career and of a great literary reputation, to look back with satisfaction on this little book and to declare that it still expressed his mind. His mother was evidently pleased with its Voltairean style, which was in harmony with her taste ; strange to say, his father also read it and enjoyed it, but without knowing who was the author. It was such a success with the public that the publisher suspended its sale for two months, fearing that it would get him into some difficulty. In January of this year he saw Talma in the tragedy of Sylla, and says it was the greatest treat that he had had since he had been in Paris. " It is impossible to conceive anything more dramatic than the proud sim- plicity and sardonic smUe of Talma. I shall remember him all my life, with his long purple robe, his deep voice, and Eoman profile." Writing in the following May to his mother, he says : " I go every Sunday to your church, it seems to me that I am nearer to you." He was now a member of one of the most influential classes in France — the Paris students. He read law until his head was full of misdemeanours and the scaffold, 58 EDGAR QUINET. attended lectures at the I^cole de Droit, and sought from time to time a situation in some office, but the right situation could never be exactly found. Literature, which to his friends seemed only a desultory amusement, to him was the most serious of professions. When the legal vacation was approaching he had a schoolboy's desire to go home for the holidays. He writes a letter to his father, in which, after defending with manly freedom his right to choose the literary profession, he explains the difficulties he has had in accepting the hard terms of the places offered in lawyer's offices, and concludes by asking his father's permission to rejoin the family during the holidays. As to the expense, whether he comes on foot, as he would like to do, or joins the coach-loads of his companions, it will be at as an economic a rate as possible. It would appear that his prayer was granted, for we find him spending the autumn at Certines. Then with a free conscience he gave himself to his beloved studies, spending the time in tracing out the designs of some great poems, and going down pretty deep into the metaphysics of history. Every Ifew Year he generally wrote a letter to his mother. These are naturally the longest and among the most interesting of the series of the 274 letters published. At the opening of 1823 he writes : — " I have passed New Tear's day in deep meditation. When I woke very early in the morning, I determined to begin my year by writing you a few words. I then read the ' Imitation of Jesus Christ' and 'Masaillon's Sermons.' This reading rendered my thoughts so fervid, that I did nothing all day long but pray to God for you, beseeching Him, asking with much perseverance to grant me aU that I need to please you more." Early this year he tells his mother he has been read- ing Sir Walter Scott's " Peveril of the Peak," and thinks it one of his best romances. In March he was pleased at receiving a letter in acknowledgment of a copy of his FIRST A TTEMPTS A T HISTORIC A L PHILOSOPHY. 59 " Wandering Jew " from Benjamin Constant, the friend of Madame de Stael, and who was just then attaining the zenith of his popularity as the leader of the Liberal opposition in the Chamber of Deputies, and the defender of constitutional liberty in France. Later on in the same year Edgar Quinet is contemplating an historical work on the Middle Ages. He hopes to show that these ages have been misunderstood, and that they had a grand poetic and philosophic life. But the great subject at which during these early years he was working, was the gradual develop- ment of the Individual in the history of Humanity. Without a guide or a model he pursued this study through the ages until he ended in producing a history of the Human Conscience and Moral Personality (1823). Then he was led to attempt a more considerable work on political institutions in their relations with religion, each epoch of Christian civilisation being typified by a saint or a monument. These juvenile works were not published, bat were doubtless the basis of others that have been. This mental maturity in a young man of twenty-one would be almost incredible if biography did not supply several parallel cases. What makes it specially inte- resting in Edgar Quinet, and indicates it to have been real genius, is, that it was associated with a heart not a year beyond his age. Here is a charming little bit iu which he gleefully relates to his mother how he and his friend Theodore delivered themselves from the enchantments of some Duessa, and then immediately went and again lost their hearts : — " I have been singing victory for days. Eeason had to be very courageous to overconie enervated thoughts. I have escaped her chains for ever. "She sent word by Theodore that I was to go and see her, that she would never pardon me if I did not come, &c. I had the strength to remain in my hole without budging. Then, representing to myself the necessity of being a man, of not allow- ing my intentions to be mollified or diverted, perhaps also by a asooft m. THE WANDERER. " He wanders over many lands, passes tlirougli many cities among men of many climes. . . . His hand clasps the hands of other men, for his heart is open to beneTO- lence and gratitude ; but in that heart is a void — a void that naught can fill, naught but the fatherland." — Mazzini. a ■a 'W III ' : I,i' tl f II 111 ''liiV'rV!!:!,*';.! ill ( 6s ) CHAPTEE I. I THE JURA — SWITZERLAND — LONDON — STRASBURG. 1823-I826. " What magnificence ! I was a poet, as every man would have been." — Letter to his Mother, Dover, March 31, 1825, That prophetic genius which Edgar Quinet possessed discovered itself in the first symbolic character with which he chose to associate his name. The " "Wander- ing Jew " foreshadowed the experience of his life for the next ten or twelve years. In the autumn of 1823 he made a visit to the Jura and the Lake of Geneva, accompanied by an old school- fellow, a curious creature, steeped in Eousseau, and incurably misanthropic. The two friends met at Nantua, a little town in the Jura, about twenty miles from Bourg, built at the extremity of a lake darkened by precipitous woods. They set off in a tilted cart in com- pany with a priest and some contrabandists. After visiting some spots where the Ehone loses itself, and where it darts out again between two rocks, they went on through the picturesque river bed of the Valserine, and the wild gorge where the river forces its way at the foot of the ruined Port de I'Ecluse, on to Gex, where they ascended the heights of the Jura. The tall, sombre-looking peasants in their black shirts elevated Quinet's ideas of pastoral life. He drank milk in their chalets, and wondered greatly at the enormous coppers. From the summit of La Faucille he saw the Lake of Geneva and the Alps, K 66 • EDGAR QUINET. and heard the tinkle of the cow-bells, with the sound of a drum which the shepherds beat to keep off the bears. The tour was a pedestrian one, and they reached Ferney as it was getting dark. Quinet ran on to find Voltaire's park and chateau, while Brun seated himself on a heap of stones with his back turned to the dwell- ing of his master's opponent, l^ext morning they went to see Eousseau's birthplace, which turned out to be a little shop where they sold tools. Brun, was disap- pointed and cantankerous, so after a sail upon the lake they agreed to separate for a time. Quinet wanted to go on a pilgrimage to the early home of his mother at Crans. On his way to Crans he visited the park of Madame de Stael. From an itinerary, of which only a page in pencil has been pre- served, the enthusiasm and filial piety with which he regarded everything connected with his mother is very manifest. In the following autumn he made another journey on foot with his cousin to the Grande Chartreuse. But when at home he was a laborious student, hardly allowing himself any recreation. Every now and then he woke up to the folly of this sort of life, and would permit himself to be taken to a ball, and by a great effort of reason he determined to learn to waltz. After the trip into Dauphiny just referred to, he wished to go back to Paris ; his father, however, refused, and he was com- pelled to stay at Charolles a part of the winter of 1824. This struggle with his father was one of the bitterest trials of his life, and of course the pain was much in- creased when he had to live under the same roof. How- ever, he had already found a great literary task, and the spirit in which he pursued it may be judged from the following passage in a letter to his mother at the begin- ning of 1824 : — " My work -goes on well It brings into exercise all that God has put in me good and upright. I am at the same FIRST ACQUAINTANCE WITH HERDER. 67 time interested in myself, as in an instrument which has a passive harmony, and which only waits the outward action that is to bring forth its melody. To write well is to live well. And I am determined nothing impure, nothing vulgar, shall approach my ideas." In 1823 Edgar Quinet made a friendship which was not without important consequences in his mental history. His aunt in Paris had a brother-in-law, a Scotchman, and a man of literature. Mr. Smith was no stranger to France, for under Bonaparte he had suffered five years' imprisoment in the Temple, for something he had said in favour of the British Constitution ; and again under the Eestoration he had been confined four months in the Conciergerie, suspected of writing to the "Morning Chronicle." Finding the young author of the " Tablettes du Juif Errant" an ardent friend of liberty, the old Scotchman opened to him both his heart and his library. Among the books Quinet thus obtained was an English translation-' of Herder's " Philosophy of the History of Humanity,'' a work utterly unknown in France, although regarded in Germany as a masterpiece for more than a generation. The reading of this book proved an epoch in Quinet's life, and exercised the very greatest infiuence on the development of his mind, giving direction to his thoughts, and becoming the source of many of his ideas. He had, as we have already seen, without any guide or counsellor, made some courageous explorations into the metaphysics of history. In the light of the principles he thus obtained, he examined Bossuet, and wrote a work in consequence. But all these early efforts remained in manuscript, for after he had discovered Herder's great work, he decided that the best thing he could do was to publish a translation of it in French. One difficulty, however, presented itself: he did not know a word of ' By T. Churchill, 1800, 2d Ed. 1803, Professor Flint says, " So sympa- thetic a translation of such a book at a time v hen Thomas Carlyle was not yet in breeches, is as a mere literary phenomenon instructive." 68 EDGAR QUINET. German. He had first to teach himself the language, and he made his translation three times over before he thought it satisfactory. These mental efforts in the midst of so many difficul- ties depressed a temperament always ready to run from one end of the gamut to the other, so that the note he constantly strikes at this time is a melancholy one : — " Youth, in its hrightest period is not always the age when the soul has most freshness and brilliancy ; either it sinks under the weight of its own riches, or, possessing nothing in the world hut a crown of flowers, it is oppressed to suifocation by vast longings. Sometimes it exhausts itself in trying to embrace the universe, or it languishes and fades away of itself. If, in addition, its lot be distress, a wandering life, a bread, bitter and soaked in tears, the more gifted it feels, the more its loneliness breaks its heart. In this struggle, where the feeble fall and the strong obtain fresh strength, youthful genius hides, as best it may, a bleeding heart beneath a garland of immortelles. But, whatever it does its accent betrays it, and proves it wounded to the soul." Thus Edgar Quinet commences his " Essay " on the works of Herder, 1827, and it is doubtless one of those autobiographic touches so characteristic of his genius. The channel, narrow but deep, in which his affections ran, had been partially blocked for years, so that his heart, having nowhere to turn, fed upon itself. This to a nature alike ardent and melancholy was intolerable. A strong sense of moral duty, and the constant exercise of mental energy, brought him through, but his soul was ever agitated and desponding. In this condition of mind he met with Herder's " Philosophy of the History of Humanity." As he became alive to the treasure that he had discovered, his experience was that of the weary worshipper of Osiris, who, in the presence of a repose "immutable through storms and revolutions, looks into the calm face of his god, and feels peace steal into his soul. " For myself," he says, " this book has been an inexhaustible HERDER AND HAM ANN 69 source of consolation and joy. Never, no never, liave I quitted it without having obtained a more elevated idea of the mission of man on the earth, never without believing more profoundly in the reign of justice and of reason, never without feeling myself more devoted to liberty and to my country, and in every way more capable of doing a good action. How many times have I cried out in laying down this book, my heart filled with joy, ' This is the man whom I should like for my friend ! ' " Herder was the son of a village schoolmaster in Prussia. His genius forced its way through the dead weight of his father's poverty and prejudice against learning. He became in course of time one of the lights of the learned court of Saxe- Weimar, so -that his name shines in luminous constellation with that of Goethe, Schiller, and Wieland. He had been a student at Konigsberg under Kant, but though reverencing the man, he opposed his system. Hamann was his real master — an extraordinary personage, who, numbering among his disciples some of the most distinguished men of the day, was regarded by them as gifted with the true prophetic spirit. For Hamann, after running a wild career in early life, had fallen into its natural reward, a state of extreme misery. In his distress he chanced to open a Bible ; his whole being was enchained as by some mysterious power in the book, and it led to a revolution in his life. Henceforth he gave himself to study and thought, arriving at last at a feeling of certainty that there existed above everything human, a secret and im- penetrable power. Eevelation, the history of Humanity, and N"ature were, he taught, the three sources by which this Divine power makes known its thoughts to men. They mutually serve to interpret one another. It was Hamann who inspired Herder with a passion for Hebrew. " jSTo translation," he said, " gave the spirit of the Old Testament Scriptures, and the spirit of a book was the only thing truly living and imperishable in it." The fruit came in Herder's famous work on the spirit of Hebrew poetry. 70 EDGAR QUINBT. Herder's works are linked together; they mutually explain each other, the earliest containing all that is peculiar in his way of thinking. At the outset he had been impressed with the idea that as everything in the world had its philosophy and science, there must also be a philosophy and science of that which concerns us most nearly — the history of mankind at large. He regarded history as a living picture of the designs of Providence in human society, a luminous witness of the destiny accorded to human nature, and a revelation of its future. The method which he adopted to exhibit this may be thus summarised : — he proposed to show how, from the operation of external causes. Humanity had reached its present level; to develop in the nature and working of those causes the objects the Creator had in view in forming man, and to indicate his future destiny. Con- sidering the magnitude of his work, and the position he occupies in this field of labour, Quinet styles him " The Herodotus of historical philosophy." Since Herder's time there has not appeared, says Quinet in his " Essay," a remarkable book' in History or Mythology or the Fine Arts which has not more or less felt his creative influence. What Quinet thought of the particular work of which the above is a brief and most imperfect summary, we learn from the introduction with which he prefaced his translation, an introduction which subsequently attracted Goethe's notice, and which, in his " Art and Antiquity," the German poet recommended to the attention of his countrymen. A publisher at Strasburg undertook to give Quinet two thousand four hundred francs for the work. The first instalment he devoted to a trip to England. He was in this country from the last day of March to the middle of April 1825, and it was during that time that he corrected the proofs of the first part of his translation of Herder, together with his own preface, dating the latter " London," as he happened to be there. IN ENGLAND. 71 This trip across the channel was his first sight of the sea. He was as delighted as a child, " intoxi- cated," he says, with admiration. At Calais he ran over the dunes, gathering seaweed, and wandering about the shore till midnight. " JSTow," he says, " I understood what a vessel really was." He lands at Dover, can scarcely stand for the weather ; however, he goes up to the Castle, and on to the cliffs. ISTothing escapes him. Once in London, he walks all over the town, gazing at the public buildings, visiting the House of Lords, the Elgin Marbles, Drury Lane ; to use his own expression, he goes "ferreting" about. He makes a pilgrimage on foot to Harrow; takes a boat down the Thames, and, landing at Greenwich, talks with the old pensioners, in whose serenity and cheerfulness he discovers a resemblance to the hermits of the Grande Chartreuse. The evenings he passes with his friend Mr. Smith, and is introduced to some distinguished journalists, and also to some violent Eadicals. His admiration of the land of liberty is so great that he thinks that he sees in London a truer magnificence than in Paris. He passes hours admiring the Thames and the dome of St. Paul's. His brilliant imagination conjures up all the old memo- ries of English history when he goes to the Tower. He finds Hyde Park a delicious place for a walk by moonlight. Everything in England appears to him illuminated by the glorious atmosphere of liberty. He breathes more freely than in France, and thinks that he now understands how greatly generous institutions add to individual happiness. This favourable opinion of our country was very much altered later on. In " Merlin I'Enchanteur " he accuses us of the most terrible coldness and selfish- ness. Several of the reminiscences of this trip appear there again, but the glass he looks through is no longer the red one, but the green. His holiday over, he goes down to Southampton by 72 EDGAR QUINET. the night coach. All the way he looks out of the window, admiring the little farmhouses in the midst of the large fields, the village churchea on the hills, and aljove all, "the pale beauties of Albion." In fact, his intellectual admiration for beauty makes him rather sentimental over the English ladies, and he leaves our shores in the halo of quite a pretty little love scene. Before quitting Southampton Water, which, by the way, he likens to the Hellespont, a young lady had to be landed at Portsmouth, and as she is about to descend into the boat the gallant young Frenchman hastens to assist her. " She thanked me," he tells his mother, " in the tongue of her country, and her words were so sweet that they were quite worth the sacrifice of a life." He watches the boat until it is out of sight, and is quite sure that the joy he experienced in the rencounter kept him from feeling ill during the passage. Arrived at Havre he gets on to a rock to see the day break, and then, like some happy schoolboy, this learned translator of Herder spends the whole of a long day on the shore collecting shells, picking up seaweed, and watching the changes of the tide. The Introduction to Herder's Philosophy of History, which completes this chapter, though much abbreviated, contains the whole line of argument and the principal thoughts of the original. When it was included in his collected works in 1857, the author said: — "I cannot avoid seeing that all I have written since this first sketch was included in it : Liberty conceived as the foundation and substance of civil history ; Moral Order dominating the chaos of events ; the reign of Conscience rising above the blind kingdoms of nature ; Humanity represented and enveloped in germ in each man; the Individual reflecting the destinies of the species; the confused perception in each man that comes into the world of the humanity that has already preceded him : all these ideas have only got a firmer hold of me the longer I have lived." INTRODUCTION TO HERDER. 73 INTEODUCTION TO THE PHILOSOPHY OF THE HISTOEY OF HUMANITY.— 1825. I. In old times every nation regarded itself as the centre and end of the universe. But as one nation after the other perished, mankind hegan to look for something more permanent. Chris- tianity came and deepened this desire after the immutable. Then it began to be perceived that there was a destiny to which all things were working in the designs of Providence. The traces of this idea, the first sign of a philosophy of history, are to be found in the works of St. Augustine, of Eusebius, and of Sulpicius Severus. The belief that there was a necessary course in human affairs ever working to promote the progress of the law of Christ appears in rude forms throughout the Middle Age, until at last, in the hands of Bossuet, it becomes a sublime epic. The solution of the great problem of the world's history was accordingly found in Christianity itself. And even now, when the spirit of scepticism and analysis appears to have changed everything, we have no other historic belief. Only that which was particular has become general, that which could be touched with the finger has become impalpable, that which appeared in such a place, in such a century, has become the work of all creatures and of all ages. Nothing is so misleading or so precarious as the mere facts of the history of humanity. What we want is to discover the eternal laws by which these facts move. If we know the supreme law of nations, and have laid hold of the ideal types of its various epochs, our knowledge of the history of humanity will be more real than any knowledge drawn from ephemeral contingencies and passing individualities, which we cannot recall nor retain for an instant. II. Such a science has been unfolded by two great masters, Vico^ and Herder, representatives of the two methods which divide the world of thought. Struck with the principle of the identical nature of all nations, Vico has gathered together the phenomena which are common to all of them at various periods of their duration, and removing ^ Vico, the Neapolitan philosopher here referred to, died the very year in •which Herder was born, 1744; and Edgar Quinet, the third in this line of historical philosophers, was bom the very year in which Herder died, 1803. 74 EDGAR QUINET. from these phenomena all colour and individuality, he has con- structed from their whole an abstract history, an ideal form ■which holds good in all time, reproducing itself among every people, without specially recalling any one of them. That which is apparent to us of the succession of nations — their birth, development, greatness, fall — is only the expression of the relation of the world with this indestructible city. If every vestige of history should disappear from the earth, the imperishable annals of this city would exist in the fact of Provi- dence manifesting itself on earth by the laws of human thought. In the system of this intelligible world, at all times essentially harmonious with itself, rest the ideas which give to the nations their forms and their manner of existence. No two systems can be more opposed than those of Vico and Herder. The former takes human thought in its sublimest essence as the basis of the series of human actions ; the latter begins at the lowest manifestations of material being. Herder's plan is first of all to unfold the series of organisms which at last culminate in the blossoming of the flower of humanity. He shows how each step in each series is the pre- paration for the next, and how each series is linked together by intermediate beings. In this ever ascending scale of being every organism has its mission, and is never exhausted until it has developed the characteristics of its sphere. Nothing rests, no- thing retrogrades, until at last, foreshadowed and announced on all sides, the summit is reached in man. At this point Herder's system divides into two worlds — the natural world, changing with the seasons, but ever the same ; the civil world, in which man seeks to develop his being full of unexpected turns, the thread of which it seems vain to follow. Herder makes these two worlds to spring out of one another, or rather, he represents them as one and the same being. As multiplex man is governed by the same laws as individual man, so humanity in its civil career is governed by the same laws as those of nature. And as nature through countless modifications rises to the power of thought, so humanity through innumerable vicissitudes is ever tending towards a way of perfection. Thus between these two worlds there is not only correspondence in phenomena but unity in law. Before he arrives at the world of history. Herder surveys the dwelling-place of man, demonstrating how admirably it was pre- pared to be the nursery of the different races who were to be organised upon it. "With man on the scene, he proceeds to show how the natural faculties of humanity are evidence of the laws which will govern its history. In this light anatomy becomes an eloquent prophecy. These faculties had often before been INTRODUCTION TO HERDER. 75 tabulated and explained ; Herder's genius consists in making them, the basis of history. III. Herder's system, however, does not fully resolve the problem of history. Conscientious as he is, he is compelled, against his will, to deviate from his own principles. Man at first had but a confused notion of his own being, con- founding it with that of the world around him. But the law under which he emerged from that state, as laid down by Herder, is one which, if admitted to be the sole law of human destiny, would seem to render movement impossible. " Humanity is and was everywhere, according to circumstances of time and place, only that which it could be, and nothing but that which it could be." Having bound humanity so tightly to the material organisa- tion, Herder is forced to look for the impulsion which is the beginning of history in something outside both man and nature. He iinds this impulsion in a primitive revelation, which, given in a certain place and time, has been scattered among all nations. Thus Herder teaches that there was a time when God met His child wandering and confused in the world of nature, and gave him a language and a religion, and this became, his first impul- sion in the way of civilisation. But what foUows? Directly the tradition of this first impulsion began to prove insufficient, then it became ftecessary that this Almighty power should return again to re-instruct the wanderer. And if this be the case, what becomes of the system of progressive forces that, without any foreign con- currence, could raise the rudest forms to the highest? After all these wonderful series of transformations, these sublime aptitudes, the world is shown to be powerless. It stops and calls for a power which neither comes from itself nor returns into itself. T,o imagine such a power interposing between the organic universe and the first acts of humanity is to divide it at once into two worlds : inert and progressive creation. Here then I separate myself from Herder. Accepting the whole order of the facts, listening to the slow argument of the ages, it seems to me that all may be explained without mysteries. The diflioulty as to where the first impulsion came from, recurs a thousand times and receives the same explana- tion. By ways not really dissimilar in principle, men com- menced to break away from the bondage of the exterior universe, just as they did from the bondage of the law of the Middle Age. The heroism of Sir Thomas More and Lord 76 EDGAR QUINET. Eussell was probaHy of a higher order than that of the man who, first separating himself from the blind movement of the external world, dared to face a future that was his alone ; but it arose from the same kind of interior activity^ an activity for which we have a name, and which we know very well is no soli- tary gift of heaven. History, indeed, from beginning to end, is the drama of liberty, the protest of the human race against the world which enchains it, the triumph of the infinite over the finite, the freedom of the spirit, the reign of the soul. The moment liberty failed from the earth, history would cease to exist. Impelled by an invisible hand, humanity breaks its bonds and advances into new ways. The infinite shut up in the bounds of the universe, is ever seeking to escape from it. Man, who has received the infinite, suffers as it were from a sort of madness ; he is driven on by it, like a traveller hastening from city to city, far from his home, hardly knowing whither he is going. None can tell how this strange Odyssey will end, or when this Ulysses will first catch sight of his Ithaca. Is there no correspondence in the sphere of human action to the immutability we see in things 1 Do the vicissitudes of history result from nothing but the caprice of human wills? The same stability will be seen to reign in the civil as in the physical world, when it is established that the action of human wills has its foundation in the very grounds of the universe ; that it is, in reality, the most elevated result of it ; that it was a condition of things that, at a certain epoch, a certain form of civilisation should be born, a certain movement of progression take place ; that these different phenomena are in relation with the entire domain of nature, and participate in its character. When this is done human action will present itself as a new kingdom, which has its harmonies, its contrasts, its determinate sphere ; then it will be seen that the science of wills is analo- gous in its forms to the science of things, but of a far higher order. History belongs so to man, that it seems a bold thing to put him in the second rank, and to give the supreme place to the universal thought of which he is only the docile expression. But really this not only intensifies the interest of history, but enables us to regard it and all things with a calm joy, conscious that there is a majestic order in its events, leading us to commit with confidence the few moments reserved for our individual lives to the care of that Being who has known how to weigh and balance centuries and empires. Perhaps this way of regarding the past may seem to take INTRODUCTION TO HERDER. 77 from it its life and to render it a cold atstraotion. Strange, if it he so, that the man who has founded with such precision the organic laws of humanity has also been the first to commence the reform of history, in giving to each age its natural colour, its own special charm and individuality. Among the movements which seem to break the historic unity of the ages, the influence of Christianity is the fact to which Herder especially attaches himself. Lessing, in his " Education of the Human Race," had developed a new idea concerning revelation. He took a middle path between ortho- doxy and scepticism, holding that revelation was a perfectible instrument which God used to educate humanity. The truths revealed were at first presented under rude forms, but they enclosed Christianity, which gradually detached itself from them. But Christianity, he affirmed, was not the final term in revelation, for just as its doctrine had been implicitly contained in the law, so the gospel hides truths still more profound. Its dogmas will one day be transformed into rational verities. Herder takes a stricter view ; his whole genius is opposed to anything exceptional, and his precise knowledge enabled him to throw immense light on the progress and influence of revelation. His elevation of soul, his inspired tone, his tender spirit, the fascination of his language, now vehement, now reflective, always full of unction and tenderness, recall the way in which the Savoyard vicar would have written the history of Christianity. All our souvenirs seem to speak to us again ; even legends and religious symbols receive in his hands a philosophic life. It would, indeed, be impossible to find a book which embraces a vaster extent in the circle of experience, or one that is more marked by the elements of grandeur, majesty, and universality. It is an unexpected thing to meet with an author who penetrates so far into the laws of organism in order to discover in them the marvels of moral being, of conscience, and of immortality. In Herder we see combined the austere spirit of Lucretius, with inspirations like those of Plato. In spite of the sensational basis upon which Herder begins, the development of his moral doctrines does not lead in the end to the egoism of Helvetius, to the despairing raillery of Voltaire, or even to Hutcheson's principle of utility, but rather conducts to an idea of duty more absolute than that of the philosopher of Konigsberg. Placed between the scepticism of the eighteenth century and the school of Kant, he partly adopted the meta- physics of the former while rejecting its ethics, and loved the tendency of the latter while refuting its principle. What then is the foundation of his doctrine 1 Idealism in 78 EDGAR QUINET. sensation, a kind ot disguised pantheism. The character of this philosophy is to substitute presumptions for knowledge ; to cause hope to take the place of certitude ; absolute doubt, the place of hope. Explaining at first a certaLu number of inferior facts in a satisfactory manner, and having above all a theory which seems supported by an array of evidence, a theory which embracing the material world never leaves it, but declares itself opposed to all metaphysical abstractions, this philosophy has an appearance of modesty and circumspection. Making alliance with poetry, borrowing its colours from the most subtle forms, it advances into the field of unlimited deductions, seducing minds who worship inspiration rather than method. And further on, when the order of phenomena rises, then the foundations totter, the language becoming more and more poetical as the questions which have frightened humanity in all ages have to be met. In the face of these terrible abysses, brilliant efforts of the imagination are only a snare. How is it that Herder did not feel the instability of his own philosophy 1 How is it that I can myself rest in these float- ing ideas, these undecided forms, many of which are obscure and others contradictory ? Because under this moving surface there is a fixed point, an inviolable refuge,- — the conscience of being, the sentiment of pure religion, universal as the spontaneous conviction of genius. Present everywhere in the depth and throughout the substance of the subject, this forms the philo- sophic ego which should have been its point of departure,; by this we know and recognise it. Here we find the scientific element which sustains the whole work. IV. Let us take care not to lose the chain of the past, lest we should find ourselves wandering on the earth. There are many questions we want answered, questions which hover in the borderland of history and moral philosophy. How far , do the memories of the species reflect themselves in the individual? How do such memories harmonise with his own impressions 1 "What law do they impose on his personal activity ? He who would understand history must consent first of all to look into himself and become attentive to the movements of his own mind. He who truly does this, will discover buried there the whole series of the past ages. From the narrow home of his individual " I " he will thence be able to go forth by neces- sary consequences, through the course of empires and peoples to the hut of Evander, the tent of Jacob, even to the palm-tree of Zoroaster. INTRODUCTION TO HERDER. 79 Nothing can equal the day in which, recognising the tie that united all the scattered images which seemed to float in dura- tion, without order or result, I perceived, as from some lofty eminence, a nearly infinite number of beings, like myself, who had preceded me. I felt drawn to each of these, my brothers, as I thought of them treading the same earth and living under the same sun, passing through the same vicissitudes of sorrow and joy as I was. I knew not their names nor their faces, but I knew that whenever they had troubled themselves about their posterity, that they had unconsciously thought of me. As I lived in them, so I felt that they lived in me. For I discovered that, frail and circumscribed as I may be, had any form of humanity been wanting, I should have been other than I am. Old Chaldea, Phenicia, Babylon, Memphis, Judea, Egypt, Etruria, all have had a share in my education, and live in me. Our individual life may seem circumscribed, but looked at as forming a part of the harmony of the ages, it has a force and a ■meaning we have perhaps little dreamt of. For the life of an individual, of a people, of the human race, are but three forms of the same being. The same laws govern them, and what is true of one is true of the other. Of this unity is born the har- monious beauty of history in its vastest proportions. We have, it is true, neither the longevity of nations nor their ancient traditions ; but the man who, in his narrow sphere, pursues with constancy the ideal being within him, is equal in the eyes of the Eternal to the empire which, in its longest duration, mani- fests the sacred laws of reason and of liberty. The instant a man makes the law of humanity the law of his being, at that instant he begins to live the true individual life, to enjoy the fulness of the Ego. He has his work traced out for him, he feels his importance in the order of things, he moves on, his power of sympathy ever increasing, he is never deceived in his object. If the present hour and the few objects it pre- sents prove empty and flattering, he finds strength in the thought of the ages with which he is in relation. The indivi- dual arrived at this point cannot be separated from the humanity of which he has appropriated the law. That law concentrates itself in him, and he bears in himself the whole series of its future destinies. As long, as this union continues he will be strong, powerful, invincible ; he has rest and the supreme good. From whence follows this result? The individual pursues his career to perfection more rapidly than humanity. What it takes ages to attain, he arrives at in a few years, it may be in a single day. But a time comes when he dies, and humanity still lives on, reaching stages of development beyond those given to the individual. Has the law of development ceased for the 8o EDGAR QUINET. individual 1 Is his tie with the race severed 1 Does one heing go on alone while the other has ceased to be ? No, infinite God ! I cannot believe it. I conclude that, whilst the human race pursues on earth its career of perfection, the individual continues its parallel march in some place and in some form abeady pre- pared for it by Providence. From the law of humanity let us pass to humanity itself. We ought to regard a being who appears thus tossed about by so many chances with deep religious respect. Only the Being of beings is without a history. Humanity is condemned to change, but that change is progress, and marks at once its weakness and its strength. What would it have been if, at its origin, it had possessed the empire it does to-day ? What would it have done if it could have foreseen the long travail it has had to go through 1 By all within us that is stiU undecided and iudeter- minate, we are assured that the development of humanity is yet incomplete. These mysteries that now trouble us will become a source of new wishes, new moral truths, such as we no more dream of than did Sophocles of the love of Heloise or Zeno of the philosophy of St. Paul or of St. John. But these moral conquests have their foundations in the ages preceding them, nay, so deeply rooted is the future in the past that, were only one representative of our race to survive, he would recall a world that was no more, for nature has made each of the members of humanity the product and image of all. Finally, I rejoice to find in the history of humanity the God of nature, and to see that He who clothed with gold the furze of the waste, and sprinkled with azure the wing of the humming- bird, has arrayed Babylon in glory, and adorned with rich apparel ancient Persepolis and Thebes with her hundred gates ; that He who has caused the rivers to flow so abundantly, who has arranged with such art rocks, valleys, and desert places, and who has varied almost infinitely the attitude of plants, the voices of animals and the harmonies resulting therefrom, has with like wisdom distributed through the ages, generations and families, nations and tongues. Every city appears in the day and under the form in which the world requires it. All forms are the expression of divine ideas, and produce a poetry which rises full of life from the harmonies of the ages. He who has listened to them for a single hour will find all other strains frivolous and perishing. If ever this philosophy was needed, it is in the present day, when men seem on the one hand absorbed in covetousness, or given over on the other to cowardly indifference. ISTothincr is so assuring as the witness of the past ages ; nothing so calmino' in the struggle, so strengthening, so productive of holy inexhaus- INTRODUCTION TO HERDER. 8r tible joy, as to feel ourselves sheltered under the authority of the whole human race. Let us not despond at finding ourselves dying and humanity making such slow progress. Without complaining of the heat and burden of the day, or troubling about our reward, let us work according to our strength to live and die in that place which the human race has confided to us. ( 82 ) CHAPTEE II. STRASBURG, HEIDELBERG. 1 826-29. " This sore combat lasted till Christian was almost quite spent. For you must know that by reason of his wounds, Christian must needs grow weaker and weaker.'' ■ — Pilgnm's Progre^i. Little did Edgar Quinet dream how soon his devotion to Herder would be rewarded. The translation intro- duced him to various persons of note, and gave him what he needed, an auditory to whom he could unfold his thoughts. One of these persons was M. de Gerando, a member of the Council of State, and the author of a work on morals. He treated the young philosopher with great generosity, helping him by advice, and giving him the free use of his library. In the same month, May 1825, Herder brought him a still more important friend. The agent of the Stras- burg publishing house sent Victor Cousin a sheet of the translation, and a day or two after introduced Quinet him- self Cousin was ten years older than Quinet, and was reputed the profoundest thinker and one of the greatest orators in France. He was an ardent liberal in politics, and the leader of the reaction against the sensualistic philosophy and literature prevalent during the eighteenth century. Plato was his model, and his doctrine the Stoic philosophy in its most elevated form. He was just rising to the zenith of his fame. Three years later he achieved one of the greatest triumphs in popularity ever obtained by any philosophic teacher in Prance since the days of Abelard : an audience of two thousand persons attended VICTOR COUSIN. 83 Cousin's lectures on the history of philosophy in 1828. Perhaps this success was partly owing to his very enthu- siastic manner, which, as it never failed him, would appear to have been quite natural. At their first interview he squeezes Quinet's hand, and calls him his friend, his dear friend. " But, sir," says Quinet, " you have never heard of me before." Cousin replies : " Your two pages have taught me much. Two friends of Herder cannot be strangers to one another." He meets him soon after in the street, and seizing him by both hands. Cousin exclaims : " We shall meet again very soon ; shan't we ? " Quinet wrote home to his mother in enthusiastic terms concerning the grandeur and beauty of M. Cousin's charac- ter. The great eclectic philosopher returned the venera- tion of his young friend with an affection in which father, brother, teacher were all combined. He saw Quinet's genius at a glance. " You are made," he said, " to shine by imagination. Do not seek to fight against it, but father to strengthen it. Be a great writer, as you are destined to be. Cultivate the art of uttering the truths of feeling. Interest, touch the heart, nourish eloquence, taking every care not to let your soul fade in dry studies, or in that false system in which I have so long wandered. Have an aim at once noble and severe ; seek to be useful to men, good, consoling to all ; do not connect your success with the present moment, with a party, or with some circumstance of changing fashion, but with the eternal wants of your heart. You will be of immense service to your country. You are happy in having a star ! Follow it, without ever turning aside. Let all your thoughts lead you to it, by day or night. Euin yourself for it ; you will leave a name, I assure you." It was at Victor Cousin's house, one morning in the spring of 1825, that Quinet first met the man who he describes as " the brother of his heart and mind " — Jules Michelet. Of this friendship, which lasted nearly half a 84 EDGAR QUINET. century, Quinet has left the following singular record: " From the first instant we knew each other, separate or together, we have never ceased at the same moment to think, believe, and often to imagine the same things with- out its having been necessary to speak to each other." Michelet was born in Paris, towards the close of the Eevolution. His birthplace was a church ; his father a printer, working his press within its walls. Although very poor, the Michelets refused to sacrifice their son's future to domestic wants. He went to the Lyc^e Charle- magne, helping between school-hours at the press. In after-years he recalled his mother's sacrifices with emotion, the more profound because she never lived to see his success, but died in a time of poverty so dire that they could not even preserve her grave. Mythology and the " Imitation of Jesus Christ " gave Michelet his first thoughts of God. In the latter book God seemed to be calling him as his Father. He became a teacher, and must have worked very hard, for at the age of twenty-three he was made additional professor in the ColUge Charlemagne. Then he began to write some elementary works on history, and at the time he made the acquaintance of Quinet he had just translated the " Science Nouvelle " of Vice. It is to this very work that Quinet refers in his Introduction to Herder, as having the same object as the " Philosophy of the History of Humanity," but seeking it from a different point of view. Each of these ardent young thinkers had imagined him- self alone, neither of them had ever thought that a fellow- mind was being prepared by a totally different expe- rience to unite with his own, so that when the moment came for action he would find his companion in labour, who with him would unfurl the banner of God and the conscience, and in those sacred names go forth to regene- rate history. He sent them forth two by two ; is not this constantly the method of Providence ? Earely is a man found strong enough to do a great moral work alone. JULES MICHELET. 85 Michelet would bring from Vico ideas wanting in Herder, or only there in an indefinite form. Vico taught that the Religious Sentiment was the producer and con- servator of society ; the idea of God fermenting in men's minds produced and sustained all its different forms ; the various ways in which they conceived that idea deter- mining the peculiar nature of their social and political institutions. A Divine Providence working throughout universal history upon a plan — this appears to be the cardinal thought of Vico's historical philosophy. How these great ideas fructified in the mind of Michelet's new friend we shall see hereafter. In September 1826 Quinet went to Strasburg, that he might be near his publishers while completing his trans- lation of Herder. He stopped there until December, and then, after a few days spent at Colmar, went on to Heidelberg towards the close of the year 1826. Quinet's objects in going to Heidelberg were to com- plete his studies in Herder, and to make himself better acquainted with German literature. He was convinced that the time had come for disseminating in France the new ideas which that literature had so prolifically de- veloped. Meanwhile it was an advantage to him to review on German soil, and in daily contact with German literati, his translation of Herder's " Philosophy of History," and his " Introduction to its Study." He published a further "Essay on the Works of Herder," and began some original efforts of his own. It is clear from this essay, as it is from the " Intro- ^ duction," that Quinet was no passive disciple of Herder. He could not accept as sufficient a view which repre- sented the destiny of humanity as resulting from the operation of external causes, all converging to a given end, even though those causes were all providential and veiled a power that worked for righteousness. Quinet saw another power at work from the beginning, a power innate in man, which he called the human conscience, or 86 EDGAR QUINET. moral personality. This power, which works towards a realisation of the individual and his personal relation to God, he regards as having been at first feeble, and so overwhelmed by external nature as to attribute to it that which was really its own voice. It then sought to realise itself in empires and in cities. Empires and cities fell, and men were left individuals unsustained by the social conscience. Then Christianity came and re- vealed to them the full meaning of tHeir moral per- sonality, their responsibility towards God. The human conscience, having made a great step, recommenced on a higher platform the same process as before. The individual conscience became merged in the Catholic Church, as it was at first in nature. And so, as before, it attained strength in narrowing its base, and, passing through various forms of church life, it again finds itself a unit, compelled to assert its independence of all super- imposed dogma. Another difficulty which Quinet had found in Herder's " Philosophy of History," and to which he returns in his " Essay on his Works," published in May 1827, about four or five months after his arrival in Heidelberg, is the incompleteness of Herder's solution of the beginnings of human things. " How," he asked, " can we reconcile man existing for ages in a condition next door to a beast, living in darkness in some cavern, or on his bed of reeds, with no voice, no memory, no desire ; with the succeeding state, in which without appreciable interval having elapsed, of which we are able to discover the slightest trace, we find him lost in rapture at the infinite, which has shone out over the whole east? Who has given the being that we just now saw slumbering in imbecility these vast gods, of which after so many thousands of years my thought can scarcely measure the immensity ? " Herder's answer to this difficulty Quinet found in another of his works — " The Primitive Archives of the Human Eace." Man is there represented as at first ON REVELATION. 87 existing with all the rest of creation in a torpid state. At last the Spirit of Life appears, and God causes man to listen to the language of the universe. His voice makes itself heard by the organ of Nature. The first ray of Light is the first Eevelation. As in the deserts of Egypt the statue of Memnon resounds at the first moment of daybreak, so the thought of man was struck and moved by the apparition of the visible world answer- ing to it by a sudden harmony of symbols and ideas, worships and images, the faithful echo of its God. " I do not know,'' says Quinet, " what name to give to this psychology, which discovers the entire world, space, and boundless duration, hidden and enclosed imder each of the primitive perceptions of the human race. The external world and the human heart act and react on one another." f But Herder, he thinks, is too prone to attribute all to the influence of visible nature, not sufficiently regard- ing another object on which Humanity fixes its gaze, that is — ^Itself. In the course of this essay, Quinet gives his view of Eevelation, and of the way in which it should be studied : — "Nature, reason, grace, scriptures, revelation; how much these words have been abused. If they are gifts of the same God, they are probably far from excluding, nay, rather contain one another. To nature you oppose the letter, but nature is a vast book, which existed 'before anything was graven either on stone or bronze ; and can tradition be anything else than a commentary on these first archives ? If, taking a broad view of revelation, we consider it as the tutor of human reason, we do not thereby intend that endless quibbling by which reason is overturned in order to found on reason some mystical tree without sap or root. On the contrary, the first rule of the Scriptures is to conform themselves, as a mother does her language, to the intelligence of all. Eevelation wiU emanate from on high, it will be just and true, only as far as it shall be promptly and completely comprehended, not by heaven but by earth, by man as he is to-day. If his faculties develop or vary, belief will follow these changes, will increase or decay with the 88 EDGAR QUINET. public reason. "Whatever huinamty can see at each epoch of its life, religion will see the same, but not a ray more. A power truly incarnate from its very origin, it will develop itself throughout the ages, with every form of human existence — speaking, seeing,, hearing, by the popular mouth, eyes, ears, without ever producing anything which is not necessarily bom of its time ; it is this exact relation which will constitute its beauty, its verity, its divine character. The more the revelation is con- formable to each age of the human race, the more will it be filled with a heavenly virtue. " If such be the nature of things, it is clear that the true method of its study is not in its absolute type — doctrine, but in its progressive movement — history. It must be studied as it has appeared in history down to the present time. Nothing will have been accomplished if the examination stops at the actual state of thought ; it must be carried again and again from Moses to the captivity, from the prophet of the Jordan to the God-man, without forgetting the times that have followed. Thus every question of theology resolves itself into a question of history ; we can only really understand dogmas by a compara- tive study of languages and popular traditions." After all the enlargement of mind, all the elevation of spirit, Quinet had obtained from the study of Herder, it is evident that he finds his master's conclusions very unsatisfactory. Notwithstanding the charm of Herder's Christian v^ritings, which Quinet says are penetrating and go straight to the heart ; notwithstanding his religious elevation and the calm serenity of his soul, Herder was a pantheist, and tended to represent living nature as God. Here, then, Quinet emphatically separates himself from Herder. He is evidently beginning to feel the foundations tottering beneath his feet, so that he is even casting about for arguments on the being of God. The very vividness of Herder's reproduction of past ages has made him feel all the more their transitoriness ; empires, states, peoples, religions, have gone, and the place thereof knoweth them no more for ever. On what can he rest that is permanent, that will not fail? Under the ever-changing forms of nature he sees a continuity, a permanence, in the THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 89 substance of things. In the concurrence of so many un- certain and floating things he sees irresistible proof of a first cause. In the transitory perishable character of all things he sees the necessity of admitting that the Supreme Being is above all things, different from them all. While at Strasburg during the last three months of the previous year, he had passed through a time of great depression. Weakened, no doubt, by his efforts over Herder, he had fallen ill of a fever during the first week of his arrival. He had to keep his bed for six weeks, and though he writes to tell his mother that he is full of courage and audacity, he admits that he has had much anguish of heart. It was not the loneliness of a sick bed in a strange city, for his Strasburg friends proved all he could desire. One especially, a young minister named Cuvier, aroused Quinet's admiration by his lively faith in Providence and great serenity of mind. It was rather due to a sight of the shadow feared by the Chris- tian soul, the apparition of the fiend of doubt, the dark herald of the valley of the shadow of death, through which he instinctively felt his path henceforth lay. He thus mysteriously refers to the struggle : — " The heartrending violence of my- troubles being appeased, I feel, after horrible fatigue, the first impression of a repose of soul which is not without sweetness. It seems as if I had had a frightful dream. The sadness that remains is changing into strength and resignation. " All that unhappiness can teach, I know. But it is the sadness of the human condition that I see as much as my own ; it is the powerlessness of terrestrial things that finally strikes me. This first effort to tear myself from myself has brought me a sort of calm and interior greatness. " With this I know well the old life is finished for ever ; that no time, no season, will ever bring back that which has been ; that it is, death that stands between it and me ; that we shall live on without meeting again ; and that when I have left it on the way and given it a flower, we shall each go our own way, without again finding any trace one of the other. Thought will remain faithful to a thought, but we are no more of this world. Such is the truth." 90 EDGAR QUINET. In this state of mind he arrived at Heidelberg. He had the best introductions, and the Germans received him with open arms. He became intimate with most of the professors, but the principal friend that he made was the philologist Creuzer, a man many years his senior, since he had occupied the chair of philology almost as long as Quinet had been in the world, continuing to hold it down to 1848, fourty-four years in all. For neither men nor things were given to change in the University of Heidelberg. In the Middle Ages it had obtained a republican constitution, and through all the generations since its members had carefully maintained the good laws of their forefathers. Thus at Heidelberg liberty and stability, order and equity, seemed to be com- bined, and all to flourish together within the reposeful atmosphere of learning and natural beauty. The sensitive and poetic soul of Edgar Quinet very soon felt the charm of the place. " This," he exclaimed, " is the country for the soul ! Here I find a peace that I have never known elsewhere. Nowhere have I found it so easy to concentrate my powers, to gather up my strength." In the , society of his friend Creuzer he experienced much delight. He found in him a mixture of prodigious learning, with the imagination and poetry of Schiller, of whom he had been the friend and pupil. Creuzer's specialty was ancient mythology, which he treated as a great system of symbolism. " For how much," exclaims Quinet, " have I to thank Creuzer in a science so great, so unlimited, so unknown as yet ! " There was a simplicity and a sincerity about society at Heidelberg which contrasted agreeably with French society, and especially with that in which he had spent the winter two years earlier. His pure, melancholy, enthusiastic nature made him everywhere a favourite in female society. The German ladies visited him, and he them ; they taught him to waltz, he in return taught them French songs. The little social and domestic fetes LIFE AT HEIDELBERG. gr pleased him much. On his birthday, with much cere- mony a crown of ivy is presented to him by his landlady, her daughter, and the servant. Accustomed as he was to cast a halo of poetry around all that pleased him, he recognised among these German girls Marguerite, Clara, Mignon ; and if one was specially pale, then he likened her to the Leonora of Burger's ballad. He even begins to pity his countrywomen. " Without any interest in public affairs, without religious belief, oppressed by the laws, by ignorance, worn out by the sight of things and of times which even enervate men, what will become of them 1 " Edgar Quinet was fond of horse-riding. One of his first desires when he began to earn money was to buy a horse, and it was his daily amusement at Heidelberg to go to the riding-school and learn the art of horsemanship. The point to arrive at was to be able to ride with or without stirrups, and even without bridle, and so to attain perfect mastery over any horse that you could without moving legs or arms or body, make him do what you would. So indefatigable was Quinet in this pursuit, that he thought he must have mounted every horse in the duchy of Baden. Certainly it was a charming life — days well spent in study, evenings in rambles over the mountains or along the valleys, making discoveries, or reading poetry, or joining in choral singing. In a walk he made into the Odenwald he speaks of watching the sun set behind its dark lines of fir, and how the scene recalled to his imagination the " Germania " of Tacitus. In the autumn of 1 827 he spent a few days going up the Ehine, his object being to visit E"iebuhr and A. Schlegel. He was evidently compelled by want of means to press on rapidly, but the weather favoured his journey, the sun gilding the crests of the ruined castles of the Ehine, and making more perfect their deep shadows on its waters, while the journey finished in the light of a September 92 EDGAR QUINET. moon. He saw everything with the eyes of the poet and the historian. " All the history of bygone ages," he wrote to his mother, " seems reflected in the azure of that beautiful river. ... I seem to understand much better the epic times of Germany since I have seen the Ehine." In the summer of the next year he met Tieck. Their discourse was Elysian in its nature and intermin- ableness ; from the noon of one day until four o'clock the next morning did this unrivalled dialogue continue, no doubt amidst clouds of smoke and some needful libations of Khenish wine. Of course his enthusiasm for the bril- liant German was great, and he cannot avoid contrasting his inexhaustible and audacious spirit with the pedantic stiffness of the French academicians. He heard Tieck read Shakespeare's " Julius Caesar,'' and was struck with the way in which he brought out the unity of the poem, giving his hearers the idea of a great epic in which the whole world is struggling, but which all tended to one supreme thought.. He was astonished at the southern ardour the German threw into his reading, and especially noted how he excelled in making the common people speak. Tieck appeared to him to combine Lessing and Talma. Quinet now plunged deeper and deeper every day into the study of the new ideas then flooding Germany, and determined to make himself their interpreter in France. He studied German philosophy, literature, art, from morning till night, and yet found time for com- positions of his own. He had in hand " A Theory of History : its Eelation with Nature, Morality, and Art ; " a treatise on " Civil Courage," and another en- titled " Considerations on the Philosophy of Schelling and on the Development of the Arts and Sciences in Germany during the previous twenty years." In 1828 he published a short paper " On the Origin of the Gods." As the " Tablettes du Juif Errant " fore- ORIGIN OF THE GODS. 93 shadowed " Aliasuerus," this little work foreshadows the " G^nie des Eeligions." The influence of the thought of his friend, the philologist Creuzer, is very distinctly marked. It is divided into two parts : I. How the Gods are formed. II. How the Gods are transformed by poetry. Its leading ideas are as follows : — Man completes the universe, and is its interpreter. History is the gradual revelation of the universal life, each civilisation being one of its thoughts. The new-born universe was reflected in the first societies ; the link which thus united nature and history was mythology. Mythology sjrmbolised nature, history realised mythology. History fell into obscurity ; empires passed away ; mythology remained, growing regularly, like some or- ganised being. On the human side was sensation, spontaneity, reflection ; on the divine, nature, mythology, history, — the three corresponding terms forming the three progressive stages of the universal psychology. Thus nature contains all mythology, as mythology contains all history, and the entire course of the civil world is 'only a series of symbols which the Eternal evokes from His bosom. These symbols do not destroy each other ; the power of an interior thought of an age or an empire not unfrequently discovers itself when the age or empire has passed away. Thus the universal mythology develops, passing through stages which correspond to the vegetable, animal, human worlds. When, from the bosom of the races, it shall descend at last into the individual conscience, its career will be accomplished. Mankind did not begin either with polytheism or monotheism. Vast and confused, its intuitions were capable of both ideas, but tended to pantheism as the flrst form. Only a people isolated and inimical to the rest of the world could manifest the idea of unity. The others, just in the degree they came in contact with their fellow-nations, enlarged and developed their religions. Thus the religions acted and reacted on each other, the whole growing and developing, so that the ancient mythology may be called the symbol of the universal life. This symbol reflected and personified Eternity and Time, Nature and Man. Finally, as a race forms itself and overthrows others, it becomes to itself an object of astonishment and adoration. A sort of fabulous history grows up, the ideal growing out of the real, the god out of the people. And thus, while all religions find a basis in the infinite made sacred in space and duration, a second formation of beliefs 94 EDGAR QUINET. marks the deification of force in time and in history. And these two epochs, instead of destroying one another, mutually inter- weave and hecome each other's strength and support. Thus, ■wherever we look, the antique religions express nothing but the similitude, we might almost say the ideal identity, of nature and history. II. To contemplate the epic poetry of nature, you must raise the veil that covers its surface, and underneath you will find a world that is always growing in silence. There, one after the other, the ages have constructed their tomb in the rock ; they sleep without perishing in their beds of granite, of porpliyry, of marble, and of clay. From this beauty deprived of life the epic idea of the universe rises with humanity to a beauty thoughtful and reflective. But between the mysterious thought of inorganic nature and the light, shining forth from the great monuments of human language, comes an intermediate art which will have the character of both. Architecture continues the silent epic, commenced in the geologic formations of the globe. Lastly, from the bosom of the people rises that eternal river, of poetry which, first reflecting the sacred hills of the Himalaya, flows on through Persia and Egypt and Judaea, through Greece and Scandinavia, until it readies the forests of the Gauls, and listens to the distant horn of Eoland ; no hand is strong enough, no dyke high enough, to stop its progress. Each national epic goes back in its germ to the first appear- ance of a race in the human species, and presents itself under difi'erent forms. And long before it was ever reduced to writ- ing it had risen in song, flying from isle to isle, from forest to forest, from mountain to mountain. Eormed thus out of the very life of a race, these poems are more true, more profound, than history. As nature has never yet been able to attain the perfection written in her own immutable laws, so the nations have never yet reached the ideal of their epics. Nevertheless, as it is the very life of nature to make ceaseless efforts to construct herself on these changeless truths, so the nations are ever making efi'orts to attain approximation to the formula of their epics. Each of these poems, representing a particular idea in humanity, is in itself but a fragment of the universal poem. Consequently they are always unfinished works, and each has for its explana- tion the one that follows it. Thus all the great poems of the world, from the " Mahabaratah " of India to the " Divina Com- media " of Dante, are one, and in their progress develop the ever enlarging ideal of humanity. ORIGIN OF THE GODS. 95 It was from contemplations so vast, so elevated, that this young poet drew comfort and hope. He who a short time before had sunk to the deepest despondency now rises again. " I am astonished," he says, " at the resources there are in the human heart, since it can be reborn in the very moment it seemed to die. Oh ! if we could but trust a little more to time ! " ( 96 ) CHAPTER III. GRUNSTADT. 1827-1829. '' In feeling himself loved and in loving. Merlin became an enchanter." " In his exile an old man gathered up the memories of his youth. Seen in the enchanting light of a far-oflf time, he idealised them ; forgetting all that was terrestrial in the being that he had loved, he recalled only that which was immortal and divine." Thus our author, a young man of twenty-four, uncon- sciously depicted a phrase in his own future. More than thirty years later, in " Merlin I'Enchanteur," he gave the world, under the thin veil of parabolic romance, some of his early experiences. Shall we say that they were less truthful than his previous relation of the same events in realistic language ? On the contrary, they are a higher form of truth, the truth of the soul. Both shall be given, and the reader can make his selection, but if he is wise he will accept both, transfiguring the real in the ideal. One fine morning in spring-time Merlin wandered over the solitary heights. On whichever side his eyes fell, he found himself surrounded by the same immense circle that a great magician had traced around him, a vast horizon of wastes and woods, of fields, and yellow com, and bine mountain-tops. Here and there a tapering fir-tree stood out like a lance-head against the sky. Melancholy, desires unknown, aspirations towards far-off summits, drew from him a sigh ; tired of pursuing the inaccessible horizon, he stopped by a spring ; his tears fell drop by drop into the fountain. In pure fretfulness he cast a stone into it, fixing his eyes for hours on the undulations that succeeded each other upon the surface of the water. THE IDEAL. 97 " My life," said lie, " is more vain than these circles that amuse me for a moment and then are lost for ever. "Why am I here? Alas ! I aspire to aU and lay hold of nothing." . . , Overwhelmed hy his isolation, he cried out with all his strength : " Am I alone in this immensity ? Thou whom I call, where art thou V A voice replied : " "Where art thou 1 " Merlin started, but he soon perceived that it was merely the echo of his own voice. . . . And he feU again into disconsolate meditation. Eaising his eyes, however, towards the crest of the mountain covered with hlack firs, he saw, or believed he saw, a woman seated at the foot of a tree. She appeared radiant and plunged, like himself, into a continual reverie. Flocks of birds came out of the woods to peck from her hands. Her robe was green as the forest. Her forehead was white and polished as the stony heights washed by perpetual storms. Her eyes were of the colour of field violets. That evening Merlin returned pensive, his head bent. He knew that in the land where he had wandered there were dreams and phantoms ; he would give no credit to them ; however, spite of his determination, his soul was full at the same time of delight and alarm. He was like an Eolian harp, over one of whose chords some spirit had lightly swept. It resounded long after the instrument had been put back into its dark box under lock and key. Not being able to sleep, he reflected a long time on his for- tune : two triads just sketched out, some vague prophecies, many dreams ; this was all he possessed. What betrothed would be content with that ? He knew how the young girls in his own land esteemed wealth, not for the gold, but for the glitter. And the parents 1 "Who would give him his daughter ? . . . The next morning before daybreak Merlin was at the same spot near the same stone. . . . He raised his eyes towards the mountain, and great was his wonder when he saw on the same little hill, at the foot of the same pine, the same figure that he had seen the evening before. It was neither an exhalation nor a phantom, but a young girl, whose existence was very real, since she had in her hand a golden comb, with which she quietly combed the long hair that streamed down to her feet, and which enveloped her as with the sparkling rays of the morning. "When she had finished, she approached a fountain, and looking at herself in its waters, she gathered up her tresses and bound them round her forehead with an artless coquetry which redoubled her beauty. Then, G 98 EDGAR QUINET. descending the hil], she came straight towards Merlin, whose astonishment increased. " You called me yesterday," she said to him, " but would not wait. I come ; what do you want with me 1 " Merlin was too much amazed to speak. He dropped his eyes, then, raising them, he met a long, immense, peaceful gaze, such as I have seen, when hanging over the source of a glacier, its waters have appeared mirroring the Alpine sky. If he had dared to speak he would have cried out : I feel at once the pangs of birth and of death. At last he said, . . . " You are then, as I, a child of the earth." " Speak plainly," replied Vivian ; " let us go and look at the flowers." " You have not then fallen from the clouds, you are not a dream." Vivian put her finger to her mouth, and said to him with severity — " Leave the dreams of the night, they are cold and like death. See, the sun rises. The grasshoppers leap, the bees hum. Let us rejoice with the bee, with the insectj with the sun that shines upon us." So saying, she took Merlin by the hand and conducted him by paths that she only knew in the depths of the woods. As they walked she taught him the history of the plants beneath their feet. Merlin picked some flowers, and would have given them. " What are you doing? " said she ; " you do me harm. These are my sisters. When you tear them from their stalks you wound me." And she showed him a little drop of purple blood which shone on her cheek. What a loving heart ! silently thought Merlin ; he wished a thousand times to wash away that drop of blood with his tears. The higher the sun rose the more dazzling became Vivian's beauty. The moment was reached when, under the splendour of its light, all the noise of earth grew still. The birds held their peace ; even the flies that hang and dart in the sunshine imitated the silence. Then Vivian began a hymn, the like of which neither Merlin nor any other man ever heard. The day passed in this enchantment. . . . Eeader, do you ask who is Vivian ? Some maintain that she is the last daughter of the waters, the last of the druidesses ; others say that she is a young girl more beautiful than your well-beloved. So far the ideal, the parabolic; now the real, the matter- of-fact. THE REAL. 99 Some two or three months after Edgar Quinet's arrival in Heidelberg, he was present with his friend Creutzer at one of those musical gatherings so characteristic of Ger- many. The piece performed was Handel's " Samson." Quinet and the professor sat in a window listening to the music, and watching the sun set in the valley of the Neckar. But amidst this feast of nature and art a human loveliness attracted him. Among the young ladies present, one eclipsed them all, by her Eaffaelesque figure, and a certain sweetly solemn air which breathed in all she said and did. Ere long we find the ardent young Frenchman received as a beloved brother by the family of this same gentle girl. It was a patriarchal home. The father, Herr Mor6, had been a Protestant minister, but then exer- cised the calling of a village notary. Like Oberlin, whose spirit he seems to have possessed, he was one of those sincere hearts who remain pure even in the most stormy times. A believer in the Eevolution, he had been a citizen of the department of Mont Tonnerre, and the friend and host of General Desaix, the Bayard of the French Eepublic. After the reunion of the Ehenish provinces with Bavaria, Herr Mor^ still preserved his republican faith and his love for France. Edgar Quinet likened him to the Vicar of Wakefield. A large family of sons and daughters — there were nine or ten of the latter — filled his house, the mother presiding amongst them as an elder sister. The young lover's letters to his mother afford glimpses of their simple peaceful life. We see the younger children seated round a large table study- ing their lessons, while one with golden plaits plays the harp. Music was a necessity in a family whose existence was a continual hymn of joy and praise. All share the happiness of the lovers. Earely do they go out alone. Their pleasures are pure and simple. We see them at a children's party where the little ones are in masks, or in the castle gardens watching the illuminations. On another 100 EDGAR QUINET. occasion they make an excursicui in spring-time to the battlefields of Kaiserslautern in company with Minna's brother and sister, finishing the day by a walk along the pine woods, singing. Then come solemn seasons such as Pentecost, when Minna and her sister take the com- munion, the sight recalling to her lover a similar hour in his own experience. For Minna More had a deeply religious nature, and was a Christian of so primitive a temper that she would not have been out of place among that band of holy women who followed the Son of Man from Galilee to Calvary, and from Calvary to the tomb. Caring supremely for the things of the soul, desiring only that which was possible and easy, anxiety had no place in the Mord household. The spirit that seems to ha've pervaded it was the joyful, trustful spirit of the Sermon on the Mount. It was the deep repose, the peace of soul, mirrored in her Madonna-like face, that made Minna Mor6 so attractive to the restless mind, the melancholy, sensitive soul, of Edgar Quinet. In it he found a spring of new life, so that he might well say he felt reborn at the very time he thought to die. It gave a fresh impetus to his genius. Merlin noticed that when Vivian smiled, aU things smiled with her. " Do you then command the universe ? " he said. " Assuredly. Why are you surprised ? I love ; with that word all is easy." " But I love also," replied Merlin, turning pale. " I love, but not a blade of grass obeys me." " You deceive yourself. Since we have wept together, you have the same power as I. Only try. Here is my ring ; what do you wish ? " " That your name may be written on the skies," said Merlin, taking the vermilion ring. "Well, look!" At these words the heavens opened as a book, and they saw written there, by seven stars, in letters of gold, Vivian. LOVE AN ENCHANTER. loi Thus Merlin, in feeling himself loved and in loving, be- came an enchanter. From that moment all that met his eyes was bewitched. The dew beneath his footsteps changed into diamonds. He had only to touch a thing, and it became im- mortal. And this love, so pure and unworldly that it might have blossomed in the cottages of Nazareth and have wandered over the plain of Jezreel, while its espousals might fitly have been those of Cana iu Galilee, — this love shared the common fate, and did not run smooth. It was too idyllic even for the noble soul of Madame Quinet. Anxiety for her son's material prosperity, and perhaps a natural desire to shine in his reflected glory, made her deprecate so unworldly a match. There are proofs that she deeply pained him by her efforts to induce him, even after he had been two or three years engaged, to break it off and marry a rich wife ; and that her persistent refusal to consent to his marriage caused him great misery. As he had to struggle against his father in the voca- tion of his life, so now he had an infinitely more painful struggle against the mother he idolised. But it was a step further in that detachment from nature, another conc[uest of his personality, by which it was strengthened, elevated, and rendered more god-like. Bearing in mind the well-nigh unequalled unity of heart and soul which had existed between Quinet and his mother, and the strength of that forceful energetic will which had reigned supreme in his heart for more than a quarter of a century, the following letter must exalt our idea of his moral nature : — "Paeis, January 1831. " My vert dear Mother, — "When the idea occurred to me to have a fortnight's fresh air away from here, I did not know of the affair of Charolles Let us, however, talk reason. What a life is mine ; solitary, full of infinite aspirations always increasing, and at last ending in utter abandonment and the desert, if I do not take care. In the midst of this hfe, and at 102 EDGAR QUINET. its saddest epoch, I have found a soul sad and profound as my own. She has consoled and healed me, remaining faithful to me in all my wanderings, absences, and the uncertain chances of my future. It is the only good that invites me to life. Is this, then, my material destruction i "But which of these women, whom I could marry being rich, would care for me if I were poor ? I do not wish for any of these women on sale. " My dear mother, if you consider my situation, you wiU dis- cover that it is Providence who has sent me her whose work it is to appease the storm of my life. Until she appeared, have I not always suffered, as it were, a long agony of heart % Is it not to her that I owe this commencement of harmony in my soul? When I think of passed torments, of that continual suffocation of heart which I experienced in early youth, it must be confessed that I owe, as it were, a second life to her who has saved me. My fate is then decided. And it is knowing it to be decided that delivers me from that trouble and horrible anguish of which I now have only the memory. " If I were myself to destroy this assurance, if I myself broke the seal that I have placed on my heart, it would reopen with all the phantoms, all the vague griefs, all the infinite regrets, which are not dead, but only hushed to sleep. For no con- sideration in the world do I wish again that life of the wander- ing bird, darting about at the approach of the storm to seek its food in every quarter of the horizon. I cannot find better words to express my thought ; but these suffice. There are natures one must put up with, since in going counter to them you destroy them. For good or ill (need it be regretted ?) it is love, extinguishable love, that is the ground and condition of my life. I ought, then, to thank heaven for having found a similar being on earth. " I need not say that I am not such a fool as to embark with a wife until I have the means of living. But it is precisely she who gives me courage to seek and to persist. " There are days in which my desire to see her once again is so keen, that my heart is as heavy as a stone. But reason and duty keep me where I am. "As long as my future is undecided, I have no taste for writing. However, sometimes my souvenirs and my ardent feelings oppress me so, that I do not know what prevents me from writing this romance poem that is already made within me. " Adieu, my good mother ! Write me a kinder letter. What does Dargaud intend to do ? " " Edgar Quinet." A ROMANTIC INCIDENT. 103 But this was by no means the only way in which his love was tried ; among the lesser tests to which it was put, was the following strange incident, which occurred while he was in Paris in 1830. He thus relates it in a letter to his mother : — " You are aware that I had again met with the family ■ of Colmar. I went there to listen to music ; it was an advan- tage to me. Everybody liked me. I was invited for the opera, and for soirees when they occurred. ' " The other day, at noon, the mother made a sign to me that she had something to say to me. I followed her into the room. There she informed me that she had an extraordinary avowal to make, but the esteem in which she held me rendered it possible. These are the very words she said to me : 'You must have 'seen that my eldest daughter has an inclination for you. Since she saw you so sad and so ill at Colmar, four years ago, she has not ceased to think of you. Seeing you again lately, this sentiment has gained fresh strength. See if you can and wiU. marry her, or if any tie stands in the way.' " Conceive my stupidity in not having divined this before ! Flora was good, delightful to me, but I had never imagined her anything more to me. She has a very remarkable talent for painting and music. I saw her devoted to art, as I was myself to another study ; the idea never entered my head that painting did not suffice her. She has made of me two portraits in chalk, perfectly like, of which I am going to send you one ; the other she kept All this never opened my eyes. " The avowal of the mother took me so by surprise that I hid my face in my hands, and went out without saying anything ; but I could not leave her long in doubt. I passed a very miser- able night in trying to see if I had any fault to find with myself; happdy it was clearer than hght that no reproach could be made either by myself or others. I was afraid of the grief that I was going to cause. Towards eleven o'clock I went up, very moved, to Madame , whom I found alone. Then I briefly explained how I was touched by her confidence and the thought of her daughter ; that if I had a choice to make it would assuredly be her, but that it was necessary not to think of it. And I said why. " She received this declaration calmly ; the father came in, and both did me justice, saying that they should always regret me ; and I quitted them more troubled than they were them- selves." . . . Then he goes on to tell how the young lady's married 104 EDGAR QUINET. sister called upon him next day, and obstinately con- tended with him over his previous engagement, as if she supposed that he could set it aside. Finally, it was resolved that they should say to Flora that he had quitted Paris ; but she could not be deceived, and they were obliged to inform her that there was an insur- mountable obstacle. " I cannot tell you," he continues, " how much this history has saddened me. To think that I should have troubled the future of a soul so harmonious, so naturally peaceable and reason- able, with so much elevation, and of an elevation so sensible. The thought which comforts me is that I have been what I ought, and that not a shadow rests on my conscience." The engraving (Book V., chapter i.) is a copy of the very portrait referred to in this letter, and engraved for the first time for this work. Edgar Quinet has evidently just bloomed into manhood ; high intelligence is in his brow, poetry in his eyes, humour and perceptiveness in the nose, and will in that firm though kindly mouth. ( 105 ) CHAPTEE IV. GREECE. 1829. " A nation's sepulchre ! " — ChiVU Harold. "All things lose force and become inert for the man ■who has never passed the boundaries of his country." Thus writes Quinet to his mother, as he is about to cross the frontier into Germany ; for even she who knew very well the value of travel, and was, moreover, unusually original in all her ideas, evidently felt the influence of social opinion at Charolles much scandalised by the young man's literary tastes and trip across the Channel. Eegardless of the good opinion of the CharoUais, he had even meditated a voyage to Brazil; a plan, however, the success of the "Herder" and his stay in Germany had quite set aside. Still the desire to travel possessed him, and he could not feel his educa- tion complete without it. He had taken a deep interest in the War of Inde- pendence in Greece (1827), and being informed that it was intended at Paris to send out a commission of savants to the Morea, he offered himself as a member. He was chosen by the academy from among a hundred competitors, to go out in the capacity of philologist, attached to the department of history and antiquities. He set sail in the " Cybele," a forty-gun frigate, from Toulon on a glorious morning early in February 1829. Nearly three weeks were spent in coasting the Medi- io6 EDGAR QUINET. terranean, and early in March the commission landed at Navarino. Alarmed at the state of the country, the whole party, with the exception of Quinet, stopped at Modon. In company with two artillery officers he set off, passing by Coron, and going into Arcadia, as far as Megalopolis, everywhere well received by the Greek authorities. His military friends did not accompany him far, so he had to pursue his journey attended only by his own servant and some native guides. Prom Megalopolis he penetrated into the Lycseus, the most curious and obscure part of the Peloponesus. The base of the mountain was covered with dense forests, through which he had to make his way to gain its heights. The singular adventures he met with in the effort may be related in his own words : — " These woods have never been. feUed from all antiquity. Only cylinders of bark are to be seen here and there, trees fallen from old age, casting around them a phosphorescent light, while others appear black and burnt to the summit. Some shepherds, who had taken refuge in the gaps of their trunks, looked, in their grey cloaks, like statues in niches of ebony. Numberless flocks of wood pigeons flew out noise- lessly, and we heard the tapping of the woodpecker on the tops of the oaks. Imagine stealthy little paths, looking as if they had been traced out by the steps of fauns ; blocks of stone, which the traveller kept thinking must be the remains of some giant city ; the noise of the winter leaves shivering in the wind like the prophetic oaks of Dodona ; the only way for our horses being across gaps often a foot wide, the perpendicular edges of torrents below : imagine us penetrating through such a place in the midst of a violent storm which lit up the depth of the valleys with the thunderbolt of the Olympians. I was to make the acquaiutance of Jupiter Lycseus amidst the roar of thunder. The sun, which since the morning had been very powerful, was covered with clouds, and the flashes succeeded each other so rapidly that the forest appeared on fire. In an instant a destructive had covered all the heights with rime and frost. In trying to find shelter in a monk's roofless ceU which we saw in a bypath, we uselessly went out of our way. But from thence we descried a village on a lower height. ADVENTURES IN GREECE. 107 " It was just evening when we reached Dervouny, a place of which I have never seen the name. It must, however, be near the spot where Pan found his pipes. At our approach the crying of children, the baying of dogs, and the banging of doors, clearly proved that the arrival of a traveller in this place was an event as unheard of as it was menacing. Dripping, I descended into a hovel, where a woman welcomed me, laughing. Her long black hair hung over her temples and cd,m6 out from under her white scarf. On the floor of the cabin was seated the head of the family. His tall figure, his wild features, quite different to the Albanians ; the broken iadented line of his nose, the little round head on a long, loosely-knit body, made me think that I had before me the natural type of the Satyr of the Pelasgi ; with his long cutlass shining from his waist, he seemed the spirit of the forests and wild retreats that I had just crossed. " His hospitality was eager and prompt ; the first mark that he gave me of it, was to lay hold of my pistols, to try them and to alter the charge. Whilst I dried myself before a great fire the setting sun lit up a group of women at the door who watched us intently. They wore a piece of cloth that descended to the knees and was tied round the loins with a cord. The upper part of their bodies was nearly naked. At the least movement on my part they ran away with fright. Several among them represented the form and timidity of Diana Venatrix, who was, in fact, the indigenous goddess of these mountains. " At nightfall we divided our provisions for a common feast. I furnished the remainder of my olives, my host adding a gathering of wild herbs, which were boiled and served on a platter of beeohwood. We picked up the food with our fingers. The whole feast was crowned with a bean-cake, kneaded in a few minutes and cooked on the ashes. A child, suspended from the roof in the trunk of a small tree dug out like a pirogve, was swung from one wall to the other, while his brother, standing in the midst of the room, said the prayer aloud, mingling the recitation with many genuflections, to which those present responded. This retired hut had not, however, escaped the Egyptians. Only a few days before they had had partial posses- sion of it, and its inhabitants had not as yet cleared away the heaps of mud lying inside. We stretched ourselves pell-mell round the fire, after having covered ourselves with straw and rags. The wind blew and the rain trickled in to such an extent, that the Arcadian was obliged to warm up her child at one part of the night by holding it over the burning brands. And yet these are the valleys of Diana and Endymion." to8 EDGAR QUINET. Next day Quinet mounted to the Temple of Apollo, guided by the pope of one of the villages. As he reached the. summit of the mountain he suddenly caught sight of the magnificent ruin, with thirty-one out of its forty-two original columns still intact; its grandeur immensely increased by its solitude amongst the rocks and in the neighbourhood of the region of snow, without trees, paths, or any human traces. "A Greek temple is the pure and necessary form on which the world of antique civilisation was modelled : in the mind of the architect of humanity it was the ideal plan which he realised in the entire duration of the pagan world. Beauty, abstract and naked, it is to the movement and action of the life of nations what the sphere of Archimedes and the formulas of geometry are to the revolutions of nature and the irregular curve of the terrestrial globe." He finds the rivers of Greece petty torrents compared with those of Western Europe ; it is the perfect lines of its mountains, crowned with ruined temples, which give it such harmonious beauty. In the neighbourhood of the Taygetus, a mountain in Laconia, he has some ugly adventures. After a twelve hours' ride, they found themselves at nightfall following the course of the river Eurotas. In the morning Quinet had been pitched into the bed of a river, where he had lain some time stupefied, and now in the twilight he had a second accident. His horse, which he only held by a cord tied round the lower jaw, dragged him into a little olive wood. A branch of a tree struck him in the middle, causing him to bruise himself on the saddle, and wounding him in the chest. They had been on the march since breakfast; no one knew where they were, and at sunset one of the guides refused to go any farther. "An intensely dark night overtook us, coming down in torrents of rain. We quitted the Eurotas, and began to climb in the darkness a narrow ascent which plunged over escarp-' ments almost perpendicular. Just as we reached the summit A NIGHT'S DISASTERS. 109 there came a flash of lightning; the horse who carried the baggage recoiled a step. In another instant I saw him rearing ; for a moment he stood erect above the precipice, but before I could lay hold of him the baggage overbalanced him ; he had fallen to the bottom of the ravine." Quinet's servant thought it was his master. But when the Greeks knew what had happened, one went into a fury, while the other fell on the ground in despair, crying out, " Panagia, panagia ! " Streaming wet, the party groped their way to the ravine, and there found the horse lying stretched across a little brook. Happily the poor beast was not only alive, but had no bones broken, the baggage having acted as a sort of buffer. The party then set out again in defile, the guide Yorghi leading the way, the fallen horse, dragged by its mane, bringing up the rear. Thus they pushed on in the darkness, fording torrent after torrent, sometimes up to their waists in water. The traveller thus describes the issue of this night's disasters : — " We had already passed two streams of water, when a third, much larger, stopped us short. The ground was quite un- sheltered, without so much as a tree ; we could not bivouac there ; it was necessary to disperse in every direction to look for a ford. It was then that I perceived a crowd of lights in motion, descending along the opposite hill. As they came near the stream, these lights turned towards the earth, ran along the bank, and then crossed the water at about twenty paces below me. You might have supposed them will-o'-the-wisps. Our surprise was great in drawing near to find a caravan of monks who each carried a torch. They lit us up during our passage, saluting us in Italian ; and what was worth still more, told us where to find a mill a little farther on. " Imagine us then gathering up anew our strength to seek this place of refuge. At last we reached it. I struck at the door. Our palichares cried out that some good Christians had lost their way, and could go no further. With this cry they mingled the name of Capo d'Istria. After several minutes the master of the miU opened the door ; directly he saw us he would have closed it again in our faces, but before he could put up the bar we had penetrated into the interior. Through a place full of mules, oxen, and goats, I reached the remains of a fire, where no EDGAR QUINET. I laid myself down almost deprived of sense. A part of my tody was frozen, and I felt a burning fever coming on. I have a confused remembrance of a group of women wbo rose from their mats at our arrival. My guides asked for wine, then milk, then water ; one after the other all were refused. "What I well remember is, that we had hardly been two minutes taking breath over the cinders before we were obliged to depart. When our hosts, who were about ten in number, saw that we intended to pass the night under their roof, they set about taking their guns down from the wall, and began to harass us with loud cries. The women said nothing. I determined to wait and see how this uproar would end, but before I knew it, my baggage had been put up again, and Yorghi dragged me from the middle of a deafening noise towards the Agogiate, who called us from outside. . . . " On the other bank we found a causeway ; twenty minutes later the noise of our horses' shoes, striking against heaps of broken bricks and stones, warned us that we were in the midst of a Greek city. Traces of walls thrown down, a long line of houses of rolling pebbles, whose ruins resembled the bed of a torrent, but not a living being, not a light, not a minaret, not a hovel standing. Our miserable caravan dragged on without knowing whither it was going, sometimes uttering a cry to which no one responded, the scene illuminated from time to time by a flash of lightning, followed immediately by darkness as black as that of Taygetus. How wretched did this country of Menelaus and of Helen appear to me then ! " The -worn-out party finally found shelter in a wooden shed which was used as a khan. Figs and citrons were growing there, and before long the Demogeronte, with a party of his friends, came to offer his services. " Blessed be that little old man ! " exclaims the traveller. " Directly he knew of what nation I was, and what was my object, he came up. In his Frank jargon, he overwhelmed me with kind attentions, and gave himself no rest until I had accepted a lodging at his house. We climbed up a ladder into a wooden house. A ragout of rabbit and water-fowl was brought in on a plate." Mistra was the name of the city where he was so hospitably received. From thence he went to Sparta, travelling on through Laconia into Argolis, which he crossed to visit Sicyon and Corinth. In Laconia he was A PEOPLE NEAR TO DEATH. ni much struck with the depopulation among the animals.- There were none of those noises that greet the ear on approaching ordinary towns. It was quite an unusual event to meet a bullock; as to asses or pigs, the last especially, they seemed quite extinct; a few flocks of goats and some little lean horses were all that remained. As to birds, bands of crows might be seen on the sites of camps, or where skeletons lay along the shore. But in the gulfs of Calamata, Corinth, and Epidaurus he scarcely ever saw a gull. In Argolide storks were so tame that they would often walk by the side of the labourers for ten steps or so. From the marshy flats of Arcadia flocks of wild ducks rose up with a noise like the booming of a windmill. On the mountain heights eagles and sparrow-hawks traced their monotonous circles round the basements of each acropolis, but no larks, sparrows, chaffinches, or any of the birds that animate the landscape, were to be seen. The olive forests seemed abandoned to scorpions and large snakes. He did not know what had become of the nightingale; the only voice which never ceased to haunt him was the screech- owl, with whicTi was often mingled that of the jackal. And this scarcity of the animal creation had its corre- lation in the human depopulation. The Psariotes, he found, had been reduced from 30,000 to 5,000. The women were even more diminished than the men. They had either been sent into slavery, or were dead of sick- ness and hunger. Old men and children were equally rare. Quinet noted an extraordinary number of children at the breast, but above that age scarcely any; either they had perished in the general misery, or, as he says, " it may be that what he heard was true, that grief and misery had struck the women with sterility." He espe- cially noticed their hard, gloomy look. They had a con- stant habit of sighing, in some it had become a disease. They refused all comfort, and answered every remark with two words" — " It's nothing." Those that were beau- 112 EDGAR QUINET. tifiil seemed to have a contempt for their own beauty. AH were in rags, half clothed, bending in the sun under heavy burdens, and seeking shelter from the rain in the dripping grottoes, or gathered round a fire eating wUd herbs with their children. It seemed to him that there never had been a people who had descended nearer to death. And yet he says : — " There is no land where instruction is more eagerly sought after than in Greece. Towns are to be found where no other noise is heard but the buzzing of a school on the mutual or Lancasterian system. The children are seen seated in the open air under some pine branches. A pope standing in the midst of them keeps up the murmur, which the passers-by, sailors, sol- diers, horsemen, all respect. Tou catch in the buzzing some extracts from the gospel. To this is added a httle book of the child's duties, which, in its simplicity, gives a better idea of the land than anything I could say. According to this book, the obedient cbdd must learn to read in order to become a good Christian, and in time a good patriot. He must salute others in putting his hand to his heart and bending his head a Httle. He must not play with pistols, poignards, sabres, or fire, a spark of which has burnt down great cities. He must suffer hunger and thirst without crying ; he must not drink the tainted water that animals drink. If his hands are frozen, or his feet, or any part of his body, he must not approach the fire, but wash them in the snow. " These are the lessons which children spell at three or four years of age. The difficulty at first is to preserve them alive. They are born among the ruins of ruins. Their A B C is that of a people of Klephtes."i He had the greatest difficulty to find a lodging in Corinth, it was the most desolate city he saw in Greece. Passing Nemea, he traversed the mountains of Argolide, and embarking at Epidaurus, crossed to the island of iEgina. Making his way to the columns of Panhelleni, he caught sight of Athens. This city, still in the hands of the Turks, he courageously determined to see, so setting 1 From kXetttw, I steal ; do a thing secretly. IN ATHENS. 113 sail in a Greek bark, he quitted iEgina one evening in May. " Tlie sun was setting to our left on tjie mountains of Epidaurus. Whilst the moon rose slowly ahove the height? of ^gina, the column of the Temple of Venus, enveloped in its beams, seemed like a lighthouse whose light had been extinguished by the storm. The wind had fallen, the sea was smooth and silent, our lateen sail hung to the mast. From time to time the noise of an oar was heard, the phosphorescent sea shone with a thousand sparkles, drops, waves of fire, dying out on both sides of the bark, the helm leaving after it a long trail of light. In a low voice a sailor commenced a song which scarcely rose above the murmur of the waves." As he entered the harbour of the Piraeus, the sun burst out between the Parthenon and the monument of Philo- poppus. He pushed on to Athens with no other harm than a few curses from stray soldiers, and was permitted to enter Athens, making his peace with the Bey and the Bim-bachi by a present of a dozen bottles of rum. He was shown a field near the gardens of the Academy covered with human heads, which the latter official had cut off. Two French doctors that he met in Athens told him that they had witnessed the execution of a man, an old scribe, whom this Turkish official had first flayed alive and then hung up to a tree by iron hooks fastened in his breast. In this frightful condition he lived a whole week. The whole neighbourhood looked like a desert. The sight of Athens in utter desolation made a deep impres- sion on him. He considered his visit worth a whole life. He had spent between six and seven weeks in Greece, at a most dangerous time, without any escort ; he had gone into the heart of the country, had seen many of the sad remains of the war — -bones of slaughtered men, and forests burnt to the ground. From ^gina he visited the Cyclades, and then embark- ing in a Greek corsair, set sail for Malta. Here the refusal of the British authorities to allow him to land, H 114 EDGAR QUINET. suspecting infection, almost cost him his life. The Kttle hoat had to return to the vessel out at sea. It was night, and a storm arose. The tempest became so great that the sailors gave up rowing, and there was every fear that the boat would founder. Then the captain, who had, been one of the most daring of the insurgents, rose suddenly, and blowing mysteriously over the waters, cried out, " See, my children, see how the demons fly away ! " The rowers looked round in a dazed sort of manner, then seizing the oars, began again to struggle with the wind. In a few minutes the vessel they were seeking rose on the top of the waves like an apparition in the darkness, and the crew of the little boat were soon in safety. On his return to Paris he was weU received. The rest of the Commission had done so badly that the authors of it were glad to make the most of the only one who had shown any spirit. During his stay at Charolles with his mother he went to a large assembly of six hundred persons in company with Lamartine, where he had to read portions of his travels, while the poet recited some of his verses. In Paris, Victor Cousin, Benjamin Con- stant, pruizot, and Chateaubriand were all friendly to him, while among his companions we note not only Michelet, but Sainte-Beuve and Jules Janin. His book on " Modern Greece, and its Eelations with Antiquity," was published October 1830. It was the first of a series of most original works upon various nationalities in Europe, in which he seeks to discover the secret of their peculiar genius, and the reasons of its development or decay. ( "S ) CHAPTEE V. PARIS. 1830. "Has all Been undergone for this?" — Paracelsus. " Paeis, Eub db Sobbonnb, August 1830. " I HAVE been here, my very dear mother, since the day before yesterday, Sunday. I will not stop to tell you all I felt at the sight of the tricolour flag on the banks of the Khine ! But I saw clearly that the exile to which I had devoted the best part of my youth was ended. It is a fortunate thing that I have persevered in my detestation of the late reigning house. " But what a vexation to have been absent from Paris at the end of July. I shall never be able to console myself that I did not march with the faubourgs I Who would ever have dreamt that all would be over in three days ? It is a humiliation for our provinces. And then, to have no hope of ever meeting with a similar occasion ! " Cousin sent to me to come at once. But I was already in advance of him, and at Strasburg when the news spread in Germany. They are drunk with joy, and all the people on the banks of the Ehine are only waiting the signal to reunite them- selves to France." Thus wrote Edgar Quinet on the morrow of the Eevolu- tion of July 1830. " Never," said Chateaubriand, in the Chamber of Peers, " was there a defence more just, more heroic, than that of the people of Paris. They did not rise against the law, but for the law; as long as the" social pact was respected, the people remained peaceable. But when, after lies up to the last moment, the conspiracy of stupidity and hypocrisy suddenly broke out, when a Terror of the ' Chateau,' organised by eunuchs, believed ii6 EDGAR QUINET. itself able to replace the Terror of the republic and the iron yoke of the empire, then this people armed itself with intelligence and courage. A whole century could not have ripened a people like these three suns which have just shone on Prance." In aU probability Edgar Quinet arrived in Paris about the time when this speech was delivered. It serves to show at what a white heat the enthusiasm must have been into which he entered, since it com- pelled such an utterance from the finest mind among the legitimists. A few ardent republicans were brooding in disappointment over the result of all their efforts, but the middle classes were generally delighted at a revolution which appeared so entirely their own. The liberal leaders in the schools and in the chambers were pleased, but they were even more surprised, and in trepidation lest anything should imperil the substantial advantage gained. This moderation was a mistake ; it demoralised the energies of the country aroused to an unwonted degree, and turned them into personal efforts for individual advantage. Quinet came up to Paris, ready to do anything for his country ; in a short time, even he appears to be full of anxiety concerning the position he is to fill in the new order of things. In September he writes : — " My vbet deab Mother, — I have been waiting to send you certain ne^ys ; I have none yet. A public chair in one of the great departmental towns is proposed to me. But the idea does not please me much. It may be satisfactory to mention that some new acquaintances, such as M. de Corcelles (de la Seine), are of infinitely more use to me than the old ones, such as M. Cousin, who has lost his head in his new position." " I have every chance of appointment as professor in the Jilcole Normale. I think that I have suffered enough under the Bourbons to have a right to enter the lists. "Michelet has been placed by M. Guizot in the Archives, with nearly three thousand francs. GUIZOT. 117 " I have seen M. Guizot, ■who has received me with a great deal of grace and friendliness. Although his drawing-room was full, he came up to me on entering, and took me to a sofa, where we talked for half an hour. He rapidly related his life since he saw me this winter, and the events of July ; he came , from Mmes the very Tuesday. He spoke to me of my book. I could not have expected more kindness. His head, at least, is not turned. Benjamin Constant has also received me very well. " Cousin proposes a professorship at Strashurg, but this uni- versity is governed by the most pitiful spirit. They make no great reform there. I should study zealously public affairs, for this is the time in which theory and action can harmonise, and I am sure that I should be perfect on this score. Cousin has displayed the most miserable character during the Revolution, especially in knowing how to avail himself of the favour he is in, and which has turned his head. He would serve me, how- ever, if necessary. But, for my part, all is said and ended so far as he is concerned ; so that it is not difficult to be perfectly calm and reasonable about him. The morrow of Wednesday, July 28, he was shut up in his room, crying out to his disciples that the course they were taking would make him lose his place. However, I had a presentiment of it, and I shall not be his dupe. " On Saturday, the day of the great sitting of the deputies, I saw M. Guizot at the ministry. He was playing at billiards with his wife. A moment afterwards, in his drawing-room, in the midst of a number of people, he said aloud, speaking of me : ' I only wait for his book. When I wish to do anything for my friends it is necessary to have some ground with the public. Thus, your nomination will appear the morning of your publi- cation.' In a week I can give my volume 1 to M. Guizot. " The ministry ought to have fallen the day before yesterday ; it is plastered up in order to wait until after the elections ; this will give it, perhaps, three weeks. " This is where we are. My respects to my father. " Edgae Qdinet." Guizot, Minister of Public Instruction in the govern- ment organised after the Eevolution, was already the man to vsrhom power was naturally falling; for, although never popular, his character and policy was the one which answered most completely to the governing influ- ' Modern Greece. ii8 EDGAR QUINET. ences of the day. He was on the lookout for agents in whom he could trust, and this was probably the secret of the engaging familiarity of his first interview with Quinet after the Eevolution ; but he probably soon found that the young man was not flexible enough for his politics. What an idea it gives of the policy of this most austere of Protestants, — Edgar Quinet dropped as use- less to France, Louis Veuillot engaged to write leaders in defence of his Government ! Quinet's charge against Cousin is corroborated by Louis Blanc, who, in his " Histoire de Dix Ans," describes the great philosopher as protesting during the progress of the Eevolution, in the office of the " Globe," against the revolutionary character of the articles, and as saying that " France only wished the White Flag." This from such a man at such a time was terribly discouraging, for Cousin represented the most advanced ideas in philosophy. But the course he probably took from natural timidity, Guizot defended on principle. Social and political truth, he affirmed, was one thing, practical politics another. On the 9th of E"ovember 1830, speaking in the Chamber on the nature of the Eevolution of July, he cynically admitted that the Eepublic was a form of government that reposed on noble principles, and raised noble senti- ments and generous thoughts in the soul ; he even went so far as to say that if it was to be established they were worthy to commence it, but that France was not repub- lican, and that was enough. He respected theories be- cause they were the work of human reason, he honoured passions because they played a great and fine part in humanity, but it was not by forces of this nature that governments were founded. The apparent common sense of such a mode of arguing, couched as it always was in dogmatic and elevated lan- guage, appealed successfully to the sympathies of the citizen-king and the French burghesy ; its true wisdom had to be tested by results. Meanwhile the soul of POLITICS AND PHILOSOPHY. 119 Edgar Quinet revolted against this tendency to divorce practical life from religious, philosophic, and political truth. He was especially disgusted with what seemed to him the terrible fall of Cousin ; and there can be little doubt that the pamphlet, "Philosophy in its Eelations with Political History," which he published in the month Guizot made this speech, indicated his want of faith in the new regime, and had direct reference to his old patron. It was a severe exposure of the weakness of the Eclectic philosophy in time of trial, as manifested by the manner in which its most brilliant exponent cast aU his iine ideals to the winds for the sake of certain tangible results, subordinating his philosophy to political exigencies, rather than trying to lift popular politics to the .ideal that he had so long been preaching. Paith, Quinet declared, faith in thought which had been aroused with so much difficulty, was anew destroyed, and the country, believing itself deceived, would fall back into the tumult of action. All those grand ideas Victor Cousin had for two years past enlarged upon with such eloquence — eternal laws, historic harmony, an infinite world visible to thought alone — all had proved empty words, and it would cost more effort to restore this spiritualistic philo- sophy to public confidence than to bring back the Bourbons. "Let us speak out boldly," he says; "philosophy has abdi- cated its mission as soon as a revolution can occur without its taking part in it. When a philosophy thinks so cheaply of itself that it can barter its very principle and its high ambition on the first chance the world offers it, what respect can it have among a people who have only just given it toleration ? After having seen a religion commit suicide, it remained for us to see a philo- sophy destroy itself in the same fashion ; thus the contempt we have for dogmas will be extended to ideas, now that both bear the mark of a recent apostasy." Cousin would have been more than mortal if after this he had not been inclined to take an acrid view of the I20 EDGAR QUI NET. works of his dear friend. Nor were people slow in bringing Quinet news of Cousin's ill-will. In this very month he hears of a great dispute between the two Victors, Cousin and Hugo, in which, to his satisfaction, the latter praises his " Greece " to the skies, declaring it to be superior to Chateaubriand's " Itindraire." But Quinet was entirely out of his element in the worldly and intriguing atmosphere into which he had plunged. If he had had any practical knowledge of the world he might have saved himself much trouble and bitterness. The Ministry of Public Instruction dazzled his eyes with all sorts of fine things. Would he like to be appointed professor of philosophy in some great city ? Seven were named, he could have his choice. Or possibly he might like a sub-prefecture in Alsace. Such an embarras des richesses made it difficult to decide. He must consult Minna ; he writes to her, inclining to the sub-prefecture, because it would give them an oppor- ttinity to interest themselves in moral reform. " They would thus have a serious and profound aim in life, and devote themselves as far as in them lay to the cause of the soul and to noble thoughts." Meanwhile he did not understand that what the ministry required was some pledge that he meant to support its policy, or, at least, that he did not mean to oppose it. Had he sought his own interest this would have been obvious. He imagined that his intense devotion to his country, combined with his acknowledged abilities, would be enough. For some two or three months he fed on these illusions, finding them daily more and more worthless. M. Guizot's bitter words and com- pressed lips on one occasion showed that Quinet could not expect anything from the Ministry of Public Instruc- tion if he was praised in opposition newspapers. But just then there was a change in the ministry, and his hopes revived. So he writes in November to his mother : — COMMENCES AHASUERUS. 121 " We have more chances than under the last ministry. I assure you that I am dismayed to tliink how little I care for these evanescent enjoyments, that I could now have cheaply if I wished. Beneath them all I only see you and Minna to whom my life is bound. If I were appointed soon, I should not have to wait much longer for her. Without her and without you, I do not know, indeed, how I could go on heing interested in myself. With what eagerness I formerly desired the approbation or commendation of a strong man and a master in art. But now I have it, I would give aU. possible praises for the least thought of a heart that I love. So heaven has made me." In December he writes : — " It is irrevocably decreed that I shaU be appointed to a chair of history ; the Minister of Public Instruction has written to M. de Corcelles that I am about to receive my nomination. As soon as I have a sufficient shelter I shall not wait long to tell my father where I am. Prolonged solitude would be too sad. My good mother, how I desire to be happy for your sake ! . . . the more so as I have perhaps deserved it." Meanwhile he was not idle. About this time he published an article " On the Future of Eeligion " in the " Eevue de Paris." In January 1 8 3 1 the Provisional Government of Belgium were proposing to found a faculty at Brussels, and to obtain the services of three or four French professors. Overtures were made to Quinet, and he was offered the chair of history. He was very much inclined to accept it. He thought that the Belgian Govern- ment attached a social and political plan to this object, and that therefore he would have a serious mission in undertaking it. However, as we hear no more, it is evident that it shared the fate of the vast majority of projects. In the same month he commenced " Ahasuerus.'' When Jules Janin heard that he was engaged on a work of imagination, he supposed it a romance, and wished to join him, but Quinet refused, and that without giving him an idea of what it really would be. At this time, too, he read the "Memoirs of Lord 122 EDGAR QUINET. Byron,"—" the only thing," he says, " that I have read with pleasure for a long time. The further Byron advances the more he gives up affectation. At the end he was really strong." Quinet wished much to see the Countess Guiccioli. In the following May (1831) he is engaged with MM. Odillon Barrot, Cormenin, De Tracy, Victor Hugo, Lerminier, and Francis Corcelles, in discussing the foundation of a new journal. The result was the " Eevue des Deux Mondes." It was during this month that he unearthed a number of ancient manuscripts in the Bibliotheque Royale. They proved to be epic poems written in the Middle Ages, founded more or less on the Celtic traditions. While at Heidelberg in 1828, he was engaged in studying the traditions found in the popular epics of various nations, and he had prepared the necessary materials for a col- lection of the principal remains of the French heroic cycles when he was sent out to the Morea. On his return his attention was again directed to the subject, and his researches were rewarded by the discovery of these unnoticed treasures in the Eoyal Library. He found there at least seventy most important manu- scripts of romance epics, varying in length from twenty thousand to seventy thousand vexB&s, and filling seventy volumes in folio. In his ardour he determined to devote himself to their study, and addressed a letter to the Government, calling upon it to publish these literary monuments of ancient France as a work of national im- portance. He was appointed to draw up a report, which he did, little dreaming of the tremendous storm it would raise. His crime was twofold, he was a new man, and he did not follow the authorities ; on the contrary, he dared to advance some extraordinary opinions of his own. He affirmed the Celtic basis of the poems of the Arthus ; the priority of the metrical to the prose versions ; the differ- FRENCH EPICS OF THE TWELFTH CENTURY. 123 ence of the cycles to be marked by difference of metres ; the importance of the epic monuments of Charlemagne and of the Eound Table to the literary history of France, the origin of which, he contended, these romance epics proved to belong to the twelfth or even to the eleventh rather than to the fifteenth century. These points, since confirmed and accepted, were so disputed that Quinet withdrew from the subject, but without giving up his intention of editing one of these poems himself " Parceval " was the one he had chosen, and he intended to precede it by a work on the sources of Celtic traditions and their relation to the East and the North. He believed that these poems attach themselves by many links to the universal traditions of humanity, it being evident that they are a natural succession and de- velopment of the doctrines of the East. Every part, for instance, of the " Holy Graal " leads back incessantly to the history of the Hindoo, Persian, and Pelasgic religions. The article, " Unpublished French Epics of the Twelfth Century," in vol. ix. of Quinet's Works, first appeared this year (1831) in De Lamennais' Journal, "L'Avenir.'' The impetus he gave to the study of the romance poetry in France met with but scant acknowledgment. ( 124 ) CHAPTER VI. PARIS. 1 83 1. ** A man may prophesy, With a near aim, of the main chance of things As yet not come to life ; which in their seeds, And weak beginnings, lie intreasured." — KiTig Henry IV. On the evening of the third day of the Eevolution of July, six young men might have been seen moving rest- lessly about a large hall, lighted by lamps, in the Palais Royal, rive of them were advanced republicans, brought there by the sixth, a very short gentleman with a big head, in order that the Duke of Orleans might feel the pulse of the republican party. The Lieutenant-General was far from punctual, and his visitors were getting exas- perated, when all of a sudden he entered, smiling gra- ciously. As he appeared not to know why they were there, one of the company pointed out the short gentleman as the person who had invited them. M. Thiers, for it was no other, looked a little embarrassed, and the speaker, turning on the Duke, said bluntly — " To-morrow you will be king." This remark was met by an incredulous look, and the Lieutenant-General said something about not aspiring to the throne. " But supposing you become king,'' "persisted his inter- rogator, " what is your opinion about the treaties of 1 8 1 5 ? This is not a liheral revolution, it has been made in the streets, it is national. It is the sight of the THE REPUBLICANS OF 1830. 125 tricolour flag that has caused the people to rise, and it certainly would be easier to push Paris to the Ehine than to St. Cloud." The Duke of Orleans answered that he was no partisan of the treaties of 1815, but it was of importance to keep within bounds in the presence of foreign powers, and that there were some sentiments it would not do to express too loudly. After listening to a like oracular utterance on the abolition of the peerage, the young republicans retired, very dissatisfied, one of them going so far as to reply " Never " to the Duke's closing remark — " You will come round to me, you will see ! " This story, which we have on the authority of Louis Blanc, is interesting, since it exhibits in its earliest manifestation the vital difference between Louis Philippe and the heart of France. These young republicans represented a political prin- ciple which had become with them, and others like them, a religion. It had once raised France to the highest possible position in Europe. No nation in the modern world had ever approached her position under the Eepublic and the Empire. Far from being worn out, it had just produced results which even legitimists had been compelled to admit were unexceptionable. On the other hand, neither Louis Philippe, nor the ministers he trusted, believed in the Eevolution. Some of the earlier ones, as Lafitte and Dupont de I'Eure, might have sympathised with it, but none of them dreamt of affronting any foreign perils on its behalf The great idea of their foreign policy was so to conciliate mon- archical Europe as to get the revolutionary government of July not only admitted into the European concert, but into the confidence of the great powers. They argued that by so doing France would obtain repose for the development of her interior resources, and securely found her liberties. They boldly proclaimed the doctrine of 126 EDGAR QUINET. non-intervention. But in practice they only adhered to it so long as it suited their own interests. Thus they supported an armed attempt to. revolutionise Spain because Ferdinand VII. had delayed recognition of the new king, withdrawing their countenance from the insur- rection as soon as the threatened monarch gave the required guarantees. But where the great powers were concerned, they were most resolute in applying the doctrine, as in the case of Poland. Thus the foreign policy of the governments that sprang out of the Eevolution of July appears to have been dictated by no other principle than a short-sighted view of what was for the interest of Orleanist France. As M. Dupia axiomatically put it, " Every one at home, every one for himself." The repxiblicans maiatained the revolutionary tradition in their clubs. There is no sign in Quinet's letters to show that he frequented these clubs, but there can be little doubt that he shared the opiaions they upheld, and that he felt at every turn an increasing disgust for the government. Every ministry proved alike, for it was Louis Philippe himself who gave the keynote. He was the incarnation of the juste-milieu policy. All this yea,r (183 1) Quinet is brooding over the course of events, giving vent from time to time to his indignation in the newspaper called the " National," and at last bringing out some political writings so directly opposed to the policy in favour among the French states- men of the day, as completely to destroy all hope of any preferment from the government. His ideas were thoroughly original, but their most striking feature is their prescience; a prescience that in February 1848 caused him to be acclaimed as the prophet by the students of the College of France, and which was still more mani- fest after the Franco-German war. In his first pamphlet, entitled " Germany and' the Eevolu- tion," Quiaet commenced by asserting that, as every country GERMANY AND THE REVOLUTION. 127 had some point in which it was superior to all others, that in which France took the lead was the worship of Legal Eight in human affairs. On the maintenance of this zeal for justice he considered that the moral unity of France depended; it was this gave a sense to her history and a soul to the country. Take it away and she would hecome contemptihle to herself. This civilising force, this necessity for exterior influence, was the very life of France. He complains, then, that on the morrow of a decided victory of this very principle, France should resign her position as the leader of civilisation in Europe, under the mistaken notion that she must do so to preserve her own liberties. If France thus proved recreant to her calling, Germany, he went on to show, would take her position. Laughing scornfully at the antiquated notions of his coun- trymen concerning their Teutonic neighbours, Quinet told them of a Germany disgusted with dreamy metaphysics and literary cosmopolitanism, regarding France with unbounded bitterness,^ and bent only on realising its own unity. The power designed by its own peculiar characteristics and the popular feeling of Germany to take the lead in this great movement was Prussia. Its despotism, he said, unites whatever is most practical and most ideal, and proves that the care of material interests can exist in connection with brilliant theorising and a transcendental philosophy. He thought it far more menacing than that of Austria, for it is not only in the government but in the people, in the manners ajxd parvenu tone of the national spirit. Prussia never loses sight of the destinies of the German nations ; at the ^ In the latter days of July 1830 Stein was at Nassau. One day his friend Bodelschwingh went over to Ems, and returned about eight o'clock to Nassau. Stein was sitting under the chestnuts in his garden drinking coffee. As Bodelschwingh approached he called out, "What news?" The answer was, " Eevolution in Paris." He was visibly moTed, listened to all the details Bodelschwingh had been able to collect, and then said, " And so the wicked nation is to throw Europe into confusion a second time ! Well, if they must and will break loose, all I can say is, I wish that they had waited till I was dead." He afterwards writes : — " In France the party struggles continue ; people are tired already of the present ministry, and want one more democratic, a more democratic chamber, &c. It is a vain, heartless, selfish people ; irreligious — the devil take them/ " In August of same year Niebuhr, writing to Stein, says : — *' A fearful future close at hand now threatens us. The monster is loose, and for the second time no power can bind it. The Eevolution seems to me all the more irresistible now, because it is accomplished without enthusiasm, without Utopias, as a mere matter of course, and no courage withstands it." — Seeley's " Life of Stein," vol. iii. 128 EDGAR QUINET. present time it invades tliem by its intelligence, later on it will, if it can, do so by force. All this restless, enterprising despotism wants is tbe man who clearly understands its destiny. When this remarkable forecast was written and pub- lished Bismarck was only eighteen years of age, and it was twenty years before he had any idea of the part he was to play. This prophecy about Prussia and its coming leader may seem easy enough now that the fulfilment is so complete as to make it difficult to imagine how Germany ever existed otherwise than it does ; but its real poli- tical insight can only be measured when w-e recall that many years later one of the most experienced statesmen in Europe, and, as it happens, the very man who, above all others, represented the policy against which Quinet was contending, M. Guizot, thus wrote in reference to Prussia in that part of his " Mdmoires " where he treats of these times, and refers to the foreign policy of the party he calls the Eevolutionists : — " Prussia, a nation stiU uncertain of its future, and probably the only power at present in Europe which really encourages an uneasy desire for aggrandisement, can never expect to raise by herself any European question whatever. Her government also, beset internally by liberal exactions, is little inclined to encounter the risk of great enterprises, and makes no external movement beyond what it considers indispensable to satisfy the national pride." 1 Thus while Quinet, thirty-five years in advance, indi- cated with such precision the objects at which Prussia was aiming, the character she had formed, and would further develop, G-uizot more than a quarter of a century after this warning was uttered, was still persisting in the opinion that Prussia was a power disinclined for great enterprises, and one that could never hope to take a commanding position in Europe. ' M^moirea pour servir i, I'histoire de mon temps par F. Guizot. Tom iv. p. 80. 1859. PROPHECIES ABOUT GERMANY. 129 Many other interesting things did Quinet say in this pamphlet upon the cause and effect of the great move- ment in Germany towards national unity. The original destruction of that unity he traced to the Eefor- mation ; the causes that led to a revival of a desire for it, he declared to be two — the intellectual unity produced by the rise of a great national literature, and the moral unity aroused by the invasions under Napoleon ; finally, he explained how its imme- diate effect was to cause indifference to everything that stood in the way of its realisation, even political liberty. Yet in realising it political liberty would make conquests ; noiselessly the work would go on, but none the less surely. Patiently and slowly would the German people work to sap each little monarchy until one after the other fell peaceably into the bosom of a state constitutional and national. The principal monarchy in Germany, the Austrian, was thus crumbling away, had been crumbling away ever since the sixteenth century ; the ancient Germanic Diet was on the road to quiet dissolution. One fine morning it would be transformed into a constitutional representation of all the local sovereignties. ^ How much, he exclaims, do the Germans owe to their Luther ! He has made it unnecessary for them to have a Mirabeau, a Convention, a Terror, or a Robespierre. Tradition, monarchy, aristocracy, he has undermined them all, he has wounded them to the heart. And now, as religious discord produced political disunion, the coming political unity is foreshadowed in the aspi- rations of Lutheranism and Calvinism after ecclesiastical unity. He notes that material interests are working in the same great cause, for everywhere the restrictions caused by the artificial fron- tiers are regarded with sullen anger, the people of Germany asking for nothing better than to be driven out of their natural slowness to demand the abolition of the customs, and a treaty of commercial union between the States, the immediate result of all such movements being to confer on Prussia the protectorate of the rest of Germany. And we, he goes on to say, who are constituted to understand the power of ideas, we have allowed ourselves to imagine that this movement of intellect and genius would be an exception to the general rule, and would never be ambitious of passing from con- science to will, from will to action, and would never lust after social power and political force. And now, those ideas which we thought would remain unfathomable and incorporeal, prove to be just like ' Tliia actually took place in 1848. 130 EDGAR QUINET. all those that have appeared before them, and rise up as the genius of a race of men, and that race ranged under the dictatorship of a people, not more enlightened than the rest of Germany, but more greedy, more ardent, more exacting, more used to business. Ever since the close of the Middle Age, the initiative in the German States has been passing from the south to the north, and the instrument the north is occupied in making is Prussia. Leave her alone, and she will press slowly on to the murder of the old kingdom of France. The Treaty of Westphalia and the cession of Alsace and Lorraine is the wound at the bottom of all German projects and rancours, one of the complaints of the popular party being that no more territory was taken from France in 1815; that, to use their own words, " they did not keep the fox when they had caught it." Thus that which they dared not do in 181 5 has now become the commonplace of their ambition. ^ But it was not a mere commonplace patriotism that made Edgar Quinet think it so vital to France that she should preserve the Ehenish Provinces. Historically he found that they had always been used as the fortifica- tions of the country that most brilliantly represented civilisation. To resist then this power, thus organising itself in the north, he said in a second pamphlet, called " Warning to the Monarchy of July," France ought to entrench herself in her historical posi- tions, and place herself at the head of the political system of Southern Europe ; but instead of doing this, he complained that the whole policy of the Government of July, in Italy, in Greece, and above aU towards Poland, had tended to give Ger- many material aid. The French Revolution, he argued, just as the English, has its system of facts to accomplish : from its origin its natural bent has been to end, sooner or later, in the present form of the American Revolution. If the Orleanist Government had had the discernment to see this simple truth they would have been, careful to associate the cause of constitutional liberty in Prance with the liberties of Europe. To attempt to detach France from the society in which she has her roots, to isolate her from those she has already led, and who still look to her, is to commit political suicide. But who, he asks, will perish ? Will it be France ? No ; ' See Professor Seeley's "Life of Stein," toI. iii. p. 344. PROPHECIES ABOUT FRANCE. 131 his patriotism forbids him to believe that the country will suffer more than a temporary depression, but upon the monarchy which has inaugurated this policy will come all its perils. For every- thing it loses abroad it will have to redeem at home : placed between two opposite forces, whatever it yields to one, it will have to yield to the other, until it only survives in the rival forces that it has enlarged and strengthened out of its own being. To those who always supported a timid or a reactionary policy by appealing to the fear that a general war would result if the principles of the Eevolution were pushed too far, he replies : Do not imagine a European war will follow even upon such a catastrophe as the downfall of the monarchy of 1830. All the possible causes of war which could arise out of the Revolution were taken up by Napoleon and exhausted. Monarchy and democracy will be left in France to fight it out alone. The popular power will have no help from without, but neither will the royal power ; and when the time comes for the latter to perish, Europe will not trouble herself to gather up its remains, even if she were allowed to do so. Finally, he asserts the democratic power, destined to supplant both monarchy and aristocracy, will consume itself in its turn, so that when all the facts of modern society are accomplished, and all its solutions worn out in the ruins of every form of government, the new order of which the world is in travail, and which no one can define, may establish itself. The ardour of Edgar Quinet's patriotism and the entire unworldliness of his character will be apparent when it is remembered that all his hopes of marriage and settle- ment in life depended on his obtaining a professorship, an office entirely in the hands of the government. His friends tried to prevent him from thus compromising his future, his publisher going so far as to suppress the most dangerous passages in the pamphlets ; but he went up to Paris expressly to see them re-inserted and printed. The resiilt was that seven years elapsed before he re- ceived any appointment, and even then the king was annoyed. But patriotism and disinterestedness do not explain the extraordinary fact that a young man of twenty- eight saw the political situation, not only of the moment, 132 EDGAR QUINET. but for fifty years to come, with an infinitely clearer vision than any statesman of the age. To have seen clearly half a century ago that Germany was the one enemy France had to fear ; that Germany would never rest satisfied until she had recovered Alsace and Lor- raine ; that her one object was consolidation, unity, the concentration of her force under one- leading power ; that that power was not Austria, which was crumbling away, but Prussia ; to have exactly traced the character Prussia has since developed, and to have said emphati- cally that all she wanted was the man who wotdd know what she ought to do ; and not only to unfold all- this, but in the same year to reveal as distinctly the future of Prance, to have foretold in the very hour of its strength the downfall of the Orleans monarchy, and the coming of the republic of 1848, adding, what was contrary to the universal opinion, that when this revolution should occur, it would not be followed by a general war, but that Europe would leave the two principles of monarchy and democracy to fight it out in France, iintil democracy conquered, had its turn of power, to fail at last, like all previous forms, in order that the new order of things might be inaugurated; — to have seen all this clearly, and to have announced it in a manner so public, so thoroughly historic, must for ever establish Quinet as a prophet among the nations — a prophet in the real, the biblical sense. What was the nature of this gift, how was it he pos- sessed it, and, possessing it, how did he preserve it? The name he gave it was philosophic intuition, and he described it as the application of moral ideas to human affairs. What the moral ide^s were which specially guided him in his study of history and of politics we may learn from his " Introduction to Herder," and from his " Genius of the Ancient Eeligions " and " Christianity and the French Eevolution." In the first-named work they appear in germ and in their most abstract form : Moral liberty WHAT MADE HIM A PROPHET. 133 working freely in a grand necessity of things ; human wills controlling and directing the course of events, but themselves the subject of law ; universal history mirrored in the individual soul ; obedience to the law of humanity the condition of the full realisation of the individual life ; a Supreme Will overruling all things — personal, free, all- wise. In the last two, really forming one work, the great moral ideas that formed Quinet's philosophy are applied to universal history. Though worked out in infinite detail, they have become simple, more easy to grasp than in the " Introduction to Herder," the great leading thought being that the moving forces in every nation are its ideas, and that its ideas spring out of its religion, that is, out of its relations with the Eternal. It was this habit of never separating the material from the spiritual, the temporary from the eternal, the real from the ideal, that gave Quinet such marvellous insight, not only into the history of the past, but just as much into the practical politics of his own day. His greatness consists in showing in every page of his writings, and in his own personal history, that there can be no divorce between time and eternity, between politics and religion, between man and God. The statesman, the philosopher, the diviue, who attempts to act or to teach independently of the plan of the universe, becomes a blind leader of the blind. That plan, Quinet evidently came to believe, was infinitely more simple than was supposed, and he who in any real degree grasps its idea, and lives in it, becomes thereby filled with the true prophetic spirit, understood in its highest, its biblical sense. " For," said Quinet, speaking of the Hebrew prophets, " all the thoughts of God, as weU as His works, are enveloped in one supreme thought; and the men who have been the first to possess this idea, have really possessed the science of all times and of all forms to come." The application of these great moral ideas was, no doubt, aided in 134 EDGAR QUINET. Quinet's case by peculiarities of principles, tempera- ment, experience ; all combined together to produce this philosophical intuition, or, as I have called it, prophetic insight. But, after all, is such insight only possible in the rarest cases ? Was no one in Quinet's day gifted with an intellect as penetrating as his, with human sympathies as profound, with experiences as varied, with principles as noble and as pure ? Doubtless there were many such, certainly Edgar Quinet thought he knew one. What prevented them, then, seeing historical and political truth as clearly as he did ? ( 135 ) CHAPTEE VII. CERTINES. 1 83 I-I 832. " At Hirsau, 'midst the ruins There waved an elm-tree tall, Its coronal of verdure High o'er the convent-wall. Its roots were deep emburied, In cloister gray it grew, And like a roof its arches Spread in the azure blue. I've seen it ofttimes glowing In the first morning ray, I've seen it still in sun-light, Steeped was the vale in gray. In Wittonberg*a old cloister There grew a tree as well. Stretching giant boughs to heaven Forth from its cloistered cell, O beam of Light I thou piercest The deepest, darkest night, O soul below I thou strivest Upward to air and light." — Uhland, translated by W. C. Sandaes. In comparing the happiuess of his old age with the sad- ness of his early life, Edgar Quinet conceived that the latter arose from his feeling himself too near the bounds of his intelligence ; he felt oppressed by a certain void in his intellect, by the many difficulties he could not solve ; his thought was still chaotic, his whole being far below that which it was to become. Out of this chaos he was unable to extricate himself. Overwhelmed at once by thick darkness and an overpowering desire for light, he questioned all things, but without having any answer. 136 EDGAR QUINET. until at last such an intolerable grief took possession of him that he could find no rest night or day. "How could I enjoy anything ? " he goes on to say. "I did not see, I did not hear. What was I to do then 1 I waited. But for what? A thing that never came, and which I don't know how to name. Wherever I was I felt homesick. For what home ? you will say. For a home unknown, that I should never see, hut which attracted me with an invincible attrac- tion. People asked me, ' How is it you do not feel weU heif ? Why do you go away ? ' I did not know what to reply, but I went." This state of depression was overwhelming during the summer of 1 8 3 1 ; accordingly he left Paris, and when " Germany and the Eevolution " was published, he was at Certines. Here he stayed until the middle of January 1832. He had never seen Certines before during the winter. The grey forests all laden with hoar frost pleased him, and the repose of nature communicated itself to his soul. It was just the quiet that he wanted, for a poem was forming itself out of the agitations through which his mind was passing. On quitting Certines he made a trip to C^lignat, where he remained six days, going up into the mountains at all times, day and night. Some friends accompanied him to Nantua, spending some time on the road at the Grotto of Corveziat. Towards the end of this month his father died. Sym- pathy between father and son does not appear to have at any time existed. Jerome Quinet's cold, satirical manner, and entire absorption in his own pursuits, had killed it in the bud. Though a man of the Eevolution he had old-world notions concerning his own autho- rity, leading him blindly to oppose the wishes of his son. Yet he was, as no one can doubt who looks at his expansive brow, a man of great intellect. On certain points, notably in his genius for mathematics, he was even superior to his son. Independent, proud, HIS FATHER'S RESEARCHES. 137 and of stern republican principles, he was not likely to attain to honour under the Empire or the Eestora- tion. Accordingly he lived in obscurity in Bourg, giving himself up to scientific research and to the drainage of the neighbouring marshes. His researches resulted in one important discovery. He interested himself very deeply in the deviations of the magnetic needle, and he came to the conclusion that its actual inclination would be found at zero on the Equator, five or six degrees of longitude east of Paris. He communicated his calcula- tions to the Geographical Society of Paris, and to Eear- Admiral de Eossel, the President, begging that observations might be made on the coast of Guinea. His calculations, made in solitude, in an obscure town, were subsequently confirmed by actual observation ; for Captain Sabine,^ being at the island of St. Thomas, lying directly on the Equator at about five degrees eastern longitude, proved the truth of Jerome Quinet's calculation. " Who would have thought,'' saj's his son, " that such ardour for discovery, joined to an original and penetrating spirit, would have ended without making him a name in science 1 However, he had none, so greatly Were circumstances against him. His labours, continued for forty years with unequalled perseverance, must remain buried. All that can be drawn from them is a confirmation of the striking fact, that men gifted with the most unusual, the most energetic abilities, die unknown, for want of some favourable circumstance to bring them into notice. Isolated, they become entangled in ways where no one follows them. They make discoveries ; but their discoveries remaining hidden, they draw no honour from them, better-placed men rediscover them and rise to fame. Some men always come too soon or too late for renown. On the other hand, how many fools attain an easy triumph ! Talent, genius even, are only 1 The Captain Sabine here referred to is, without doubt, the President of the Eoyal Society, Major-General Sir Edward Sabine. In his " Report on the Variations of the Magnetic Intensity," &c. (Lond. 1838), he gives a table of points at which the magnetic intensity is below zero, and those which came under his own observation are as follows ; — St. Thomas, 0.25 lat., 6.45 long. — Sabine— 1B22, 0.931 intensity. There are two other points lower, but the difference is infinitesimal. The longitude here is from Green- wich, 138 EDGAR QUINET. promises. Destiny is needed; without that, everything must fail." Thus Jerome Quinet was not among those chosen to be renowned on this planet. Being one day asked by his wife in what he thought would consist the future felicity of the just, he replied: "In a knowledge of the secrets of the universe.'' He began to obtain the reward he sought after, even in this life. Jerome Quinet died, nominally at least, a Catholic, for Madame Quinet had masses said at Certines for him in the usual way. It was no doubt the decease of his father that kept Edgar Quinet in the neighbourhood of his early home during all the spring of 1832. In the March of this same year another death occurred, one in which he must have felt a peculiar interest, since it was that of the greatest genius of the age in his own order of talent, one who, moreover, had honoured him by a few words of unsought praise. Goethe died on the 2 2d of this month, an old man of eighty-two. It would appear to have been this event that led Quinet to publish a paper in April on " German Art and Literature." It is divided into three parts. In the first he brings out very forcibly the fact that the great age of German art and literature which the death of Goethe closed, had been one in which art manifested itself without con- ditions and without limits in a universe of its own construction. The littleness of human events, even those that make the most noise and seem almost terrific when placed in contrast to the world of thought, is powerfully brought out in this part of the paper. Every one, he says, knows the portentous meaning of the date '89, of such names as Mirabeau, the Convention, Napoleon ; yet the tremendous cataclysm that these names signify might as well not have happened, so little trace has it left on the contemporary literature of Germany. We might at least have supposed that in its great poets we should find a reflection of such times. But if we turn first of all to the man who conceived the great German epic, we find that while GERMAN ART AND LITERATURE. 139 Goethe has personified in the characters of Faust and Mar- guerite the two spirits ever at war in the bosom of his own people — extreme reflection and extreme ingenuousness — his poem only indicates by its singular character that something unheard of was going on in the world. But whether it was progress or fall, good or evil, are questions which do not trouble the poet. The serenity of Wieland and Herder is even greater ; neither of them conveying the least impression of their time. They might just as well have written in the midst of oriental repose, where nothing is heard but the rustle of a palm leaf, or the wind sighing through the gate of a city in the Delta. And the same may be said of the critical works of the brothers Schlegel. The only one who shares the torment and fever of his epoch, who seems possessed by its ceaseless in- quietude, is Schiller. His words make you feel that a storm is shaking the earth beneath his feet, he is the only one that betrays any terror ; and his contemporaries, calm and serene, reproached him for it. During the Convention there awoke, as it were from a sleep of ages in the enchanted castle of Barbarossa, one of the old medicBval minstrels. No one in reality could be more a stranger to the modern world than Tieck. He is the Ariel of poets, the frolicsome sprite who sports with himself and others, the true buffoon of the universe, the inheritor of Hans Sachs and the meister-sanger. And yet even in him German art did not reach its limit of separation from the contemporaneous world. The mysticism of Jean Paul Richter invented another earth, another heaven, a mingling of supernatural colours, creative dreams in which phantom worlds moved in the bosom of a night that never knows a dawn. From the height of this unknown firmament the angels stretch their white wings to hide and stifle the cries and distress of the real universe. Here, then, is a literature in which not a single echo is found of political society. Such a degree of abstraction could be attained only by the German race. That race appeared about the same time as the gospel, to spiritualise the world. At each of its ages its mission has been to perpetuate the miracle of thought without form : a paganism without a victim, an epic without the wonderful, a Christianity without an altar, a law without a code, an art without a country. In the second portion of the paper, the change from this calm repose to the bloodthirsty enthusiasm of the German war poetry is traced. Germany became discontented with leaders who were careless of mundane affairs, even when the soil of their country trembled with the shock of battles. I40 EDGAR QUINET. Even Goethe lost his popularity in his old age ; many felt that his cosmopolitan genius had frost-hitten much sincere enthu- siasm, and that he had given Germany the bitter gift of the knowledge of good and evil. The change was visible in all things. The echoes of the human race, numerous and nameless in Mozart and Hadyn, give place in Weber and Spohr to a music peculiarly indigenous ; while in painting the German school of the fourteenth century supplants the Greek art of Winckelmann and Goethe. The study of the frescoes of the cathedrals almost inaugurates a new religion. There is a rage for mediaevalism. Everything must wear the forms of Albert Durer and Holbein. A still greater change came over poetry, for under the impul- sion of the new epoch it threw itself headlong into the fight. In 1814 and 1815, songs, terrible and bloody as the time, rained thick. The poets, with official mission to exalt the courage of the armies, resembled the ancient bards. What hymns charged with powder ! what joyous ballads flamed forth in the grape- shot ! what intrepid iambics rose erect, all blazing in the throat of the cannon ! Then whistled the enchanted balls like spirits in the air ; the sabres glittered in the sunlight as the sling of a Hartz fairy ; the breasts of the horses smoked as a black wave of the Danube ; the streamers of the lances bathed in the dew of the sun of Leipsic ! Who can ever say this poetry wanted reality 1 Say rather it was intoxicated with too much of it. Itself a clarion in the midst of the battle, it was at the mercy of events. The ball that struck Koerner in the forehead just as he had finished his " Song of the Sword," gave art its baptism of fire. Uhland is the Beranger of Germany. Although belonging to this epoch, there is a change in the character of his inspiration. The noise has vanished, the sword is wiped, the struggle finished ; pious, he kneels in victory like the angel of Novalis at the bivouac ; he celebrates the freedom of the soil, the joyful harvest that ger- minates in blood. His originality is consummate, for he veils the national pride in his soul under the humility of an ancient popular ballad ; he conceals the sentiment of liberalism under the forms of the Middle Age. This so-called demagogue of 1 8 1 9 is in reality a vassal of Eudolph, who sings his song under the wild plum and beneath the ruined castle of his lord. He is in poetry what Cornelius is in painting ; they represent, each in his way, the actual state of Germany, hiding new sympathies and a destiny just beginning to unfold under venerable institutions and antiquated forms. The third part is entirely devoted to a name little known, as Quinet says, in France, and certainly stiU less so in England, ON GOERRES. 141 but belonging to one whom very diverse thinkers agree in regard- ing as a Titanic genius. The mission of Goerres, according to Quinet, has been to arouse this great impassive Germany, just as a toreador excites the bull in order to render him furious for the fight. Goerres he describes as at once the apostle and martyr of pantheism. Jacobin, absolutist, priest, demagogue, papist, ultramontane, patriot, he wears out in his soul all social and cosmopolite passions as others do individual ones. No man in his country has ever suffered more in the name of liberty. To his heroic imagination, the movement of the invasion seemed as the signal of a new era in the human race. But when he found it brought forth only the prosaic plagiarism of constitutional monarchy, with so many ephemeral sovereignties, he repudiated these half liberties, and threw down the glove to burgher conquests that he thought impeded and turned aside the true mission of the country. In order to bring about the unity of the German races, he urged them anew into history. But what should be the tie that links all these peoples and tongues into one body ? A religious principle could alone effect the work. Goerres believed that he found that principle in a Catholicism renewed at the source of the traditions of the human race. Henceforth he declared war against the present. He attacked the Reformation which had divided the people, the Liberalism which completed the Eeformation. He conceived for the profit of Germany a revolutionary papacy, which, seated on the body of Austria, should exercise in the north that cohesive power that the papacy of the Middle Age had exercised over the south; he would have a national dictator- ship, a religious restoration with a mitred Napoleon at its head. Thus liberty was to lose itself in faith, as among the French it was lost in glory. After the manner of an Asiatic legislator, Goerres proposed to immure Germany, that she might be dis- cipHned before going forth to the conquest of the future. Goerres is of all the writers of his country the most entirely German. The disordered vegetation of a primitive forest can alone give any idea of his style. Educated in the philosophy of Schelling, he applied it to history. In his orthodox pan- theism, he gathered up the traditions of all times, Christian or pagan, in order to make a new Bible. His history of the reli- gions of the East is a work of art and divination rather than of science. Nature, which has opened in the wide horizon of Germany a field where modern societies may decide their political dif- ferences, has also used this same horizon as the arena in which opinions and human philosophy may be put to the test. Young and inoffensive as yet, they live together without quarrels, and they 142 EDGAR QUINET. believe that under the standard of pantheism this will long con- tinue. But in the degree they develop, each wiU follow its own humour and walk in its own fashion. In this land of repose, there is nothing to-day but struggle. Protestantism against Catholicism, pietism against protestantism, rationalism against' pietism, form the "fatal circle within which you cannot take a step without treading on a corpse. All human opinions have their rendezvous there, and have come there to enter upon their last combat. Arrived at its highest point, the entire spiritual edifice of old Germany is silently perishing. Germany is itself engaged in dispersing its dust to the four winds of heaven — dust not of death but of life ; not of matter but of thoughts ; dust of ideas which the God of humanity gathers together to form a new world. ( 143 ) CHAPTEE VIII. ITALY. 1832. " Wrecks of anotller world, whose ashes still are warm." — Byron. It was a fortunate thing for Quinet that he was in the provinces during the early part of 1832, for it was just at this time that the cholera made its first appearance in Paris, raging with great severity, and exciting intense dismay by the terrible nature of the symptoms. The panic culminated when the head of the Government fell a victim to the plague. Casimir Perier died on the i6th of May, and it must have been within a day or two of this event that Edgar Quinet paid a visit to Lamartine at Saint-Point, where he found him preparing for his voyage to the East. Within a few days after he left Bourg for Lyons, intend- ing to go on to Italy. He seems to have gone by the Lake of Geneva through the Simplon. Winter was hardly over in the Alps, and the intense silence of the scene was broken only by the deadened sound of ava- lanches falling from distant peaks ; the snow, glitter- ing and rose-coloured in the May sunshine, forming a fitting vestibule to " the garden of the world." The Lakes Maggiore and Como appear to him of the same colour as the Mediterranean, perhaps a little less blue, the Borromean Islands like a creation of Ariosto. Of Milan Cathedral he says : " The mysticism of Gothic architecture seems out of its element in this land of Saturn." He wonders why, in Italian Gothic, the spire 144 EDGAR QUINET. is either suppressed or separated from the main body of the church, and suggests that the Italian cares less about cloudland than the German, or that perhaps the temerity of the spire was repugnant to the Eoman tradition. Every scene connected with Napoleon's campaign in Italy had a fascination for him : Castiglione, Lodi, Eivoli. In the amphitheatre at Verona he determines on a pil- grimage to Arcole. He is astonished to find the bridge so little — only five paces wide and about thirty long — and so weak that a goat might have made it tremble. The stream it crossed turned out to be a muddy canal not more than four feet deep, the neighbourhood a mono- tonous plain. There was everything in the scene to depress enthusiasm, but the poet-patriot sees in its melancholy fresh causes of devotion to France, -to Prance who is always so holy and so good, the victim of rulers who restrain her noble passions. A star or two had appeared before he quits the battlefield, and the gates of Vicenza had been long closed when he reached that city. As he travels over the swampy flats on his way to Venice he sees myriads of fireflies, lighting up, then going out, and lighting up again, like little wandering lamps in the land of the dead. The clock in the cam- panile of St. Mark struck eleven as he entered the Italian Tyre. The moon was just emerging from the clouds, gondolas glided past him, while on both sides of the Grand Canal the shadows of the palaces fell on the water, confusing themselves into an architecture fantastic as a dream. At break of day he is at the cathedral, and has poetic thoughts about the flocks of pigeons that alight on every statue and pinnacle in the building. St. Mark's recalls an old Byzantine legend, and looks like St. Sophia, trans- ported to the West. He has no enthusiasm for the stones of Venice. Venetian architecture appears to him to be oppressed with the weight of the Byzantine theology ; a VENETIAN ART 145 precocious decrepitude is seen through its gUding ; it has the ornate graces of the Greek Church, and nothing of the wild sublimity of "Western Catholicism. Of the council chamber in the Arabian-like palace of the Doge, he says : — " The Venetian senate sat between two tortures, the leads above, the subterranean dungeons below. The grand hall itself is radiant with the magnificent paintings of Veronese and Tin- toretto ; you see in them patrician Venice arrayed in all its glory. Thus voluptuousness mingled itself with terror. The Venetian oligarchy were quite at home in a building which was at once a palace, a gaol, and a museum." He was shown a helmet of studied beauty, constructed to crush the beads of the accused. " Thus," he remarks, " Venice was artistic even in her tortures." At perpetual war with nature and the world, secrecy was for the Venetian state the first condition of its con- tinuity. It was not the place for poets, orators, historians, or philosophers. A mute art was the only one possible in a mute society. Yet the sombre severity of Venetian policy did not communicate itself to its painting. Titian and Paul Veronese have the sumptuous sensuality and the aristocratic character of the Council of Ten, but not a touch of its terrible profundity. A reflected ray of the Levant shines from their canvas, their imaginations have been partly formed in the bazaars of Cyprus and Byzantium. These cuUings from his notes, published four years after his return from Italy, give rather his matured thoughts than his immediate impressions. These impres- sions, at least with regard to Venice, were far more enthu- siastic, as his letters show. In them he speaks of its being impossible to tear himself away from Venice. He wandered from morning to night over its mysterious bridges, going about when it got dark in a gondola, and stopping on the water far into the night. " If," he says, " it is possible to die of happiness, I should die here. I write volumes of notes. Venice has the originality K 146 EDGAR QUINET. of Spain, tut of a Spain softened and rendered more beautiful ■fay its fall. I am enamoured witli it, and I can say nothing else. I should like to remain here and die." Again, " I have made a large study of the architecture of St. Mark, and of the palace of the Doge. I inwardly devour, like Saturn, all these stones, and it really affects me as if I had eaten the food of the gods. The women here are intoxicating ; they have a grace and a seriousness fuU of mystery, of which nothing but their city gives any idea. I have seen admirable pictures of the Venetian school which will be valuable for my poem. My whole ambi- tion as a writer would be to belong to this school." In the following picture of Venice he seems to be making the effort : — " Violet clouds, such as those that float over the canvas of Tintoretto, often mass themselves above the city, in lines so straight that they might have been drawn with a square. Then the light concentrates in a narrow belt on the horizon. Every object stands out upon this zone with incredible distinctness; masts, cordage, yards, oars, all is engraved on a sky of copper. From a ground of bronzed waves emerge the palace of the Doge, the campanile of St. Mark with its golden angel ; and then, in the isles, the domes of San Giorgio, of the Redentore, and the Citelle. The entire city rises from this empurpled sea like a creation of one of its painters." Perrara, with its " wide and grass-grown streets," was the next city at which he stopped. Quinet shared Goethe's and Byron's view about Tasso's madness, and nothing so interested him in Ferrara as a visit to the cell where Leonora's brother immured the poet. He found the prison at the bottom of a little court. The vault was so low that in some parts it was impossible to stand upright. A heavy hailstorm, followed by a biting wind, seemed to be in harmony with the painful memories of the place. From Torquata's prison he went to the house where Ariosto dwelt, and found the scene equally in harmony with Ms prosperous life. " A brilliant sun irradiated the chamber of Messir Ludovico. A glossy cat snored at the threshold. Pigeons beat their wings against the glazing of the ogive window. Through the doors of ART AND RELIGION. 147 the apartments I heard the wind whispering and sighing like the agitated phantoms of the poet. His writing-case was on a table. I went down into the garden. It was then in full bloom. I picked some carnations and narcissus. Diapered butterflies rested on the Spanish grasses ; a number of fowls were clucking. All proclaimed the dwelling of a happy man." From Ferrara lie went on to Bologna, where the appear- ance of the Austrians in the square excited his rage and grief. He hastens on to Florence, where he stops a week. Florence he calls the living commentary of Dante. Its architecture, painting, and sculpture of the fourteenth century have close resemblances with the " Divina Commedia." He thinks it impossible to live at Florence without occupying oneself with the history of. art. There the antique tradition met with Christian idealism, and from the union came forth a serenity of form unknown in the Venetian school. As the emblematic city of Dante, Florence rises with each age from circle to circle in art, until it reaches supreme beauty. A new Italy, more beautiful than the ancient one, came out of the tomb of Etruria. He notes the singular fact that Eome, which has given its name to the greatest school, has never herself pro- duced poet, painter, or sculptor. It is often said that religious epochs are favourable to art, but he thinks Italy tells a different tale. As long as faith was profound the painters left their works in a sort of divine infancy, whereas it is during the time that dogma is being attacked, during the era of the Eeformation, that the greatest masters of the Venetian, Florentine, and Man- tuan schools flourish. In the ages of faith religion moulds the painters, in the ages of art the painters mould religion. In the Church of S. Lorenzo the monuments of the Medici made a deep impression on him. That of Lorenzo, son of Piero di Medici, is called II Fenseroso, because it 148 EDGAR QUINET. represents in so perfect a manner its subject seated in deep thought. This figure, meditating in the tomb, seemed to him to figure dead Italy dreaming over her past. After he left Florence the wanderer passed on through Foligno and through Umbria, moving on towards Eome. On his road he went into the Apennines all alone during the night to see two little volcanoes, with a table knife in his pocket to defend himself from the bandits, who he was told made their pots boil on the sides of the crater. When he was still at some distance from Eome he quitted his vetturino and mounted a horse, that he might see the city more plainly. It was hidden to the last moment by the Monte Mario. In his description of the Eoman Campagna, he states, on the authority of an English map of 1834, that there were parts in it not then explored, and which remained white on the map as if they were in the centre of Asia. Another curious thing he mentions is, that at one of the gates of Eome — it would seem to have been the Porta Angelica, the one leading directly to the Piazza of St. Peter's, and the nearest to the Vatican — he saw a number of skulls heaped up in iron cages. He arrived in Eome on the i ith of July, and seems to have remained there a considerable time. His most intimate friends were Chenavard and Gleyre, two artists. Por ancient Eome he has little sympathy. He thought that there was a character about its ruins that accorded well with the monstrous nature of its empire. He instances as an example the baths of Caracalla, which in their formless masses reveal the kind of madness that had seized the people under the Caesars. From their walls he looked down on the antique city, and felt that it had the Babylonian character of the prophecies and lay under sentence of eternal condemnation. The retributive vengeance of Providence is the one thought that strikes him in all he sees of old Eome. Its A STORM IN ROME. 149 most fitting aspect is in a great storm, for then outward nature seems in accord with the divine judgment. " The first sign of such a storm is the Sirocco on the Campagna. Every creature becomes silent as at the approach of a bird of prey. A burning vapour swims in the atmosphere. The crests of the tall pines of 'the Villa Pamphila sway to and fro on the horizon. Bands of gulls and sea-birds rise from Ostia, alighting under the arches of the ruined bridges. The Tiber changes colour and looks like an infernal river. Sighs are heard coming up in puffs out of the rockwork of the Eoma Vecchia. When the light- nings begin to flash, they surround as with an angry dawn the summit of the colisseum, the tower of Nero, the battlements of Adrian's mole, and the taU obelisks in the squares. You might fancy an invisible hand was opening and shutting the sepulchre of the old world. Then the ruins become pale as ghosts ; the nettles on the Thermes emit a faint odour; and the piled-up clouds becoming the colour of blood, end in bursting over the devoted city. " If the bell of S. Onofrio should at this moment happen to toll, its feeble sound is quickly repeated by a thousand others, and scarcely has the last sound died out when an immense murmur exha,les from the earth. The confraternities of the dead raise their mournful chants on the declivity of the Aventine, Christian Eome kneels on the sepulchre of pagan Eome ; all repeating far into the night, Miserere ! miserere ! " He studies Eome of the Middle Age in the Byzantine cloisters, in the basilicas, and in the mosaics. In the latter the impression of the early ages of Christianity is most complete. There is in them the same barbarism and the same sublimity as in the fathers. Their natural relation is with the catacombs, the Lombardian cupolas, the Gregorian chant, with the old organ of Byzantium, and the poetry of the litanies and of the Dies Irm. The mosaic in the ruined church of S. Paolo fuori le Mura moved him deeply. This church, one of the earliest in the neighbourhood of Eome, and supposed to contain the bodies of the apostles Peter and Paul, was burnt down in 1823. Fortunately the apse of the cathedral escaped, and this contained a colossal figure in mosaic of Christ. When Edgar Quinet saw it, the ISO EDGAR QUINET. figure stood among ruins, with workmen in all directions cutting stone and preparing for a new building. In the midst of all these distracting influences " The religion which reigned in. the features, the attitude, the gesture of the figure was," he says, " so profound, that I was affected as if by a liturgio portrait sketched by the hand of a martyr. The Christ of the first ages seemed to be there, pensive over the ruins of His church. Under His feet grew the briers of the Campagna, the tired grasshoppers cried around Him, and my heart, a thousand times more tired than they, rose by bounds to the impression of the lost faith to which the stones around bore witness. I was glad to move away, for the great eyelids seemed to open and the eyes always rested on me. I saw the clouds pass over the city, and at some distance shadow the walls. All recalled the legend of the travelling Christ at the gate of Rome. . . . Since then I have seen the masterpieces of the Vatican, but nothing has so laid hold of me, nothing has appeared to me so apocalyptic, as that Christ of the fourth century standing on the ruins of His church, amidst the brush- wood and the buffaloes of the Eoman Campagna." The feature that gives Eome its character, that, rising above all its ruins, combines its various periods under the visible domination of the papacy, is the dome of St. Peter's. It is the manifest emblem of the triumphant Church. For the Eome of the Eenaissance is in some sort Eome restored to life again on the tombs of the martyrs. This new Eome of the sixteenth century realised on earth the ideal city of the future, which the Christians of the Middle Age had imagined. Compre- hending all forms and all times, it became the image of the city of God and of universal history. Two great artists completed the work ; one had the inspiration of the Old Testament, the other of the New. The paint- ing of Eaffaelle is not the work of a single mind, sum- ming up all that preceded ; it is so tied to tradition as often to seem independent of the will and choice of the artist. Under the full-orbed sun of the Eenaissance you see the asceticism and the sadness of the Middle Age. In Eaffaelle there is something of Perugino, of RAFFAELLE AND MICHAEL ANGELO. 151 Masaccio, and of Fra Angelico. His frescoes are the epic of the Christian tradition. Michael Angelo is quite otherwise. He has neither master nor past. If a real relationship to Dante and the Pisan sculptors can be seen in him, there is also something of the harshness of civil discord, of the vehemence of Savonarola, of the tumultuous spirit of the Guelphs and the Ghibellines ; he has, above all, the spirit of infallibility, which owes nought to any but to himself. He makes, he increases tradition; he does not receive it. He governs, he reigns, in the same way as the Pope. In his biblical platonism he has glimpses of ideas, forms ; he alone perceives them, yet he im- poses them on the world, and the world submits. His works are decrees, his God is the God of excommuni- cation, his madonna that of vengeance, his heaven a menacing one. In Michael Angelo there is something of Gregory VII., just as there is something of Leo X. in Eaffaelle. But what gives all its life to modern Eome are the f^tes of Catholicism. Eome, Quinet says, " is artistic in matters of faith at least as mucli as it is devotee by profession. When at Christmas the peasants come down from the mountains, their rustic rites recall the primitive times when the people took part in the liturgy. The women harmonise well with the candelabra, the statues, the pictures, of the Eoman Church. It is this resemblance between the monuments of art and this people of pilgrims that contributes so much to the magic of the ffites of Eome." Then, after a graphic description of the Pope blessing Eome and the world on Easter day, the wanderer bursts out in admiration — " city great and glorious ! since in thee is still found the question which occupies the world, the only one that is worth debating, — shall thy ruler remain ruler of the world 1 shalt thou remain queen of queens 1 will it happen to thee as to all the cities built by men ? wilt thou have thy rising and thy setting ? or wilt thou, as the city of God, etemaUy repair thy ruins ? 152 EDGAR QUINET. " If lie -who blest thee yesterday should die to-morrow, and disappear without a successor, where would be a solitude like unto thine 1 Then thou, the city of ruins, wouldst know_ what it is to be desolate ; for so long as that old man dwells in the same tomb with thee, thy desert is filled ; he is thy bridegroom, thou art his bride. If he is dying, thou art dying. If he should be reborn, thou wilt be reborn. " Pilgrim of doubt, I have done as the pilgrims of faith ; I have visited the tombs, in the catacombs I have touched the bones of the martyrs. Passers-by looking on, might have said, ' There is a faithful believer.' But while they prayed, I only listened ; while they adored, I tried to adore ; and when I knelt a.s they did, my rebellious spirit stood up in the midst of .the church in the face of what they believed to be God. " I might, like others, have taken for a sign of faith the amusements of my fancy or the commotions of my imagination. But this snare, to my mind more impious than blasphemy, has in nowise seduced me. Between the poet who dreams, and the faithful who believes, there is, whatever may be said, a whole abyss. Eather than only half believe, half love anything, I prefer to believe nothing, to love nothing." " I am emerging," he writes to his mother from Rome in the autumn of 1832, "from a trouble so frightful that I dread aU things, and can give my confidence to nothing but the stones and trees of the villas." The quotation just given explains wliat this " trouble so frightful" was. Clearly the temptation of religious minds in all ages. Only make a little obeisance in the heart to the spirit of falsehood, and all shall be yours, all the joys of faith, of hope, of peace ! " Ahasuerus " was the book he was writing while in Italy. This book is precious indeed, because it was wrung out of the agonies of an honest soul. Upon leaving Eome, Quinet went to the south of Italy, and one of his adventures was the ascent of Vesuvius by night. The volcano was in a very irritable state. From December 25th, 183 1, to February 1832, streams of lava had been pouring forth at intervals, and on the i 3th of August in the following year three streams descended on the Torre del Greco, so that probably the sight he saw was unusually grand. There can be no doubt that ASCENT OF VESUVIUS BY NIGHT. 153 the second scene in the first part of " Prometheus " was moulded on this night's experience. In his notes he thus relates the actual facts : — " At eight o'clock I set out from the little town of Torre del Greco. After an hour's walk I reached the hermitage. The night was pitch dark. I lit my torch, the hermit wished me good luck ; I went on my way with my guide, and very soon attained the foot of the cone. " At this distance I was too near the volcano to see it : I only heard ahove my head explosions, which the echoes increased in a formidable manner, and a rain of stones that rolled down in the darkness. From this tempest came out a great sigh as if a giant was being stoned. The wind extinguished my torch ; I finished by climbing the mountain in complete darkness. But at the moment I reached the summit, an infernal glare lit up the sky. The soil trembled under my feet ; it was warm to the touch. Through its crevasses shone the fiery veins of a hidden furnace. In the midst of the crater where I had come, a new one formed itself which appeared all in flames. The mouth of the abyss exhaled an immense and long-continued breath. This aspiration and respiration, profound and regular as that of the bellows of a forge, rose from the bosom of the oppressed moun- tain. A terrible detonation followed them. The flaming stones were whirled out of sight and fell with a tremendous noise on the edges of the cone. The precipitous sides and the interior of the abyss were lit up as in full daylight. " In the distant openings of the crater the lava sprang from the soU. It ran sparkling from four mouths : very soon the moun- tain uttered a gigantic groan At the moment of the explosion, looking towards the sea, I saw distinctly the little boats at anchor. " The mountain trembled exceedingly, but the waves were not moved. It was fine to behold the sea thus slumbering peace- fully at the base of the exasperated mountain. The bay of Naples resembled the Angelica of Ariosto under the extended wings of the chimera. " I sat down on the trembling earth ; nature was seized with a dizziness to which I abandoned myself with delight These intervals of noise and silence, of light and darkness ; the calm of the night, the calm not less great of the sea ; the mountain starting with emotion : all these contrary eff'ects strengthened one another. Without reflecting upon it, I found in this sight a crowd of images applicable to the moral state in which I then was, and which had got so much worse since I left Rome. 154 EDGAR QUINET. " I passed the night on this height. When the day appeared I was able to satiate myself at leisure with a view of the famous gulf that stretched at my feet. In the distance the isle of Capri, in form like an ancient galley, shut out the open sea. The sun rose on the other side of Pompeii ; it rested some time on the tombs like a funeral torch. It was the signal for a multitude of little vessels to quit the shore and hoist their sails. I heard at the same moment the noise of the towns and villages waking up. The vines entwined among the poplars began to shiver in the sea breeze, a moment after the light sparkled on the wrinkled water ; a golden vapour, like the dust of stars, rose on the horizon ; the air was loaded with perfumes. All nature appeared drunk as at a pagan fite ; and as long as the volcano continued to be agitated, this Christian Campania resembled the sybil muttering on the tripod." In Naples, the city of the senses, he remarks that the most important monuments are tombs, and that those tombs nearly all belong to the epoch of the Spanish rule. He makes the observation that from this careless people, whose hero appears to be Polichinello, have arisen men of the highest spiritual type, or of boundless energy — Pythagoras and his school, Thomas Aquinas, Vico, Spag- noletto, Salvator Eosa. He describes an improvisatore reciting his stories to a crowd of the " noble public " — nohile publico — seated in a circle beneath the shadow of a sail-cloth on the mole. He moralises over the difficulties of a young monk of the Camaldoli in the midst of the attractions nature spreads around him. The siren character of nature in this neighbourhood leads him to speak of the scenes of Eoman voluptuous- ness. When the Eomans began to grow corrupt and to become disgusted with the grandeur and severity of their city, they sought this nature intoxicated and monstrous as themselves. The mixture of voluptuousness and terror characteristic of the times of Tiberius, Nero, Caligula, had its natural counterpart in the promontories of Capri and Misenum. Here, hard by the lakes Avernus and Acherusia, the entrances to the infernal regions, Eoman society planted its villas and held its insolent feasts. ADVENTURE IN THE GROTTO AZURA. 155 Visiting the isle of Capri, he finds the abode of the emperor hidden among tufts of wormwood. A hermit dwells among its ruins. In front is the open sea, on the left the gulf of Sorrento and the peaks of Amalfi. From thence the old emperor, with the instinct of his successor, the osprey, could look down upon his empire, and see coming from afar the tempest which no ship could avoid. " At bottom the antique world was disgusted with itself, and tried to escape from itself by every open road. Those at the head of affairs vaguely felt that a great change was preparing against which it was impossible to contend. Despair seized them, but they did not know whether the evil was in their own hearts or in that of the people, in the great or in the gods, but they knew that they must perish, and that the whole universe was in the plot. Hence this prodigious fright, this ceaseless suspicion." While in Capri he very nearly got shut up for a week in the grotto Azura. In company with two others, a doctor and a painter, he had entered the grotto in the usual way; lying down flat in the boat, the entrance being only three feet high. The extraordinary beauty of this azure cavern is well known. Quinet calls it " the sapphire shell of the siren of Naples." The painter commenced a sketch, and none of them perceived that the wind was freshening without. When they did, it was too late, the storm was up. From the sides of the mountain came roarings like a herd of sea- bulls, and at times explosions like the battery of a fort. The waves quickly blocked up the opening. The basin of the gulf, so tranquil an hour before, rose in its turn, and the visitors remained plunged in livid obscurity. When the flood withdrew they could see the ravines hol- lowed out in the gulf After one of its returns they tried to follow the wave, but just as they reached the opening it rose again and broke over them with fury. It raised their boat perpendicularly, forced it against the side of the cavern, and finally threw it into the centre. 156 EDGAR QUINET. Quinet proposed to try and swim out in order to get succour, but this was impracticable, owing to the violent way in which the surf beat against the entrance. They made up their minds that they should have to pass the night in the place, and got on to the ledge of a rock. At sunset the sea fell. About an hour afterwards they thought that they heard voices. Some inhabitants of Capri, who had seen them leave in the morning, had divined their embarrassment. They attempted to tug them out, but could not succeed until night had closed in and the wind had fallen. On All Saints' day in Naples he saw the skulls of the dead brought out from their tombs and placed in the middle of the vaults of the churches between lighted tapers, each having its name written on the forehead. The crowd came and looked, but betrayed no horror, either because it was a traditional custom, or, as Quinet suggests, because there is in the soil of this country a mixture of asceticism and sensuality which time cannot efface. Of the street of tombs in Pompeii he says : — " You come here in too close proximity with the vulgar details of life in antiquity. The caricatures on the walls take away all seriousness from the past ; you are in the midst of the gossip of the dead of a little provincial town. Pompeii is not a Sodom condemned by celestial fire, it is only the Epicurean sarcophagus of a courtisan of Campania." Pffistum was the extreme point of his travels in Italy. In the neighbourhood of " The Three Temples," he went into a dilapidated locanda, that contained a sick peasant. The hut recalled one of those bewitched dwellings he had read of in the feverish book of Apuleius. It had the same destitution, the same magical memories and surrounding names. He asked some food ; his miserable host set before him curdled milk and bread. But what with the excessive heat and the miasma of the maremma he fell asleep, and had a dream that he could not forget. " Italy appeared without inhabitants ; by degrees, however, all A DREAM OF ITALY. 157 the art forms that I had seen and admired in my route awoke from the cold marble, or came out of the picture-frames, becoming real beings, and ■sv'alking about instead of the inhabitants who were no more. The Venetians were the first to throw off the dust which covered them. They assembled with light steps on the Lido, and murmured together in a tongue flowing and coloured as the waves of the Adriatic. Leonard! da Vinci's Mona Lisa bent over the bank to look at herself in the Lago Garda. Michael Angelo's sybils seated themselves in the Campagna of Eome, and day and night from the Chapel of San Lorenzo rose up shivering, like celestial Bohemians. £1 Giotto's campanile, without a moment's rest, the blessed anachorites of Fiesole, quitting their cells and their frescoes, ran up and down, unrestrained by fear of mortal man. " Along the coasts, how many angels and archangels came down from the old heaven of Byzantine art, folding their golden wings as they rested near the shore ! From their tuscan viols they drew forth ineffable sounds, such as those I had imagined in the forest of the Dombes ! They chanted entire poems of which I had babbled the first syllables as I wandered along the damp meadow paths. Finally, I saw EaffaeUe's Virgin with the veil, passing with her two children into the garden of the Csesars : there she gathered fresh flowers, and she smiled, for no human doubt had yet communicated itself to these daughters of man's spirit. They alone had kept the faith of the bygone ages, and that eternal love of which the earth was deprived. I heard a voice that said, ' Holy, holy be for ever this land of Italy, this land that has nourished us with her paps, and clothed us with the summer's sun.' " Bo oft IV. THE POET. " Where is the man who does not need an inward ablution before accomplishing his task? Where is he who has not bathed in the flood of human griefs before receiving, according to the oriental expression, the new life, that is, the life of inspiration? Where is the philosopher, the artist who, once at least, has not washed the dust off his dreams on the shores of the immaculate lakes, and cooled his brow in the unfathomable abyss? Does not every poet, before commencing his work, commune with himself in the secret of the forest, or in the secret of his own heart? The painters of the Middle Age, more poets than painters, knelt down before taking up their pencils ; they began by worshipping within themselves the image they were about to represent. What is this but to say, that no one can enter the kingdom of poetry, of philosophy, of reason, without passing through a trial of some kind ? " —Genius of the Religions. »-»» "<---<:..»« ^2v '7?'^ Minna Quinet-MuuiS (1827, iit the age of 25). To face p. t6i. ( i6i ) CHAPTEE I. FRANCE, GERMANY, ITALY. 183I-I832. ' ' When will this wandering life end ? Whatever you may say, 1 was made for a more peaceful life and less troubled affections. " — Lttttr to Ms Mothei'f September 1826. The wanderer now became the poet. The pilgrim through many lands now sought to depict a pilgrimage far more tortuous than the one his actual feet had trod, the wanderings of his soul found their reilection in this pilgrim life. It is, in fact, the image ever consecrated by Christian thought and feeling to man's interior travail. Many before had spoken of the believer, the saint, as a pUgrim ; no one had thought of depicting the sceptic, the accursed, under such an emblem. But is it less true ? Bunyan's Pilgrim wandered by faith through the wilderness of this world to the celestial city; Quinet's pilgrim wanders in doubt through the whole visible earth until he reaches his final bourn, — the day of judgment. The one is a picture of the struggling soul in the seventeenth century, the other of the same internal conflict in the nineteenth. In the iirst it is the individual soul, purely and simply ; in the last it is stUl the individual soul, but that soul mingled with the idea of the soul of Humanity; the personality is strong as ever, but the boundary between it and the universal soul is undefined. In the first the salvation of the individual soul is the absorbing thought; in the last the effort after salvation is lost in a sense of i62 EDGAR QUINET. reprobation, the soul wanders guideless, but impelled by an eternal restlessness towards a goal which always seems distant and unattainable. In the first the soul is ascetic, it quits even wife and children, that it may itself escape from destruction; in the last destruction would be welcome, nought seems worth existence until it finds its partner. Woman to the first appears a siren beckoning the soul to perdition, woman in the last appears the sole link with heaven. Peace, joy, praise — these are the objects after which the elder pilgrim sought, and in which he found his rest ; sadness, weariness, a sense of treachery in all things, a feeling that creation regards him as an outcast, and drives him from every joy, as one branded with the mark of Cain — this is the tone of mind in which the modern pilgrim treads the weary journey from Jerusalem to judgment. An evangelist arouses the elder pilgrim, the Scriptures have furnished the impetus which has filled his soul with a longing after heavenly things ; an angel of wrath commands the unhappy pilgrim of the nineteenth century to leave the home of his childhood, to mount the black steed of care, to bid adieu for ever to quiet rest, and for what? — because he has rejected the Christ. Thrice unhappy soul, thrice unhappy age, that has bid farewell to all joy, all hope, yet preserves a con- science, a faith below all doubt, a love stronger than death, shall its pilgrimage be less interesting than that of the pilgrimage of the struggler after righteousness in the age of puritanism ? Soul of the mighty dreamer, thy mantle hath fallen on one who, like thee, not only pondered but fought; on one who, like thee, wrought out of his own inner consciousness, his own sad experi- ences, the parable of his age. Like thee he lay in prison, but his prison was an intellectual one. He wandered bound and tied through many lands, writing his allegory, piece by piece, in Italian cities, in German THE SHADOW OF A COMING EVIL. 163 cathedrals, in French villages, in Greek deserts. The pilgrim of faith spun his divine allegory in a cell in Bedford gaol; the pilgrim of doubt needed to be re- minded how empty were the noblest works of human genius in the presence of an eternal void, before he could wring out in full measure the agony of despair that had seized upoQ him and upon all his contem- poraries. "To-day a strange malady ceaselessly torments us. How shall I describe it ? It is not like yours, E^nd, mere decay ; it is far more poignant and severe. Day by day it reanimates the heart only that it may feed itself. It is the shadow of future evil — evil most bitter, which, never slumbering, stands hour by hour at your bedside, saying to you, as to the little Capet, ' Can you sleep ? As for me, I wait and watch ! ' From the bottom of our souls we already feel what is going to happen. That nothing is already something which makes us pant with terror. We see it, we touch it, although the world is stiU unaware of it. What kills us is not the feebleness of our own thought, it is having to support the weight of the future in the void of the present. In order to cure our fever, we put to our mouths the cup in which to-morrow human lips will drink, but it is not ours. What are these pains that agonise humanity? Is it about to give birth to a God ? " . When this work first appeared, a French critic^ thus expressed himself: — " There is in this work, so unexpected, so poetic, so likely to disconcert routine, all that can excite admiration and sharpen sarcasm. Its ground and form, thought and language, are alike marked by force arnd quite dazzling in their novelty. Indeed, the colours are too vivid, the effects too intense, the disdain for half-tones too absolute. Everjrthing hastens on, sparkles, gushes forth. At the sound of this lyric torrent, thought, even when most accustomed to the boldest flights of the imagination, starts back, unwilling to cross the voitex. Instead of flowing majes- tically along, restrained, reposeful, poetry here overflows its banks, rushing on, devouring its bed, aind hurrying us with the rapidity of lightning to the last limits of the unknown. In this voyage beyond time and the world, very few among us are clear-sighted enough not to be troubled with vertigo. Moreover, there is nothing in contemporaneous art which will prepare us 1 M. Magnin in the "Kevue des Deux Mondes." l64 EDGAR QUI NET. for such an experience. Byron, Goethe, Chateaubriand, have dug deep into the human soul, but none of them has any- where attempted the infinite beyond the heart and brain of man. Edgar Quinet specially seeks it in nature ; it is the secret of creation that he pursues. His spiritualism stops nowhere in the scale of beings. He interrogates the soul of the ocean, the thought of the stars, the song of the flowers, the silence of the desert, with as much love as the spirit of the races, the voice of the ages, the murmurs of the crowd, the thought of the cathe- drals. His vocation is to decipher the great letters that the finger of the Eternal has printed on all things, and to translate in poetic vibrations the secret music that the world exhales from the bosom of each of its elements, and from all its creatures." The form in which Quinet has thrown his drama is that of the ancient mysteries, that form so free and universal, harmonising in many ways with the nature of the legend. The Mystery takes four days to unfold itself, with an interlude between each, a prologue and an epi- logue enclosing the whole. AHASUEEUS. Heaven is the scene of the prologue. Nearly three thousand years have elapsed since the day of judgment. The world that then ceased to exist had been dominated by evil ; that which God is about to create will be a better one. St. Michael, St. Thomas, St. Bonaventura, great St. Hubert of Liege, Pythagoras, Joseph the Just, and Marcus Tullius,i are chosen to keep watch over this new universe ; and, in order to fit them for their ofiice, they are made to understand the mystery of the old by a dramatic representation in eternal forms of its history. Every epoch, all ages ; everything, in fact, great and small, from the hoary ocean to the flower of a day, finds a voice and reveals the secret of its being. There is silence in heaven, and the spectacle commences. The first day, called the Creation, covers the whole youth of the world, and extends to the birth of the Christ. It opens with the ocean, as yet the sole creation, complaining to its Lord of only seeing Him in its immensity. Ere long Leviathan, the bird Vinateyna, the serpent, the fish Macar, people the waters, the earth, and the skies. Lately emerged from nothingness, these new creatures examine their dwelling-place. Finding no other beings but themselves, they imagine that they are its masters, and with one voice they cry, " It is we who are 1 The representatives to the mind of the Middle Age of the idea of law. AHASUERUS. 165 God ! " The hoary ocean reproves their folly, and bids them make another search, for there is One who hears them — One the stroke of whose sword resounds louder than the scales of Leviathan, whose wings are larger than those of the bird Vina- teyna, whose wounds are more terrible than those of the serpent with a thousand heads. Another epoch, and giants and Titans awake in the caverns of the earth, and speak dreamily to each other. To the foreboding of one of their number, these sons of earth reply by throwing themselves with ardour into their work, and, breaking up the stones and the clay, build gigantic walls, and set up sharp rocks which they cover with runes and hieroglyphs. The Eternal causes His faithful ocean to efface beneath its floods this rough sketch of life as something with which He is not satisfied. Next comes a scene in which a great despot has set up a high tower and defies the universe. The story of King Knut and his courtiers here takes the form of a gigantic legend of the flood. The human tribes appear assembled on the Himalayas. Saluting day and night, the sea, the rivers, the everlasting hills, they ask each object in nature to tell them of their Creator. The time comes for them to depart. Who will show them the way 1 One tribe chooses the Ganges for guide ; another, the griffin ; a third, the ibis. The people are quickly tired and want to rest, but their chosen leaders, imperturbable, hurry them forward to their predestined home, prophesying in symbolic language their future history. Next is seen a cloudless night in the East. The moon, the stars, a flower of the desert, the floods of the Euphrates gently murmuring beneath the willows ; all appear possessed with the mystery of the universe. A concert rises sweetly sad — a sigh of a slave, a word of a king, a quire of priests. The history of the ages that have no annals is related by the mouth of the sphinx. In this strange song are mingled the voices of Thebes, of Nineveh, of Persepolis, of Palmyra. Babylon proposes to make of all their gods only one God. Jerusalem appears, proclaiming good tidings ; she has seen a God lying in the manger of a stable. Three kings, the oldest and the wisest, are deputed by the East to go and adore the new-born God. They offer the Christ a cup of ruddy gold from which all the kings of the earth have drunk, and a heavy crown garnished with nails made of rubies. The virgin mother is frightened at the gifts, and the Infant shows more pleasure at the presence of the shepherds. The kings turn from Him weeping. The sun of the old East is obscured, the dawn of the West arises. Above the roof where the Christ sleeps sing the 1 66 EDGAR QUI NET. small birds, then, comes a song from the shepherds, after which the angel Eaohel sings to her viol, and the scene concluding hy a dialogue between the mother and child concerning their return to their eternal home. To the iirst day succeeds a dance of demons, Beelzebub, Lucifer, Ashtoreth, criticise the heavenly drama. The second day, the Passion, commences by a lamentation of the desert. Its favourite palm-tree has caught sight of the Christ toiling up the rugged path that leads to Golgotha. For the love of Jehovah and the palm-tree, the desert strains itself to overwhelm the streets of Jerusalem with clouds of sand before the Christ can arrive at Calvary, but its course is too slow. Already the crowd follow Jesus staggering beneath His cross. Ahasuerus stands before his door, a partaker in their cruel delight. The Saviour turns to him ; asks him for a little water. He begs him to help Him to carry His cross, but Ahasuerus turns away with contempt. He asks him to let Him rest at his threshold, and Ahasuerus cries out : " Sorcerer, get out of my way. Move on, move on." Then the Christ replies : " Why hast thou said this, Ahasuerus 1 Thou it is who wilt move on until the last judgment. Wherever thou goest thou shalt be called The Wandering Jew. Thou it is who shalt never find seat on which to rest thyself, nor mountain stream at which to slake thy thirst. Thou shalt bear in my stead the burden I go to lay down on the cross. In thy thirst thou shalt drink the dregs that I shall leave at the bottom of my cup. Others shall have my vesture, thou alone shalt inherit my endless sorrow. From thy staff shall bud the hyssop, from thy flask shall flow nothing but wormwood and gall ; despair shall grasp the girdle of thy reins. Thou art the man who shall never see death. . . . I go to Golgotha, but thou, thou shalt go on from ruin to ruin, from kingdom to king- dom, without ever reaching thy Calvary. The gate of thy city shall say to thee, 'Further on, my bench is for others ; ' the river where thou wouldest rest thyself will say to thee, ' Further on ! my bank is my own, it is fuU of briers.' And the sea, too, will say, ' Further on, further on ; art not thou that eternal traveller who goes from people to people, from age to age, drink- ing nothing but tears, who sleeps not, day nor night, and who can never return by the way that thou hast had to ascend V . . . Thou art the man who shall go from temple to temple asking for me, but without ever meeting me. Thou art the man who shall cry, Where is He 1 until, guided by the dead, thou shalt find thyself on the way to the last judgment. When thou seest me AHASUBRUS. 167 again my eyes will be as a flame of fire, and my finger will be raised to beckon thee into the Valley of Jehoshaphat. At the voice of the Christ a Roman soldier throws away his arms and returns to his wife and little ones in Calabria, while the crowd fall back in dismay. Let Ahasuerus be the scape- goat of Juda, they will remain peacefully on their own thresholds and drink the wine of Carmel. The condemned man is as one thunderstruck. Coming to himself, he would go back into his house and ask his sister Martha to sing a hymn, hoping thus to get rid of the terrible voice which still rings in his ears. But on turning to the door of his house there stands an angel of woe, leaning against the black mane of a horse. It is St. Michael with Sem^hd, the horse that has wandered night and day since the beginning of the world. Ahasuerus must mount and depart as soon as the night is come. Inside the house his little brothers are playing, and his father Nathan rejoicing over the fate of the false King of the Jews, and even indulging the hope that perchance one of his own sons may prove the true Messiah. Embracing his family, and bidding a last adieu to the seat at the door and the paternal threshold, Ahasuerus sets out for the West, calling on the birds of the night to precede him and to prepare for him a resting-place. After a first tour of the earth the feet of his horse strike the dead leaves of the Valley of Jehoshaphat. The weary traveller would rest there and drink one drop of water from the muddy spring, but the valley refuses to allow him. The answer to each of his prayers is only an echo of the malediction pronounced by the Christ. To avenge the death of that Just One, the Eternal launches the barbaric hordes against the old Roman world, as formerly He launched the waters of the deluge against the young world of the East. The Goths, the Huns, the Hericles, rush together to the spot where the Roman mare has fallen, in order to trample her to death with their hoofs. Then a second interlude intervenes. The horses of Attila recall the battle-horses of France, and give occasion to the poet to arouse the flagging patriotism of his countrymen. The third day. Death, introduces us to the Middle Age. Erom a battlemented tower that overhangs the Rhine, is heard at midnight a melancholy voice talking with the watchman. The voice is that of a Christian monarch. Their conversation awakens St. Eloi, and he explains to King Dagobert the mani- fest signs of the approaching end of the world. l68 EDGAR QUINET. In the next scene Death, under the guise of an old woman called Mob, appears seated by some ashes; Rachel, a young girl, lives with her. Once an angel, Rachel has fallen from heaven, and now lives with Death as her servant. Her sin — pity for Ahasuerus, in whose miserable fate she forgot the suffering God. Mob continually reminds her of her former blessedness, and ridicules her for longing after it. " What dost thou, seated on thy chair, gazing aU day long through one pane of the window at a corner of the heavens ? Thou wilt never more re-enter that world of dreams." Panting, exhausted, imploring death, Ahasuerus draws nigh to the city where Mob and Rachel live. His faithful steed is not proof against the approach of Mob, it falls and dies at the gate of the city. Ahasuerus only feels faint. The neighbour- hood of Rachel seems already to have lightened the curse, his sentence begins to receive a less literal execution. He has been everywhere, but one place remained — a woman's heart : that place he has found ; he has for one day, at least, found rest. It will no longer be his feet, but his heart and his mind, that will have to traverse this new universe. But it will be a new anguish, for she who loves him will die, and he will continue to exist. More solitary, more cursed than ever, he will have to move on in the road that knows no end. Rachel is strangely troubled by the arrival of this stranger. Everything seems to speak the very word she wants to avoid. When she sleeps the fairies sing to her of love ; between each verse of her prayer they distract her with terrestrial thoughts. She asks Ahasuerus from what country he comes ; she imagines him the son of a king, then she thinks him a holy man ; she beseeches him to pray for her; she wanders with him in a garden, her questions and her answers sounding like half- memories, echoes of another state of being. Meanwhile Mob penetrates with her icy breath the heart of Ahasuerus, that heart which longs to open to faith and to dilate with hope. She hears him sighing, offers him a drink that wiU cure his pain, advises him to travel, suggests that in place of dreams he should occupy himself with realities, he should study science. Science, he complains, is too dry, it can never fill his heart. Ah ! he is unhappily organised ; why not try the trade of the warrior ? nothing better to kill time. That he has tried, and found in it no relief. Try politics, suggests Mob ; only be sure to make interest, properly understood, an infallible guide. But Ahasuerus will not hear her to the end; so, remarking that he is terribly hlase for a man of his age, she tells him that his best plan is to throw himself into the arms of religion. What does she mean ? Well, she favours method in religious matters. AHASUERUS: 169 " Imagine that you have reduced the whole of life to five or six little maxims, so nicely calculated that they hold together like an egg-shell. All that can enter into the shell is the universe, all that cannot is the nothing. This division is easy to remember, and it is extremely convenient thus to possess at every hour all the secrets of life, all the mysteries of the soul and of heaven, a complete knowledge of the heart and of nature, on a bit of paper just big enough for a recipe against the megrims." Ahasuerus replies that if she is not mocking the idea is hope- less; what he is seeking is a new religion, one that shall satisfy the infinite thirst that devours him. Mob would like this also, but until heaven declares itself, would it not be wise to make a god of oneself ? Ahasuerus breaks out into a passionate account of his painful travail, from hope to hope, from religion to religion. How he has interrogated waves, shores, cities, trees, valleys, mountains, and has had no answer but a sigh. Mob says that it is a great foUy of the age to believe nature has any sympathies or antipathies whatever; nature has atoms, that is all. If Ahasuerus is honest he wiU see that all his evils are in himself. If he must have a religion, love, when pure, is one, after a fashion. Yes, he replies, if he could find one friendly heart in which he could lose himself, he could bear the scorn of the world. That is not enough, Mob insinuates ; the senses must not be sacrificed. Of course she would respect life's pro- prieties ; a man has a rank, a name, a position, to keep up. Yes, he admits it : a thousand things separate those that love, but then comes a moment in which the secret of the heart escapes the lips, and that moment is sufficient to embalm an eternity of ages. Embalm ! What ? a mummy 1 You exaggerate. Women are all alike, the best wiU dupe you. If you amuse them, you are quits with them. They were made for the pleasure of men, they think so themselves ; nothing is easier than to make them adore you. No, he cannot play at love ; if this is so, better destroy this hope at once. Exaltation again ; no, he needs love and much of it ; without it life is nothing, nothing. One has only tasted the half of things, yet it is folly to deceive oneself with sentimen- tality, and Mob proceeds to draw a loathsome picture of the too certain future of beauty. She expresses surprise that Ahasuerus should be shocked, she thought reason had more power over him. Is not death the true remedy for all miseries, the only lover worth having ; and, in any case, are there not extraordinary positions in which suicide is excusable ? As that solution, however, is impossible to Ahasuerus, he sees nothing before him but endless despair. But still Mob is not lyo EDGAR QUINBT. disconcerted, and she sets herself to find consolation for the man who cannot commit suicide ; but Ahasuerus will not be consoled. He feels dazed, he sees nothing but darkness. Ah ! says Mob, 'tis midnight ; and so, shaking her dark robe and unfolding her long black wings, she takes her sombre flight, rising in the light of the moon, above the shuddering cities, just as Orcagna has so well painted her in the frescoes of the Campo Santo at Pisa. But if the progress of a universal scepticism, reducing to nothing all poetry, religion, and love, is thus admirably sketched ; with equal delicacy does the poet trace the growth of love in the heart of a woman. Rachel at first repels the admiration of Ahasuerus as profane ; she then finds it only an echo of his own perfection ; finally, she finds no impiety in it, but only a proof that he is more profoundly religious than she is, since he has such a much grander idea of love. All she fears now is the death that must separate them, and here in trying to console her Ahasuerus reveals his scepticism. Life, death, who knows their difference ? Eachel is troubled that she cannot comprehend him ; she fears that he will not love her enough, because she has so little soul. Again, Ahasuerus breaks out into thoughts so materialistic that he seems to deny existence apart from the body, so spiri- tualistic that he is not sure that she is more than a spirit for which his spirit thirsts, more than a shadow to refresh his shade, more than a thought to engulph his thought in a nothing broken by perfumes and sighs. Eachel is shocked, her crucifix seems to bleed. Ahasuerus kisses it, but the more he does so the more the stains appear. She fancies that his very breath is on fire. He is in despair, and reproaches the Christ. Eachel falls at the feet of Ahasuerus, beseeching him to pity her. Has He had pity on me? the agonised man exclaims ; and with a blasphemous defiance, ex- pressive of the intensity of his love for Eachel, the scene closes. A chorus of fairies intervenes, calUng on Sodom and Gomorrah to cover with their darkness this evening's blasphemy. Their horror, however, gives place to the thought that the good who dwell in bliss see far beyond these gloomy skies, and have no fear when they behold a woman weeping at the foot of the Cross. In the next scene Eachel has lost her senses ; she raves of hell, and thinks Ahasuerus a demon, who has come to carry her away. At times she laughs, recognises him, and thinks that they are married, and then lapses again into a state of horror in which she tries to exorcise the demon by pronouncing the sacred name. Meanwhile Ahasuerus bathes her temples, and as she is recover- ing. Mob enters. Ahasuerus, recognising Mob as Death, fears her not, but Eachel is in terror lest she should kill him. Mob, know- ing that it is impossible, makes a virtue of necessity, and only AHASUERUS. 171 professes surprise to find Ahasuerus in Rachel's chamber/demand- ing that propriety should be respected, and their wedding rites solemnised at a church. Ahasuerus is entirely in her hands, and ■will go with her whither she will. Suddenly she places them both on her horse, and flies with them to the cathedral of Strasburg. How is it possible to describe the extraordinary scene that follows, or to give any idea of its power ? The cathedral appear.s as an animated being, the perfection of beauty, of mystery, the work of ages, the representation of eternity visible upon earth. All its wondrous art, all its marvellous forms, all the toil going on here through many generations, is depicted in a series of poems in prose. AU at once these forms are living, moving ; the marble is uttering loud cries, the wipdows are shivering, the tombs open, and the kings, the women and the children, Attila, Sigefroy, Arthur, Charlemagne, Gregory the Great, arise, all accusing the Christ of having deceived them. A thousand years have passed away and the Father's house has not opened to them. They lie still in their cold tombs, and the spider weaves over them its "web ; they hear nothing but the gnawing worm beneath them. " Dance ! dance ! kings and queens, children and women ! Take each other's hands ; go the round of the nave ; and with your waltzes mix songs." Loud knocks are heard at the cathe- dral door, and Mob enters with Ahasuerus and Rachel. The dead welcome Mob as their queen, and she exchanges salutations with the great. Ahasuerus seizes the opportunity to beseech the dead to tell him if they have seen the Christ. No. Have they not seen Jesus of Nazareth with the flaming eyes 1 No. Have they not heard if He has inquired after a traveller from the Holy Land ? No, no. He has asked nothing of us, it is we who have sought Him without finding Him. Do you not know it 1 There is no Christ, no Jesus of Nazareth. Go, if you will, and mock the living. Ahasuerus is delighted, for then he is free. He will go and proclaim the good news to the world, and bid them rejoice and be free also. Rachel implores him not to rejoice ; believe if he win that this cathedral is heavep, that these cold flags are the carpet of the firmament, but not to rejoice that it is so. For every word he says breaks her heart. Why is he so afraid of the Christ ? but that is a secret he will not disclose. Mob comes to conclude their espousals. Pope Gregory himself stands at the altar to pronounce the nuptial benediction. But when he asks Ahasuerus his name, the unhappy man gasps, he cannot pronounce it. The crowd of dead gather round, watching him, jeering him. The Pope is about to excuse him, when the Christ on the great eastern window suddenly cries out : " It is 172 EDGAR QUINET. Ahasuerus, the Wandering Jew." At the sound of this awful voice St. Mark starts in fright, the dead fall as dust, the very- cathedral leaps like a horse, and the whole host fly to their tombs, crying, " Cursed be thou, Ahasuerus." " Blessed be thou, Ahasuerus," replies Eaohel. " Pardon him, Lord ; open heaven to him," — and with this prayer for mercy the act con- cludes. One of those personal confidences so characteristic of the poet now intervenes. It resembles the plaintive purling of some rivulet in the depths of the woods. After the extraordinary scenes of the last act, the monotonous melancholy of this inter- lude calms the mind, and prepares it for a fresh effort. The fourth day, the Last Judgment, is devoted entirely to the future. The roar of cities and of mankind begins to grow feeble. The ocean itself begins to dry up. Doubt, that long has frozen the hearts of all living, has at length penetrated into the very soul of creation. The cry comes, not only from men, but from the flowers, the rivulets, the mountains : " There is no God." Ahasuerus is himself arriving at the last agonies of unbelief. Immortal, he sees himself slowly marching on into the empty nothing. He beseeches Rachel to leave him, and to return to her own home. She refuses : though all lose their faith, she still believes ; though all cease to pray, she stiU prays, and helps Ahasuerus to drink his cup of grief to the dregs. Finally, the last hour of the world sounds. The dread sum- mons of the angel of judgment is heard everywhere. Awake ! awake ! The cities are summoned from their tombs. Athens is ready at once, but Eome cannot make up her mind in which dress to appear ; she would fain crave an hour's delay, and can hardly believe her time is come. Finally, preceded by the black eagles of the Abruzzi, the vultures of the Apennines, and the wolves of Calabria, and followed by her popes, by the children of her church, and the virgins of her paintings, she wings her way to the Valley of Jehoshaphat. Babylon the beautiful is even more tardy ; she would remain for ever sleeping beneath the coverlet of her desert. Paris at the sound of the celestial trumpet wakes joyous, and, imagining she hears the clarion of new battles, calls on all the hosts of France to arise, from those of Bouvines and Agincourt, to those that fought at Austerlitz and Waterloo. Meanwhile human science still goes on revolving its insoluble problems. In the depths of his laboratory, Albert Magnus does not perceive that both the world and his thought have come to an end. Yesterday he fancied that he had hit upon the true method, AHASUERUS. 173 to-day it has proved a delusion, but he still helieves that he is on the eve of discovering the last word of science. The angel of judgment arrives to tear him from his reverie, and to close his book for ever. And now the poet himself revives, but it is not the voice of the archangel that awakes him, but those of a choir of women. He sees Sappho, Heloise, Beatrice, the Countess Guiccioli and the like, followed by souls more dream-like — Desdemona, Juliet, Mignon, Virginie, Atala ; these pass, and more unsubstantial still come mere voices, but voices of hearts, women's hearts, and among them it is not impossible to detect the voice most dear to the poet, but which he had once feared he should never hear again. That voice pierces, him ; those tears, falling on his ashes, put life into his heart. His resurrection is perfected. In the next scene the world is seen in ruins, but the lovers appear to have changed souls. It is no longer Rachel who aspires, but Ahasuerus. Eachel is content to stay on the dying earth if only Ahasuerus is at her side, but not so he. She weeps over the thought of his waning love ; he assures her the evil is not one he can cure, it is a soul malady. " When I am most thine, then it is that I hear a voice crying in my ears, ' Further on, further on ; thou must plunge into the ocean of love. Further on, further on ; thou must go to its very source.' Beneath aU my joys there is a pain so bitter, that no kisses can take away its sting. I have thought it would pass away, but it only increases." Rachel tells him his desires are too boundless, it is her fault that she has not known how to satisfy them. No, it is not her fault. To get rid of it, he has adored her in all things, making for himself an eternal Rachel, who should only be his beloved, Rachel still, Rachel always, Rachel everywhere, but he could not delude himself. On the other hand, her highest aspirations now centre alone in him ; so completely has he become to her all her heaven and all her paradise, that she would willingly enter hell itself with him. But such devotion has no power to satisfy him. " If, but for an hour, I knew what it was to be loved of heaven, I should be more calm. A thousand chimeras about divine love possess my imagination; if I could but taste it, they would all be dissipated ; for it is an overpowering madness that impels me to love something more than love, to adore that of which I do not even know the name. This very evening I could wish to plunge with thee into that infinite sea, to die with thee ; yes, that is all I wish : lead thou me to that shore." Rachel — My Christ is that sea ; come, lose thyself there with me. 174 EDGAR QUINET. Ahasuerus — Is His rock very high, is His ocean deep enough, to drown two souls 1 Rachel — Yes, and every one of their memories. Ahasuerus — Are you quite sure that I shall never more feel disgust, never more feel this desire that everything inflames, that my heart will at last rest at this bourn ? Rachel — I am sure of it. Ahasuerus — And that thy God, in this abyss, will for ever suffice me, so that to-morrow I shall not need a greater one to satisfy a profounder desire 1 Rachel — No ; come, thou wilt never wish any other. Ahasuerus — Never any other, that is the only thing I doubt. Rachel — Ah ! come then ! my God ! The earth has no more water, but my tears shall baptize thee. Kneel as when thou didst adore me. Ahasuerus, falling on his knees, cries : " More tears ! thine are too lukewarm. Weep, weep upon my heart ; it is there, it is there that I feel the thirst." And Eachel says within herself : " There, there .also it is that thou makest me to die, so that I can never rise again." In the next scene the dead are heard rising, followed by Mob. Meeting Ahasuerus, she offers him a tomb, where he may rest at ease. But he has no desire for sleep now, and why? He has hope. Mob mocks at the word as that with which she amuses the dying. For what does he hope ? A future life ! Very modest ; and what more ? That his Master may pardon him. Mob will hide him under her shadow. But his soul, where will she hide that? Bitter is the scorn she pours on the words soul, spirit, life, love, hope. Life is not possible to those who indulge such reveries. He possesses nothing but what he can see with his eyes. She even sneers at the day of judgment — a little smoke, some ashes, and that will be alL After this chUl from the icy touch of death, comes a scene full of mystic sunshine. The flowers, the birds, the mountains, the ocean, the stars, the women, are all hurrying to judgment. The flowers and the birds are consoled by the mystic rose, the Mater sanctissima, the Virgin Mary. The mountains, the ocean, the stars, have doubted, and lose their place in creation ; but the women, who have wept, who have toiled, who have loved on without hope, willing to lose their very all for a look from those they love, they are consoled by the Eternal Father Himself, who tells them that they alone have preserved His memory. The earth has been the place of their betrothal, their nuptials shall be in the skies. AHASUERUS. 175 Tlieii when all the dead gods, all the dead cities, all the dead peoples, have passed in procession hefore the Eternal Father ; when all have disclosed the secret of their being, and have received from the Judge a word, gentle or severe ; when of all that was good in the old universe He has composed his New City, there remains no one to be judged but Ahasuerus and Eachel. Standing before the judgment seat, the Christ asks Ahasu- erus if he is sure that he has gathered up all the sorrow that remained in the world. Yes ! Eachel, in sharing his cup, has helped him to drink it to the last drop. Since his task is finished, would he return to his own home ? " No," replies Ahasuerus, "I ask life, not repose; instead of the steps of my house on Calvary, I would, without stopping, ascend even with Thee the steps of the universe. Without taking breath, I would make my shoes white with the dust of the stars ; ascending, ever ascending from world to world, from heaven to heaven, so that I might see at last the source from whence spring the ages." The Christ — But who would follow thee ? Voices in the Universe — Not us Rachel — I ! I would follow him ; my heart is not wearied. The Christ — That voice has saved thee, Ahasuerus ; I bless thee, pilgrim of the worlds to come. Give me back the burden of the sorrows of earth. Let thy step be buoyant ; the heavens shall bless thee as the earth once cursed thee. . . . Thou shalt open up the way for the universe that follows thee. The angel who accompanies thee shall never quit thee. If thou art tired, thou shalt sit down on my clouds. Go from life to life, from world to world, from one divine city to another ; and when, after eternity, thou shalt, passing from circle to circle, arrive at last at th« infinite summit to which all things tend, towards which souls, peoples, stars, and the ages are ever climbing, then thou shalt cry to the star, to the people, to the universe, should they wish to stop : Else, ever rise, for It is here ! The world promised by the Eternal, created, the mystery finished, nothing more is heard but a sweet harmony of voices and instruments in the new city. The Lyre, whose part it is to chant the future, concludes with an epithalamium celebrating the eternal union of Ahasuerus and Eachel. They are absorbed into one another, and the two lives become one being. Here we would fain rest, but the poet does not permit us. He has filled our hearts with infinite hope, he has made us see the horizon that Christ sees. In the epilogue the clouds of earth cover it once more, and the future that modem scepticism 176 EDGAR QUINET. offers is traced in a few bold, remorseless Strokes, though, not without the presence of a great hope. The new city has existed a long time ; Mary is dead, the angels one after the other have folded their wings ; Eternity has closed the eyes of the Father : Jesus remains alone on the firmament. An immense weariness oppresses Him ; He wishes to rejoin His Father ; He bequeaths the worlds to Eternity, that it may love them in His place : but Eternity knows neither love nor hatred, neither joy nor grief ; impassible, it receives the adieus of Jesus, and predicts for Him a new Incarnation, a new Passion, a new Aceldama. In dying once more Jesus will find again, through a greater tomb, a better world, a new heaven. Having buried the Father and the Son in a frozen star, which moves on in solitude and without light, Eternity is for the second time alone. Yet not sufficiently alone ; for, weary of the worlds that each day wake it with a sigh, it destroys them. Finally, all things are annihilated, and Eternity remains in its solitary grandeur. How sad the author felt in thus concluding this powerful work, and how deep the wound was in his own soul, is manifest by its last lines — " Ici finit le mystfere d'Ahasverus, Priez pour celui qui I'ecrivit." ( 177 ) CHAPTEE II. GSUNSTADT, BADEN. 1834-1835. " The true rest of man's spirit Is in love. When it can find an object that it can really embrace and delight in, then indeed it may forget itself — then it may lose the miserable restlessness of consciousness, and yet live only the more for doing so." — Mwitrice, Evert age has found its voice, and where, in this latter half of the nineteenth century, wiU the people of Europe and America find a voice more truly expressive of the tra- vail of their souls than this mystery play of " Ahasuerus " ? The Wandering Jew is, indeed, an emblem of Humanity through aU time, and especially since the Christian era, but never more so than in the present age. The nine- teenth century has repeated the sin of Ahasuerus, and its punishment is simUar. Moving on at a speed utterly unparalleled, it presses forward, never resting for a moment, but without hope. Its enthusiasms have died out, its illusions have vanished, yet change has become its law : all are drawn into the vortex ; institutions and parties, supposed to be most conservative, proving the most revolutionary of all. Never in the long history of humanity did woman exercise such an influence for good as she has done siuce the Christian era, but never in all the eighteen centuries past has that influence been as great as now. The angel Eachel has really taken upon herself to share man's bitter cup. In every so-called Christian land it is women who show the most courage, who probe the M 1/8 EDGAR QUINBT. wound to its depth, who reanimate the sufferer by their sympathy and enthusiasm. Men call the age impious; but what age ever more intensely felt the want of the divine, ever more intensely longed after God ? And this the poet makes more and more the characteristic of his hero, until it swallows up every other. Even in the epilogue, in the midst of what may be called the final word of scepticism, there is profound faith and hope, and that faith and hope centre, after all, in the Christ, and moreover in a revived Christ, that is to say, in a truer, nobler idea of the Christ. For it must always be borne in mind that the author of " Ahasuerus " does not attempt to display the real Christ, the Christ of the Gospels and of St. Paul, but the Christ of the Middle Age — the awful, unlovable Christ of judgment. It is the vision of that Christ that he represents as passing away, and to be replaced by this truer, nobler idea. Nevertheless the epilogue is a terrible passage, and must chill every heart. But let not the reader accuse Quinet of impiety. He is not the first who has sought to make men comprehend the madness of their course by forcing them to realise, without any intervening steps, the horror of the final catastrophe. And this method Quinet no doubt felt was peculiarly needed in dealing with German scepticism, for it was its character- istic to lead men on by such a number of imperceptible steps, that they became as completely oblivious to the condition iato which they had fallen as any victim of Comus after he had quaffed the luscious draught. " The knot of beliefs in Germany," lie says, " has been slowly untied, poetry having for a long time held the place of religion. The Church has fallen, but the hymn remained. By continually putting Art in the place of Faith, the image in the place of the Idea, a shadow in the place of God, Germany has been able, without a single shock, to lull its past into forgetful- ness, and to bury it without a sigh." GERMAN SCEPTICISM. 179 In his treatise on the " Progress of Scepticism in Germany " he traces the steps in this decline. " Before arriving at indifference to every creed, Germany had tried them all in turn. When the letter hegan to wear out, she re-estahlished it hy accepting the creed in its spirit ; but the spirit, already ruined by mysticism, went the same way as the letter. When the end of her faith had come, she was recon- verted by philosophy. Then this hollow earth broke down in the nihilism of Hegel, and another god had to be made. For a time patriotism became a religion ; faith was retempered in blood, and Te Deums rose to the God of battles, but this faith was quickly dissipated. Then Art became worship, untU. Goethe, its high priest, himself destroyed its altar. " It was Goethe," he says, " who made Germany conscious how far she had gone from the old faith. Attacking nothing, defending nothing, admitting, affirming all things ; under this universal belief was hid a universal doubt. Goethe's philo- sophy, apparently the very opposite to that of Voltaire, led to the same result. For a long time men refused to see in Goethe anything more than the revelation of the interior state of an individual soul ; time and rude shocks have been necessary to show that he really represented the entire nation. "For years Germany was in a magnetic sleep; the writings of the brothers Schlegel threw an appearance of calm over the surface of things, disguising the evil. Germany tried every- thing in order to avoid looking at its wound. Some of its thinkers fled into the cloister, or were converted to the Church of Rome ; others tried to get rid of their new-born scepticism by playing with it, forgetting that it would grow and sting them to the heart. But if Tieok thus helped to popularise doubt, Voss did infinitely more to overturn old German beliefs by the way in which he attacked the principle upon which all German thought rested, Voss, he says, did not see that, in destroying the principle of symbolism, he destroyed at the same time the very ground of German life. This learned peasant took from the past its poetry, little dreaming that in so doing he killed the present. He did not perceive that the cathedrals in which Protestantism worships to-day had their foundations in the Greek basilicas, the basilicas in the temples, the temples of Greece in those of the East, and that, therefore, it was not possible to overturn one of these stages without the whole edifice of human faith at once breaking down. However, Voss was successful in gaining over the philosophy of the day, and so captivating the heart of Germany. Schelling's philosophy, i8o EDGAR QUINET. until then in the ascendant, took refuge in Catholicism ; and from the bosom of the papacy came the boldest attempt in appear- ance to preserve life. But the efforts of Baader and Goerres were useless, for what they sought to reanimate was neither a religion nor a philosophy. Then the idealistic philosophy dead, as its greatest leaders Hegel and Schelling, the German people were left to that real world for which they had become so hungry. " And now," he goes on to say, " in the degree that Germany becomes more sensual, she forms codes of ostentatious severity. A hard methodism has arisen in place of the lost serenity of faith, which pretends, by force of maxims, to get rid of the danger, troubling the pure souls of which the country is still fuU. Nothing shows more the disintegration of the old beliefs tlian the rise from time to time in the public conscience of these sect-phantoms." Finally, he notes how, during the War of Independ- ence, it seemed as if faith might once more be reanimated by a breath from heaven ; but the kings in their selfish- ness dashed this gleam of hope, and now Germany has sunk to the last stage of unbelief, and jeers with Heinrich Heine at all it once loved, while it loves all that it once hated. For the poems of Heine he sees a significance truly social. " Careless and frivolous in form, these charming flowers of poetry, fresh as wild roses, possess a venom that it has taken centuries to distil. For it is Heine's peculiarity to hide the dregs of our age under the sweet and innocent forms of primitive times, the age of Byron under that of Hans Sachs. It is this mingling of innocence and corruption, this dressing out despair in the language of hope, this death that speaks like life, this honey and gall, that makes these poems little masterpieces of art, whimsical, original, immoral. " The earliest of them dates from 1817. Each year the sting grew sharper and pierced deeper. Written in various lands, the only songs that bear the impress of the climate are those com- posed on the shores of the North Sea. There his irony becomes colossal like the genii of the place ; from the clouds of the Baltic he makes a winding-sheet in which he wraps all the gods, Uving and dead, and mocks them in their grave. He quits you there with an epigram, so that you feel in closing this book so' appa- rently frivolous, that all nature is empty, heaven a desert, and THE NEW COLUMBUS. i8i that all tte fruits of the tree of life have been spoilt by a poisoned sting; the -worm consumes them." It was the sight of this great descent from Luther to Goethe, from Goethe to Heine, that weighed so heavily on Quinet's soul, and, stirring within him the prophetic fire, compelled him to portray the religious future of Germany and of all Christendom in this awful epilogue. However, Quinet is no pessimist; he still has un- bounded hope. " The ideal," he says, " still lives, notwithstanding the in- stability of the real. We live in the thought of what ought to be and what will be. The conscience of the human race is forming itself. Its ideals are passing away ; from being many and merely national, they tend to become one, and that one universal. The leader in this great work will be the poet of the future. He will have to be the mediator of the coming peoples. His word will belong exclusively to none. He is already the legislator of the great European confederation that is to be. Yet he will as ever demand faith, and that faith will have to be strained to the uttermost. The Columbus of the new ideal world, he goes forth alone upon the ocean of thought. On- ward he sails, only to find the infinite ever increasing. Still he pursues his way, though what seemed land prove cloud, what hope, mere illusion. To the popular cry, ' Let us turn back,' he will only answer, ' To-morrow ! ' and to-morrow will prove an age. Tempest-tossed he may be, but he will not furl his sail until he has touched that shore where life has its source, and which is called Eternity." How these last words remind us of the -final destiny of Ahasuerus, in which for ever rising until he reaches the summit whither all are tending, he cries to the stars, to the peoples, to the universe : Eise ! for ever rise ! for it is here ! And if the poet represents among us the Eternal Man, forerunner of the universe, the role was never more conscientiously played than by Edgar Quinet. Like his great antitype, the pilgrim of the worlds to come, before he commences his task he becomes one with his good angel. Our poet found repose at last in union 1 82 EDGAR QUINET. • with her who had been the model of the angel Eachel, that perfect type of the feminine nature. Yet, as in the play itself, there had been a time when, in spite of all her love, his betrothed had been herself driven to add to his wounds. Of a faith, childlike and sincere, when she found upon what a sea of doubt he had set sail, she shrank from linking her fate with his, and began to think that she must sacrifice her lover to her God. But as the mystery closes, so ended this trial, and Edgar Quinet was married to Minna Mor6 in a Pro- testant Church, near Grunstadt, on the 21st of Decem- ber 1834. Early in the same month he published what may be called his " Epithalamium." The Church of Brou, the sole object of artistic interest connected with the poet's native town of Bourg, was erected at the moment when Europe was breaking away from the asceticism of the Middle Age, and is itself a striking monument of the new tendency. "It may be affirmed," says our author, "that in no other place does architecture so lend itself to purely personal senti- ments. It has succeeded in translating the tongue of Petrarch, and so giving a form in stone to the most melodious part of the love of the Middle Age. Prom the depth of the sanctuary the prayer of Heloise goes forth from the lips of the Church with a thousand memories of love and a thousand terrestrial regrets which have taken a body in the stone and in the marble. " It is no longer the cathedral, sad and cloud-capped, upon which the storm has beaten for ages, and which for ever remains kneeling before the empty sepulchre of the Lord. It is rather a Beatrice or a Laura who seats herself on the road to heaven, thinking of the perfume of her terrestrial love. The Church of Brou is architecturally the expression of the ideal holiness of love and marriage, as poetry and dogma had consecrated them in the Middle Age." It is a domestic epic containing the whole private life of the time. The title of this paper is : " On the Arts of the Eenaissance and the Church of Brou." It was in the neighbourhood of this church, so pecu- HIS MARRIAGE. 183 liarly dedicated to holy matrimony, that Edgar Quinet intended to bring his wife and fix his home. Certines, the ancestral home, was not more than five miles, as the crow flies, from Brou; and during the summer of 1834 he was here preparing the old place for the reception of his bride. It was a little retreat, poetic enough, very simple and very humble. The lower part was occupied by some country people, who had lived there from father to son, and who were ever ready to give a helping hand. The upper part looked over a balcony upon a scene full of repose, with the mountains in the distance. In the stable was a carriage and a pair of horses; no sign, however, of the poet's wealth, but an absolute necessity in such an out-of-the-way place. However, the scheme was given up. Nothing but the smallness of his means could have ever made him think of living there ; for, as he con- tinually says, it was a most unhealthy district, a district in which the deaths exceeded the births. Two years later the place was sold, and Edgar Quinet and his wife took up their abode at Baden, chiefly because it was suit- able for foreigners and a cheap place to live in. Subse- quently they went to live at the foot of a mountain in the neighbourhood of Heidelberg. At Baden he is writing " Napoleon," a work he calls his " Goliah in verse." He had commenced it some time before his marriage. In the February of 1835 the work is about to be published, when the whole impres- sion was destroyed by fire. However, this is nothing more than a vexatious delay ; " Ahasuerus " has sold well, and another edition is called for. Learned M. Eauriel wants Edgar Quinet to supply his place at the Sorbonne, with the idea of succeeding him in his pro- fessorship. Altogether, things begin to look prosperous. The life he now leads is so different from the wandering, unsatisfied existence that he had led for so many years, that he is quite surprised at his own happiness, and feels '^"^ EDGAR QUINET. like a man raised from the dead. His mother is recon- wife — ^^^^^^' ^"^^ ^^ ^^^*^s ^ ^er concerning his wwl^^ T^ ^ T *^? ™°''^ ^ venerate and cherish her virtues which are those of a saint. I thank heaven every day for hS given her to me. It is she who has cured the infinite p a^urj my heart ; my hfe is entirely changed by her. My only desire ni° T'^J ^' K^^^^' '^'^ day confirms the sentiments of love and affection I entertain for her." e^t-iments oi ( i8s ) CHAPTEE III. BADEN. 1835-1836. " I have a right to answer all yotir complaints by an eternal I, I am a person apart ; I will not be dictated to by any one." — Naipolio% to Josephine {vide " Memoirs de M. de R^musat "). The thought that was in Edgar Quinet's mind at this time was to produce a Trilogy : three poems bearing relation one to the other, and showing Humanity in its three great forms — general, individual, religious. As " Ahasuerus " represented the race, — the Eternal Man, — " Napoleon " was to represent the individual — the hero ; and " Prometheus," which as yet was in petto, the martyr. If, he said, the tie that binds these three poems together could have been made plain from the beginning, many attacks might have been repelled, especially those accusing the earlier one of an irreligious tendency. In no character, ancient or modern, does the indi- vidual come out more completely than in that of Napoleon. Arthur and Charlemagne have both become the subjects of epics, but in neither of them was the individuality so overpowering as to obscure their con- temporaries. Arthur's glory is inseparable from that of his knights, as is Charlemagne's from that of his pala- dins. But who speaks of Napoleon and his marshals ? Napoleon has long ago absorbed all the military glory of his age; and not only its military, but its political and legal glory. It may be perfectly true that this, as much else in his career, is a prodigious usurpation, but 1 86 EDGAR QUINET. it only proves how overpowering was the individuality that could thus blot out from the minds of men the unparalleled devotion of his armies, the ability of his generals, and the sagacity of his statesmen and legists. " The peoples slept, and in a night the deed was done. Day broke, a single man stood up before the sun ; His shadow covered all, the glory fell on him ; Behind him lay the world, a mass obscurely dim. A thousand names are lost that one may fill the skies, A thousand waves have sunk that one alone may rise." ^ But in addition to a poem manifesting the individual in Humanity, Edgar Quinet wished to write the epic of the democratic period in French history. And of this period ISTapoleon was as distinctly the hero as Charle- magne was of its feudal period. In his " Field of the Battle of Waterloo," Quinet asks, " Was it only the cause of a man that was defeated on that occasion ? " No, he replies, " it was the Eevolution that was beaten at Waterloo." The Eevolution brought France into such a condition of antagonism to all the powers of Europe, that to preserve her independence she was obliged to create a dictatorship. The old and the new world could not coexist. War was a necessity of national existence ; the Convention, the Directory, the Consulship, the Empire, were mainly military machines. National independence, Quinet ranks before everything. A naked tyranny born of the soil is preferable to liberty imported into a country by the foreigner. Napoleon began as the servant of France fighting for the national cause ; in the struggle that cause becomes the cause of Hu- manity, the cause of the new world against the old ; then he began to feel vaguely his new position, to regard him- self as the champion of a new civilisation, and he sought to make it triumph with all the energy of a new Mohammed even in the East itself Whatever his faults, he represented the Eevolution ; and when he fell, the Eevolution fell. 1 The First Consul. HIS GOLIAH IN VERSE— ITS MEANING. 187 If, then, the poet discovers a certain enthusiasm for the giant-man, we must remember that he sees in him the hero of the French Eevolution, and the spirit of France incarnate. This does not, however, in the least affect Quinet's conscience. ISTo one could describe more power- fully the heartless nature of his hero's ambition, or the world-wide misery it caused ; no one could raise a more stirring note of national indignation against his tyranny, or make the Nemesis which pursued his career more strikingly manifest. Besides, there were peculiar reasons why Quinet should feel intensely about this epoch in French history. Its close in disgrace and ruin was coincident with that period in his life when impressions are stamped indelibly on the imagination ; the Invasion was burnt into his brain and heart. Moreover, we have seen how his residence in Germany had forced him to comprehend the depth of the animosity against France, and the sure and certain end to which it was tending. To awaken his countrymen out of the fool's paradise into which he believed the temporising policy of the citizen king was leading them, was then not a small part of his aim. In his criticism of this poem, Sainte-Beuve says : " In an epic on Napoleon, the Napoleon of Talleyrand ought to appear as well as that of the Champagne peasant; the part due to popular imagination should be kept in its place, coming to light here and there, but without hiding the real events and the historic situation." But he is not correct if he means that Quinet has been careless of the latter ; for while preserving throughout the popular legen- dary impression of his hero, he brings out clearly enough Napoleon's cynical indifference to right, his towering selfishness, and cold-hearted disregard of everything else in the world but his own glory. To prove it, nearly the whole series of poems would have to be named, but it is specially manifest in The Desert, The First Consul, Auster- litz, Montebello, and The Letter. From The Fete one might i88 EDGAR QUINET. suppose the poet had read the revelations of Madame de Eemusat, so vivid an idea does it give of the selfish, vulgar, masquerading despot in private life.' " That which," Sainte-Beuve considers, '' constitutes the merit, the life of the poem, is, after the greatness of the enterprise and the length of the course it runs, the moving powerful poetry that circulates through it all as the air over vast elevated places, or as the spirit upon the waters," and above all, a certain number of very fine pieces which seem to secure to Edgar Quinet a style of his own. The form into which he has thrown his poem, and the variety of the versification, preserve it from that heavy monotony into which the greatest epic poems tend to fall. Instead of being one long poem, each subject is complete in itself, one object being that they might readily be recited or sung. The italics in the following summary mark the titles of the various poems. NAPOLEOlSr. A POEM. The Cradle (i.) refers to the Isle of Corsica. Madame Letitia (ii.) describes the mother of the young Napoleon. She grieves over the domestic misfortunes, and is wondering what career awaits her son, in whom she already sees extraordinary character. She consults a gipsy who comes to the house by moonlight. In a series of oracular utterances the Bohemian (iii.) foretells the future history of the boy. His hand feels to her " like aii hon weight," and in the entangled lines she sees " battles stern, and deeds of awe." In what Sainte-Beuve calls a veritable ballad, true, natural, powerful in design, and under a tone of lamenta^ tion still noble, touching, and grand, is dimly foreshadowed the campaign in Italy, the bridge of Arcole, the triumph of ambition in the East, the Empire, the subjugation of all the monarchs in Europe, the Nemesis at Moscow, the pursuit of the Cossacks, the Abdication, Elba, the Return, Waterloo, and, finally, the grave at St. Helena. The Adieu (iv.) represents the future hero departing from Corsica in a storm, joyfully bidding farewell to his mother and sisters, welcoming the wind that fills the sail, and the sea-horses NAPOLEON— ARCOLE. 189 that chafe to carry him away. In the dark night the young voyager sees a single star. The Star (v.) is his ; it shines only for him, loving to touch with its golden fingers the long hair hanging over his shoulders, through which the breeze passes and sleeps. The metre changes with the next poem. In it the poet recalls the vigour, the disinterestedness of the men of the Republic (vi.). France as an immortal Thebes, a popular Sion, is besieged night and day by the whole world. , Of her long-haired heroes, Joubert, Desaix, Hoche, Marceau, she asks who is the most valiant, the strongest amongst them, that he may become her master, little dreaming that over the high Apennines a young Corsican is passing who will be the Caesar, not only of herself, but of the world. A battle under the Eepublic, and the sentiment that animated the troops, is well given in the song of the bridge of Arcole (vii.). On a morning in November the trembling marsh wakes up at Eonco ; its willows casting sad shadows, its reeds bending their grey heads in the north wind. A little stream, crossed by a narrow bridge, separates the popular army from that of the king's. Over the narrow bridge the peoples rush breathlessly, untn a great crowd of dead bar the way. Then they spring into the water, and soon its wan floods are streaming over blu^ coats pierced in a hundred places. On the field of hope the new standard has lost its lance, and the waters of Arcole recoil on their bed. Then a pale horseman darts from the melee; leaping oS his saddle, he takes the tricolour in his arms, and rushing on to the bridge, waves it above the creaking planks. The sabres glance from his forehead, the cannon lick the dust at his feet. On his path the trembling nations follow, and from the midst of the reeds of Eonco the standard of liberty has cast its shadow over the world. At this sign the peoples recognise their master. Before they had feared him, now they loved him. But the kings weep, for their long past flies away, the abyss is bridged at Arcole, and the path opened to the human race. The next poem is a cry of those who have fallen in Italy. In this So7ig of the Dead (vm.) the poet is urged with the wine of their combats to intoxicate Prance. The stern remorseless con- queror now begins to show himself. A silent messenger is seen approaching Venice (ix.). Who is this messenger, paler than the night ? with eyes like an antique lamp in an alabaster vault, with mouth that never smiles, with heart that neither loves nor hates, but like some great fire hides itself at daylight under the half-warm cinders. The sea smiles at this piessenger of death, but the beautiful city of twenty centuries knows that her hour has come. Two letters in verse now follow. The Message (x.) is from I90 EDGAR QUI NET. Josephine to Napoleon, upbraiding him for his neglect, and entreating him to give up the phantom — glory. Napoleon in the Answer (xi.) declares that, far from returning, he has only- just commenced his career. God has put His hammer into his hands that he may strike the earth. He must go to the East ; there his eagle shall make its nest. To depict the ■wonderful fascination that the name of Bonaparte already exercises in the East, is the intention of the three poems that follow. The Pyramids (xii. ) await their master ; they ask all things of his coming — the wind from Italy, the stormy sea, the storks that rest on their summits. In a dream the Pacha (xiii. ) of Damascus sees the head of the Sultan Kebir at his saddle-bow ; he is in sunny Provence, scaling old chateaux, where the Christian dogs keep their treasures, and then sailing home with their women bound to the masts of his vessel. Leading his cainel in the night, the driver (xiv.) sings of Bonnaberdi, the lion without a mane, the sultan without a turban, whose wives are forty battles, whose black eunuchs, with their shining poignards, are more than a hundred combats. A Mohammedan Imaum (xv.) proclaims a holy war. Allah is greater than the Sultan Kebir. He knows how to lead these lions of the desert to a dry source, and to overwhelm them under the Simoom. But in the next poem a doleful cry (xvi.) rises up from the Mamelukes after their defeat at Embabeh. And now the poet arrives at a great crisis in his hero's life. In the Desert (xvii.) Napoleon decides his future, deliberately preferring the Evil to the Good. Power rather than Duty is henceforth to be his object. Come thou, my soul, into this silent land ; Forget all thought of fame and kneeling crowds. And here, alone, let us debate this point, — What shall my future be 1 But first of all Tell if thou canst why everywhere my foes Fall at a breath, submissive at my feet ; — Who am I then 1 a man, or more than man ; A prophet, or perchance a demi-god Who of his ruins builds himself an altar And makes a worship. Solve the mystery, Jupiter Ammon, god of these arid sands, Am I divine as thy renowned son, Great Alexander ? Like to him in will, Like him the phantom glory here I seek. The world has lost its way, and in its night It wants a guide to hold it by the hand ; From Ehine to Nile it follows all my steps, Until at last behind these moving sands I fade from sight ; then like a child it cries. Where has he gone ? My master ! is he lost ? NAPOLEON— EGYPT. 191 The hour with issues infinite, now strikes. Rise up my fortune, rise my genius, rise ! And here, in this oasis, look around thee. Who is it says : Thou, thou shalt be a king 1 Spealts the oasis 1 No ! Go, look within Thyself, there shines the coming diadem. How oft in my own mind have dreams been crowned. How oft my glory rose upon those floods And soon made shipwreck ! What is then that voice That rises in my heart and dies away ? Is this the voice that men call destiny 1 Two worlds appear, as in all else I see ; Caesar or Brutus t here the question lies. Brutus loved right, but Caesar filled the world ; Brutus was stainless, Cssar stood alone ; Brutus, a victim, fell slain for his faith. While tyrant Caesar gave the world his law. Caesar means Power, Brutus only Virtue. Conclude, my soul, the balance kicks the beam ; Brutus being mortal, may but chance to live ; 1 will be C^sar — Caesar, god on earth ! General Bonaparte has known his hour, and has leapt on the horse Opportunity. He is named the First Consul (xviii.), and his triumph is celebrated with old Koman pomp and circum- stance. One man has become all, the rest nothing. Oh, for the old consul with the tawny eye ! His work has always to be redone. Slavery is for ever reappearing. The peoples have become gladiators, sold to amuse their Caesar; and running before his car, they shout ; " Ave ! great Ctesar, those about to die salute thee I " Yet the first consul appears as one truly great. He watches as a sentinel over the new society, and spends his nights in preparing for it a new code, astonishing old legists by the ease v^ith which he sees his way through their entanglements. Moreover, his military glories are still unexhausted. St. Bernard (XIX ) celebrates the passage over the Alps, and contains some fine descriptions of Alpine scenery. In the old cathedral a bloody Te Deum (xx.) is chanted, but it is not from the living that it arises, but from the dead, who sing to Sabaoth, Lord of Hosts. " Nothing," says Sainte-Beuve, " could be better imagined or felt than such a pacific, compas- sionate, and pious chant from the mouth of the dead, while the living ignore the miseries of the past, believe in nothing, and are going anew to tear each other in pieces." The next poem describes how the Pope is brought to France, and the part that he plays in the Coronation (xxi.) of Napoleon. The ceremonies over, the organ begins to sound, and from its 192 EDGAR QUINET. strains bursts forth a solemn warning. Belshazzar's feast is recalled,! and the proud Imperator is asked if he does not fear to see the hand upon the wall ; let him drink his brimming cup, and in the dregs he shall find the bitter taste of Waterloo ; let him set sail on the vast sea of human hope, defying winds and waves, and yet shall he ever hear, like some distant sigh, the waves falling on the shores of St. Helena. The Coronation is the prelude to a new series of battles. They open with a fine poem called the Bivouac (xxii.). Men and horses appear swarming over the snow like a flock of larks in January. A voice says "halt ! " and the iron host lie down with the silence of a funeral. The fires of the bivouac redden the horizon ; all sleep — it is a night of strange dreams. In a furrow the Emperor rests on some straw, wrapped in the folds of an immense cloak. In the early hours of the morning a great battle passes through his brain. He awakes his marshals ; he promises his soldiers rest on the ' morrow ; never indeed shall a heavier slumber weigh on their eyelids. Austerlitz (xxiii.) is the battle promised. The Emperor, mounting his horse, reviews his army. He speaks to the men individually. What is your name 1 your number of fights 1 An enthusiastic hurrah arises from the troops. Then the battle begins, while he, as some giant, stands stirring the fire in the plain below, takes up his people by handfuls and casts them into it. The fire spreads, the hamlets all round are in flames, and their roofs crackle on the monster's hearth. One messenger arrives after another. The rear-guard has fled. " Sire, cover your flanks ;" " Sire, your wing gives way ; " " Sire, all is lost ! Lannes is drowned in his blood ! " Then, like a water-snake. Napoleon moves under the grass and crushes the Muscovite serpent at the bottom of the lake. Finally, Murat appears, followed by an army of prisoners, their heads drooping as they think of their homes, of their little ones, and of their wild horses in the steppes of the Ukraine. The only being that watches upon a battlefield the Day after (xxiv.) the fight is the Vulture. But the Emperor passes, and looking upon the dead, he places his hand on their bodies; Then their spirits wake up, and kissing his garments they wonder whether they are in the desert, or in the skies, or under the willows of Arcole. What is this aureole which hovers round ^ " Some years later, at another fMe given by the city of Paris to the Emperor, . . . over the throne which he was to occupy were placed in letters of gold the following words from the Holy Scriptures: 'lam that I am.' And no one seemed to be scandalised ! " — Memoirs of Madame de Bimusat, vol. i. p. 336. NAPOLEbN—AUSTERLITZ. 193 their brows ? But suddenly they catch sight of the gaping wound, and fall weeping on the grass. None see these spirits save the masterless horses, who with manes bristling with terror fly in the night from the beasts of carrion. Yet one arises to do better than blindly adore. It is Lannes, Due de Montebello (xxv.), the Emperor's friend. He expostu- lates with his master, representing to him the wretchedness of the peoples. Ifapoleon has attained the impossible, why torture Europe any longer ? Like a vicious horse it may one day pitch him out of the saddle. The nations lick his hand, but in secret they curse him. He is depopulating his own land ; he win at last find himself alone in the midst of its emptiness. The Emperor smiles, he possesses the world ; Lannes shall have what he wilL But Montebello cares for none of his honours ; all he desires is a grave, a grassy mound where the wind sighs. But Napoleon will give him a monument of bronze cannon, a high column from whence he shall look down smiling under a heavy crown. The hero turns away weeping, and with slow steps seeks his tent. From his camp at Wagram the Emperor pens a Letter (xxvi.) to the Empress. God, he says, has had him in His holy keep- ing ; so now he orders a Te Deum to be chanted at NStre Dame ; then he proceeds to give a list of the arms, the standards, the cannon his armies have taken, and to describe how Europe is in chains and peace signed. The standards and the flag, still damp with the blood of Lannes, are to be hung up in the In- valides, and a bronze column is to be set up in his Place Vendfime, beneath which are to repose the ashes 6f the Due de Montebello. On its sides all Napoleon's battles are to appear climbing up to the feet of their great general, who will stand above all, watch- ing the world as countless ages roll away. All is to be of bronze, even the tears of the soldiers. In remarkable keeping with its subject, the poem itself seems to rise like a bronze column, every line and every word falling with a metallic monotony like the hammer of some military builder. The news of Napoleon's glory bring Dona Letitia and her daughters from Corsica. The Emperor will see that the Sisters (xxvii.) are married ; they shall each bear the name of one of his battles ; his brothers shall be kings, each one shall have a leaden sceptre dripping with gore. Napoleon, with pale brow, leans pensive. He feels that he has come to the edge of the precipice where every man in his turn plants his feet and glides. He sees the gulf below, but Vertigo (xxviii.) has seized him, and he must follow. May he not have an hour to enjoy the height of his prosperity ? No, the path is too slippery. Then at the same moment he must receive the welcome of prosperity N 194 EDGAR QUINET. and its adieu. Yet what wonders has he wrought for the human race ? He has closed chaos, closed its night profound. But, after all, was he its master ? did another WiU than his direct his power, or was he the chance which men call Providence ? Yes, he will amuse himself by his dream. He is tired of mono- tonous happiness ; he would taste misfortune, know what it is like. Is it, after all, so bitter ? As high as he has mounted he would now descend, and sound the depths of the abyss. For by his fall his glory woidd be increased ; the world without its guide would cry, ",I am lost ; " the orphan peoples would not know how to clothe themselves or to find their destiny. The Pope, standing with his cardinals on the balcony of St. Peter's, his shining mitre rising above the Eternal City, pro- nounces, in the name of the thrice holy One, an Anathema (xxix.) on Napoleon Bonaparte of Corsica. He, the scourge of the jealous God, yesterday but dust, shall again become dust to-morrow. Since he thinks to set himself above all law, to close his ears to the cry of the world, he shaU be cast down from his high Babel. A curse shall fall upon him, upon his tent, his treasure, his palace, upon his bed and his dreams, upon his sceptre, his name and his inheritance, upon his house, and even upon his grave. The next poem opens brilliant as the last has closed severe and terrible. It is called the Fete ^ (xxx.). In a palace under floods of light, upon a blue carpet beneath a canopy, sit the Emperor and the Empress. Charming in her rubies and ebony tresses, she is yet sad and ready to weep. Turning to her husband, she entreats him not to leave her for the daughter of a king. " Josephine," he coldly replies, " it is necessary. I must have an heir to my empire." " Have you not sons ? children of your thought — Austerlitz, Friedland. Daughters ? Montenotti, Eivoli, Lodi." But he is inexorable, and she is ready to die. "They see you, Madame; smile, Madame, smile, in the name of God." Saragassa (xxxi.) is a stirring national poem. It is one of the finest of the series, recalling by its spirit, its enthusiasm, and its whole tone, Macaulay's noble baUad, " The Spanish Armada." Saragossa besieged, calls on all its sister cities, by name, to hasten to her relief ; and not only the cities, but all else, animate and inanimate, in Spain. Then the deserts, landes, sierras, gorges, defiles, grottoes, lakes, seas, forests, houses — yea, 1 France was given up at this time to files and merry-making (Memoirs of Madame de lUmusat, vol. i. p. 337). Then follows a description of one at the Opera House, that accords so closely with this poem that Quinet might himself have vritnessed it. NAPOLEON— MOSCOW. 195 even the broken walls, as well as all tlie Hidalgoes and tlie saints of Spain — all, all unite with the cities, and come crying, " Death ! Death !" The old kings of Spain rise in their graves, and the bishop of Grenada, quitting his shroud, hurries, pale and wan, along the road of the Sierras, until he reaches the highest peak in the Alpuj arras, where in a grand litany he calls upon all the saints to pray for Spain. And now, having got the Corsioan bull in the arena, thej*' sorely wound him. At last the toreador cries out, " Shall I kill him, Hidalgo 1 " Then from the vast amphitheatre in which the peoples have watched the fight, from Mount Ural and Mount Carmel to Valentia, a great shout comes, gathering force as it runs from the Caspian to the Atlantic, " Let him die ! let him die ! " Napoleon has come to Moscow (xxxii.) to make a last throw for fortune ; he will rule and reign in this new land, and it may be that on the pillow of the Czars he will sigh away his soul. But at the sound of his footsteps entering the holy city, its high towers shiver with anger and its golden cupolas howl as a panther insulted in its lair. Ere long the catastrophe develops ; the minarets, the domes, are wrapped in flames ; all the roofs come crashing in at once, and the city appears a vast lake of fire. Then, by a series of powerful images, the poet makes his reader a spectator of this unique horror. Sainte-Beuve has especially noted this poem : — " The picture of semi-oriental barbarism, the prey of the roaring flames ; these tottering minarets, which the evening before, under their snowy turbans, dreamt of the Bosphorus ; the great tower of Saint- Ivan, which, as it burns and melts, contorts itself like a witch over her immense cauldron, — these," he says, "are recognisable images, solemn marks that consecrate the brow of the poet." The work is done, — a kingdom passed away ; A silent night succeeds a furious day. Among the ruins vast, but one alone, An Emperor, stands up ; without a groan He on the wonder looks, while in his ear Thus speaks the voice of God these words of fear : " Thus into smoke shall fade thy best-planned schemes. Thus fall thy empire, thy ambitious dreams ; Thus tumble down the Babel of thy glory. Thus come to nothing all thy wondrous story, Thus heaven will dissipate thy name in gloom — Thy work a wreck, thine end an exile's tomb." Near the Sea of Azov a Hettman wakes at break of day ; he seeks his horse and his arms, but he knows not whither he is going. Led by the winds of the Ural, and followed by his 196 EDGAR QUINET. brothers, he passes mountain and plain, and comes into a land so cold that his very sabre shivers. The vs^anderers pass Kief, Moscow, Borodino, Smolenski, and arrive at the banks of the Beresino (xxxiii.). Here they see a strange sight : a great number of horsemen in cloaks, covered with snow, are sitting motionless; waggons loaded with recumbent figures seem stopping the way, fixed in the deep ruts by the river side. Cannon are there, but all covered with rime, and as they approach nearer they see many dead fires with grenadiers stretched around. Why do these soldiers sleep in the cold and tempest ? It is too late to awake them now, they have reached their journey's end. Of their sufferings, ere they did so, a terrible picture is drawn. Pale by the roadside, in the fading light, The crowd was seated, — came another night, And paler still it there remained. Anew The day broke, and of yet more pallid hue It now appeared, while ghastly lay around Half-eaten horses, frozen to the ground. In the following poem a solitary traveller (xxxiv.) is seen; his horse neighs not, neither champs the bit, but horse and rider pass on like a shadow. He is the harbinger of the ship- wreck. When this pale fugitive enters his own kingdom, the guards who watch the frontier do not recognise him. What seek you 1 What is your name 1 And the horseman replies, " I am Napoleon." But again the Emperor is in Paris showing his infant, " the King of Rome" (xxxv.), to the gaping crowd. Their noise, and that of the swords drawn from their scabbard, frightens the child, and it clings to the neck of its father. The terrible poem called Leipsic (xxxvi.) is a companion one to that of Saragossa. It sings the rising of a hundred nations, a whole people, — the Germans, — who unite as one man to crush the giant of armies. It is a veritable song of blood ; its refrain is, " Hurrah, the sabre thirsts ! list to its rage ! " The three days of Leipsic, when without food or sleep the struggle con- tinued, is depicted with immense power ; and the intensity of the whole is heightened by the dreamy stanzas that open the , poem, in which a solitary sentinel of the French army in the Rhine country is again and again interrogated as to what he sees and hears. Nothing at first ; then the distant sounds are but a dream ; finally he wakes up to find the world upon them. Leipsic is followed by a lament over Poniatowsid (xxxvii.), and the hopes of Poland drowned with him in the Elster. In Champ-Aubert (xxxviii.) aU EuTope appears combining against NAPOLEON— LEIPSIC— ELBA. 197 France. The flood is rising, it grows into a lake; the lake hecomes a sea, a sea of immense grief for France. This dolorous state of things arouses the poet to lash the flagging patriotism of his countrymen in a poem called the Sting (xxxix.). It is this poem that has caused Quinet to be spoken of as the Uhland and Koerner of France. But the course of events now hurries on from one ruin to another. Napoleon, pallid and uncovered, stands at the door of his palace of Fontainehleau (xl.), and bids adieu to his battle- fields with their braying trumpets, their flags, their eagles, their soldiers. He no longer has a kingdom, he is now only a name ; and to-morrow his story will be told in every cottage in Europe. And now France has to endure the degradation that she had inflicted on other lands, and to feel herself the miseries of an Invasion (xli.). They are dead who would have defended the country — dead in Egypt, in Russia, by the Rhine, and in Spain — and their leader is discrowned and mute. In their place arrive pale horsemen, speaking a strange tongue, their swords dripping with blood, and the manes of their horses white with the hoar frost. They enter the houses without salutation; they seat themselves \>j the firesides and empty every cup. Woe ! woe ! beneath the invaders' feet all things dry up ; they may grow again, and the nightingale once more sing among the willows, but the traces of their footsteps can never be effaced. The melancholy of the last poem is relieved by the bright and joyous character of the one that follows, the Isle of Elba (xLii.). It opens with a picture of the Mediterranean in spring- time. A white sail is seen mounting on the waves, a corsair with three masts. Another vessel follows its path, as the sparrow- hawk, the swallow. Your name 1 Isle of Elba. Your port % France. Wbat do you carry 1 A man. Who is he ? Silence ! Your flag ? The tricolour. Adieu ! go on your way. The voyager lands ; as one shipwrecked, he has nothing but his name. Yet at that name the kings are terrified. At that name a hun- dred gates open, a hundred iron eagles fly to meet him ; and from belfry to belfry, even to the towers of Notre Dame, the welcome sounds forth : 'Tis he ! 'tis he ! who returns in glory and wiU. reign over us again. Let us give him back his crown, and we will give him our blood. We will weave for him robes of vic- tory, and he shall nourish us with his glory. And the demi-god says, " Clothe yourselves in might, soldiers and people, for to-morrow I lead you once more to battle." That battle is Waterloo, and to this great crisis in his epic the poet devotes four songs. The Shepherds (xliii.). The Storm (xLiv.), The Trumpets (xlv.), and The Horsemen (xlvi.). In the following attempt to give an idea of the scope and spirit 198 EDGAR QUINET. of this portion of the work, a stanza or two containing its lead- ing thoughts have heen turned into verse, with a few words showing their connection : — The bluet mingles -with the yellow corn At Waterloo, and up at early dawn. Before the labourers come, those saucy thieves, The larks, a meal have stolen 'mongst the sheaves. Who will the reapers be to-day, what sort Of harvest- work will in this field be wrought ? Within the vale is hid from all above A silent farm.^ Save when the rustic dove ^ Coos o'er its brood, or when its stones are ground Beneath the loaded waggon,^ else no sound Disturbs its peace. How that long line of trees* In the pale distance trembles in the breeze ! In Hougoumont the eglantine's in flower. The hawthorn still is white, but at this hour The heifer's loose and treading all things down. The kid, a stray goat 's butting, crown to crown. Shepherd, return, your cattle needs your care,^ There's mischief brewing in the very air, That bull will break your hedge, tread down your com. And ruin all your harvest ere the morn. But in place of the shepherd of Hougoumont comes one from Caledonia, sounding his bagpipes and leading into the burning plain the Highlanders of Glencoe. And as in Flanders, when a storm is rising, the shepherd whistles, and all the cattle come 1 If we are to accept the opening of tlie Field of the Battle of Waterloo literally, Quinet did not visit that spot until after this poem was published. It is difficult to understand how his pictures are so remarkably true in all their details. Was he gifted with second sight ? Thus he describes his visit to " the silent farm " : — " Half way up a hill of stubble land I heard the tinkling of sheep-bells, and the clucking of fowls in a f.irmyard. These rustic notes came from the courts of a great isolated farm, of which I could only see the slate roofs. I went down to it, and had hardly reached it when I read on one of the brick buildings on the roadside, 'Farm of La Haye Sainte.' " — Le Champ de Bataille de Waterloo, p. 370. 2 " These pigeons of the farm Papelotte, near where Ney was stationed." —P. 376. ' "On the causeway you hear the wheels of some unseen team groaning." —P. 377. ^ " The forest of Soignes is about eight miles in the rear." — P. 370. "The horizon is heavy and sinister. The slightest wind that rises and plays through the foliage of the tall trees in the neighbourhood makes you fancy you hear souls murmuring and spirits passing over the face of the earth." — P. 377. ^ " Now look on the road where that child is driving that herd of cattle belonging to La Haye Sainte." — P. 377. NAPOLEON— WATERLOO. 199 from the meadows, so now many peoples are gathering together at the shrill notes of the piper. The storm "breaks. Thunder is heard, but it is neither thunder nor hail, only some squadrons crossing the plain. In the distance the wood of Hougoumont looks livid and its foliage withered. "■ Its owner will never again see his roof or his fire- side. The shock of the battle is thus described : — Advance, advance, they're on us now in hordes ; Drums, sound the charge, draw sabres ! unsheath swords ! Forward, brave Ney, and sap these living walls, Their iron squares are giving 'neath our balls ; Nearer, get nearer yet, fight face to face. Our cannon for your swords will win a place ; Nearer, get nearer yet, fight breast to breast, Take life for life, let slaughter know no rest. Flash upon flash, the bullet to its mark Flies swiftly on ; the iron rain makes dark The heavy day,^ and down in deadly showers Upon the foe it falls. The distance lowers With bomb-shells, lurid. Not a man will live If but the sword another hour should give To finish all its task. Then will these hosts Have passed away in throngs of pallid ghosts. On a little hiUock the Emperor sits caressing the flank of his charger, whose hair is smeared with blood. He smiles like a king of the tomb to see how fast the fruit is ripening, and how Tictory is inclining to him.^ Already his troops shout as if it were gained, and he knows that if the reinforcements only arrive it will be secure. In the stormy sky he looks for his star, but the belfry on the horizon veils it.* Another hour and 1 "The skeleton of Hougoumont whitens under a grove of ash trees.'' — P- 371- 2 "Who would believe that the empire of the world depends sometimes on such a circumstance as rain or sunshine ? Nothing, however, is more true. Suppose that, instead of raining, it had been a bright day on the i8th of June 1815, the battle would have commenced with dawn; according to the view of all military men, it would have been gained by two o'clock in the afternoon. On the contrary, clouds cover the skies, they turn into rain, the soil gets broken up, the wheels stick in the mire, a morning is lost, and this means an Emperor sent to die beyond the equator and the ruin of a nation otherwise invincible." — Pp. 373, 374. 3 "from an eminence, his first position, the Emperor dictated the order of attle. He was then justified in saying, ' We have ninety chances for us, and ten against us. ' " — P. 374. * ' ' From his second position, a lower eminence, across the bronzed foliage of a copse, he could see the belfry of Saint-Lambert stand out in white on the hill as a phantom making some sign in the distant horizon. " 200 EDGAR QUINET. his empire will be saved. With, what anxiety does he scan the horizon. " Marshal, what do you see ? " "A black cloud." " No, it increases." " Sire, it is the dust of your long-expected , army." " No," replies the Emperor ; " no, this is not Grouchy ; it is a flock of vultures, messengers of destiny, horsemen more numerous than the sand, more prompt than the storm." Now from afar, along the plain, a cry Is heard, a voice of terror rising high : All ! all is lost ! save ! save himself who can. Then panic seizes every horse and man, — And now the hour strikes ! . . . Sudden ends the strife. Silence and death ! . . . where all was hope and life ! Beneath a breath invisible, a host Joyous, exulting, like some empty boast, Melts in the air ; all, all in terror yield. And panic-struck have vanished from the field. Can that be he ? across the sombre night. In the deep shadow, flying from the light, Desperate he gallops on, his crown to save ; But all is phantom now, except the grave ! See now with brow serene the night arise ; The moon is at its full, and in the skies Seems sweetly dreaming. The flowers of the vale Envy its whiteness, murmuring their tale Unto a worm, that 'neath the influence blest Is happy as the bird in her warm nest. Nothing now is left to France but humanity's last refuge — Prayer (xlvii.). The poet commits the charge of the frontiers and the strong places of France to God. The real end having come, the remaining poems may be summed up in a few lines. St. Helena (xlviii.) is a song of grief, in which the most is made of Napoleon's sufferings in exile. Poor England, who had the belling of the cat, comes in for a fearful scourging. While in Longwood (xlix.) Napoleon is represented as brought to a sense of the meaning of his life ; stiU he remains the intense egotist, comforting himself with the thought of the power he has wielded and the great things he has done. Slowly a cofiin passes over the hill. The dead giant is carried to his grave. No name is engraved on the Tomb (l.). In place of mourners and funeral, trumpets invisible are heard ; and at their sound ghostly horses neigh, drums beat, and cannons roar. Over his tomb his only true widows (li.), his battlefields, weep. In the final poem the poet raises a Column (lii.) to his hero's NAPOLEON— ST. HELENA. 201 glory. Although Quinet's genius compelled him to portray the whole career of Napoleon with a judgment almost apocalyptic in its fidelity, it took much bitter experience before Quinet as a patriot wholly believed as Quinet the seer. How unerring must hare been his prophetic insight when a subject intended to arouse the flagging patriotism of France, and written amidst the galling insolences of her expected foe, proved such a powerful exposure of the evil results of that mania for military glory, ever the temptation of France. ( 202 ) CHAPTEE IV. HEIDELBERG, PARIS. 1837-I838. " Verus Prometheus." — TertuUian. " 'O juapTv? 6 TTtoTos.'' — S. John. Writing to his mother in July 1837, Edgar Quinet tells her that he is engaged upon a new work of imagination. His aim is to touch the foundation of human life, to be at once correct and audacious, classic in form, and fresh in ideas and sentiments, above aU clear; to enclose a whole world in a luminous circle. He has a fine subject, and one, moreover, truly religious. He has bid adieu to the literature of despair. " Up to the present," he continues, "I have been always struggling, struggling with everything — with language, with art, with tradition, with myself. Now for the first time I live upon harmony instead of contention, and am happy in my thoughts. Possibly this new condition arises in great degree from my subject, but I think that I have myself something to do with the change, and that it will survive. As Ahasuerus tended to drive to despair, so its successor should bring back peace. Not but what there are still in it strange and divine sufferings, but they lead in the end to immutable repose, — a vast difference. I pass from heroism and from the struggle with the impossible to the sentiment of Pro- vidence, from the demon to the archangel, from Aha- suerus to . . . (permit me to keep the name a secret, except to say it is a truly grand one, and makes the meaning clear at once).'' PROMETHEUS— A PROFESSION OF FAITH. 203 In another letter he says : " At all events I have ex- pressed some of the dearest thoughts of my heart, and this already is enough. If the poem speaks to your soul, awakening there some profound echo, then I am sure that after I am gone something will remain of ' Prometheus.' It is my profession of faith, the sign of my hope in the future life." Thus wrote Edgar Quinet to his mother, to whom he expected his new poem would prove specially interesting. He had, in fact, dedicated it to her. The story of Prometheus is one of the most ancient of the Greek myths. Quinet gives it the highest possible antiquity, since he believes the Greeks borrowed it from the East. Both in the ancient and modern world great poets have found in it materials for their art. ^schylus, Sophocles, Goethe, Byron, Shelley, have in various forms made Prometheus the subject of poetry. Quinet has seen the myth from a point of view different to them all. He considers that it can only be understood in the light of Christianity ; that as long as the prophecy of Prome- theus remained unfulfilled and he himself a captive, the story wanted completeness, and was therefore an enigma to the ancients. Prometheus had revolted against the gods, had made men, and had stolen the sacred fire. Zeus had bound him with everlasting chains to Caucasus, and sent an eagle to feed upon his liver. Prometheus had prophe- sied the fall of the gods, refusing to submit, although Hermes tried his best to persuade him. How was Prometheus to be delivered from this horrible position, and the honour of the gods preserved ? The Greek poets got out of the difficulty by a compromise and a legal fiction. Prometheus was in some sort re- pentant, and Hercules was permitted to deliver him, the letter of the Olympian decree being maintained by bits of rock remaining attached to his hands and feet. This method of getting out of the difficulty proves. 204 EDGAR QUINET. Quinet thinks, how utterly insoluble the myth was to paganism. By regarding Prometheus as the type of Eeligious Humanity, and so giving the myth a world-wide char- acter, Quinet is not only able to justify the prophecy of the aspiring Titan, but to show him delivered. The unity of civilisation has become, he says, one of the dogmas of the world. One sole God gathering to- gether into the same family the brother peoples separated from each other in time. This view of the world's history suggests its likeness to a great drama, of which all the threads in the hands of its author are working to a predetermined end. If we can realise this to be an undoubted fact, we must have passed the point in the drama in which its action all centres. No one, it may safely be affirmed, ever took a wider survey than Quinet of universal history, or ever more completely kept himself in relation with all its parts. A cosmogonic genius in his inmost nature, he sympa- thised in a peculiar manner with prehistoric man, yet at the same time^ he took the deepest, most active interest in all that concerned his own generation. No one can read his " Gdnie des Eeligions " and deny that he not only understood but entered profoundly and lovingly into the spirit and struggles of Eeligious Humanity in every age and every clime. With a vast historical knowledge, the widest human sympathies, joined to that poetic nature which enables a man to see the simplest truths of the universe, who better able than Quinet to realise this great historical drama in all its poetic harmony 1 who better able than he to show the point in which the action all centres, and which will give the key to its solution ? That point Quinet has, no doubt, is the Advent of Christ. Is there, then, an enigma in the universe, a point in the universal drama which is obscure ? Bring it into relation with this great fact, and see what light it throws upon it. Quinet has INTERPRETS THE GREEK MYTH. 205 done this with the story of Prometheus ; and he declares it enables him to justify the Titan, and bring the myth to a natural and therefore glorious termination. It may be objected, as a matter of fact, that Christ has come, and Prometheus or Religious Humanity is not delivered. To this it is sufficient to reply, The drama is not over. As long as man remains what he is, he wiU. be ever aspiring heavenwards, ever making daring efforts after his birthright, taking heaven by storm, and using the spoil in spite of all sacred forms, institutions, or dogmas. A Caucasus must follow, a devouring eagle must feed on the soul that thus acts. It is his fate to act thus, his fate to suffer. But a world-wide problem has another point of view besides. There is the view outside here, such as presents itself to the Eternal, to whom past, present, and future are alike visible. Incomprehensible as this divine view is to us, we may gather some idea of it by conceiving how a dramatic author must regard his work. Before it is even written, the denouement is present to him, and is as if it had taken place. Thus if he intends to deliver his hero out of a series of apparently inextricable difficulties, to him his hero is already delivered. So a poet, taking the dramatic view of the history of the world that Quinet does in " Prometheus," must look at it from its divine author's point of sight, or be involved in inex- tricable confusion, offering possibly a splendid poem, but only adding to the general bewilderment. The means, also, by which the poet sets forth this eternal view, must be the divine one'— symbolism. Nature and human life are admitted on all sides to be full of this symbolisin of spiritual truth ; why should a work so divine as the history of our race be less the subject of it ? If, then, Quinet takes the historic fact of the Advent of the Christ as the solution of this old pagan myth, he uses it symbolically and means it to be understood in its 2o6 EDGAR QUINBT. eternal sense ; that sense which, beneath all its theology, the spirit of Christianity has declared with consentaneous voice to be the meaning of the history of the Incarnation, Passion, Eesurrection, and Ascension of Jesus Christ — namely, that the Eternal therein pledges Himself to deliver man, that here in time He is delivering man, while in the light of Eternity He has already delivered him. " Prometheus '' was, moreover, as the opening of this chapter intimates, another " grand confession of the author's life." "In the Story of this Titan," he says, "I have found a place for all the principal sufferings, anguish, hopes, and chimeras of my own life. My idea is that this struggle is the one that goes on in each of us, for every man has his Caucasus. Still more, the subject covers all the religious thoughts of the age; its doubts, its revolts, its struggle with the invisible God." For Quinet wished his readers not only to regard "Prometheus" as a type of Eeligious Humanity histori- cally considered, but as including that interior drama of God and man, of faith and death, of the Creator and the creature, which goes on in every individual when once the spiritual life is awakened. It is in vain, he thinks, to seek to avoid the thoughts it contains ; under one form or another, they are incessantly returning, being, so to speak, the element that eternally underlies aU poetry. Whatever may be the occupations of an age, the ardour of present interests, the conflict of doctrines, the collision and fury of parties, there comes an hour at last when it is necessary to meet God face to face. In that moment the old questions, of which we thought ourselves for ever rid, resound anew. Who art thou ? what believest thou ? what awaits thee ? In vain we turn away the ear ; these questions retain their hold on us even when we have made our reply. " How much more striking this is when we belong to one of those epochs in which Eeligion submits to an incontestable PROMETHEUS— INVENTOR OF FIRE. 207 change. It is then that the great enigmas, proposed by pre- ceding societies and never resolved, awake again. In the igno- rance into which we feel that we have again been plunged, such an emblem of the curiosity of the human soul as this ancient myth of Prometheus appears as if made expressly for our own time. The fundamental differences that separate the ages having disappeared with positive faith, all the generations of humanity find themselves drawn together in one community of doubt and moral anguish. There are no longer either Greeks or Barbarians, Gentiles or Christians, ancients or moderns, but one same human society gathered round the same abyss, asking each other the same questions in nearly the same terms." Thus Quinet's " Prometheus " has the double meaning of all great human emblems ; it is at once universal and indi- vidual, applying alike to the ever- continuing struggle of Humanity, and the comparatively momentary one of the solitary soul; having an especial interest for an age in which that struggle turns on elementary and imiversal truth. The form in which the poem is thrown is epic. It suits the grandeur of the subject ; and, moreover, Quinet was ambitious with that noble ambition which forced him always to the most difficult tasks, to remove the reproach that " Frenchmen were wanting in the epic mind." The action of the poem is divided into three parts : Prometheus, Inventor of Fire ; Prometheus chained ; Prome'theus delivered. PEOMETHEUS. Pbomethbtjs the Invbntoe op Fire. The earth appears just emerging from a deluge. Prometheus is on the shores of the ocean ; he has taken up a piece of clay, and has formed human beings of all ages from it. On the shore, in his cavern, and in the neighbouring forest, numberless figures appear, as yet motionless. His final work is a female of gigantic proportions. When he has completed her, he 2o8 EDGAR QUINET. breathes into Iter his own soul ; she lives ; and then ensues a beautiful dialogue between Hesione and her maker, in which she asks who she is, where she is, and what fate awaits her. She rejoices in life, and is content to suffer with Prometheus. II. Prometheus is here seen advancing over the cold cinders at the foot of a volcano. From its crater two tongues of red flame ascend, resembling the forked tongues of two enormous fiery serpents. As he approaches, the clang of the hammers of the Cyclops is heard below. Night falls, and the chorus of the Cyclops ceases, the noise of their hammers dies out. Then Prometheus, leaning over the side of the crater, looks into the abyss. Taking up some of the fire, he puts it into a vase, and redescends the mountain, calling all the various forms of nature around to witness that their soul now belongs to him, that he has it in his possession, living, palpitating, that it wUl pro- pagate itself, and go on increasing, able to set world after world ablaze. III. Hesione meets him. Prometheus gives her the urn, and explains the properties of the wonderful element it contains. Prom it she lights a heap of dead leaves from the wood. A feast is made, and to celebrate this the primal fire of the world, an ancient oak, is sacrificed. Then Prometheus calls his clay men to warm themselves ; they come forth from the caverns, from the valleys, from the woods, as yet knowing hardly how to speak. Yet they come murmuring a chorus, the burden of which is, a wondering and a questioning from whence are all the things they see. Following the men, come the women uttering another chorus, more beautiful, expressive of the maternal instinct. Prometheus then evokes choirs of kings and prophets, who each utter characteristic notes. The kings complain of an arid way in which there is no guide, of the weight of the sceptre, of the happiness of those whose lives flow noiselessly on as the river among the reeds. The chorus of the prophets is grand but vague ; bursting out like a flame, it seems to promise much, then suddenly it sinks and dies out. Finally all the men join in a chorus of sad foreboding. Hesione approaches, and offers them the cup. Prometheus welcomes his guests, bidding them partake of the bread of life, and mark the gifts he has bestowed on them, chief of all—" Fire, parent of arts, strong son of liberty ; " " Brothers PROMETHEUS CHAINED. 209 of Hesione," he concludes, " what would ye more t " The new- born of earth reply, as the supreme want of those who have just received a soul : " Give us, oh, give us gods ! " IV. The Cyclops waking, find fire has been stolen ; they sing the vast results. Above all they say — " This arrow shot, all things have lost their shield ; To thought at last th' immortal gods must yield An open gate. Like music 'midst the reeds, heaven's breath awakes, Then mightier grown than any Cyclops, breaks E'en changeless fate. " The world, coniided to these men of clay, From its old bondage quickly breaks away, And soon it flies In a new orbit. Thunders, lightnings, hail. Gather your storms, earth's vessel now sets sail For other skies !" Pbometheus Chained. I. Prometheus is seen dragged by the Cyclops to the top of Caucasus, and there by order of Nemesis he is fastened to the rock by a double chain forged in the fires of Lemnos, and so strong that eternity cannot wear it out, or all the gods together break it. His hands are nailed to the crest of the rock, while the tempest howls round his feet. Yet this is not enough, for Nemesis would have his spirit bound. But the Cyclops declare this impossible. The soul would set itself free, its proud thought would break adamantine chains. But with thought free, nothing is accomplished, the gods will be in terror. Urged to try at least to destroy one memory, one of the Cyclops replies, "From its poles far easier could I move the world." This Cyclops looks back with regret to the indulgent reign of Saturn, and deprecates the new Olympus, even going so far as to deny the free-will of Jupiter ; whereupon he is loaded with curses by Nemesis and sinks into the earth. Nemesis quits Prometheus mocking him. II. Alone, bound to the rock, Prometheus is far from despairing. He consoles himself with reflections such as must have been present to the martyrs of thought in all ages. 2IO EDGAR QUINET. worlds ! winged winds, bringing from far the storm ! Sources of briny floods ! hills cloud-capped wanting form ! And thou, sun, beholding all things 'neath the sMes, See on earth's altar bound, a god in anguish lies ! Is not the victim with the temple rightly paired ? The universe, the shrine ; the victim he who dared To stand alone against the gods. The cruel priest. The tyrant Jupiter, whose tortures ne'er have ceased Since on this peak they chained me, binding hands and feet. But strong in my own will, with joy the thought I greet — 1 suffer thus to staunch the tears of human kind. Let grief then pierce my soul, my heart let tortures bind. Let all those evils come which from afar I see. Pour down upon my head, and endless, rage round me, I am content to make that which I would arise. The works will speak aloud, though still their maker lies. Dull gods ! in this same thought I can contemn all pain, For from these bleeding hands, which now your fetters chain, Has sprung a living world, — that hating you, loves me : Peoples and tribes, kings to whom earth will bow the knee. Thoughts that aspire with boundless hope, that nought can chain ; — Is this too dear to pay for still increasing pain ? Make your chains tighter yet, your nails drive deeper still, Insatiate at my heart your vulture take his fill, — I fear ye not. Olympians, nor ask your grace, Prometheus shall arise, you sink to your own place. Envy, vulture, my distress ! Thy every wound my soul shall bless. Eternal cross ! eternal life ! Eternal joy shall end this strife ! III. Ocean visits the Titan, seeking in pity to induce him to submit. He tells him that his very name is already forgotten on earth, and that the men he created are worshipping his enemies. Prome- theus confesses that it is hard to hear this, but is immovable in his determination not to yield. " Are there any signs of the gods growing old?" Ocean replies, "Happy is he who rests upon them, for as they were yesterday so are they to-day. The gods possess all." "Save the unknown," says Prometheus. Ocean combats this as a chimera, asserting that the present alone is real, the future nothing ; the gods are all powerful, yet they listen to the cry of the smallest bird ; Prometheus ought to pray. Then, in a beautiful passage, Prometheus relates how he once did pray, but that Olympus had repelled his too credulous spirit. He is tired of praying to dull phantoms ; sometimes he doubts, even in spite of the vulture which feeds upon him, w^hether he does not dream, whether Jupiter himself is more than a name, a false veil extended before eternity. Ocean re- PROMETHEUS CHAINED. 211 Irakes him. for theoriaiBg, and asks him why he alone struggles with the gods when all else submits. Prometheus tries to make Ocean understand the difference between their natures, how impossible it is for thought to submit to any bonds. Ocean departs convinced that his misery has driven him mad. IV. Another trial now awaits the tortured Titan. Hesione appears in the valley below. In attempting to scale the rocks to reach Prometheus, she sinks exhausted in a ravine. She feels about to die, and calls upon her maker to save her from the tomb ; she entreats him to find her a remedy against death. When he tells her that he cannot, she asks him at least to teach her its secrets, that she may not go there in the dark ; but here again Prometheus is obliged to confess his ignorance. It is all a mystery to him, and he can only bid her hope. Then Hesione dies. V. A choir of Sybils surround Prometheus, seeking from him the knowledge of the future. He first of all calls upon them to tell him what the nations are doing, what gods they adore, whether the world still deceives the hopes of the sages, what is the state of men's hearts, what, in fact, are the omens of the future. The choir reply : — ■ Omens that float across the breeze, Or rustle through Dodona's trees, Or wake on Memnon's sandy plain, 'Twere easy for us to explain ; But to unfold the woes that agonise the heart, Display its wounds incurable, describe its smart. Chimeras, visions, tortures never-ending. Who can reveal whereto such plagues are tending ? All have their Caucasus, consumed by love or hate As thou : a vulture at his heart is each man's fate, Nor will he cease to smile, e'en when its talons tear. Long time the human heart has lost the power of prayer, Fragrant with heavenly dew, at morning light No more its praiseful hymn ascends. The dead with fright Shrink back from Paradise itself. Know'st thou the face Of Doubt, haggard and pale, running its weary race By chance ; a serpent binds its heart and ceaseless stings. While on a throw of dice the fate of worlds it flings. Know'st thou th' illusive void, making all knowledge vain. The Nothing, on a word basing its empty reign. The cold but eager eye that follows on Despair ! These auguries affright thee, worse are in the air, — 212 EDGAR QUINBT. I see on thrones of gold the careworn monarchs weep, I hear the people sadly sighing in their sleep. Far from the fertile fields where ripen living corn, Souls seek their nourishment in desert wilds forlorn. The mind, man's newest idol, tott'ring to its fall. Comes crashing in ; its ruins cover like a pall The worshippers, blaspheming ! None know what they seek ; The very skies are like a tomb, and seem to reek With clouds of doubt. All is at once affirmed, denied ; In place of God, men seem to have the Fiend for guide. Greedy, yet wasteful, the age with loftiest hrow Doubts its own creeds, will not at its own altars bow ; What presages are these t Say, has the world grown old Thou prophet-god, to us the oracles unfold. Prometlieus announces at last the approaching fall of the gods. The Sybils cannot understand the possibility, but Pro- metheus assures them that at that very time, in the desert, the new God has revealed himself in a flaming bush — the God of an innumerable tribe of shepherds. Then in a further vision he beholds another Caucasus, an inconceivable sacrifice. To the sorrows which he foresees, what are his sorrows ! Who on that holy hill, with face divine, is that other Prometheus 1 What his crime 1 Is he a Titan slave or a crucified God ? Oh, wonder ! he blesses the world which oppresses him. The choir ask where is this other Caucasus, that they may turn their steps thitherward. Prometheus, without answering their questions, prophesies that this God of gods will be his Deliverer. VI. This prophecy having reached Olympus, the gods send one of their number to question Prometheus, but he will say nothing save that the child of the future will be the inheritor of the skies. Not even promises of deliverance can extract more ; so, with threats of terrible sufferings, the god leaves him. The choir of Sybils console Prometheus ; but the threats are quickly verified, for the twelve Olympians, descending like eagles, pre- cipitate themselves upon their prey. VII. Prometheus now enters the last stage of his trial. It is no longer the vulture that causes him agony : it is his own heart. He is no longer able to believe even in his own prophecy. Black doubt is come, sole torment that I dread, — Doubt, like the plague-struck with his hands of lead, Cares not for cure, but easy takes death's snare, — Black doubt is come, the ill I cannot bear ! " PROMETHEUS DELIVERED. 213 VIII. A chorus of Sybils concludes this part of the poem. Song after song rises from the inspired ones in various metres, until finally a prayer to the new God bursts from Prometheus. long-expected God, the oracles are Thine ; Come as the swallow comes, in the sweet harvest time ; ^ The corn is ripe. The world prepares Thy cradle, why delay Thy birth ? Thy infant cries alone will fill the silent earth, Of heaven the type. A cry goes up for Thee, man tears his aching heart, He thirsts for God, he strains in every part To catch Thy view. Wilt Thou the uprooted tree shall bloom once more And yield the blessed fruit it erst- while bore ^ Then faith renew. Peomethbus Delivered. The archangels Michel and Eaphael descend at sunrise from heaven. Michel glows with ardour at the beauty of creation, and its glories declare to him Jehovah's praise. To Eaphael the sighs of human hearts seem to overpower the morning hymns of the universe ; he feels the tremor that is passing over the great cities, and the start the dead are making in their graves. For the Lord has come, and new life is springing everywhere. Michel expatiates on the glory of the Father, Raphael on that of the Son. Resting on Mount Caucasus they experienced a sensation of horror. II. Prometheus is discovered by the archangels bound to the Rook. They imagine him a fallen archangel, and are full of compassion for his unhappy fate. The Titan is so wrapt in admiration of the pure beauty of his celestial visitors that he forgets his own misery, and hardly recognises their repeated inquiries as to who he is, and how he came there. At last he relates to them his history in a passage of surpassing beauty. " Ask me not where I was born, for perchance ye know better than I ; all I know is — 1 The scene of the poem is in a latitude the same as that of the south of France and Spain. 214 EDGAR QUINET. That long I cried, ' My Father,' while the prayerful earth Ke-echoed with the cry, but never from my birth In the clear daylight have I seen that gracious form, Though oft 'twas said it stood from eve to early dawn Touching my brow with heavenly poppies. I felt His presence all around, but touched Him not ; His love to me was sweet, mine was a happy lot ; I thought He thought on me. I listened everywhere For His sweet voice, to Him I raised my heart in prayer. So blessed I Him, that of His sword I kissed the gleam, How happy was I then. . . . But was it not a dream 1 " For as age advanced this state of innocence and of faith, departed. He lost the memory of his heavenly Father, and wandering on a high place, met the gods. Majestic in form, their beds perfumed, breathing incense and living on phantoms, he was so fascinated with them that he gladly consented to share their purple and ride in their car. Soon he began to think of carving an idol himself, and of being admitted into the divine ranks. But when he commenced to make an altar he found the stone so icy cold that he shrank from it. As he sat with gods and, laughing, lifted the cup of nectar to his lips, it flashed upon him that it would leave his heart drunk with its bitterness and its dregs. Quitting the gods, he sought the earth and found it a desert ; man did not yet exist. The lions ranged it, but mute, with heavy steps, and sleep still in their eyes. The spiders alone seemed busy. Often he heard voices from the depths of the wood, saw lovely forms in the clouds, but they proved nothing ; and long days passed in this arid silence. Yet was there in his soul a hope, a desire, a presage of an unknown but glorious future. Sometimes, as he crept to the entrance of his cave, he would hear the bee murmuring in the woods, and would say, " Lo, here it comes, the long-dreamt-of joy ; " but again it was nothing, and in his agony he smote his breast, and in despair could have torn out his dull heart. Thus his days passed, despondency increasing as the years rolled on, when one evening he watched the sea sleeping in the light of a wan star, and envied the calm repose of the reeds upon the shore. Suddenly a thought entered his mind (whence came that flash sublime ?) ; the inward tempest ceased and morning broke. He took up some of the wet clay and made from it the figure of a demi-god. " Man formed, he needed soul ; I poured within him mine. I stole for him the sacred fire, that source divine Of living things. He drank my cup, his sorrows went, T made his future seem with golden promise blent ; PROMETHEUS DELIVERED. 215 Within my cave he sat, looking, but seeing nought, Listened, but heard no sound, he moved, but nothing sought ; I loosed his tongue, music I woke within his soul, And taught him how in cadence all its notes should roll; For him from starry spheres the secret lore I caught. While in the forest depths the augury I sought ; Earth's hidden wealth I taught him to obtain ; Laws, marriages and funerals, the feast, the game, The scudding sail I made, cattle I yoked to carts. Gave him all customs, and created for him arts. Thus step by step man onward went making advance. And hand in hand the nations moved in solemn dance. But I had little done, since man was but a shade. In spite of all my care, but one short hour he stayed ; Too late within his soul I poured celestial truth. Too late he learnt the laws that make eternal youth ; Yet spoke his open brow of life beyond the grave. Of soul immortal, that eternally might lave In bliss supernal, and with ardour long to know The secrets of the universe, above, below. Searching within himself, man found, with much surprise, Another universe in his own being lies. Plunging into the dark abyss, his light went out ; He wandered through its caves, lost in a maze of doubt. One darksome night within a grave he chanced to fall, An empty skull declared how nothing endeth all. Breathing upon the ash, its soul I bid man mark. How in a fire that seems extinct, still lives a spark. Then from Sybilline books eternal questions rose. As nation after nation lives the trouble grows. Death's dark enigmas, with those darker still of life, And that of liberty, the cause of all the strife. Who now can say the gods these lower skies sustain ? 'Tis I, Prometheus, guide of men, the gods are vain ! Too much I love, to love too much is still my fate. Behold then why the vulture is insatiate ; And why, perhaps, upon this peak, twice deified, By Jupiter's decree I have been crucified." Jupiter has fallen, say the archangels ; the Eternal has reconquered the skies. Prometheus for a time refuses to credit the good. news. Suffering, and hope long deferred, render him suspicious. Eaphael asks him if he is of those spirits who live on illusions, who prefer their own dreams to all the gifts of heaven, who, enamoured with the impossible, are displeased with everything. Prometheus knows the evil, fears it is too late, he has expected too much. Then the archangels, in the name of their Father, deliver him with a word. • His chains drop ; Prometheus rises by degrees and remains motionless. Michel draws his bow and slays the vulture. / 2i6 EDGAR QUINET. j Now Prometheus enters into a peace which he can hardly / explain. The angels, to strengthen his faith, bid him listen to / a distant muttering. It is the cry of the false gods, who are | coming to entreat him to carry their prayer to the Eternal. \ III. / The suppliant gods appear. Prometheus refuses their prayer.| They ask that at least they may be permitted to exist as slavei gods, with just room enough to crawl. Michel tells them thai since Jehovah fills the universe, so that there is no abys where He is not, there can be no place for them, and thef must re-enter the nothing. They depart cursing the archangels, and prophesying that a like fate will come to them. Stanzas prom Choeds of ^Departing Gods. I Earth's ancient masters pass away, I Their winged coursers all are fled. Their names are numbered with the dead, And heaven's doors are closed for aye ! Happy the broom and mountain heath, Arrayed in purple and in gold, From age to age they ne'er grow old. They wear each year their pristine wreath. But to destroy divinest thrones. To ever veil a godlike brow, A human thought availeth now. The sighs of men, their sobs or groans. As day to day, dark night to dawn, Spring to winter, joy to sorrow. So each heaven has its morrow. When priests and worshippers are gone. In temples thick with autumn leaves. In empty hearts where love is dry, In minds that doubt without a sigh, Its restless ghost for ages grieves. O'er altars left alone, O'er fallen stock and stone. The tides will flow and ebb. Or spider weave its web. The morning star has set. Life fades without regret, Everywhere was light — Everywhere is night. PROMETHEUS DELIVERED. 217 From shoreless seas, From stricken trees, From dull, dark minds, Borne on the winds. Come useless cries And mournful sighs. The gods have fled, — The gods are dead ! IV. Prometlieus is left alone with the archangels ; the despairing notes of the dying gods still ring in his ear ; he cannot get rid of the thought that the same fate will one day befall his new companions. They bid him cast aside doubt. He teUs them sorrow everywhere gives birth to doubt, and asks them if they are not afraid to take him to their heaven, lest there by chance a drop should fall from his cup, stain their robes, and, the spot always increasing, infernal doubt should fill heaven itself with grief. Eaphael replies that they tread all fear under foot as they would a serpent, and bidding Prometheus spread his wings, they fly from heaven to heaven. Prometheus asks whither they carry him, and the archangels reply to the bosom of Jehovah. V. The deliverance of Prometheus is finally celebrated by a celestial concert, which opens with a chorus of seraphim. The holocaust of time is o'er. And we the lustral waters bring, Now from the desert, fountains spring. Let canticles of praises soar ! For now through grace has gained release Another arid, broken heart. The prey of doubt's devouring smart. But now rejoicing in God's peace. Thus the poor, captive soul, and blind, Shall rise at last to skies unknown, Since to the righteous light is sown. Such must the Eternal Father find. A seraphim asks when the groaning nations, bound to their fiery Caucasus, shall be delivered. To which the chorus replies, that every vulture of injustice must end by devouring itself ; but they also promise that the Supreme Archer shall deliver the future from the talons of the past. Hesione appears ; she has come forth from a tomb. She 2i8 EDGAR QUI NET. Titters some beautiful thoughts on the advantage of death, liken- ing it to an invisible sculptor who has struck off from her soul the memory of sorrow. The chorus celebrate the resurrection. Such is the power of life that even if a God were to bury himself He would be reborn. Life may seem lost in the sand, to have perished with death, but strike it with the rod of fire and God will burst forth as at first. Yet to draw men out of a snare in a sacrilegious age, God often hides Himself, and then, sudden as a lion, darts forth upon a terrified universe. So, too, as an Eagle He remounts at times to the higher heavens, the abode of spirits ; then the young of the viper think He is dead, but in a moment, emerging from the thundercloud. He strangles the brood in their nest. So the chorus, in a final hymn, invoke the Eternal, beseech- ing Him, as Eagle, Dove, or Lion, to come out of the clouds that hide Him ; not to allow Himself any longer to be miscon- ceived under vain images, nor to prolong the night, nor the heavy chains which weigh on human hearts, but to come speedily and permit His forehead to be crowned with joy. ( 219 ) CHAPTEE V. PARIS, HEIDELBERG. I836-1838. " Nor ever yet had Arthur fought a fight Like. this last, dim, weird battle of the west." — Passing of Arthur. Edgak Quinet was not twenty-one when lie attempted a History of the Human Conscience and of Moral Per- sonality. His object was to trace the gradual develop- ment of the Individual through Time. This work was never published, but his ideas on the subject come out in various works, especially in his writings about Herder. While admitting Herder's view of the perfec- tion of the Universe as a system of progressive forces, able to rise from the rudest to the highest manifesta- tions, he conceived that the motive power which impelled it was the struggle of the Infinite to escape its bounds. This Infinite found itself most fully in man, the highest form in nature. It drove him restlessly on, making him that eternal traveller through the ages, unable to make his final home in any empire, city, or civilisation. Nothing can satisfy the Infinite within him, since it is from the visible universe itself that that Infinite seeks to escape. Man realised this Infinite for the first time in the Eevelation of the Universe by the first ray of light. As the Universe disclosed itself, man found something in himself which corresponded to the Universe, but was not the Universe. He began thus to realise his dis- tinctness from the Universe, but it was not until the 220 EDGAR QUINET. Infinite had become overpowering in some individual man that the first distinct break from nature was made, and man set out on a separate career. The first effort made, the race follow, and from the new order thus created another Individual Will showed the way to the next platform, and so on through the ages. To Quinet the human race was a collection of indi- viduals ; he refused to believe in the idea of an Universal Being called man, as real a person as the Individual. The Individual was his unit, and it was his opinion that " all life, all greatness, as well as all misery, emanates from the Individual." Not that he pushed his doctrine of the will so far as to put it in opposition to a perfect organisation of the universe, for he conceived that it might even be possible to arrive at a science of human wills showing that they too followed certain laws. But this being admitted, nothing was more contrary to his idea of all history and of all progress than to despoil the individual in order to enrich the species. In the attacks, therefore, made by the popular criticism of his day on the great Individualities of History, he felt that the very principle of all personality was involved. It was this belief that seems to have moved him to write a series of papers in 1 8 3 6, on the Epic poets, for the " Eevue des Deux Mondes," in which he refutes the Homeric theories of Wolf and those on early Eoman history advanced byMebuhr, and which no doubt had much to do with the adverse criticism he subsequently published of Strauss's " Life of Jesus." His work on the Epic poets is of course not confined to the theories of Wolf and Niebuhr ; but as it is these portions of his work that best illustrate his views, and, at this particular period to which we have arrived, appear to be the next links in the chain, I shall dwell on them chiefly in the fallowing sketch of his articles on the Epic poets. ON THE ILIAD AND THE ODYSSEY. 221 THE GEEEK EPOS— HAS HOMER EVER LIVED t "The question of the existence of Homer," he commences by remarking, " is not a mere amusement for the curious ; on the contrary, it contains the whole origin of poetry. No system of literary criticism can dispense with a solution of this enigma. Eor, according as that solution is determined in one sense or another, the very foundations of Art are changed ; 'whatever is admitted as regards Homer, can be applied to other names and to other times ; and can become by extension the rule of the Epic ; so that this question is one rather of a general law than of a particular accident." He then proceeds to trace the rise of the question, and to place before his readers Wolf's hypothesis, and the arguments by which he supports it. Finally, he says, having run through all its phases, the new hypothesis was obliged to pull up, its difficulties being found insurmountable. The question then returns, How have the Homeric poems been composed 1 It is clear that before reaching us they have passed through a number of vicissitudes. Then having re- ferred to the various agencies through which the poems have been transmitted, he says ; — Now, if we imagine the alterations of all kinds to which these poems must have been submitted in passing through so many hands, instead of being astonished at their want of harmony in some parts, we shall rather wonder that such incoherences are not more numerous. If the Iliad and the Odyssey are really only a collection of the works of several poets made by Pisistratus, then we must say Pisistratus was himself the greatest and most incompre- hensible of all these poets. For to unite a number of fragments of this,, sort in such a manner as to produce an illusion of beauty, so perfect as to mislead the judgment of Antiquity, required more genius than has ever been attributed to Homer himself. Moreover, if the works of Homer are such a collection, how is it that we have only the two episodes of the Iliad and the Odyssey, when in the times of the Alexandrians it appears that there was a series of poems embracing all the traditions of the Trojan war ? How was it that Antiquity had only eyes and ears for those attributed to Homer ; why did Pisistratus, if he wished to make one complete whole of the traditions of the war, abandon them all for the two poems of the Iliad and the Odyssey? What makes it more strange is that these two poems are foreign to the local traditions of Athens. What can explain such a selection except his agreement with the general opinion of antiquity, that these poets of the Homeric cycle all languish at the feet of Homer ? 222 EDGAR QUINET. The diflSoulty from wliich tlie doutt mainly proceeds is, that these poems of Homer are too long to have been produced with- out writing. But it is forgotten that song being an element inseparable from poetry in Antiquity, it answered as a means of preservation to writing in the Middle Age, and printing in this. We are too apt to imagine these old poets according to the fashion of our own day, gloomily hiding their secret until it was finished. Far from this, they were never separated from the people ; scarcely had they uttered a rhapsody before it was caught up by a thousand voices and published to the world. Thus the Homeric poems were indeed composed in fragments, each fragment becoming in itself a public tradition to which the poet himself recurred when he wished to refresh his memory. In this sense Vico's idea that the Iliad and the Odyssey were the work of the Greqk people may be admitted. The poet invented, the people recollected. One was the voice, the other the echo. The entire people of Greece, — this was the book always open, in which the poet wrote day by day his imperishable work. In this manner the Koran was published ; and in modern times there have been poets, Beranger for instance, whose poems could have been thus preserved without the aid of writing or printing. It is not doubted by any one now that "Wolf put the origin of writing in Greece at too recent a date ; but apart from that, there was in the institution of the rhapsodists a guarantee for the preservation of the works of the poet. They learned the Homeric poems just as a profession is learned in the present day. The memory of the lines was a family heritage. The rivalry of the singers helped to preserve the text ; for each made it his pride not only to declaim better than his competitors, but to possess the finest, most complete, most correct version. But how, it is asked, could the rhapsodists find audiences capable of listening to such long poems ? It is not necessary to suppose that they ever sung an epic through in one day. Poetry with the ancients was a necessary condition of life ; their interest in it was inexhaustible. I have seen in the Morea a Klephte who continued to recite during a whole spring, at the same place, the popular songs of modern Greece, his audience never failing him ; and again, on the Mole at Naples, impro- visatores, who carry on their profession the whole year round, never finishing their story in one day, but sometimes keeping it up for a week, the crowd assembling in advance, undeterred by wind or sun. If, then, we only suppose in the ancient Greeks the same poetic curiosity that we find now in Southern Europe amongst the ragged lazzaroni, the rhapsodist might easily have ON THE EARLY HISTORY OF ROME. 223 recited a thousand lines in a day, and hardly more than a month would have been necessary for him to get through the whole of the poems of Homer. These poems are clearly bom of the popular inspiration, but they wear the crown and bear the seal of a studied art. And not only does Homer belong to cultured poetry, but everything demonstrates that a long tradition of art existed before him. His predecessors will remain for ever unknown. Doubtless there were great poets among them, but Homer's grandeur con- sists in his having absorbed into his work their passed glories, just as Ferdousi, the Persian poet, has gathered up in himself all the traditions that preceded him. Thus the Iliad and the Odyssey do not come at the beginning of the life of the Greek people ; they are rather the testament of a past epoch, a monument that closes a forgotten antiquity. Their most striking characteristic is that they for ever seal and consecrate the unity of the Greek people. No scattered songs, without arrangement or plan, could have produced this miracle. Had the poems emanated solely from the people, they would have reflected the tumultuous genius of the Greek states ; we should have had rhapsodies Dorian and Ionian, the aristocracy struggling with the democracy, a poetry of contrasts, but not the poetry of Homer. After Orpheus, Homer was the Moses of the Greek world, leading them out of Chaos into Unity. THE EAELY HISTOET OF EOME— EEFUTATION OF NIEBUHE'S SYSTEM. Sixteen years after the hypotheses of Wolf had appeared they were applied stiU more brilliantly to Eoman history by Mebuhr, a man who to ardour of proselytism added such gravity, such heroism of intelligence, that it is very difficult for his adver- saries to pronounce his name without veneration — in intellect, soul, and imagination, a true Northern. He belonged to that period when Germany struggled, the sword in one hand, the trowel in the other. He was in everything a noble, a coura- geous, an implacable enemy. He published the first part of his Eoman History in 181 1. It is important to remember this, because it was just the epoch when the Songs of the Nations had suddenly obtained unex- pected importance. The air was full of these national melodies — Spanish romances, Scotch and Irish ballads, Tyrolese, Eussian, Servian songs. Above all, it was the reign of the Nibelun- genlied. Under the influence of this state of literary opinion, Niebuhr conceived his theory of the early history of Eome. 224 EDGAR QUINET. This at least explains how he came to transport the harp of Siegfried into the Pomerium of the Latins, and how it was that he came to attribute the ideal genius of the Scandinavians and the poetic instinct of the Burgundians to the common people of Rome. Quinet then proceeds to relate the process by which Niebuhr destroyed the credit of early Roman annals, and how he resolved what had been supposed to be veritable history into the lays of Romulus, of Tarpeia, of ISTuma, of Ancus, of Servius, of Lucretia, and of Tarquin, poems completed many centuries after the events had happened, being sometimes of popular, sometimes of aristocratic origin. " In considering," Quinet then goes on to say, " this hypothesis of a plebeian epic, the first question that occurs is. By what organs it had been expressed, and by what means has it been transmitted and perpetuated ? If in Rome the national memo- rials bad been transmitted by means of song, there would have been a class analogous to the Greek rhapsodists, families devoted to the work as a profession ; but we find no trace of such a class, and nothing at all like what we find amongst the modems, — bards, minstrels, meistersdnger. Far from this, the very name of poet is wanting in this language of patron and client ; they know at first only the prophet and the diviner, vates. But, supposing the poet to have existed by some other name, we should at least expect to find that the profession tbat had pre- served the annals of the city would be treated with honour. But we find that when the poet is first spoken of he is regarded with contempt as a mere stage-player, a parasite. Cato re- proaches a proconsul for having connected himself with such an one, and that one was the great Ennius himself. These are singular contradictions in a society which owed all to the poet. The sole foundation upon which the theory rests are a few words of Cato in his work "Origines," in which it appears that he mentioned the custom in old times to sing verses during meals in praise of the virtue of great men. But this tradition proves nothing beyond the existence of some table-songs, which might have been only copies from the Greeks and not of popular origin. In the frugal society of the early Romans, it is not likely that they indulged in anything more than a war-song, a sacred prayer, or a funeral dirge ; slow rhapsodies at a banquet of Cincinnatus are more than one can imagine. It is nothing to the purpose to say that the first three centuries of Roman history are fuU of the marvellous. The marvellous is not necessarily conveyed by poetry. Moreover, under fabulous accessories very real history is often conveyed. During the war between Turkey and Greece any one might ROMAN GENIUS NOT POETIC. 225 have seen a mythology in process of being born. To nearly all the patriot leaders, superhuman actions have been attri- buted. They were said to have conversed with their sabres, with the river that they crossed, or the mountain they ascended ; the very birds, with their golden wings, spoke to them in a magical language. According to the tradition, one alone among them has accomplished prodigies which would suffice for a whole army. Now I have seen with my eyes and touched with my hands these men, and know that they are beings within the scope of reason ; but if we allow Niebuhr's line of argument, we ought to conclude that they only exist in virtue of a poem invented by popular pride. But if, leaving these extrinsic considerations, I examine tlie reigns of the seven kings of Eome, not only do I fail to per- ceive about them this character of popular poetry, but I find something quite the contrary. A judicial genius is much more evident than a poetic and spiritualistic genius. This sad Roman people is fonder of writing than singing. Annals, com- mentaries, a fecial ^ law, a Papirian law, writings on the bark of the ruminal fig-tree ; are these the things to be found about the cradle of a rhapsodist 1 It does not follow. because the Capitol was burnt that all tradition was destroyed, since no one denies that several monu- ments of the old time were saved from the flames, and one would have been enough to prevent the merely arbitrary in tradition. Besides, popular songs cannot be re-made three or four centuries after the event. Written books may be falsified at any moment, but it is otherwise with the popular song ; time alone alters, develops, transforms it, but not at a single stroke, or for the benefit of another age. And if this popular legend had arisen, would the priestly body have so lost all memorials of the past as not to be able to correct it? As history is preserved from confusion concerning the characters of Attila and Charlemagne by the monastic chronicles, so there would have been some contradiction to the popular legend in the annals of the Eoman pontiffs. No, Rome has not risen from the earth, like the cities of Greece, to the sound of the flute ; a ruder origin has prepared it for a more austere manhood. The Eoman plebeian has not wandered, like the Siegfried of the Nibelungen, in a vague country to the song of the swans on the Rhine, or the sound ot the harps of the Valkyries. He is a debtor in the hands of a 1 Feciales among the ancient Romans were a college of priests whose duty it was to declare war or make peace. P 226 EDGAR QUINBT. creditor, a jurisconsult, a Gaius, a Papirius, not a Homer. If lie stammers out a poem, it is a litany of labourers, or of arval priests, or rather some shred of the horrible poem of the twelve tables, lex horrendi carminis. The patrician rules, the secret name of the city, the ceremonies, the ruses, the dramatic spectacle of the laws ; this rather than ideal adventures excited the imagina- tion of the Eoman, and early enchained his materialistic spirit. At three leagues from the city was the enemy. Slavery pre- vailed within and without. We must either, therefore, suppose that the patricians sung at their banquets songs composed against themselves, or that the people in secret made and pre- served their poems, and that in a masterly manner : it is difficult to say which hypothesis is least admissible. More- over, if the plebeians in a barbarous age could produce this poetry, how is it that it disappeared in a moment ; how is it that not the least fragment of an attempt to imitate it has been found ; and how is it that when the patrician poets, formed on the Greek models, began to appear, that there was no struggle between the two schools ? You cannot, in fact, find the least trace of the popular song in Roman poetry. The most ancient of all the Roman poets commences with a translation of the Odyssey. After him Nsevius and especially Ennius, in relating the most familiar histories of old Rome, are under the yoke of Euripides ; ascend higher and you find priestly liturgies, but no rhapsodies, no heroic poems, no epic. To give birth 'to a series of poems, a people is needed who enjoy a certain degree of idleness or poetic liberty ; like that of the German in the Hercynian forest, or of the Gael in his clan, or of the Arab in the desert, or of the troubadour in his joyous home in Provence. To reduce, on the one hand, the rights and moral personality of the Eoman plebeians to such a degree as to make them a sort of pariahs or outlaws, and then to attribute to such a people that most manifest result of an enthusiastic sentiment of existence, the epic and heroic poem, is a contradiction that cannot long be maintained. These papers on Greek and Latin poetry are carried on historically much farther. Quinet traces the decline of the Homeric inspiration in Greek poetry. He shows how imitation was the rule of Latin poetry. Its lirst poets copied the Greeks, the later ones copying those of the Augustan period. There was no growth, and in its decline it showed how different it was to the modern genius, since it had no sense of the interior evils of men ARTHURIAN AND CARLO VINGIAN ROMANCES. 227 or of the country. His writings on the Epopees of the Middle Ages are even more interesting than on those of Greece and Eome. For here, instead of battling with popular theories, he simply has to give the results of his own researches. He devotes separate chapters to the poems of the Arthurian and Carlovingian cycles, contrasting the religious character of the former with the heroic and feudal character of the latter. He commences with a reference to that eternal fount of poetry which rose again with the Christ. Christian Art, as Christian Society, was born in a tomb. What poetry has since been thrown over everything, even over the ruins of the pagan mytho- logy ! By the twelfth century a new society had come into existence — a new society and a new poetry. For at that time compositions of thirty, forty, and even a thousand lines broke out in the new-born dialects. What thus enchanted the land of barbarism ; what thus set free the tongue of the mute peoples 1 Christianity in alliance with feudalism. He points out how these poems contain no allusion to the events which were happening in the age in which they Were written, although those events included the Crusades, the Albigensian wars, and the siege of Constantinople, and poetic personages such as Innocent III., Coeur de Lion, and Dandolo. "This," he says, " proves irresistibly that men are never struck with the poetry that develops under their own eyes." Their own age is always prosaic compared with some earlier period. He traces the gradual change from the intensely religious tone of the earlier romances to their worldly character in the later, showing how, from the absorbing Ideal of Divine Love, from the pursuit of Wisdom and Holiness, they sank to the romance of human passion ; and he attributes this change to a change in dogma, to the Apotheosis of Woman in the person of Mary. The hymns of this epoch, the Ave Regina and the Salve Mater, begin to take the place of the Psalms of Jehovah, the Madonna of Italy to be substituted for the sad images of the Christ of the catacombs. In place of the quest of the Holy Graal, the poems are filled with adorable phantoms, a series of beautiful creations of female character. The German poems, however, still preserve the pious tone 'of the originals. This is especially true of the " Titurel," in which poem, at once gigantic and childlike, Quinet finds a flow of adoring Love that seems but a variation of the famous stanza of St. Francis of Assisi on Divine Love. In his chapter on the poems of the Carlovingian cycle, he 228 EDGAR QUINET. remarks that their subject was the struggle between Christianity and Mohammedanism. The Ilion of the troubadours was the Catholic civilisation. Although they completely distort the character of the hero around whom they gather, they yield perfect pictures of feudal life, and in giving the genius of the age in which they were written, are more true than history. That genius he describes as " the spirit of untamed force, the lofty pride which seized man in the solitude of donjons, from whence he saw nature at his feet, prostrate and bound to labour for him. A poetry not of Olympian eagles, but of the kites and sparrow- hawks of Gaul." Finally, he dwells on the splendid opportunity there was for a great poet in the twelfth century, who, out of these scattered poems, and with such a subject, might have made a grand epic : but, probably for the good of the world, such a man did not appear ; besides, with the rise of the third estate, a new public was created that felt little interest in poems in which it had only played the roll of serf. The foregoing views of Quinet on great poems and great individualities prepare the way for his treatment of the most important question of the age, or of any age, — the Authenticity of the Gospels, and the reality of the Existence and Character of Jesus Christ. In 1835 Strauss published his "Life of Jesus," critically treated. Three years afterwards Edgar Quinet published a criticism of the work. In the preface to the edition of 1857, he connects the effort to turn the Gospel narratives into a myth with that made to efface Homer, and he expresses his strong conviction of the importance of great individualities in sustain- ing the reason, the intelligence, and virtue of the human race. That he felt the issues to be infinitely the most im- portant yet approached by the new criticism, none will doubt after reading " Ahasuerus," " Prometheus," and this Examination. We recall here those terrible forebodings in the preface to "Ahasuerus," in which the poet feels a dark Horror approaching his bedside and putting its icy hand on his heart. " Can you sleep ? " he says. " As for me, I watch and wait ! From the bottom of our souls we already feel what is going to happen. That nothing is already something which makes us pant with terror. ON STRA USS'S LIFE OF JESUS. 229 We see it, we touch it, although the world is still un- aware of it." And, again, the startling Epilogue in which Eternity engulfs all things, and there is no hope save through a dread future, in which Jesus is to pass through Death to a new Incarnation, a new Passion, a new Acel- dama. We rememher that this was all published a year before Strauss's book had appeared, and when he was hardly known even in Germany. We remember all this, and are constrained to exclaim with the students of the College of France : The Prophet ! the Prophet ! As the years rolled on the worst forebodings of Quinet were fuUy realised. In 1872 Strauss published "The Old Faith and the New," in which he openly joins the crowd who mocked at Jesus as he hung upon the cross,'^ and denied both the existence of God and a life after death. Ai;id this, he intimates, is by no means the bottom of the abyss, as he claims to be optimist com- pared with Schopenhauer, the philosopher at present most popular in Germany. In the condensation given of these criticisms in the next few pages, the reader must bear in mind that they refer to Strauss's first book on the subject. EXAMINATION OF THE "LIFE OF JESUS." The questions recently raised by German theology do not merely imply the denial of the supernatural in Revelation ; they spring from quite another order of thoughts, one for which we have no exact expression in French, so that the first difficulty in treating the question is to define its object. It can only he done by showing the way in which it has come into existence. The great effect of Dr. Strauss's work is owing to the fact that it is the mathematical consequence of all the works pro- duced beyond the Khine during the last fifty years. Each author has brought a stone to build this sorrowful sepulchre, and now Germany is quaking and recoiling at its own work. When the German philosophy replaced that of the eighteenth century, it was thought that what Voltaire had destroyed Kant 1 "The Old Faith and the New," translated by Mathilda Blind, p. 90. 230 ■ EDGAR QUINET. and Goethe would restore. The result has been quite the oppo- site, and we now see the philosophies of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries embracing each other over the ruins of the same faith. For if we trace the course of modern German philosophy, we shall see it always tending to this issue. According to Kant, the sacred writings were but a series of moral allegories, a sort of popular commentary on the law of duty. Christ was only an ideal in the conscience of Humanity. The resurrection being left out of this imaginary Christianity, there remained nothing but a religion of death, a Gospel of pure reason, an abstract Jesus without cradle or sepulchre. Later on, pantheism undermined more and more the old banks of orthodoxy. According to the half mystic, half sceptic school of Schelling, the Gospel revela- tion was only an incident in the eternal revelation of God in Nature and History. Finally, Hegel saw no more in Chris- tianity than an idea, of which the religious value is independent of the testimonies of tradition ; which comes to the same thing as saying that the moral principle of the Gospel is divine even if its historical basis is uncertain. But the man who, above all others, has affected modern German thought is Spinosa. His spirit is at the bottom of all its poetry, criticism, philosophy, theology. In his treatise on Theology, and in his letters from Oldenburg, may be discovered the germ of all the propositions sustained later on in German exegesis. He is the author of the idea of interpreting the Bible according to natural phenomena. " AU," he said, " related in the revealed books happened conformably to the laws of nature." It would require the pen of the author of the " Provinciales " to give an adequate impression of the absurd results produced in Biblical history by the school which formed its system on this principle. The shapeless skeleton of Christianity it produced did not long retain its hold on German thought. To convert Germany to doubt, a system was necessary which hid scepticism under faith, made a long round to reach its object, bent on imagination, on poetry, and on spirituality, seemed to transfigure while it rejected, to build while it destroyed, to affirm while it denied. All these characteristics are found in the system of allegorical interpretation, or, to speak in the language of the severiteenth' century, in the method by which the mystical sense is sub- stituted for the literal. The introduction of this system into the Church is chiefly due to Origen ; it dominated throughout the Middle Age, and even had a powerful influence over Pascal and Fto^lon. The axiom of the method is, " The letter kiUeth, but the Spirit giveth life ; " but the danger is that the Spirit ON STRAUSS'S LIFE OF JESUS. 231 may so increase as finally to kill and entirely substitute itself for the letter. In 1790 Eichorn only admits the first chapter of Genesis as emhlematic. In 1 803 Bauer extended the prin- ciple, in his Mythology of the Bible, to the whole of the Old Testament. Very quickly the system leaps over these bounds and is applied to the New. All that relates to angels, demons, or miracles is thus explained; after a time the narratives of the Infancy of Jesus are treated in a similar manner; finally, nothing is left but his birth and ascension, and these at last are metamorphosed into fables. Here, again, we see the influence of Spinosa. He had said, " I accept according to the letter the passion, death, and burial of Christ, but the resurrection allegorically." This principle set afloat, there was very soon not a moment of the life of Christ which was not metamorphosed into symbol, or emblem, or type, or myth by some theologian or other. Every one used it, satis- fied that at the worst they were only giving up the mortal part of Christianity, while they the better preserved that which was essential — the soul of the doctrine. An instance of what is meant may be found in Hegel's Lessons on Religion, where he speaks of analysing the Son. Thus these divines accomplished in Germany, with perfect tranquillity of conscience, what in France was the work of philo- sophers. Each day they effaced a word of the Bible, but with the least possible disquietude as to what in the end would become of their faith. However, Schleiermacher, the greatest among them, had a presentiment that a crisis was at hand. To this system of substituting the letter for the spirit was joined habits of criticism imbibed from the study of profane antiquity. Heathen wisdom was so much exalted that it was easy to confound it with the wisdom of the Gospel. If Chris- tianity was ancient mythology in embryo, Christianity itself was a perfected mythology. Moreover, the ideas of Wolf on the Iliad, and Niebuhr on Ancient Eome, were soon applied to the Bible. The denial of the personality of Homer naturally led to the denial of the personality of Moses. De Wette is the first to enter this path. According to him the Pentateuch contains no more truth than the Greek epics. As the Iliad and the Odyssey were the works of the rhapsodists, the Pentateuch, with the exception of the Decalogue, was the continued and anonymous work of the priesthood. He urges that his method should be applied to the New Testament. Others carried the same sort of criticism farther, depriving Moses not only of the authorship of the Pentateuch, but of the Decalogue and of the idea of the Unity of God. Finally, the God of Moses shares the same fate as Moses himself. 232 EDGAR QUINET. The only relief in the midst of this universal negation is that the critic who denies one book wiU defend another. Every hypothesis gives itself out as a truth acquired by science until another hypothesis equally clever comes to overturn it. And so each theologian in turn casts away a page of the Bible. The strange ardour of these clergymen to sacrifice the body and the letter of their belief recalls that night of the Constitueiit Assembly, when one aristocrat after another came forward to bum his patent of nobility. After treating the Old Testament thus, it was not to lie expected the critics would stop at the New. To explain tlie literal agreement of the synoptists there were theories upon theories, ending in a tendency to deny that they were ocukr witnesses, and to admit them only as expressions, more or less vague, of tradition. The debate at last seemed to concentrate itself on the authenticity of St. John. " This is henceforth the great question for us," said Dr. Strauss to me, after a long coii- versation on these matters. IL " The Life of Jesus " was, then, exactly the work that might have been expected from the bent of things. Though obscurely published, the sensation it caused was so alarming, that the Prussian Government, contrary to their wont, consulted the clergy on its suppression. Neander, deputed to answer, declared that though the book attacked all his beliefs, he would not have its liberty interfered with, as discussion was the sole judge of truth and error. How was it that, in a land full of theological novelties, this book disconcerted the most audacious? Because, as before stated, it was the legitimate consequence of all that had been going on for half a century. The author brought together for the first time the most contradictory doctrines and schools — materialism, spiritualism, mysticism ; the admirers of symbols, of explanations, natural, figurative, or dogmatic ; of visions, of animal magnetism, of allegories, of etymologies — and expounding them, placing them in difficulties, and breaking them up one by the other, he forced them all, by an untiring dialectic, to the same conclusion. Tearing down the metaphysical veil which threw a haze over these doctrines, he led the question to the simplest terms ; so that every one saw uncovered for the first time the extent of the destruction accomplished. Like Mark Antony, he raised the robe of Csesar. All could see the wounds that had been made in the dark. From the pantheism of the modern schools. Dr. Strauss bor- ON STRA USS'S LIFE OF JESUS. 233 rows the art of depreciating and diniinisliing historic indivi- dualities. All personal existence annoys him, and seems a ■usurpation. Thus, while he does not totally deny the existence of Jesus, he reduces that existence to a shadow. Jesus, he admits, was baptized by John, gathered together disciples, and succumbed in the end to the hatred of the Pharisees. This, joined to a few details, is the sole basis on which, according to him, men have built up the life of Christ. His theory is that the people of Palestine, under the influence of the Messianic hope, clothed by degrees the true form of Jesus with all the characteristic features attached to that hope in the Old Testament ; popular tradition, accepting as real the actions which were there attributed to the coming Christ, fashioning, increasing, correcting, rendering divine the person of Jesus of Nazareth, after the type conceived by the prophets. Quinet then proceeds to give a very careful analysis of Strauss's criticisms. Of his method he says, it resembles that of Voltaire and the English school; of his style he says, it is cold, hard, and geometric. And nothing seems to astonish him more than the tranquil way Strauss proceeds with a work which, if successful, would prove one of the saddest ever effected. Yet for fifteen hundred pages, and in the same tone in which he might treat of an interpolation in Homer or in Pindar, he disputes with the Christ his cradle and his sepulchre, leaving him only his cross. Quinet's candour, as a polemic, may be judged by the remark with which he concludes a most careful analysis of this now famous work. He declares that it would be most unfair to judge of the book by his account of it. The spirit of a work cannot thus be reproduced in a few lines. Nor is it possible for me to do justice to the author's many fine qualities. He has rendered the painful service of probing and laying bare the sensitive wound of our time with more vigour, logic, and intrepidity than any one else ; and he has done this work so perfectly, that indifference itself has started up from its couch and uttered a cry of pain. With a desire like his own to keep to the truth, I must recognise that it is clear that his system is conceived in advance and not necessarily born of the facts ; but that, determined to compel everything to support it, he has not allowed himself to 234 EDGAR QUINET. he turned aside by any obstacle, so tliat, drawn on by a logical intolerance almost amounting to fanaticism, he emulates witli perfect sang froid tbe exterminating spirit of Dupuis and Yolney. Anotber objection I make is, that the author's book-know- ledge is so prodigious as to stifle every sentiment of reality. In this absolute negation of all life, you are tempted to question yourself, to know if your most personal impressions, if your breath and your soul are not by chance a copy of some wander- ing text of the book of fate, and if you may not one day find your own existence unexpectedly contested as a plagiarism on some unheard-of history. However naturally a story springs from the ordinary course of things, Dr, Strauss declares that it contains no historical truth, and can only be a myth. But thus to measure Nature and Thought on the bed of Procrustes is to weaken and destroy them both. To accept the impressions of an inert society only so far as they accord with those which would be made iu the present day, is a strange limitation of the human heart. Are we quite sure that we are living within the bounds of every- thing possible ? doctor ! how many miracles pass in souls which book-knowledge wiU never teach us. What enthusiasm, what love, what revolutions occur beyond even the ken of our greatest masters ! And in them men are taught things which they could not learn from all the libraries in the world. For example, our author, noting how, with a word, Jesus is said to have captivated his apostles, makes this apparently judicious reflection : first, that it is strange that the Christ should not have wished to prove them ; second, that it is in- credible that they should have been willing to quit their houses and families and to follow him, without having learnt more of him by experience, — objections which he considers supported by the manifest contradiction between this easy obedience and the doubt into which they subsequently faU. For this and other reasons he considers the calling of the apostles a symbo- lical story forged thirty years later in imitation of Elijah calling his servant Elisha. But why, I ask, ascribe to imitation and pharisaic erudition what is so natural ? Who does not see, on the one hand, the authority of Jesus, the power in bis looks, in his voice, in his mysterious word; and on the other, the fishermen under the power of that word carried away, subjugated, fascinated by the greatness which had appeared in their midst? Is it in any other fashion that enthusiasm lays hold of souls, or that men give themselves to one another 1 Is it not by a sudden rapture, by an unreflecting transport, by an entire abandonment of itself ON STRA USS'S LIFE OF JESUS. 235 to the ■will, the looks, the thought of another, rather than, as the German doctor supposes, by slow and successive experiences of the superiority of the master ? Who has not known examples of this kind, not only in public but in private life, even the most obscure, where a day or an hour, or even less, rarely passes without its being lit up by one of these wonderful illumina- tions ? Is it experience, is it temporising which effects these miracles of friendship, of heroism? Is it not rather the work of a supreme moment in which all is lost or gained ? " The disciples have doubted shortly after," you say. Another proof that you are here in the domain of truth, of reality, of history. What more natural than falling away after excess of enthusiasm? These are traits invented neither by poetic tradition nor mytho- logy. It is men, not myths, we have met here. To such an extent has this enthusiasm been experienced and proved to be real, that, for my own part, I cannot read this beginning of the Gospel without hearing once again the echo of that most real voice, saying to us as it did to the fishermen of Galilee : " Else up and walk, go ye into all the world." It is the Fiat Lux in the genesis of Christianity ; the movement that originates all the others. At this word you see the disciples rise up and compel the old society to move before them, the Roman Empire in its turn rise up and obey the impulsion, then the Church, then the councils, then the Papacy, then the Eeformation, and so this movement propagates itself from age to age, from generation to generation, until without one inter- mission it reaches us. Another example. I choose it because it furnishes an excel- lent abridgment of the accustomed method of the author. It is the scene of the temptation. Strauss begins by showing the difficulties, the improbabilities, the fictions which are found in the accounts of the evangelists : a fast of forty days, the appari- tion of the devil in a palpable form, Jesus transported to a pinnacle of the temple, then on to a mountain from whence he sees all the kingdoms of the world, the legion of angels who bring him food from heaven. In dealing with the natural explanations hitherto given of these circumstances, Strauss has the best of it ; he proves that the scene is neither a vision, a dream, nor a parable. This refutation eifected, he opens the Old Testament. He finds there all the traits of the scene related by the" New. Moses, Elijah fasting forty days in the desert ; Satan tempting the people, who call themselves the Sons of God, forty years in the desert ; the angels bringing Elijah food ; and he asks, Are not these the models from which, later on. Christian tradition copied its story of the temptation ? 236 EDGAR QUINET. Complete as this analysis seems, it is wanting in a most important point, — a consideration of the interior life of Christ. Jesus comes to receive baptism. He publishes for the first time his mission. About to reveal himself, he gathers up his strength in the desert. Who can know the pangs, the struggles, the inward enemies that assailed this new Jacob wrestling with an unknown angel ? Before declaring war with all visible nature, before casting humanity into the future as a world into a new orbit, who knows if the revealer ^ did not hesitate in his own heart ; if the entire past did not spread itself out before him as a snare ; if the mute universe, clothing itself in borrowed splendour, did not by a hundred voices call upon him, instead of struggling with it, to prostrate himself before it and to adore it ; if, borne on the wings of his thoughts to the pinnacle of the temple and on the holy hill, he did not from thence behold, on the one hand, the kingdoms of the world with their peoples bowing down and submissive, on the other, the immeasurable empire of minds with ever-suffering love, and the cross of Cal- vary in place of the sceptre of Judah t Who knows if in this moment he did hot feel in advance the bloody sweat of Geth- semane, and if, in the height of all this anguish, he had not already cried out at the sight of the earth risen up against him : " My Father, my Father, why hast Thou forsaken me ? " If the doubt could approach him then, there most assuredly was Satan on his throne of darkness. Thus this history is by no means so illusory as is pretended. On the contrary, it would depict that which was most private, that is to say, most real, in the life of Jesus. Eecovered from this deadly depression, the inward light reappears. The heavens re-open. From this moment until Calvary the Christ regains possession of himself. Legions of angels descend into his heart. They finish by strengthening with heavenly nourishment his spirit fatigued with the combat. In all this, where is the impossible ? Where is the imitation 1 Where is the fable ? And how can we have an idea of the Gospel if we do not see in it a continual transfigura^ tion of the inner history and of the thoughts of Christ ? How many other questions remain to be thus more closely examined : if, for instance, the epoch of Christ was a likely one for the invention of a mythology ? in what way the science of Alexandria could control imagination in Jerusalem t And this question would lead to an inquiry into the critical spirit of the Eoman world : if thirty years is sufficient for the establishment of an entirely fabulous tradition ; if the tone of the canonical books is not quite distinct from that of the apocryphal ; if the 1 The revelation of thia experience could only have been made by him who endured it. ON STRAUSS'S LIFE OF JESUS. 237 Acts of tlie Apostles does not present similar narratives to those of the Gospels ; if in the latter the parables are not expressly- separated from the narrative, showing that the evangelists observed the demarcation between allegory and history ; if the preface to St. Luke, so reasonable, methodic, and philosophic, looks like the preface to a collection of myths ; finally, if the Epistles of St. Paul do not bear such an imprint of reality that their witness casts a strong light on the preceding epoch ; their author being a man so like ourselves, pleading for the truth and historic integrity of the very persons Strauss attacks. With regard to the comparison between the Gospels and the poems of popular origin, I accept it and say : Charlemagne has been transfigured by the imaginations of the Middle Age ; but under the fable was hidden history ; under the fiction of the twelve paladins is the author of the Capitularies, the conqueror of the Saxons, the legislator and warrior. How then can there be but a shadow under the traditions of the apostles ? III. Those who go far into this examination must be struck with the strange fact that Christianity is an effect without a cause. How is it possible that this despoiled figure of the Christ, this shadow of which no appreciable vestige remains, can have dominated the world? I see the moral universe overturned, but the moving power escapes me. If in the New Testament there is no originating force, from whence comes this powerful life? If the New Law is nothing but a reproduction of the Old ; if the miracle of the renewal of the world has never been accomplished, what do we here ; how is it we are not stdl within the walls of the ancient city. - The personal grandeur of Christ is better demonstrated by the movement and spirit of the times which have succeeded him than by the Gospels themselves. If I knew nothing of the Scriptures, and had never heard the name of Jesus, I must always have thought that some extraordinary impulsion took place in the world about the time of the Caesars. Wlience came this impulsion and its wonderful results ? "When Strauss says that he regards the invention of the compass and of steam-boats as of more importance than the cure of a few poor sick folk in GalUee, he is evidently the dupe of his own reasoning ; for he knows as well as I do that the miracle of Christianity is not there, but rather in the great marvel of Humanity, cured of the evil of slavery, of the leprosy of caste, of the blindness of pagan sensuality, able to rise up and carry its bed far away from the old world. He knows that the 238 EDGAR QUINBT. ■wonder of Christianity is not so mucli in water having been changed into wine, as in a world changed by a single thought, in the sudden transfiguration of the old law, in the casting off the old man, in the empire of the Csesars struck with stupor, in the conquest of the conquering barbarians, in giving birth to a Eeformation that brought all its dogmas into discussion, to a Philosophy that denied them, to a French Eevolution that sought to kill it, while it only served to realise it more com- pletely than ever. These are the miracles by which Christianity appeals to us. What ! this incomparable originality of Christ nothing but a perpetual imitation of the past ; the most wonderfully new character in all history a man perpetually occupied in forming himself, or, as some later critics say, in posing after the figures of the ancient prophets ! And supposing the evangelists do contradict each other, after all it is only on accessory points ; they all agree in the character of Jesus Christ himself. How absurd to suppose that this harmonious character is the result of a confused mingling of thoughts springing up from all kinds of races, creeds, and institutions that this vague multitude should aU join in the same ideal, and that ideal should be a character conspicuous for its unity and its distinctness from the past. So far were the common people of Palestine from any such ideal, that they were constantly misunderstanding the simplest words of Jesus. Even his own disciples failed to understand the spiritual nature of his kingdom, though he sought to teach it in every parable. The continual miracle of the Gospel is the reign of a soul which felt itself greater than the visible universe. This miracle is no illusion, no allegory, but a great reality. As palpable Nature, the Sea, the primitive Night, the shoreless Chaos have in paganism served as a real foundation to the inventions of the peoples, in the same manner the^ infinite Soul of the Christ has served as the foundation upon which the whole Christian theogony has been built ; for what is the Gospel if it is not the revelation of an inner world ! And here I meet with an extraordinary mode of reasoning : The first figure in a series, it is argued, cannot be greater than the last ; it would be contrary to all development. From whence it follows that Christ gave place to St. Paul, St. Paul to St. Augustine, St. Augustine to Gregory VII., Gregory VII. to Luther, and that finally, we, being at the extremity of the series, must be the highest of all. But since when has the inspiration of beauty, of justice, of truth, progressed after an arithmetic or geometric fashion ? It ON STRA USS'S LIFE OF JESUS. 239 is clear that the question is not simply of the personality of Christ, but of the very principle of all personality. We are to be driven to admit a Humanity in which there are peoples, but no individuals, generations of ideas without forms, that die, and are reborn to die again at the foot of the invisible cross, on which remains for ever suspended the impersonal Christ of pantheism. Dr. Strauss expresses this conclusion clearly when he resumes his doctrine in this sort of metaphysical litany. " The Christ," he says, " is not an individual but an idea, or rather a race, to wit — Humanity. In the human race, behold the God made man, behold the Child of the visible virgin and of the Invisible Father, that is to say, matter and spirit ; behold the Saviour, the Redeemer, the Impeccable ; behold him who dies, who rises again, who ascends to heaven. In believing in this Christ, in his death, in his resurrection, Man is justified before God." To despoil the individual, to enrich the species, to diminish man in order to aggrandise humanity, is the tendency of the times. We place to the account of all what we dare not attri- bute to ourselves. Self-love is at once humbled and deified. There is a certain titanic grandeur in the idea that enchants us. Is the grandeur real, or do we deceive ourselves ? — this is the question. If the Individual cannot be the just one, the holy one pre- eminently ; if he is not a like spirit with God ; if he is incapable of rising to the supreme ideal of virtue, of beauty, of liberty, of love, how can these attributes become those of the species? How many men go to make up Humanity ? Will two or three go to make up this ideal, or if that wiU not do, will two or three millions succeed any better ? It is a vain attempt if the human person is only a nothing alienated from God ; the peoples also are but collections of nothing, and in adding nation to nation, empire to empire, we only give birth to nothing ; so that the more we pretend to the infinite, the more we succeed in embracing in Humanity a completer nothing, since it is composed of all the nothings together. If this is true, the result is that all life, all greatness, as well as all misery, emanates from the Individual. The whole spirit of Christianity tends to render the idea of the person absolutely sacred. For if the life of the God-made man has a sense com- prehensible for us, it is in showing us that within each con- science dwells the Infinite as well as in the soul of the human race, and that the mind of each man can spread and dilate until it embraces and penetrates the whole moral universe. Dr. Strauss concludes by declaring that, after all, his book in no way violates the belief of the Christian Church ; that he is 240 EDGAR QUINET. orthodox, though in an indirect way. For it is one of the maxims of modem casuists that it is not necessary to know if the Gospel rests on an historic basis. Philosophy declares that if a doctrine is in itself reasonable, it is not necessary to trouble one's self as to its origin in time. Spinosa is the author of this remedy. "To open to you my mind entirely," he says, "I will teU you that it is not at all indispensable to believe in Christ according to the flesh, but certainly in that Eternal Son of God, that is to say, in that Eternal Wisdom which manifests itself in all things, principally in the mind of man, but more than in all others, in Jesus Christ. In these metaphysics is hidden the abyss into which German theology withdraws every time it seeks to avoid its own con- sequences." From this mixture of metaphysics and theology a learned language has been formed, which tends first to produce a double doctrine, one for the clergy, the other for the people, and second, to make it almost impossible for a man to know on what ground he stands, whether he believes or doubts. Who has gained, who has lost, by this hazardous game ? Is it philosophy or reli- gion 1 It is time we clearly informed ourselves. IV. The relations of Religion and Philosophy since the Christian era have been threefold. First, we have religion among the fathers, dominating philosophy ; then among the scholastics, religion and philosophy entering into alliance ; finally, philo- sophy begins to turn against religion ; gradually the struggle becomes desperate, until philosophy, triumphing, magnanimously comprehends, admits, raises up, rehabilitates religion. Thus at first religion transformed philosophy, now philosophy transforms religion. This explains how it is that the Germans, in the midst of all their scepticism, maintain such a profound calmness. They do not regard themselves as having given up either religion or Christianity. The idea has been preserved by the sacrifice of the letter. This thread, impalpable as it may be, keeps them from feeling that they have quite lost their way. Even when their criticism is more murderous than Voltaire, they cry out with Polyeuctes, " I am a Christian." The agreement of Science and Religion is the problem which all the schools set themselves, but in arriving at the solution the Christian Institution is passed through so many transforma- tions that it often comes out at last a something for which no language has a name. Philosophy no longer denies Christianity, ON STRA USS'S LIFE OF JESUS. 241 it does worse; it protects it, seizing on each of its dogmas to make out of them a theorem. If Christianity submits to be treated as a piece of ductile clay, no doubt the alliance will continue; philosophy has everything to gain by such a treaty of peace. The metaphysics of Hegel vaunt themselves as being in abso- lute conformity with positive religion. To believe their profes- sors, they are but the catechism transfigured, the identity of science, and the evangelical religion, or rather, the Bible of the absolute. But go to the bottom of this orthodoxy and what do you find 1 A tradition without a gospel, a dogma without immor- tality, a Christianity without Christ. Is this what awaits the Church? This question of the identity of science and belief can only be solved by perpetual approximation. It is what the mathe- maticians call an incommensurable, with this difference, that here the least fraction neglected means a world. In reality, neither religion nor philosophy can absorb each other. They are reborn one of another without ever being able to convert each other. If man had only reason he would fall from negation to negation into the last circle of nothingness. If he had only faith he would be carried away without return, beyond all reality, to the farthest limits of the infinite. The one force counteracts the other, and of their opposition is born the regular movement of Humanity. If this apparent war were to cease, all order, as all movement, would be destroyed ; hence we con- clude, that neither those who would bring everything to reason, nor those who would bring everything to faith, possess the truth. Philosophy believes itself the inheritor of all that is per- manent in Christianity, and yet at the same time it sets forth ideas which contradict the very spirit of the Christian religion. It attempts, in Germany, to substitute Pantheism for the spirit of the Gospel. Is Christianity supple enough to bear this with- out ending in a rupture with philosophy? Will the personal God of the Cross be supplanted by the God-Substance without the people perceiving the change, the steps being so gradual ? The Christ on the Calvary of modern Theology endures to-day a passion more cruel than that of Golgotha. Neither the Pharisees nor the scribes of Jerusalem have presented him with a more bitter drink than the doctors of our time have poured out. To what transfiguration will he be submitted? Is the God of Jacob and of St. Paid to be transformed into the God of Parmenides, of Descartes, and of his disciple Spinosa ? But those who wish to extirpate Christianity will not succeed. 242 EDGAR QUINET. for it is founded upon the grandeur and independence of the person. Those who would reject philosophy will be equally bajHed, for it has revealed the laws necessary to the human race. The individual and society, man and humanity, these two powers are everywhere present in theology and philosophy as in politics ; who will make them agree ? If, among my readers, there are those who, in the religious agitations of their time, see only an image of ruin, especially if there are any to whom the preceding pages have caused one of those sorrows which should he sacred for all, I will remind them of that day when the disciples, having seen their Master descend into the sepulchre, began to doubt and to despair of the future. They did not know what to do but to weep in secret; that which they had expected not having happened, they were almost ready to give up believing anything more. They said one to another, " He whom we have known was not the Son of God, for he is dead on the cross." They said again, " "Who wiU take away the stone from the sepulchre, for we have not the strength to attempt it ? " But some among them, drawing near to Calvary, have perceived their Master in all the glory of heaven, and they rejoice with one accord unto the end of time. So even to-day the entire world is a great sepulchre, in which aU beliefs, all hopes, seem for ever buried ; the seal of doubt has been placed on them by an invisible hand, and we, seized with fear, asked each other. Who will raise the stone of this tomb ? A great number among us weep in secret, having no longer any confidence in that we once most loved. But this stone which oppresses us all will in the end be broken, were it a thousand times heavier than all the worlds together. From the depth of the darkness the God eternally old, eternally new, will be reborn, clothed in light more brilliant than that of Tabor. This at least is the faith of him who writes these lines. ( 243 ) CHAPTEE VI. PARIS, STRASBURG, LYONS. 1836-1839. " Mostly men's many- featured faces wear Looks of fixed gloom, or else of restless care." —F. W. Faber. The fund of vital energy that Edgar Quinet possessed is shown by the varied lives he led, now studying for months together in his secluded home at Heidelberg, now for months in the full tide of Parisian society. The winter was the time he generally chose for his visits to Paris ; he was there in 1 8 3 7-3 8, from ISTovember until March, but he was not always so long away from home. He was an energetic worker. His plan was to take up one thing at a time and give his whole mind to it. That finished, he felt free, and enjoyed the change to an entirely new subject. After the publication of " Napoleon " he hesitated to throw himself into another long work without the means of living. So in 1836 we find him publishing quite a series of articles on various subjects. In May " ISTotes on Italy " appeared, in October " The Field of the Battle of Waterloo." But Germany still was his theme, and in this month another series of papers was published on German subjects : — " The Prejudices which separate Germany from Erance ; " " Fall of Spiritualism ; " " Modern Theology ; " " Eeligion of Matter ; " " Fatalism and Indifference ; " " Illusions of Industry ; " and a poem called " The Borders of the Ehine." In these papers Quinet complained of the absurd notions concerning the French entertained ia Germany. It was there ,244 EDGAR QUINET. supposed that French, men were thin, grinning, made-up cox- oomhs ; French women, dressed-up dolls, pampered and spoilt, heartless, brainless, soulless, the centre of all kinds of disso- luteness, an ahyss of frivolity. German criticism on French authors he declared to be a regular system of depreciation : Molifere was flat ; Bossuet, vulgar ; Montesquieu, declamatory ; Comeille, tautological. The German journals he accused in the same manner, of systematically throwing mud at everything French. Quinet's remarks were received remarkably well ir Germany; they were translated into the papers, and made Mm friends rather than enemies. In April 1 836 his "Modern Greece'' was translated into Eussian and published at Moscow. During this year he was engaged in writing a series of papers on " The Epic Poets ; Latin and French." These papers, as well as most of the smaller works, appeared in the " Eevue des Deux Mondes." His French critics had thought him too Ger- man in his manner, too apt to dwell in the clouds. He aimed more and more at simplicity and clearness, and at this time he is constantly receiving letters recognising this change in his style. In March 1837 De Lamennais asked him to co- operate ia his journal " Le Monde." He also proposed in connection with General Dembinski, a Polish patriot for whom he had a great esteem, to write something on Poland. During the winter 1837-38, he became, as he usually did when long separated from those he loved, much depressed and inclined to see everything in the worst light. Immediately on his arrival in Paris he writes : — '' Never have minds been more dejected or spiritless than to-day. What an inert, sordid mass ! How are these people ever to be reached 1 In the end, some souls yet alive in this desert may perhaps listen to me, and I work for the future, come what may ! I speak to the deaf and the blind ; but I know it beforehand. Every one shuts himself up in his hole, seeing no one, and cursing the human race. This is the state in which I have found all my friends. Two men remain at IN PARISIAN SOCIETY. 245 their post, and are true to themselves. M. de Lamennais, pen in hand, and my poor General Demhinski, who writhes and gnaws in idleness, like a lion in his cage. Fauriel is getting old and chilled by the Institute. However, he is always ready to ohlige me, if I ask him. Michelet satisfies me ; the rest seem to me cruelly empty. " I am determined not to allow myself to be chilled by age or by this moribund society : I make my heart like iron, they shall make no impression on me My dear Francis Corcelles, whom I have found again, is very different. He is uprightness itself. Magnin is in the Koyal Library. He is by nature a man of heart and spirit ; but he, too, is terribly shrivelled up. I should never stop if I were to go on talking of the decay ; it is in the air one breathes, moral life is lost." Our poet moves about a great deal in society. Here is a programme for one week : — " Tuesday, musical party, Madame Belgiojoso's ; "Wednesday, Madame Heche's ; Thursday, Miss Clarke's ; Friday, Odilon Barrot's ; Saturday, again to the salon of the Principessa, or to that of M. Lamartine, where I seldom go, caring less than ever for sentimental intrigue ; finally, Sunday, Madame E^camier's : my most agreeable soiree. There all the Corcelles are to be seen, the best and simplest people in the world." Lamartine's salon comes in for another severe remark. " Nothing," says Quinet, " could appear more stiff and affected than this poetic and diplomatic salon." The monotonous salons of Paris, with their dryness and gild- ing, tire him. As we have somewhat the same testimony from M. Guizot concerning the Parisian salons in the early years of Louis Philippe's reign, it was not simply a melancholy humour that led Quinet to take so austere a view. The minister thought it owing to the growth of the democratic spirit, while the poet, there is little doubt, attributed this decay to the blighting influence of the Orleans Government. Quinet is always very sarcastic in his references to the citizen king and to M. Guizot. Of the retirement of the latter from office, in April 1836, he says : — " Far from regretting M. Guizot, I am delighted at his retreat. 246 EDGAR QUINET. I know too well his Gascon manner. Another will he straight- forward, we shall at least know where we are, a thing impossible with these tenebrous doctrinaires." The king was evidently much ridiculed in the circles in which Quinet moved ; and he answers for the truth of the following story. The scene is a sitting of the Council with reference to a Speech from the Throne in 1840 : — " It was written by M. de Eemusat and read aloud by him. The king laughed frequently, and ended by saying, ' Give me that pretty little writing, I shall have many things to scratch out.' Upon that, he goes out and returns with a speech written in his great round hand, prepared by himself. He read it in his turn. Eemusat and the rest say ' that its language was crawling (ventre d, terre), incredibly base.' "With one voice they said it could not be accepted. Fresh whinings from His Majesty, the whole followed by the offer of resignation of the ministry." One thing Guizot and Quinet agree in ; it is that Madame E^camier's salon was by far the most charming in Paris. Guizot's testimony is all the more disinterested, since he and his friends were among the few distinguished people not to be met there. Quinet, on the other hand, was evidently a welcome visitor at the Abbaye au Bois. An old conventual-looking building, with a court-yard into which you enter through a narrow gate surmounted with an iron cross, the Abbaye au Bois may still be seen in the Eue de Sevres, apparently little altered since Madame EScamier's time. Its religious air, combined with the warm greys of its roof and turrets, give it a kind, grandmotherly appearance, not at all suggestive of the literary-aristocratic coterie : the poets, dukes, statesmen, and philosophers, who once made it their daily resort. Madame Edcamier was probably the most perfect example of a leader of society the world has ever seen. She had every gift for the position except wealth ; but what, no doubt, made her friends so sincerely devoted to her was her disinterestedness. She sought the enjoy- ment of others more than her own. Men of all parties. A READING AT THE ABB AYE AU BOIS. 247 flocked to her humble apartments : Legitimists, Bona- partists, Eepuhlicans, and a few Orleanists. Madame R^camier, however, had an idol to whom she required all her guests to offer incense. Chateaubriand was quite a new friend compared to some, but after he had appeared on the scene everything was arranged so as to please him. When Quinet first made Chateaubriand's acquaintance the latter lived in the suburbs of Paris, in a long building one story high, somewhat after the form of a Normandy farmhouse. The short stature of the poet rather took Quinet by surprise ; but when he recovered himself he was struck with Chateaubriand's fine head and amiable air. Otherwise his appearance was most odd. He was wrapped up in a greatcoat, and his head enveloped in a silk handkerchief. His hair was white, his shoulders high, his chest broad, the lower part of his body and his legs prodigiously thin. From this little body a strong, shrill voice proceeded. His whole appearance admirably represented the decayed noblesse of France. Considering the style of the man, there was a true harmony in the title of Chateaubriand's autobiography, " M^moires d'Outre-Tombe ; " and in his reading them in a fading light, to a select audience, in that small drawing-room of a retreat for decayed gentlewomen. Edgar Quinet appears to have made part of that audience ; for in 1834 he wrote a paper describing a " Eeading at the Abb'aye au Bois." " These abbey walls," he says, " were exactly fitted to receive this confession, thus made in advance. You were there in a place which was neither the world nor a retreat. As it grew dark, you would have said that the Corinne of Gerard's painting had dropped her harp to listen to another song than her own. The women hid their tears beneath their veils, the wind sighed through the trees in the garden. At intervals, in the midst of the tremulous emotion and surprise of the listeners, the grand form of the poet stood out in the shade ; the clock of the convent, as it sounded the rapid hour, seemed to say at each stroke : ' It is for you, and not for him.' " 248 EDGAR QUINET- In his " Essays on English Literature/' Chateaubriand had quoted Quinet's " Napoleon." " There was a time," says the author, " when such a citation would have made me swoon with joy." And now when he could laugh at its emptiness he had his own turn of social honour. Soon after he arrived in Paris in 1837, he was asked to read the third part of " Prometheus " at Madame E^camier's. She was at that time occupying a house, lent her, in the Hue d'Anjou, and was very iU from a nervous affection that almost extinguished her voice. " Only ahle to speak in a low whisper, but always beautiful and carefully dressed, she reclined under a canopy. At the corner of the mantelpiece, M. de Chateaubriand, another wreck, not less magnificent ; a niece of Madame E^camier, and the two intimates, Ballanche and Ampere, were there also. Of a society thus nobly composed, I was prepared for compliments, which as a matter of fact were not wanting. The only thing that really pleased me, has been to learn that M. de Chateaubriand said in my absence, that he thought ' Prometheus' the best of my works. Madame E^oamier seemed properly edified, and the reader retired quite satisfied with the amount of incense received." Another house which pleased him was that of Madame Hoche, widow of the republican General. Although she had lost her husband nineteen years, she still lived for his memory. The house was full of souvenirs. A bust of the General stood in the centre of her drawing-room, which was chiefly frequented by military men. It was the only salon in which Quinet found a decided character ; and it carried him back to 1796. The most sumptuous of all his hosts was the Princess Belgiojoso, an Italian, and an authoress. At her house he sometimes dined, meeting Cousin, Mignet, Ballanche, Pauriel, and other people of note. These meetings with Cousin appear to have been anything but agreeable to Quinet, as the philosopher always behaved as if they were still the warmest friends. " The comedian was there," writes Quinet to his mother ; " he came to me and took me by the hand with an effusion of inexhaustible tenderness. What a Tartufe ! " A FAVOURITE WITH WOMEN OF DISTINCTION. 249 At the same table lie met Odilon Barrot, whose face seemed to him sincere and honest, and as if he was an original man. On one occasion there was a grand soirfe at Madame Belgiojoso's ; six hundred persons were present, a great crowd, whose only amusement seemed to be to look at each other. The Countess Guiccioli, the celebrated mis- tress of Lord Byron, was there. Quinet describes her to his mother as short and squat in figure, yet easy and supple in her movements, with a statuesque head, fair com- plexion, flowing ringlets, blue eyes, and large features. Although so austere in his principles, there was some- thing extremely wiuning in the appearance and manner of Edgar Quinet, so that he always appears to have been a favourite with the fair sex. In addition to Madame E^camier, the Princess Belgiojoso, &c., we find him at this time the welcome guest of Napoleon's adopted daughter, the Princess Stephanie of Baden.'"' Thus at Mannheim, in May 1836, he spent half a day with her, and she was anxious that he and his wife should spend the summer with her at Freiburg. He speaks of her as a woman remarkable for her good sense and grace. The author of " Ahasuerus " was also much honoured by the Duchess of Orleans. An ardent friend was the original but rather whimsical lady to whom frequent references occur in the letters, — Miss Clarke, still a figure in Parisian society as the venerable widow of M. Mohl, the German savant. She seemed, he thought, like some character from one of Hoffman's ^ fantastic tales. In this spring of 1838, reference is made in one of his letters to his going to hear Talleyrand lecture at the Institute. The wily old statesman was then seventy-four years of age, and within two or three months of his end. ^ Some interesting details of the early life of this lady are given in Madame de K^musat's Memoirs, corroborating Quinet's estimate of her character. 'Vol. ii. pp. 1 16-120, 377-381. 2 W. Hoffman, one of the most original of German story-tellers, 1776-1822. 250 EDGAR QUINET. On another occasion Quinet is at the Chamber of Deputies and hears Thiers speak, and comes to the con- clusion that he is a personally ambitious man. At certain weekly dinners Edgar Quinet met Monta- lambert, De Tocqueville, De Cormenin, Sainte-Beuve, Lacordaire, Magnin, Ampere, and Francis Corcelles. Corcelles and Michelet were his most intimate friends. He saw the latter nearly every day. Their oneness of heart was so thorough, that after two and forty years they would both say, " We are one and the same person." This same winter he makes his first acquaintance with Mickiewicz, the famous Polish poet. He is delighted with him at once. " No one," he says, " could have an air more gracious or more wild. His moral elevation seems remarkable ; there is about him a slight touch of mysticism, but a mysticism that is in harmony with his fine and grand nature. He has an air both young and natural, which at this time is not the rule. He is irritated against France ; but at this moment what Pole would not be 1 " Another acquaintance that he made at this time was Heinrich Heine. He had thought that his caustic criti- cism on his works had offended him ; he was therefore not a little surprised at the appearance of the German poet in his apartments one morning, wearing his sweetest Judaic smile. " They say you are furious against me," said Quinet. " That is quite true," replied Heine, laughing ; " but I come to beg you to do me a service." The service consisted in reading over a translation of one of his poems. " Mickiewicz and Heine," Quinet exclaims, " certainly the two most antipodal of men, one might call them the angel and the demon." Heine criticised Quinet with equal freedom ; and a few years later touched off his portrait for a German newspaper in one of those humorous sketches which, though bordering on caricature, enable us better than anything else to realise how a great man appeared in ordinary life to his contemporaries. Far from having in A HUMOROUS SKETCH BY H. HEINE. 251 it the venom Quinet attributes to Heine's writings, it reveals a warm and honest sympathy with its subject, rendering it worth any amount of unappreciative praise. Moreover, it probably gives us traits very characteristic of Quinet, the Wanderer and the Poet/ " Michelet and Quinet are not only good comrades, faithful brothers in arms, but minds of exactly the same cast, with the same sympathies; the same antipathies. Only the soul of one is softer, I should say more Indian ; while in the nature of the other there is something harder, more Gothic. Michelet recalls to me the large flowers and the powerful perfumes of the gigantic poetry of the Mahabharata ; Quinet reminds one of the Songs, not less stupendous, but more rugged and abrupt, of the Scandinavian Edda. Quinet has a northern nature, he might be a German ; for he has altogether the German character, in the good as in the bad acceptation of the word ; the German air breathes in all his writings. When I read ' Ahasuerus,' or any of the other poetical works of Quinet, I feel exactly as if I were at home. I fancy I can hear the nightingales of my own land ; I smell the perfume of the Suabian violets ; sounds from the garden, I know so well, murmur round my head ; moreover, I hear the chime of the well-known bells : profondeur allemande, douleur de penseur allemande, sensihilite allemande, bourdonne- ment de hannetons allemands ; with at times just the least touch of German wearisomeness. Yes, Edgar Quinet is ours ; he is German, good German stuff, notwithstanding his late assumption of the airs of one who threatens to eat us alive. The rude and rather uncouth manner in which he has attacked Germany in the ' Revue des Deux Mondes,' is anything but Erench, but precisely like that downright iisticuff, that genuine roughness, by which we recognise a fellow-countryman. Edgar is entirely German, not only in mind but in body ; and whoever meets him in the streets takes him for a certainty to be some theologian from Halle, who, having broken down in his exami- nations, has dragged his heavy steps to Erance, there to dissi- pate his moody humour. A massive, austere form, carelessly dressed. A large grey overcoat, that might have been stitched by our tailor-author, Jung Stilling. Boots that have perhaps been re-soled by the philosophic shoemaker, Jacob Bohme. " Quinet for a long time has lived on the other side of the Ehine, especially at Heidelberg, where he made certain studies, and daily intoxicated himself in the lucubrations of ' Creuzer k ' Heine only knew Quinet between 1836 and 1839. He has never seen him since. This sketch can only be considered as applying to this time. 252 EDGAR QUINET. on Symbols.' He wandered all over Germany on foot, visited our Gothic ruins, and fraternised with, the most eminent spectres. In the forest of Teutoherg, where Arminius, the prince of the Cherusoi, heat Varus and his legions, Quinet ate Westphalian ham with Pumpernickel^ Whether he also visited at Moeln the tomb of Eulenspiegel, of grotesque and popular memory, I am not in a position to say ; but what I do know positively is, that there are not now three poets in the whole world who are gifted with as much imagination, such wealth of ideas, and such originality as Edgar Quinet." ^ Liszt, the celebrated pianist, was a devoted admirer of tlie author of "Ahasuerus." Among the other interesting persons with whom Quinet was friendly, Armand Carrel must not be for- gotten. In quitting Paris in 1836, Quinet passed his last evening in company with him. His untimely end he much regretted.^ He says : — "Armand Carrel was a character, a very rare thing. The republican party is buried with him ; but it wiU rise again, only it needs time ! " In 1836 Ary Scheffer made some designs in illustration of " Ahasuerus ; " his pupil, the Princess Marie, daughter of Louis Philippe, and the sciilptor of the Joan of Arc in the Mus^e at Versailles, making bas-reliefs from two of them — the angel Eachel at the birth of the Christ, and the angel Eachel pitying Ahasuerus. The originals have been presented by the widow of the poet to the Museum at Bourg. Two years later Quinet went to Ary Scheffer's studio to look at his picture of " Faust seeing Margaret for the first time." Scheffer declared that Quinet had just the figure that he had wished to give his hero. Quinet felt this no compliment, for he exclaims : " But then it would be a Faust who would never cease to love his Margaret, and who would never have quitted her for the witches' circle." 1 Pumpernickel, the brown rye-bread commonly eaten in Westphalia. ^ Lutfeoe, Letter Iviii., pp. 3S8-36O1 June i, 1843. 8 Armand Caixel was killed in a duel with Emile de Girardin, July 24, 1836. PEREGRINATIONS ABOUT GERMANY. 253 In the same year the sculptor David made a bas-relief of Quinet in bronze. In the autumn of 1837 we find him at Stuttgart, meeting at the house of G. Schwab, a Wurtemberg poet, all the choice spirits of the country ; visiting the studio of the sculptor Dannecker, who was so afflicted with forget- fulness of names, that he could not remember that of Napoleon. From Stuttgart, Quinet went to Tubingen, where he passed an hour with Uhland. He describes the German poet as having the air of a professor, while over his grave and furrowed face a smile played which recalled that of the excellent and fascinating Manzoni. He asked Uhland how it was he wrote no more poetry ; he simply replied that he no longer felt the inspiration, and believed that it was useless to provoke it. At Tubingen he must have had that interview with David Friedrich Strauss, to which he alludes in his criticism of his work. He found him a man who, under an appear- ance of fatalism, was full of candour, sweetness, gentle- ness, and modesty, a soul slightly mystical and a little saddened by the noise that his work had caused. From Tubingen he went on into the Black Forest, proceeding on foot along the deep, winding vaUey of the Morg. Heavy rains had just cleared up, so that the stream pouring between the darkly- wooded slopes and picturesque ch&lets was in its glory. Quinet was accustomed from time to time to write political letters for the " Eevue des Deux Mondes." In 1837 the condition of public opinion in England on the Eastern Question seems to have attracted his attention. Our country was suffering from a slight attack of Eusso- phobia, consequent on the doings of Eussia in Circassia. Quinet, who was heart and soul for the oppressed nation- alities, urged the alliance of France and England against Eussia. Incidentally he makes a long quotation from Mr. Cobden's pamphlet, "Eussia, 1836." He did not know the name of the author, as it was published anonymously. 254 EDGAR QUINET. Among the singular personages that hover in the background of the picturesque circle that surround Edgar Quinet's infancy, was a tall man, with brUliant eyes and ready smile, arrayed in solemn garb, and having a mysterious history. One day the child heard him say: " Others, Madame, have had their four-and-twenty hours of fever; mine lasted ten years." When Edgar asked what that meant, he was told in a hushed voice, "the Terror." For a whole generation it would appear as if this venerable member of the Mountain party in the Convention of '93 had lived on quietly at CharoUes. He had done great things for his country as a com- missioner in the army of the Ehine and as the discoverer of General Hoche. The Quinets highly respected him ; and now when, in 1838, he came to die, the young poet sat by the bedside of the old Conventionnel, and received as a legacy his memoirs of the Revolution. Grasping Quinet's arm, and gathering all his strength into one last look, he said : " Believe me, the history of our times has yet to be written. Saint-Just and I fired the batteries at Wissembourg. People praised us, but we did not deserve it, for we knew perfectly well that bullets could not touch us." Then the dying man relapsed into sHence, and his friend bade him farewell. It was apparently at Charolles that Quinet wrote his articles on "The Age of Louis XIV.," "Literary Cosmo- politanism," and the " Unity of the Modern Spirit," now included in his "Germany." Its object was to contend against that view of the age of Louis XIV. which represented it as one apart from all others, having no connection with those that had preceded it, but as being rather a reproduction in modem times of classic antiquity. Quinet argues that it had no more connection with ancient times than St. Peter's at Eome ; hut that the real sources of its civilisation were the same as those of all the modern peoples. Christianity alone, he contends, made it a totally different thing from the ancient world : its classicality is only a veneer, the spirit of its literature being exactly the same as that which pervades all modern and Christian literature. It differs UNITY OF THE MODERN SPIRIT. 255 from the Middle Age because it combined two worlds, that of scholasticism and modern philosophy, — Thomas Aquinas and Descartes. Of the absurdly pedantic tradition which those who assume to be authorities of this age would enforce, he says : " You might as well expect to find the first flowers of spring in the drawers of a herbalist, as to recognise the eternal works of the mind in the system of rules and restrictions professedly derived from the age of Louis XIV. " If anything may be affirmed of the thoughts of this age, it is that they are winged like those of Plato. At the breath of the Cartesian philosophy they rise with an easy efi'ort. Not only are Malebranche, Pascal, and the sad recluses of Port Eoyal borne to these heights, but you meet people of the world there also. Not only is there an evident superiority in the epoch to the one that followed it ; but everything, or nearly every- thing about it, seems affected by that sublime folly of idealism which in our days is the great reproach levelled at certain foreign schools." Having thus shown that the apparent isolation of the age of Louis XIV. has no reality, he proceeds to develop the principle of the unity of modern civilisation, and to lay the foundation of a European literature. Kacine, Moliere, Shakespeare, Voltaire, Goethe, CorneiUe, Calderon, he says, are brothers. Let us elevate our theories so as to admit them all, since none of them will lower themselves to meet our notions. The place of these men is the fireside not of a people, but of humanity. Eising above the rivalries, the enmities, the antipathies of climates, times, places, let us aspire to the spirit universally one which dwells in the inspired works of each people. Just as a feeling of the order and harmony of Nature has taken possession of Man since he recognised the existence of one spirit present everywhere, in place of the innumerable genii he once supposed to preside over each tree, river, or rock ; so from the recognition of each immortal work of humanity we shall rise, sooner or later, to the thought of one same inspiration, one same life universally present and acting in that other universe which is called Art ; and the same Providence, that is discovered in the works of dead nature, will show itself in the works of thought. Can God, who is present in the ant's nest, the honey- comb, or the beaver's hut, be absent in the Iliad, Athalie, or Paust 1 This is not perhaps according to the poetics of De la Harpe or of Blair, but it is assuredly agreeable to that of Aristotle, of Pascal, and of Fenelon. If the times in which we live have any value, it certainly is 256 EDGAR QUINET. because they will end by putting in full dayligbt this .unity of the modern genius. There is not a single writer of our time who has not, in his own way, contributed to this alliance. Philosophic, religious, literary discussion is no longer, as m the eighteenth century, confined to the drawing-rooms of Paris ; the word flies from people to people ; each has a particular task, of which the others are at once conscious. At one extremity the Americans conquer physical nature ; at the other end of the chain the East seeks itself as a lost world. And these two extremes being thus separated, as youth and old age, and hence incapable of understanding one another, are united together by the medium of Europe, so that in this great body there is not a fibre to-day that can be broken without all shuddering at the same time. The French Eevolution has made this unity manifest ; trade has developed it, poetry consecrated it. Who can tell what effects inventions, types yet unknown in history, this union of all climates, this instantaneous exchange of forms and tradi- tions, and this single soul, bestowed on the human race, is capable of producing. The only barrier which will, ere long, divide the peoples to any extent, will be language. But if this barrier were effaced, the diversity necessary to unity ia order to form an organisation would disappear, and chaos would be imminent. So we ought to recognise a truly social instinct in the efforts recently made to keep each language to its indigenous genius and its own peculiarities. The problem each people has to-day to resolve is, how to express the universal thought without going beyond itself. How is it that such a new condition does not awaken vast hopes ? How is it that we hear lamentations, see marks of depression ? How is it we have these signs of old age in the midst of new life ? There are many reasons, but the principal causes are the decline of the self-love of the peoples, the division of minds which results from revolutions, that singular foUy which continually leads people to depreciate the age. Some, on the other hand, are so infatuated with the advance of knowledge, that they would have us believe that great poetry or art is henceforth impossible. But ask them what sort of a society they live in, what it will be to-morrow, what will become of the simplest relations of life — the master and the workman, the king and the subject, the father and the child, and they wiU confess their absolute ignorance. Still more, if you inter- rogate them on the kind of God they worship, on their soul which converses with yours, on what they hope or fear beyond death ; they recognise that in the truth their fathers held, that THIS EARTH CANNOT SATISFY MAN. 257 there was on these matters a basis of ascertained knowledge but for themselves they no longer know anything about them, and they do not wish to know. Thus the unknown surrounds us and oppresses us more than ever. "We need not fear it will ever fail us. Our knowledge increases our ignorance ; and the universe now is not less mysterious than in the days of Homer. Who does not feel that the marvellous and the unknown are not only in nature, but, above all, in ourselves? Because the age has got rid of its ancient god, it imagines itself for ever emancipated from the Infinite and its allurements. But to how many idols has it not already bowed down ? Where has it not already been led by its imagination? Napoleon, German philosophy, revived Catholicism, Saint-Simonism, and the many other sects, are ever returning proofs of the innumerable illu- sions of glory and of hope. Since man has substituted himself for God, he has become sad and troublesome to himself. In truth, the government of the universe embarrasses him, and makes him very anxious. This great parvenu would do weU to abdicate the crown he has usurped, and return to his former condition. Instead of saying all is finished, let us rather say all is com- mencing. It would seem as if matter, more intelligent than spirit, is fermenting in order to produce a new world. The situation has some resemblances to times such as those of the invention of the printing-press, of the first use of cannon, and of the mariner's compass. To-day, as then. Humanity plays with terrible forces which it has just discovered ; it feels carried to the unknown by powers which at present it neither measures, regulates, nor understands. Oppressed by its own inventions, it prostrates itself before them ; Pygmalion once more adores the work of his own hands. It is thought that idealistic philosophy must necessarily be antagonistic to the extreme development of the industrial world. No, the soul triumphs in what is regarded as its defeat. Far from being disconcerted at the apparent victory, we see in it the assured victory of the Spirit. The age may give itself up to squaring timber, sawing stone, digging the soil ; these occupa- tions can never wholly possess it. Whatever may happen, Man here below will always resemble Eobinson Crusoe on his lonely island ; all the labours of his hands will culminate in his hol- lowing out a canoe, in order that he may escape from what he feels to be his prison. In the autumn of 1838, Edgar Quinet had an offer from the University of Strasburg of a professorship. K 258 EDGAR QUINET. In 1839 he sustained two theses at Strasburg ; one on " Art," and the other on the " Nature and Growth of the most Ancient Indian Poetry." Finally, however, he was nominated to the Faculty of Lyons by M. de Salvandy, and he opened his first course of lectures there in April 1839. This nomination appears to have been made at last in spite of the royal prejudice against Quiflet. " A fine choice you have just made ! " said Louis Philippe to the minister. " You have named a republican." as it F* THE TEACHER. *' Life of the Divine Spirit through tbe history of the world, Annals of the Eternal incarnated in time, who am I that I Bhould attempt this history ? I have often thought that a man, before he dies, owes it to himself to cast a look hack on the beliefs of his brethren who have preceded him ; however, if I sought only repose, I would put off until my last hour an examination so perilous for the intellect ! But what ! always adjourn that which is most important I only take pleasure in that which is most ephemeral I Can we do it ? Who can promise me a single day ? No one." — Gtide des Religions. f/^Ai f!4^)ut^-^ Edgar Quinet (1830, at tin: a