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!J:- Marc
VIII
VIHI. Jos. ZrtlH.
Xl
I'.1-».:- -I i-v I" A. P.;
 World-Book-Fame-Reasons.
To enumerate the reasons wherefore Defoe's Robinson
has b§cdme famous
throughout all Europe.
By
Jos. Zettel,
luthor of l. "Universal-Culturlsmua (71)"; 2. "Affeeten - Systematic (72)" ; 8. "Staat'a - Sohul-
Educa$icm (73)"; 4. "Welt-Letter (74)"; 5. "Carthago (74)"; 6. "World - Book - Fame - Rlasons
<75)"; 7. "is* IS £asc-alisme (75)"; 8. "Sedan (77)"; 9. "Welt-Religion (80)"; 10. "Beine Luft
fuer llle (81)"; 11. "Unvermischte Wissenacbaft'a-Wahrheit fuer AUe (81)"; 12. "Weit-Ortho*
graphistic (88)".
First edition.
With orthographicatives.
Prige 2too Marcs.
Value to be paid beforehand.
For libraries 25% discount.
1888.
a. t. 15; 888. e. i.
Neustadt.
Editor: Jos. Zettel.—Neustadt; 0.; S.—Ring; 106; II.
Library: Franz Heinisch.
Neustadt (6ppeln; Schlesien). — Neue-Strasse; 71; I.
1^.
t-UAt***'2. £. '&j;**<t
//-/*-,'7*r
Preface.
4 he following essay was finished on the 15; V; 75. It had
been written to a competijional purpose; but, eventually, $ith a
farther, literary design. Its first success was satisfactory.—My
"World-Religion" and the desire of editing my "World-Book-Fame-
Reasons" mysell account for this publication. Some slight modi*
fixations do not, materially, alter the text, nor the arrangement
of the chief manuscript.—"World-Bdok-Fame-Reasons" is the
first writing that appears in a total unison with the requirements
of my "World-Orthographistic" in as mii6h as they seemed corns
patible with the nature of the English language. I avoid all tins
scientific or polemic, personal or partial aggressions. There i§
no other aim in all my writings but to gratify or to serve my
readers that prefer my sQienge and art.—Gracious England—
i. •/• U- j -• •
in first line as for this essay if noticed—may only be flattered,
if Isucgeeded in some good intentions; and, it may not merely be
indignated, if I failed in some unusual proceedings.—All rights
reserved.
Neustadt; ippeln; Schlesien ("Silesia").—31; X; 88.
The author and editor:
Jos. Zettel.
Motto: u2<jfi.<ppumTv louttp".
Platon.
JJooks have their fates" like men: they appear and disappear.
Some shine with momentary splendour for some time and then
vanish without ever being read through, or spoken of again.
Others lie for genturies ain a solitary library, covered with
dust and struck with oblivion": nobody asks for them; few people
know of them, till some tired genius lights on them, wipes off
their dust and, fired with their contents, shows to the astonished
world the gold of their truths and the gems of their beauties.
v I I v I
A very few books have had the good fortune and qualities
to please and to be well accepted singe their first appearing, to
meet with a general applause and to maintain the interest that
they first exgited, for genturies.
"Defoe's Robinson" is a book of the latter kind. It appeared
in 1719, was translated into all European languages and has
become famous throughout all Europe. Now, every schoolboy
knows: "The life and adventures of Robinson Crusoe"; it has
become a truly common book.
There are wonderful effects of such common, national or
universal books; and there ♦as always some interest of the
leading classes or persons to further their propagation and to
promote their knowledge. Politicians, poets and prophets were
aware of the enormous and lasting mflueng^ that they could get
over their country-men by a common book and it was the poligjf
of the state's-men to protect and to preserve what had been Jhe
art and glory of poets and prophets to create and to compose.
— 6 — In times When there was no national literature, siidh na=
I v I
Jional books were cultural wants: they contained strong ties for
soSial life, "help-on"-s for language, good means for education
and instriiejifin, rules for action, ideals for a higher life and stock
for a better conversation. What effects may have had the "llias",
the "Aene'is", the "Nibelungen-Lied", "Ossian's Songs" in their
times and countries! Their classic 6harms still delight our literary
i i i ±t
youth; biit, they cannot have, nowadays, the effects they onge
had, among those najjidns whence they originated. National books
become popular and common without meeting resistance.—That
is not always the case with universal books, destined to bind
several or all nations together by a common tie: art and even
forge—besides real charms and true value—were necessary for
the propagation and conservation of religious books: the "Koran"
was propagated by the sword; the "Bible" was spread by the
word and pen as well as by forge.
I I I I 41. I
Defoe's "Bobinson Crusoe", like the ancient, national
books, has found its way by its own nature and has become,
without arts or forge, a book universally spread and known.
i i i ii ii i
Though there was no political or moral pressure to favour its
spreading, it has become famous throughout all Europe and still
i i ±t i
preserves the old fame and interest that it onge exglted. Must
it not be a matter of high interest to enumerate the reasons of
its mightjr and lasting European fame?
There are two general series of negessary causes of such
a free propagation and of su6h a wide and solid fame: the Inner
qualities of the book and the outer opportunities of gircumstanges
singe its appearing. The first constitute the classical, the second
the historical value and fame of the romange. To account for
the first, let me simply stick to the matter and form and Idea and
composition of the book; as to the second, let me consider the
mfluenges of time and persons that may or must have contributed
to its European fame.—Writing in this order, I trust to give
a prettiljr complete enumeration or, at least, not to omit anj^ of
the chief reasons wherefore Defoe's Robinson has become famous
throughout all Europe.
— 7 —
Let me begin with a short sketch of |he matter!
Robinson Crusoe is made the hero and own writer of & life
full of lucky and unlucky accidents and adventures, otherwise
without connexion, but consequent all upon one fatal propensity
of nature to leave his father's house and native country for erring
about and for seeing the world. Neither the sober advice of his
reasonable and wellmeaning father, nor the more paifionate &nd
energetic remonstrances of a brave and loving mother could pre?
vail on him to desist from his design of going to sea; &nd, on
an unfortunate day, being occasionally at Hull, enticed by the
alluring words of a gav comrade to partake in a voyage to London
and driven by his wandering inclination, he forgot his former
promises to follow the advige of his parents and departed without
taking leave from anybody nor giving notige of his doing to
anyone.
In his first enterprise, terrified by an insignificant storm;
but, delighted after storm and sea-sickness with the charms of a
calm and bright weather on sea, he shipwrecked finally; but, he
got safe on shore and walked on quickly to Yarmouth. \
Shame prevented him from going home; pride determined
him to go to "London". Here, he had the good luck to fall
acquainted with the captain of a ship bound for Guinea. He
became a sailor and a trader and made two voyages to the African
coast. The first proved fortunate and yielded 300 pounds. But,
the second cost him his goods and liberty. His ship fell into the
hands of Moorish pirates and he became a slave at a port on
the African coast, belonging to the empire of "Mauretania". At
length, he succeeded in making his escape and being taken on
bord a Portuguese ship, was carried over to "Brasilia". He turned
planter and, as he understood his business very well, he I5on got
ridh and wealthy. Soon tired, however, with his new situation,
looking "with the utmost regret" on his condition, he eagerljr
agreed on the proposal of his fellow-planters to go as their super*
cargo in a ship that they would fit out to the coast of "Nigntia",
man&ging a trade of Negroes whom they wanted in their plan?
tajions.
He ^ent on board and, now, the interesting part of the story
begins. A terrible storm arose; all the ship's crew were swallowed
up by the waves in a moment; he, alone, was thrown on the
r(icky coast of a small, barren, solitary island amidst the main.
Here, he lived twenty-six years &nd he gives a matchless de*
scripjion of what he did and tried, hoped and feared; of the happy
or unhappy Qircumstanges that he was under or the accidents that
befell him; of his reasonings and feelings and how he succeeded
in building up a state of ease and plenty for life and consers
va|ion and in creating himself an ideal world of comfort and
elevation in his solitude and dejection. Full twenty-five years, he
remained in this desolate condition without other companions but
his goats, parrots, dogs, cats and bible, secluded from all human
intercourse. Then, he was happy enoufh to save the life of a
savage destined for death by cannibals that the island was some;
times frequented with, and, he admirably depicts the burning desires
after human companionship and the infinite charms of an element
tary, social life between Eobinson and his Friday. Finally, a ship
takes our hero with his companion to England.
And, now, the story is at a natural end.
— —The following portion which Defoe added after the success
of this first, is in all regards inferior to this part of the book.
It is a series of land ^journey-stories and sea-voyage-descripjdons
I I* v * I „ i
and a narration of surprising adventures and romanesque 'occu^
rentes' with fighting, killing, murdering, massacring, sea-man's-
mutiny and dangers to lose life by pirates, savages, wild beasts,
treachery, war, tremendous frivolities. Robinson goes from "London"
to "Lisboa", from "Lisboa" through Spain over Madrid, Pampe*
lona and the Pyrenean Mountains to Toulouse; from Toulouse
over Paris and Calais to Dover.—He visits his islands that, in
a most unlikely manner, he had peopled with some unhappy
t I v I |.
Europeans left here by his departure, and, he returns again to
England where he marries. After the death of his wife, he sets
out again for his Island; and, now, he gives an endless and most
tedious account of the history, establishment, organisation and
christianisajion of the little colony.—From his Island, he goes
to "Brasilia'V crosses the aAtlanticumn, touches at the Cape of
Good Hope, lands for some adventures on the island of "Mada*
gascaria", comes to Bengal and finally arrives at the coast of
"Chinesia" Whenge he journeys over "Peking" through "Mongolia",
"Sibiria", "Russia" to "Archangeliski" Whenge he sails for "Ham*
burg" and, finally, arrives again in "London" where he rests to his
death.—The chief interest of this portion may, perhaps, be
found in Robinson's entertainment with the Catholic priest on his
island, and in the conversation with Jhe exiled prince, in the
midst of "Sibiria"
It is not at all the lMter portion that Defoe's book ows its
fame to. By the connexion of the two portions, it was not diffi*
ciilt to those that deemed the second superfluous or tedious, to.
separate the two parts; as it was easy to those that would have
the whole, td combine both together. But, let the second part
be omitted or annexed, it never prevented the first from becoming
famous throughout all Europe.
There is a double universality of a book; one consists in
its geographical propagation; the other consists in its fitness and
use for all classes of society. If a book is written only for the
learned, it is of less universality than one that is written for
illiterate people and that altogether can be tasted by the learned,
though the former may have a European propagation. But, a
book must have its widest tind deepest universality, if it can be
read and tasted not only by the elderly but also by the y9ung.
Defoe's Robinson, in the first part, is a book of this kind. And,
now,"let me regard the qualities of this part to show how mu5h.
they account for the European fame and propagation of the book.
The first reason of the European fame of the book relies on
the simplipt^ of matter. The whole sto# is easily to be under,
stood, easily to be retained in its details, never to^be forgotten
in its 6hief features and always at hand, if there, is any occaSsion
for reproducing it.-Tbere is a single hero wijh on§ predominant
paSIion whereupon all that he acts or suffers, i§ consequent. On
a little island, a little world for itself, he is alone with hii under?
standing, and, by the better or worse application of his feder*
- 10 ~~
Standing, he fails or succeeded in all that he contrives. A young
lavage, finally, easies his solitude till his departure. - YhM is the
whole matter!
Xhe less room is taken away by |he matter, the more
there is left for the form and Ide&. And the more prevalent the
Idea is, the fuller is the pleaSure at a book for readers of a higher
order. I remember of the extreme simplicity of matter in the
classic creations of Jhe ancients. — What is the whole matter of
the twenty-four songs that sing so fairly the terrible wrath of
"Achilleus"! —A kingly maid buries her beloved, fallen brother
against the will of a tyrant; she is put to death for her brotherly
affection and princely defiance: that inspired "Sophocles" with the
idea of the noblest tragedy of antiquity.
A classic simplicity is one, certain foundation of |he uni=
versality of a book. It widens the circle of its readers and friends;
it ceases to be a book only for learned people; it gets a book
also for the illiterate; it may, iinder certain conditions, be a book
for children.—Defoe's Robinson, as to simplicity of matter, is
a classic book for children.—It is a hard task to write for the
elderly to their satisfaction; it is miieh harder a work to write
a classic book for the yoiing.—Simplicity of matter alone is no
warrant at all against tedioiisness. Classic simplicity requires
qualities impossible to be Understood or enjoyed by the yoiing.—
To be a classic book for Children, there must be in it, besides
the classic qualities of matter &nd form of a book for the learned,
a riChness and variety of material Charms that, irresistibly, attract
and captivate yoiing minds.
Xhere'in consists a second certa*n foundation of the
universality of a book. If a book is without siiCh Charms, it is
tiring and lost to |he young, be it classic in all other respects.
Biit, a classic book with siiCh Charms, is not only §agerly read
by the young; biit, it is also enjoyed by &11 classes of the Elderly.
—The European fame of Defoe's book consists Chiefly in its
being a classic book for Children and it will be necessary to give
an account of the mighty Charms that Defoe's book has for yoiing
people.
— 11 —
Everyone knows |hat children are fond of stories told
from foreign lands. Curioiis they are of foreign people, m&nners,
animals, plants. How they listen, when they hear of §tt6h things!
•Hqw they are pensive, when their fancies are filled #ith notions
of a new vvorld full of Unknown life and wonders! Their imagi*
na|ions present them the described regions in the most bnlli&nt
and flattering coloilrs, brighter and gayer than the pen of a poet
or the tongue of a teller can depict them. T^hef follow their
hero wherever he tilrns with their warmest interest and truest
sympathy imaginable, gladdened at. his happy incidents and
siic^esses, saddened at his ill fate and miseries. And, if |heir
hero is a Robinson, a personification of their lively fancies and
wishes, breaking the bonds of education, leaving his parents and
quitting his country for seeing the world, he i& their man; they
live and die, hope and fear, act and Mffer with him in their
imaginations.
Fan^y carries youth swiftly far beyond their home, over
mountains and plains, over hills and valleys, over lakes and rivers,
over lands and towns as far as to the beaches of the ocean. That
great, mysterious water-mass captivates their attentions and opes
rates mightily on their imaginative powers. Sea-life with its fresh
impressions, its delightful charms, its sublime terrors works
strongly on their minds. How voluntarily |hey go on bord of k
majestic ship; how boldly they glide from land and home into
the solitude and wiidness of the ocean! Tbey shout with |he
merry shouts of the sailors; they tremble at the stern words of
the commanding captain! They will die with the horrors of a
dreadfttl storm; they do exult at the sight of longdeslred land!
A ship-wreck! What a terrible word with a mtidh more
terrible meaning!—An Island presents itself, a barren rock at first
sight; but, indeed, of a lovely nature! A happy Island! A world for
itself! A world agreeable in imagination to be known, to be tr&*
veiled through, to be cultivated, to be peopled, to be ruled over.—
Our hero is alone! He mfist provide for his life in iinknown and
^inexperienced ^ircttmstan^es! Climate, soil, seasons, every river,
every fountain, plants, birds, goats, turtles, dogs, cats; k\\ is of
— 12 —
interest! For, our hero dare not die!—The shipwrecked vessel
fiirnishes tools; the fertile soil rewards cultivation. Nature, however,
does not afford her goods without pains and efforts. Robinson,
in a wild nature, cannot turn savage in a moment; he is a givilised
man in a savJge country. He ha§ retained the wants of givilised
people; he w&nts dwelling, clothing, weapons, tools, bread, meat,
comfort!—Nothing is to be got by money; there are no hands
to work for him: all performances by his own hands cost hard
thinking and working. The reading boy is surprised at what
is so natural; he knows, he has, he enjoys, what Robinson w&nts
in his wilderness; he iS concerned at every performance that his
hero contrives to realise any wish or plan, sympathising with
him in successes or failures for the whole twenty-six year's soli;
tariness!
..—At length, Robinson's keenest wish and sharpest desire is
fulfilled; he gets a companion in his solitude and distress.—The
heavy pressure that every sensible boy's mind was under, geases;
a new life, a new soul, a new interest begins singe Friday's
lovely appearange.—Robinson's inner satisfactions and Friday's
amiable qualities charm and please as well as Robinson's gramma;
tical and social instructions and Friday's readiness for everything.
—At last, ther§ is a full satisfaction, When a ship, finally, touches
at the island and carries our hero with his companion over to
England.
Rut, there are also higher charms that afford an interest
for readers of a higher order than for children; I mean, for the
elderly, learned or illiterate people.—Robinson is a Universal
type, a real man of a universal tendency, of a tendency common
to all, unknown to nobody, of a tendency egotistical in its spring
and personal in its pursuits, but productive of univerlal knowledge
and human progress, of cultural refinement and social happiness.
Robinson is to be found everywhere! What nation, What town
have not had their Robinsons! The tendency to travel and se§ the
^vorld, to learn by own experienge and to find Sne's h&ppiness
one'sself ("diametrically opposed to all boycottical blunder") is %
classical propriety to human nature.—
— 13 —
-There are weaker or stronger organisations; accordingly,
weaker or stronger Robinsons. There are also weak Robinsons!
—Qur "Claudius" (these lines were written for Germans), with
utmost skill and good humour, has depicted sudh a one in his
excellent poem: "Peter in der Fremde". But, Defoe's man is no
weak person; Robinson has a strong inclination; his passion over-
masters his reason: thrown on his island, quite alone, he cannot
be idle, if he will live and prosper.—Now, he is no scholar; he
has not learnt anything extraordinary; he is a man of common
sense, guided and helped only by his understanding. Rut, therein
lies one of the fundamental props of the Author's universal fame
that, choosing a hero without some specific art or sglen^e, without
surprising gifts or tricks, he lets him act all on his island merely
out of the suggestions of common, good sense.—Besides the
probability and intelhgibleness that all things have by this method
for all sorts of readers, the book wins an enormous, practical,
popular interest for illiterate people: common readers are infinite^7
pleased to think themselves in the gircuinstanges of the hero.
There are, else, such Robinsons in the spiritual world;
I mean, there are not only geographical, there are also trans£en=
dental or philosophical Robinsons. "Deseartes's" fame rests on the
same springs as "Columbus's" and "Robinson's". Whoever ventures
1*1 | J V
mtd the boundless sea of speculations, what is he but a spiritual
Robinson? The life of all inventors, explorers, geniuses cannot
be better "generalised" than it has been done by Defoe in his
book presenting as well the personification of a lower as the
image of a higher kind of Robinson.—Such proprieties of the
hero must produce a wide popularity of the book and win the
admiration of the learned; on the other side, they, extraordinarily,
augment and highten the educational qualities and value of the
romance.
Let me add that Robinson is no artistic personification;
there are no fictitious circumstances that he is placed in. Jhere
is no erring of an imaginary adventurer in times foregone and
|pn regions transformed by an outlived culture; no meeting,with
gods and goddesses; no living to be . historically explained or
— 14 —
traditionally believed. There is no artificial introducing into a
culture past, exceedingly interesting, no doubt, to riper ages and
longer instruction. Defoe is no Oriental tale-teller nor a "Mqntess
quieu"; Robinson is no "Telemaque" nor "Anacharsis"; no hero
of a romance, cyropaedicall^ written for a prince or higher ins
formed youth. Robinson is a man of flesh and blood; all that he
does, is natural; let him act by reason or passion; let him suffer by
inner or outer circumstances: all is real and actual in the novel.
Robinson is a young man that travels in our times, accustomed
to our manners and notions, going to sea in our ships, using our
means and tools, meeting with all sorts of modern people and
modern living. All is here within our reach either by books or
by sight.
The most effectful event of history since the beginning
of the earth and since the moral deed of Jesus-Christ, "Christopher
Columbus's" detection of America is the natural presupposition
of the whole for all readers; and the modern emigration of civi=
lised people to the New-World became a real back-ground of the
novel. This, together with the daily increasing, transatlantic
commerce give the book a constant actuality, exceedingly accounts
ing for the lasting popularity, for the interest and fame of the
book.—It is not uncommon that, with regard to possibility, a man
shipwrecks and is thrown on a solitary island between the Old
and New Worlds. Therefore, the ship that carries him off after a
twenty-eight year's abode, is no pitiful god, no "deus ex maehina",
not the "Heracles" in "Sophoeles's Philoctetes ". It is quite
natural that, within so long a time, a ship, occassional^ or ins
tentionally, touches at Robinson's island and effects his escape
from solitude and wilderness.
—TThe learned will observe with admiration what the others
enjoy in simplicity of heart, hojy naturally the highest effects of
poetic art flow from the remarkable actuality of matters and
Circumstances in the book. Robinson, necessarily, must have
become a book for all: for the poor or rich man's child; for the
worse or better informed; to be enjoyed by the illiterate; to be
esteemed by learned people; to be read with pleasure by all, if
^_ 15 „
there is some good sense or common understanding in them.
Children prefer bad, romantic tales to the best descriptions of
sober realities, works of wild fiction to stories of common aetualit)'.
How shall they get taste and notions of real and actual life,
society, nature, thinking and doing!?! Hitw make siifih things
attractive and operative on their imaginations and understand
dings!?! Defoe's distinguished art has hit the mark in a wonderful
unity and truth in his book. Defoe gratifies the romantic incli*
nation of the boy by pictures of foreign and uncommon, but real
and actual matters and circumstances and impresses him with the
rational thinking on such things by a man of common tinder?
standing, wellknown wants and naturfil notions.
—The whole of Defoe's book is infinitely favoured by the
seemingly natural and extremely distinguished localisation of the
hero. The theatre of action of the romance is the grand theatre
of modern, international commerce between the Old and New
Worlds. Our drama is played on the vast waters of the "Atlam
!..-__" — .m^j.x I.
ticum": the "MediterranicunT or "Mediterraneum" or Mediterra-
nean of the Moderns; at length, on an Island in those favourable
regions, equally distant from "Acrarctia", and "Antarctia", situated
between "Europia", „Africia" and „Amerlcia", in the way of
"Europian" emigration to America and of the daily increasing
navigation between the two hemispheres.—If Robinson had stranded
on an Island in the "Paclficum", there must have been less
nature and more art in his work. Coming to and from the At*
lantic is more naturally to be effected and more easily to be
described, than coming to and from the Paglfic.—"Bernhardm de
Saint-Pierre" had a fancj in his youth to settle a society on an
Island in the midst of the Aral-Sea, If he had made his design
the motive of a romance, we would regret the chosen locality in
comparison to Defoe's; for, the Aral-Sea cannot have the universal
interest of the Atlantic; let us suppose that Bernhardin de Saint-
Pierre should have shown the same descriptive talents that he had
for depicting the charms of southern nature in the "Malaicum"
ndian ocean.
A gdod deal of imitations—let their moral intentions be
_ 16 —
as tolerable as they may—are extremely below Defoe's Sreajjon
chiefly in consequence of the lllchosen locality where they put
their Robinsons.—I remember of having read a little book for
children, entitled "Godfrey the Hermit", written in a moral in*
tention to punish a disobedient boy by an (involuntary flve-day's-
abode on an uncultivated, dreary island in the midst of a homely
lake. But, that would have been stripping our romance of the
charms that afford the descriptions of foreign, unknown, southern
regions and of the grandeur of the theatre that widens the young
reader's heart and horizon.—I have read two French books, written
by Ernest Fouinet on an educational design to afford geographical
instruction and moral improvement: "Le Robinson des Glares"
and "Allan, le jeune deporte a Botany-Bay". But, reading them
is torturing our mind with the horrid impressions of a life in the
inhabitable Ige of the "Acrarcticum" or in the inhospitable deserts
of inner-"Australia".—
But, let matter be simple; let circumstances be charming;
let exposition be clear; if there are no good qualities of style, a
book will soon be thrown aside. Defoe's book has &11 the qualities
ol a classic style. Its style is as simple as its matter; its style
is as clear as its exposition; its style is as simply charming and
clearly sublime as the gircumstanges require it to be so.—The
nature of Defoe's hero and the theatre of his romance were objects
of art never to be more happily invented or better chosen by
anf writer; nor could the whole of the matter ever be better
disposed or more clearly exposed by any author. If qualities of
style united themselves to the qualities of matter, the book could
not but become famous throughout all Europe.—"Now", Defoe's
book has all those qualities of style that answer to the simplicity
of its matter and to the variety of its circumstances.
—Everyone knows the mighty attractions of stylistically well*
written books. There are even books that ow their fame prin^i*
pally to mere formal virtues.—Ossian's wonderful songs sound far
beyond their native home and men like Goethe and Napoleon-
Premier could not but be delighted with the magic power of
sublime, luxuriant, harmonious, melodious tongue, though otherwise
__ 17 —
there is little matter in them.—Fenelon's "Telemaque" has obtained
a well deserved fame for the beauty and gracefulness of his
wondrous French.—And the indelible fame of many odes of Hora*
tius or of our "Matthisson" rests chiefly on the fair form of |heir
fine compositions.—
—Defoe proved himself in many respects a master of diction:
his manner of speaking is in unizon with the material elements
of his book.^-With regard to style, Robinson kaS again all the
highest requisites of a book for children. There iS no show of
learning; no affectation with pompous tirades; no use of naughty
or trivial phrases.—An elderly person is refreshed and enlivened
by the Author's simple and natural, clear and familiar manner
of speaking; a boy iS instructed and charmed by it.-There are
no words uncommon, or Unexplained; sometimes, Robinson explains
even English terms as for instance "to founder"; he keeps hife
"calendar" or "weekly monthly and yearly reckoning of time";
and, whenever he employs an uncommon term, or another ex*
preMion instead of an oftenused one, he introduces it by the
familiar: "I mean".—The style is in its motion adapted to the
situation in its change: it is persuasive and earnest, if a sober
man speaks to our hero or if reason lets hear its voi«e; Jt & g*y
and lively, if matters of a charming nature occur to the pen of
the Author; it is higher or lower inasmuch as the waves of the
sea or the passions of the heart rise or sink.—
—Everywhere, we meet with a, good, not affected language
and with a common, not v&lgar English as "clearly and ele-
gantly'^ expressed as Anybody may desire.-Defoe's book rises ftp
the young to a plain, choiged, common language; it calls Jhe
le'amed back from the difficult, heavy, tmwi'eldy notions necessary
in the depths or hights of their ideal worlds to the easy, ^lovely,
graceful ttirns of good, rkl speaking; it Skarms the common
reader with the clearness and beauty of his vernacular ididm. Its
diction i& milk to the young, bread and flesh to the national,
refreshment to the learned reader.
—These points that make the book a lecture for all classes
of a n^ion," are exactly the same that easy and favoiir the fidelity
2
- 18 -
and felicity of its translation. If a book is written in a clear,
simple, plain, open language, it is easily to be translated into Ml
other languages and it may be translated as exactly and elegantly
as it is, Without spoiling the original thought or hurting the
national Idiom.—Defoe's Robinson has all the formal or stylistic
conditions to be easily and exactly translated into all other
languages and to favour a European propagation of the book.
—If simplicity of matter was answered by a classic simplicity
of style, the peculiarity of the hero's circumstances provoked, as
it were, a wonderful peculiarity of Defoe's diction. Robinson's
fixed and limited abode with its physical necessities must have
had its natural and necessary effects on Robinson's transactions and
Defoe's descriptions. Defoe's manner of writing could not but
look logical and rational. And, really, the author seems to have
taken his greatest delight to be logical and to accustom his
readers to rational thinking. Ther? is a necessary determination
and concatenation of things that reminds me of what the great philo*
sophers of the seventeenth century: "Spinoza", "Hobbes", "Locke"
had exercised and professed in their immortal works. Defoe seems
everywhere to avoid, on pxirpose, arbitrary proceedings of his hero
and Sne feels hi§ delight in dissolving the many sftrprises, wonders
and perplexities into the real shape of things and into charming,
natural instrticjion for the readers.—The interest of fancy and
imagination is connected to the geographical position of the hero;
but, we are not led here without any necessity: all acjions till
the inevitable seclution of Robinson and the solitary fixedness
of his abode flow necessarily from one common source, the pre*
dominant palfion of Robinson.—Singe Jhe fatal ship-wreck in the
Atlantic, our adventurer tntist, needs, do and think in the most
determined and necessary manner from one necessity: want; to
Sne purpose: satisfaction; with one means: reason that decides on
his Successes or failures.—Defoe's book wins an Ideal centre, a
deep, fixed, heavy point whereto and whencefrom decripjion and
interest, naturally, aim and press.—The whole appears a 6hain
of physical causes and effects or of logical grounds and conse*
quenges.
_ 19 —
—There i£ logic and reason in 511 performances of |he hero
on the island. And what a logic! It is "CartesiusV and "Bacon's"
to observe and to induce from realities. Robinson sees anything
and "concludes from that", as the common phrase rtlns $rith him.
—It is a great thought of the author and nevertheless quite natural
and even necessary in the ^ircilmstanQes that Robinson ii tinder,
that he lets his hero build up his economical and moral worlds
by own observations and indiic|i6ns; he shows hqw experience
and reflection, time and activity, want and necessity make our
man observant and rational, economical and logical, nay even
mathematical and scientific. Robinson seeks for mastering hi§
situation by a numerical exposition of things (I omit to cite tte
proof affording pages or lines of a more or less preferable edijjidn).
He will be conscious of his good and evil lot and "to master his
despondency" states "like debtor and creditor" |he comfort Jhat
he enjoys against the miseries that he suffers. He economises
his time and keeps a calendar. He observes and states the climatic
changes on his Island and gives a systematic sdrview of them,—
There is infinite instruction and instigation to juvenile minds in
the book. Defoe has set an iinparallelled example that 8ne can
write for fehildren charmingly and logically Altogether and that
one can please them not only by wild dreamings and phantastic
exhibitions, but also by real matters and logical representation.
—The first part of Robinson, on the whole, has &U the
intrinsic value of a master-piece of poetry: there is ideal unity,
material concentration, artistical graduation, poetical aim in it,
gradually increasing and lightening the interest, apprehensiSn and
compalsiSn for the hero from the begin, to and from Jhe terrible
catastrophe, till to the end.—Robinson forgets his father's and
mother's Earnings and follows his inclination: he shipwrecks; but,
skfely arrives at "London".—Again, he is driven by his seafaring
propensity: he goes to "Nigrltia"; his ship is taken away by the
pirates; he himself led off as a prisoner into slavery; but, finally,
he escapes and gets over to "Brasilia".—Again, he cannot resist
his twice p4nished passion that allured to accept the offer of his
fellow-planters to undertake a voyage for slave-trad§ on |he
2*
— 20 —
Afrlcian shore; we are poetically prepared for a catastrophe: a
ftirioiis storm, a terrible ship-wreck casts oyr man on a solitary
Island and secludes him for twenty-six years from all human aid
and intercourse. A truly tragical fate till now! A drama of
ancient limpllcity and sublimity! Fear and pity—as our "Leasing"
requires—is gradually exalted by our hero's fate, consequent on
his passion, till the catastrophe.—And, now, we must admire one
of the most original and masterly productions of poetical art, a
drima of inner affections, of the highest cast and historical value,
beginning with our hero's feelings at hii miserable condition and
the contrivances to improve it; proceeding to his eonfeitional
cdnfliSts and the development of his confessional system, termi*
nated #ith the classical outburst of social nature and the fulfil*
ment of the most ardent \vish of a solitary recluse: liberty.-*
What an art and economy of our Author! what k heart! what a
poetl Hi§ artisticai humanity lets his hero save some tools out
of the stranded ship! Hi§ confessional benevolenge leaves him a
bible! His poetical justice, finally, gives him the lovely com*
panionship of Friday! His anthropological skill as a classical
novel-writer lets, at the end, appear a ship and liberty.—
—Some tools and provisions, self-instruction and self-help,
common-sense and clever activity, they may suffige to our hero
for constructing his wealth and happiness, his economical and
Ideal, confessional and Social clearness and felicity; and, they do!
_vVe are delighted by the artful description of our hero's activity
and passivity; we are Charmed by the skilful alternation of rea*
soning and description that give vivacity to the recital of -So long*
lasting a Solitudinarian life 4nd we admire a Wonderful combi*
nition of ancient and modern art* of plastic, natural representation
and true psychological picttiring. Our wholly original and reMly
gkial &uthdr hM not only knQwn human heart and poetry; he
hai desdribed human heart's affec|ions in a manner as clear and
precise a& ^Aristoteles" in his Rhetorics; "Spinoza" in his Ethics;
4^Htfbb£s" in hil #§rk uon human nature''.-^Admira|ion and iym*
pathy mflst b% exalted ^rith the art and effect of the psychological
drlma t^at Robinson played; let Robinson be affected by the
_ 21 —
outer (jlreumstanges of his situation; let him be moved by con*
fessional hopes and terrors and driven to insanity by the fear of
men; let him, finally, break out in despair for Mnt of social
beings and human commerce. Defoe's psychological art in picturing
Robinson on his island may remind the reader of "Philoctetes",
a drama of the noble "Sophocles1' of the ancients.—
There is especially Sne highly interesting feature of
Robinson's soul that Defoe paid his utmost attention to and that
—inasmuch there seam not to be modifications and additions by
others—has been drawn with a charming skill and in a most
original manner; I mean: confession*. Defoe has realised the
great thought to show us Robinson's confession in its natural
development within the soul of the solitary man on the Island.
Robinson is not without the common notions of a confessional
family-discipline and school-education. Now, Defoe has had the
good taste to throw his hero out into the world as a confession*
less creature. But, nevertheless, he lets his hero think of a "God"
or "Providenge" when there is any danger and, whenever passion
or misfortune leads him into a miserable situation, Robinson is
encllned to regard it as a determination or judgment of "Heaven"
and, uselessly and superfluously, to complain and repent of his
"sins arid wickedness". It was long after his being cast away
on the island "that godly things and thoughts occiired to him'\ He
had already saved what he could, out of the ruins of the stranded
ship, set up his tent, secured his powder and killed his first goat,
* The confessional side of the book would have been totally omitted by
me, because Defoe and Robinson seem to get no farther nor deeper but to
the notions of a worldmaking and cisedetermining "Deus transcendental!s".
But, the influence of Defoeism has become enormous; Robinson became the
source, basis, bible, origin of all libertinisms of England, France, Germany
etc.; Robinson was the religion, confession, gospel, evangelium of Jhe better
and best classes of all societies from 1719 till 1880 post Chr., when my
"World-Religion" appeared. Through this, Robinson's expositions and Defoe's
descriptions do, not at all, cease to be interesting, though, for educational
purposes, I Woujd not recommend Defoe's Robinson but with some omilfidns
concerning confessional matters.
_ 22 —
when he got time to take a dismal prospect of his situation
and believed to find great reason to consider it as "a deter*
minajidn of Heaven that in this desolate plage and in this desolate
manner" he should "end his life". Shall Robinson thus be rendered
ridiculous for being not more rational or for being not more
confesSional?!? What thinks the author himself?!? How shall
his reader determine his feelings and notions for acting and life
from that?!? But, be this as it may be, the universally interesting
questions in their more freely and freshly interesting forms exgited
and maintained a European interest. The great rains came:
Robinson is confined to his tent, hindered from activity, damned
to annoj^ and forged to congentration of thought. Then, he, with
astonishment, sees ten or twelve ears of European barley grown
up from the soil near his tent. And, now, he meant and reasoned
that a "God had miraculously caused this grain to grow without
help of seed sown and that it was so directed purely for his
siistenange, on that wild, miserable plage". "At last, it occurred
44. 1 1
to his thoughts that he had shaken a bag of chicken's-meal out
in that plage and, then, the wonder began to gease". Nqw, "his
religious thankfulness to God's providenge began to abate too
upon the discovering that all this was nothing but what was
common".—Here, Defoe's and England's clear, sound, cafuistical,
practical mind, onge won a victory equally interesting and degisive
both for England and for Europe inasmuch as they enjoyed Defoe's
unparallelled, confessional style. Unhappy acgidents, a mi*
serable situation, annoy, wonders—the common motives of con*
fessional feelings in confessional men—cannot convert our hero.
His sound mind compensates hi& iinhappiness at misfortunes by
happiness at happy acgidents. He masters his despondengy by
wisely weighing the goods against the evils of his situation. His
good understanding and philosophical reasoning melts wonders
into clear and common realities. But, he f&lls ill; he dreams
terrible dreams, if—it was so; confessional thoughts and horrors
frighten him asleep and do not forsake him when he awoke.
|H J I v
Visionary fits-—if they were real at §11—seem the more natural,
the less there is sogiety to get rid of them. Singe his sickness,
_ 23 -
confessional reasonings begin and graduall}' increase till to Jheir
highest development. At first, they appear in the forms of
reproach, fright, terror, bitterness, distress, desolation, dejection;
"but, he soon learnt the more comfortable reaction of these
feelings". He is even exceedingly sorry that "he cannot sucgeed
in a serious and hearty prayer"; he finds that the biblic remi*
niseenges that whirl through his mind and mouth, at first, were
mere mechanical thought and vibrational exclamations. He had
a bible and some tobacco from Europe. He sought a deeper con*
verSion and an inner persuasion. He took a piege of tobacco-leaf
and chewed it; then, he took up the bible and found "words verjr
apt to his case"; finally, the tobacco dozed his head and "he
kneeled down and prayed to God for the first time". He, at
first, finds some comfort; but, confeMional thought and feeling
go their own way in him; befng comforted by confessional means,
"he began now to own and to believe that Providence ordered
everything for the best"; "he, even, was going to give thanks
to God for bringing him to this plage". But, in this extreme,
reaction of sound feeling and sound understanding begins: "How
canst thou be, he exclaims, such a hypocrite!"—Finally, he works
his mind up to a resignation to his girciimstanges and undertakes
Friday's conversion to his prmgiples in a very curious manner.—
I repeat: shall Robinson thus be rendered ridiculous for being
not more rational or for being not more confessional?!?—What
thinks the author himself?!? How shall the reader determine
his feelings and notions for acting and life?!! But, be this as
it may be, the universally interesting questions in their more freely
and freshly interesting forms of a totally new and universally
winning, confessional style exgited and maintained a European
interest and fame of Defoe's book.
It is remarkable that Fenelon's "Telemaque" was written
^ me thirty years before Defoe's Robinson appeared. Two great,
literary monuments of a high, educational importange; both distm*
guished by unusual qualities of style, representing a similar matter,
incorporating the Roman and German geniuses; both rising in two
highly literary epochs, out of the bdsom of the two most developed
_ 24 —
nations of the time. "Telemaque", a book of art, intended^ and
professedly educational, written for the education of a pringe,
must have prepared for the reception of, or cMled the attention
to a book like Defoe's, a book of nature, designedly but hiddenly
educational, written for the education of all.—I knew a little
creation, simple and natural in other respects, moreover of interest
and idea: Miss Martineau's "Life in the wilds", showing a natural
construction of a sogiety by a handful of men with wifes and
children in "Caponia", in the sufficiently favourable regions of the
Cape. Having appeared long after Adam Smith's immortal book
"on the wealth of nations" and being a vulgarisation of economical
principles, it might be a better contrivance of Defoe's intentions
in the second part of his Robinson. But, there is such an open
ii i i ii 11 •
tone of didactic design and such an obtruding of confessional
materials or biblic wisdom in it as to deter children or others biit
examining men from a spontaneous reading of the whole.—Defoe
knew that children hate design in confessional matters and that
they only imitate what they deem natural, reasonable and good
in their heros; and, he created an educational style that found
its ways and friends everywhere.—The elderly give children the
books that they have been charmed with, in their youth, themselves.
In this manner, good books for Children find their propagation
and hold up their fame. But, the eminent educational qualities
of Defoe's book could not be hidden or unknown to pedagogical
writers. The natural spreading and fame of the book was mfi*
nitely widened and hightened by the mfliienge and authority of
recommandajions or imitations of the book by more or less
distinguished author's. Everyone knows "Campe's Robinson" and
Rousseau's recommendation of Defoe's book in his "Emile".
But, the principal fame, the book owed it to its chief
aim and to its main qualities as a social romance. Robinson
Crusoe is a classically written social book, proving social nature
of man, build up on social conflicts, leading to a knowledge and
conviction of a social idea that is well founded in soSial nature
and deeply rooted in human heart: "Man is necessary td man
for happiness!" Robinson's individual propensity is put in contrast
— 25 —
to his soSial duties. The sober reasonings of his father are social
truths; the filial disobedience was contrariety to social reason
and social wisdom. Robinson is depicted as a very unsocial
creature, egotistical and senseless of duty and thankfulness. His
tragical fate answers to his unsocial propensities by his naturally
being confined to a seemingly neverending captivity. In his
solitary condition, far from all social intercourse, Robinson,
gradually, gets all that he can desire: nature affords him a plenty of
material goods; with some tools, activity and good understanding
he creates himself a state of wealth and comfort; a bible helps
him, well or ill, in the construction of his confessional felicity.
But, all that does not do for his happiness. In spite of Robinson's
idiopathic nature; in spite of his terrible fear of man when he
saw the print of another man's foot in the sand; in spite of his
insane, murdering humours against the savages, there Ms no
^outburst of feeling so strongly felt and so touchingly expressed
as when he felt his earnest desire after human society and the
deep regret at the want of it. No first-page-thought 1 No bible-
effect! No tobacco-fit! No ake-delirium! A wonderful picture
of social feeling in an unsocial man; a won proof of human
sociality, let men in societies otherwise be and do, with regard
to sociality, what they will.-—A social romance containing k\l
important elements and higher notions of modern knowledge and
tendency, showing an individual full of cultural notions that is
redded to a state of nature and self-abandonment in his desires
and methods for cultural, economical, social, religious happiness;
putting into light the contrast of a natural, social state to the
real state of liberty in all parts of the civilised world; reconciling
personal passion to the reason of social duty by the touching
picture of Robinson's most deplorable condition of a twenty-eight-
year's—solitariness, stich a romance could not but meet with a
general applause in all European societies founded upon like
principles and passing from a biblic td a more and more scientific
foundktion. Through all these high and agreeable, charming and
instructive qualities that I have mentioned, in their natural unity
or artistic combination in the first part of the book, Defoe's
— 26 —
Robinson Crusoe won all its readers "in their childhood" and "at
a riper age"; and "it is nothing biit what is natural" that the
book has become famous throughout all Europe.——
And, now, let me look at the theatre where and at the
time when the book appeared.—yhe bdok appeared at "London"; in
England; "right in the heart of the modern world".—The book
appeared in 15;719 (1719 p. Chr.).—It was a grand time, that
beginning of the XVIIIth gentury after Christ!
—It w&s the time of the rise and fall of John Law's Mississippi-
Scheme.—The last wolf wis shot in England! Coal-works grew
everywhere! Iron-industry rose from day to day! Rail-way-inven*
tions appeared and improved from year to year.—Posts were
establish^ everywhere.—Basle's rationalism and encyelopaedism
spreads. Addison's genius with his "Spectator" arises (1711 p.
Chr.).—Local, provincial, national, universal press begins to
develop. The Earth gets a head, a heart, a hearth, a home for All.
—It was the time when literature, the very '1^1-16101^81^,
the real 'Protestantism', "Modernism", "rose into a power". Frange
had seen the highest, literary development of Romanism, the time
ofLouis-Quatorze. England had its Augustan Era. Germany fought
the literary battle between the "Leipziger und Schweitzer". (Leip*
zigensians and Helvetians).—Great political events furthered and
sharpened the literary excitation of the time. The Spanish
Sucgeffion-War had occupied the whole South-West; the Northern
W&r the whole North-East of Old-Europe.—This was a time fit
for reading a book that 6hose, in its two parts together, the whole
known world for its theatre and where everf nation was mentioned
of in some peculiar, good or evil characteristics. England founded
its world-commerce and world-domination; Prulsia became a
Kingdom; Russia entered the series of European cultural states.
America.allured for emigration; other parts of the world attired
to be discovered or explored or visited. Peter the Great travelled
through Europe to Holland and England, seeking instruction for
governing his people with intuitional knowledge and experiSnci&l
wisdom. Mojion -and-activity everywhere! One felt the motion
of the universe!—Robinson is like a personification of the general
— 27 —
motion of the time in the lower and higher sense! "For Whit,
he exclaims, occasionally, "should we standstill? ^he whole world
is in motion round and round; all the creatures of "Nature",
heavenly bodies and earthly are busy and diligent; why should
we be idle! There are no drones in the world but men: why
should we be of that number?"—Must not Defoe's book be
welcomed everywhere at his time!
1 have, till now, almost exclusively, spoken of the first
portion of Defoe's Robinson and I milst add some words on the
second, though and why it has not contributed td the European
fame of the book. There is, it is true, one necessary, though
loose connexion through the whole: Robinson's travelling patsion.
But, the second part is quite another book with another interest
for the reader. In the first part, Robinson's fancy is filled with
ideas of the future, with Ideas common to all; in the second,
Robinson's imagination is full of images of his past, peculiar td
himself alone.—In the first part, he cannot resist a juvenile
inclination, good in itself; in the second, he is determined by an
old, heavily punished passion that is ugly, if without any great
or fair object. There is no aim in the second part; like the
"Erring Jew", Robinson travels from land to land, till old-age
obliges him to stay at home. Therefore, the second part is, by
i * *i_ * J ' •
no means, poetical. There is no local unity, material congen*
tra|ion, artistical graduation, Ideal aim in it.—In the first part,
the reader unites himself with his hero to one person; in the second,
the reader is disgusted and tired with Robinson's pastion. I
doubt of the reility of such a passion. I mean: twenty-eight
years of meditation in solitude may, if the old inclination rests
nevertheless fresh, show us how it can be, possibly, made a duty
reasonable in its aims and useful to the benefit of mankind by
making himself an explorer or discoverer or scientific traveller
and the like. Nobody can be pleased at the Mmost disgusting
confessional conversation with William Atkins, with the Romish
Catholic priest and with his wife; or at the tasteless §irciimstanees
of Friday's death. Vtilgar readers that have not read anything
of the blood-sheds of the Spaniards in America, of Charlemagne's
— 28 — "
deed at Yerden, of the Saint-Bartholomew's-Night at Pan§, of
the th&nder-oak at Geismar may be amused and instructed by
the 'gloriotis' killing of some thousand sav&ges; the 'heroicai'
massacre of "Madagascaria" and Jhe 'sublime' destruction of a
heathenish Idol. The learned cannot taste siifih things nor can
Jhey be delighted or satisfied at Robinson's conversation with the
Catholic priest on his Island or the artful discourse with the
R&ssian pringe in "Sibiria", even if there are realities of a higher
order skillfully described in them. But, for yoftng people, the
second part of the book has not been written at all and it ma5r
be stated that it has nothing of the high, educational value of
the first.
If the second part could have had some interest When
the book appeared, in our time, there can be no interest for it;
there is no real value in it. On the contrary, the first part will
maintain its old and solid, European fame. Moreover, if I should
recommend the book for schools, let the book $ease at Robinson's
departure from the island; some ten or twenty lines may be added
as a short and fit, natural and satisfying conclusion; omit some
confessional passages and expressions even in the interest of parties
opposed between themselves; and, than there will be no better
book in the hand of a skillful master for social education than
Robinson.—The poor and the rich, the high and the low could
be made aware of the gdods of culture and society that they
enjoy, without consciousness and appreciation; and, all might be
mnerly convinced and heartily inclined to social manners and
feelings by miserable Robinson's bitter fate and late liberation.
Printed b|r F. A. Brockhaus, Leipzig.