THk I . K /: . ^ y FRENCH IVR! 7 H. A'.S 
 
 FROM THE SERIES EDITED 
 
 By J. J. Jusserand 
 
 BERMARDIlSr DE ST, PIERRE 
 
In Sanie Séries. 
 MADAME DE STAËL. By Albert Sorel. 
 A. THIERS. By P. de Rémusat. 
 
 Others to foUow. 
 
BERNARDIN DE SAINT PIERRE 
 
 REPRODUCED FROM AN ENGRAVING BY RIBAULT AFTER LAPIPTE ioOS 
 
Bernardin de St, Pierre 
 
 ARVÈDE BARINE 
 
 TRANSLATED BV J. E. GORDON 
 
 PREFACE BY AUGUSTINE BIRRELL 
 
 WiTH Portrait 
 
 T. FISHER UN WIN 
 PATERNOSTER SQUARE 
 
 MDCCCXCin 
 
?Q20(2>5 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Chapter Page 
 
 I. YouTH — Years of Travel I 
 
 IL Period of Uncertainty — Voyage ïo ïhe Isle 
 OF France ; Acquaintance with J. J. Rous- 
 seau ; The Crisis 42 
 
 III. The " Études de La Nature " 87 
 
 IV. Paul and Virginia 149 
 
 V. Works of His Old Age — The Two Marriages 
 — Death of Bernardin de St. Pierre — His 
 Literary Influence 179 
 
 453 
 
PRE FA CE. 
 
 V ^ HE life of Bernardin de St. Pierre is so 
 itnicsual, so interesting, so snggestive and 
 anmsingy that the grumpiest of Englishnien need 
 not complain of tJie fact that no séries of Great 
 FrencJi Writers wonld be complète which did not 
 contain the name of tJie author of Paul and 
 Virginia. Eveji Britons nuist accept tJie judg- 
 inent of other nations aboiit their own anthors. 
 Onr diity is to conipreJiend a verdict we are power- 
 less to 7ipset. Dorian zvomen, as Gorgo says in 
 the fainous ode of Theocritns, hâve a right to 
 chatter in a Dorian accent^ and a great French 
 writer is not necessarily the worse for a strong 
 infusion of French sentimerit. 
 
 St. Pierre zvas no ordinary person, either as 
 man or author. His zvas a strong and original 
 character^ more bent on action than on litei^ature, 
 Though a master of style and a great painter in 
 words^ he tvas ever a preacher^ a sermonneur, as 
 
viii Préface. 
 
 St. Beuve calls Iiiin. His masterpiecc — as the 
 Freiich reckon Paul and Virginia to be — came by 
 chance, and is but a cJiapter in a huge treatise, a 
 payable told by the way in a volnniinoiis gospel, 
 It is as if RuskhCs chef d'œuvre were a novelette^ 
 or as if Carlyle's story had bcen a perfect whole 
 instead of a fragment and a failure. 
 
 To understand Paul and Virginia aright one 
 should read the Études de la Nature, first pub- 
 lis Jicd in 1784. Our grandparents read the m 
 greedily cnough, either in the original, or in the 
 excellent translation of Dr. Henry Hunter, the 
 acco7nplished niinister of the Scots Church, London 
 Wall. A hundred years hâve, hoivever, pressed 
 heavily iipon thèse St?tdies, but to tins day a tender 
 grâce clhigs to them. Even so ivill our own 
 descendants in 1984 turn the pages of Ruskin and 
 inJiale a stray luhiff of the breath zvhich once 
 animated a génération. 
 
 Bernardin de St. Pierre ivas as obstinate a 
 theorist as ever lived, and his theory was that 
 Providence had fashiojied the whole world with 
 one intent only, namely, the happiness of man. 
 That man was not happy, St. Pierre sorrowfully 
 admitted ; but there was no reason zvhatever, save 
 his own folly, why he should not be as happy as 
 the day s iv ère long. Nothing could shake t his fait h 
 of St. Pierres. The terrible catastrophes of life 
 — plcLgue, pestilence, and famine, earthquakes and 
 
Préface. ix 
 
 sJnpwreck — coimted witJi Juin as nothing. Tîiat 
 sombre view of htimayi ajfairs zvJiich so oppressed 
 with gloom the great mind of Bishop Butler, and 
 drove the lighter but Jiuinaner spirit of Voltaire 
 into a revolt Jialf desperate, Jialf Jiumorous, never 
 affected tJie imagination of St. Pierre, zvho none 
 the less had a tender heart, had travelled far by 
 land and sea, and often had laid doivn his head to 
 l'est with the poor and the misérable. 
 
 Walking once in the fertile district of Canx, he 
 lias described how lie saw something red rnnning 
 across the fields at some distance, and niaking 
 towards the great road. " / quickened my pace 
 and got up in time enongh to see that they were 
 tzvo little girls in red jackets and zvooden shoes, 
 zvho, zvith mnch difficidty, zvere scrainbling throngh 
 the ditch zvJiich bonnded the road. The t ailes t, 
 zvho inight be abont six or seven years old, zvas 
 crying bitterly. ' CJiildl said I to her, * zvhat 
 makes you cry, and zvhither are yon going at so 
 early an Iioiir ? ' * Sir', replied she, ' my poor 
 mother is very ill. TJiere is not a mess of broth 
 to be had in ail oiir paris Ji. We are going to that 
 church in tJie bottom to see if the Curé can find us 
 some. I am crying because my little sister is not 
 able to zvalk any farther.' As she spoke, she 
 zsoiped lier eyes zvith a bit of canvas zvJiicJi served 
 her for a petticoat. On lier raising up the rag to 
 lier face, I could perceive she had not the semb lance 
 
X Préface, 
 
 of a s/lift. The abject inisery of the cJnldrcn^ so 
 poor^ in t/ie iiiidst of plains so fruitful^ zuviing 
 my îieart, The relief ivJiich I could administer 
 thon was sniall indeed. I inyself was tJien on my 
 luay to see niisery in otJier fornis!' 
 
 Thèse woebegone little figures scrambling across 
 a great French ditch in search of broth attest the 
 tenderness of St. Pierre' s heart^ zuhose descriptions 
 are free froin ail taint of affectation and insin- 
 cerity. He lias neither the leer of Sterne nor the 
 affected stare of Chateaid^riand. He had, how- 
 ever, a theory zvhich ivas proof against ail sigJits 
 and sounds. The great earthqnake of Lisbon is 
 reported to hâve inade inany atheists^ and certainly 
 no event of the kind has ever so seized hold of 
 inefi's imagination^. St. Pierre brushes it con- 
 temptnoiisly on one side. Says he in Jiis seventh 
 Study : " The inhabitants of Lisbon knoiv well 
 that their city has been several times shattered by 
 shocks of tJiis kind^ and that it is imprudent to 
 bîiild in stone. To persons zvho can siibmit to 
 live in a Jioitse of wood earthquakes hâve nothing 
 formidable. Naples and Portici are perfectly 
 acqnainted with the fate of Herciilanenm. After 
 ail earthquakes are not universal ; they are local 
 and periodical. Pliny has obscrved',' &c., &c. 
 
 And so he zuorks his way through the long list 
 of hnman miseries. Tigcrs, indeed ! IVho need 
 care for tigers ? Hâve they not diisky stripes 
 
Préface, xi 
 
 perceptible a great way off on the yelloiv growid 
 of tJieir s km ? Do not their eyes sparkle in the 
 dark ? Hozu easy to avoid a tiger ! WitJi ail 
 the enthnsiasin of a tJieoi'ist^ Jie heaps iip his 
 aiithorities for statenients great and small, and 
 levels his qnotations froni ail and sundry at his 
 reader's head, inucJi after the fashion of Mr. 
 Bnckle. Of a truly scientific spirit thèse Stndies 
 hâve not a trace^ but tJiey contain inuch attractive 
 and deligJitful writing, and thongh doviinated by 
 a fantastic and provoking tJieory^ are fidl of 
 shrezvdness and tvisdoni as zvell as of lofty 
 éloquence. 
 
 Thus whilst conibating wJiat lie conceives to be 
 the ei'ror of stipposing that morality is deterini7ied 
 by climate^ he points ont that tJiere is as inucli 
 différence in majiners, in opinions, in habili- 
 nients, and even in physiognomy, between a French 
 opera-actor and a CapiicJiin friar as tJiere is 
 betiveen a Szvede and a CJiinese, and conclndes by 
 observing : " // is not cliniate which régulâtes the 
 morality of nian — it is opinion — it is éducation — 
 and stcch is their poiver that tJiey trinmph not 
 only over latitudes, bnt even over tempérament.^^ 
 
 St. Pierre' s views on govermnents and stipreme 
 aiitJiority are worth reading, even after a course 
 of Bodin or Hobbes. He says in the same seventh 
 Stîidy : — 
 
 " Without paying regard to the common division 
 
xii Préface, 
 
 of goverfunents into democracy^ aristocracy, and 
 inonarchy, wJiich are only at bottovi political forms 
 tliat dcten)iine notJiing as to eitlier their happi- 
 7iess or their power, we shall insist only on their 
 moral constitution. Every governinent of what- 
 ever description is internally happy and respectable 
 abroad zvhen it bestoivs on ail its snbjects their 
 natural riglit of acqniring fortune and honours 
 and the coîitrary takes place wJien it reserves to a 
 particular class of citizens the benefits whicJi ought 
 to be conunon to ail. It is not sufficient to prescribe 
 liinits to the people and to restrain tîiein withiii 
 those liinits by terrifying pJiantonis. They quickly 
 force the person ivho puts tJieni in motion to 
 tremble more than themselves. When human 
 policy locks the chain round the ancle of a 
 slave, Divine Justice rivets the other end round 
 the neck of the tyrant." 
 
 Nor is there much ainiss zvitJi St. Pierre's 
 political economy. 
 
 '' It has ahvays appeared to me strangely un- 
 accountable that in France where there are such 
 mimerons and such judicious establishments^ we 
 should hâve ministers of superintendence in 
 foreign affairs^ for war^ the marine, finance 
 commerce, manufactures, the clergy, public binld- 
 ings, horsemansJiip, and so on, but never one for 
 agricîdtîire. It proceeds, I am afraid, from the 
 contempt in ivJiich the peasantry are hcld. Ali 
 
Préface. xiii 
 
 me7i^ howevei% are siireties for eacJi other, and 
 independently of tJie uniform siahire a7id con- 
 figuration of tJie Jinman race^ I ivould exact no 
 otJier proof tJiai ail spring from one and tJie same 
 original. It is frovi tJie puddle by tJie side of the 
 poor man's îiovel ivîiich Jias been robbed of the 
 little brook zvJiose streani sweetened it the épidémie 
 plagie e s hall issne fort h to devonr the lordly in- 
 habitants of the neighbonring castle'^ 
 
 Bnt I mnst stop viy quotations, zvhich hâve 
 been made only becanse by their means better tJian 
 by any other the English reader can be made to 
 perceive the manner of man the author of Paul 
 and Virginia was, and how it came abont that he 
 shonld ivrite snch a book. St. Pierre zvas a 
 missionary. He longed to convince the whole 
 world that lie was right^ and to win tJiem over to 
 /lis side and make them see eye to eye ivith him. 
 Hence Jiis fervonr and Jiis force. He had not the 
 genius of Rotissean, with whom he had some odd 
 conversations^ bnt by virtne of his wondrous 
 sincerity he lias an effectiveness zvhich vies with 
 the charm of the elder and greater zvriter. There 
 is an air of good faith abont St. Pierre. Thongh 
 he deliberately sets to work and mamifactnres 
 descriptions., he seenis to do so zvitli as mnch 
 honesty of piirpose and of détail as Gilbert White 
 made his fanions jottings in the parsonage of 
 Selborne. 
 
xiv Préface, 
 
 Of Paul and Virginia Utile need be said. It is 
 a French classic^ by tJie saine title as Robin son 
 Crusoc is a BritisJi onc. Defoe lias inade Englisli 
 boys by tJie tJiousand zvant to be sîiipivrecked^ and 
 St. Pierre lias niade FrencJi boys by the tJiousand 
 want to cry. The position of Paul and Virginia 
 hi FrencJi literatnre is attested in a scoi'e of luays. 
 Editions abonnd both for the ricJi and for the 
 poor. It is everyzvhere^ in every bookshop and on 
 every bookstall. The autJior of Mademoiselle de 
 Maupin lias left it on record tJiat Paul and 
 Virginia inade his yontJiful soid biirn luithin hiin, 
 and he soleninly pronoiinces it a dangerotis book, 
 That Théophile Gantier was an expert in snch 
 mat ter s cannot be dispnted. His évidence^ there- 
 fore, innst be adinitted^ tJioiigJi as expert évidence 
 it inay be criticised. St. Benve is tinfailing in 
 praise of Paul and Virginia. He discerns in it 
 tJie notes of reality and freshness, the dew of 
 y outil is upon it — it is sweet and coniely^ " Ce 
 qiti distingue à jamais cette pastorale gracieuse^ 
 c'est qu'elle est vraie^ d'une réalité Imniaine et 
 sensible ; aux grâces et aux jeux de V enfance ne 
 succède point une adolescence idéale et fab? dense. 
 Dés le moment oii Virginie s est sentie agitée d'un 
 mal inconnu et oit. ses beaux yeux bleus se sont 
 marbrés de noir, noîis soj unies dans la passion^ et 
 ce charmant petit livre que Fontanes mettait un 
 peu trop banalement entre le Telemaque et la 
 
Préface, xv 
 
 Mort d'Abel, je le classerai^ moi, entre Daphnis 
 et Chloe et cet immortel IV^ livre en V honneur 
 de Didon. Un génie tout Virgilien y respire''' 
 
 That arch-sentimentalist, Napoléon Bonaparte^ 
 kept Paul et Virginie under his pillow diiring his 
 Italian campaign ; so at least he assured St. 
 Pierre, but as he is known to hâve niade precisely 
 the same remark to Tom Paùie about the Rights 
 of Man, he must not be understood au pied de la 
 lettre. He is known to hâve read the book over 
 again in the last sad days at St. Helena, and no 
 one can doubt that it was much to his taste. 
 
 I cannot disguise front myself- — / wish I could 
 — my own dislike of the book. We may, many of 
 us, be disposed to believe, with Lord Palmerston, 
 that ail babies are born good ; but zve feel toler- 
 ably certain that no babies, if left to themselves, 
 would grow up like Paul and Virginia, What 
 is more, we would not wish them. to do so. To 
 tell the truth, we cannot weep over Virginia. A 
 young woman who chooses to drozvn in sight of 
 land and lier lover, with sti'ong arms ready to 
 save her, rather than disarrange lier clothing, 
 makes us contemptuously angry. Bashfulness is 
 not modesty, nor can it be necessary to die under 
 circumstances which might possibly re?tder a blush 
 becoming. But the French camiot be got to see 
 this, and Paul et Virginie ivas written for the 
 French, to whom the spectacle of the drowniiig 
 
 * 
 
xvî Préface. 
 
 Virginie " 2ine ntahi sur ses habits^ Vautre sur son 
 cœurl^ Jias long seenied sublime — a hunian sacri- 
 fice to la pudeur. " Et nous aussi'' exclaivis one 
 fervent spirit, " si nous avions été sur cette grève 
 fatale^ nous aurions crié a Virginie : ' Laissez- 
 vous sauver ! quittez vos vêtements^ oubliez un 
 instant les scrupules de la pudeur. Vivez ! N' en- 
 tendons nous pas cependant^ en dépit de not7'e pitié 
 — une voix plus délicate et plus sévère que les cris 
 de tous ces spectateurs émus par tant de dangers et 
 tant de courage — Virginie ne peut pas avec le cœur 
 innoceitt et pur que Dieu lui a fait, avec le chaste 
 amour qu'elle a pouf Paul, Virginie ne peut pas 
 dépouiller ses vêtements et se laisser sauver pas ce 
 matelot. Qîi'elle meure donc pour rester aussi 
 pure que son âme ! Qu'elle meure, puisqu'elle a 
 su entendre, à travers les 7nugisse7nents de l'orage 
 et les cris des spectateurs, la voix douce, mais puis- 
 sante, de la pudeur." 
 
 It is interesting a/ter tJiis explosion of French 
 feeling to call to mind Car ly le' s remarks about 
 Paul and Virginia in the second book of lus prose- 
 poem^ " The French Révolution." 
 
 " Still more significant are two books produced 
 on the eve of the ever -mémorable explosion itself 
 and read eagerly by ail the world — St. Pierre's 
 Paul et Virginie and Louvet's Chevalier de Fau- 
 blas — noteworthy books, which 7nay be considered 
 as the last speech of old Feudal France. In the 
 
Préface. xviî 
 
 ûrst there rises melodiously, as it were, the wail 
 of a nioribund world. Everywhere wholesome 
 nature is in uneqtial conflict with diseased per- 
 fidioîis Art; cannot escape from it in the lowest 
 hiit, in the remotest island of the sea. Ruin and 
 Death must sirike down the loved one, and what 
 is most significant of ail, death even hère not by 
 necessity, bnt by étiquette, What a world of pni- 
 rient corruption lies visible in that super- sublime 
 of modesty ! Yet on the whole our good St. Pierre 
 is musical, poetical, though most morbid. We 
 ivill call his book the swan-song of old dying 
 France.''^ 
 
 So far Carlyle, who was a sentimentalist at 
 heart. 
 
 It is îwticeable, however, that M. Barine, 
 zvhose biography of St. Pierre is hère introduced 
 to the English reader, and who, I hâve no doubt, 
 represents modem criticism, lays no stress upon the 
 death of Virginia, observing with much compo- 
 sure, " The shipwreck of the Saint Geran and the 
 death of Virginia, which made us ail shed floods 
 of tears when we were children, are, it must be 
 allowed, somewhat melodramatic, and, from a lite- 
 rary point ofview, very inferior to the passionate 
 scènes'' {p. 173). It is as a love-story, glowing 
 and fervent, full of the unrestfulness and tumult 
 which are the harbingers of passion in virgin 
 breasts, that Paul et Virginia must now be 
 
xviii Préface. 
 
 rcgarded. So M. Burine saj's, and he is un- 
 doubtedly right ; and the English reader, Jiowever 
 nincJi lus moral sensé rejects the cliniax of the 
 taie, must be didl of heart who does not recognise, 
 eveji tJioiigJi he fail to admire, the power zvhich 
 depicts the woefid plight of poor Virginia when 
 sJie becomes Love' s thralL 
 
 The pages of Paul et Virginie are frequeyitly 
 enlivened by aphorism and ennobled by description. 
 One of its sayings is quoted with great effect by 
 St. Beuve in his Causerie on Cowper. " Il y a de 
 plus dans la femme une gaieté légère qui dissipe la 
 tristesse de r homme" In the same way there is a 
 certain quality in the writings of St. Pierre^ 
 perceptible even to the foreigner, which renders 
 acquiescence in the judgment of France upon his 
 famé as a writer easier than might hâve been 
 expected. 
 
BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 YOUTH— Years of Travel. 
 
 IN lookîng over the collection of the portraits 
 of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, we are wit- 
 nesses of a strange transformation. That of 
 Lafitte, engraved in 1805, during the lifetime of 
 the original, represents a fine old man with a 
 long face, strongly marked features, and locks 
 of white hair falling to his shoulders. His 
 expression has more pénétration than svveetness, 
 and certain vertical lines between the brows 
 reveal an unaccommodating temper. This is 
 certainly no ordinary man ; but we are not 
 surprised that he had many enemies. 
 
 In 1818, four years after the death of 
 Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, a less realistic work 
 begins to îdealize his features for posterity. An 
 engraving by Frédéric Lignon from a drawing 
 by Girodet represents him as younger, and in 
 an attitude of inspiration. There is an almost 
 
2 Berjiardm de Si, Pierre, 
 
 heavenly look upon his innocent face, sur- 
 rounded by an abundant crop of hair artistically 
 curled and falling to his shoulders. Everything 
 in this second portrait is rounded off and 
 toned down, and this is only the beginning of 
 things. The type created by Girodet became 
 more angelic and more devoid of significance at 
 each new reproduction. The eyes get larger, the 
 features are less marked, and we hâve a hero of 
 Romance, a dreamy, sentimental youth, the 
 apocryphal Bernardin de Saint-Pierre which a 
 vignette of the time of the Restoration shows us, 
 seated at a cottage door, his eyes cast up to 
 heaven, his handkerchief in his hand, vvhile his 
 dog fixes his eyes tenderly upon him, and a 
 negress contemplâtes him with rapture. Legend 
 has decidedly got the better of history. An 
 insipid and rather ridiculous silhouette has 
 insinuated itself in the place of a countenance 
 full of originality and energy. 
 
 At the présent day we do a service to the 
 author of Paid and Virginia by treating him 
 without ceremony. The time has come to 
 resuscitate him as he appeared to his contem- 
 poraries, with his lined forehead, and his uneasy 
 expression, lest the mawkish Bernardin de Saint- 
 Pierre invented by sentimentalists should make 
 us forget altogether the real man who dared to 
 disagree with the philosophers, and to beard the 
 
Youth — Years of Travel, 3 
 
 Academy. One appréciâtes hîs work better, 
 knowing that it did not spring from a purely 
 elegiac soûl, but from a deliberate and dogged 
 mind which knew what it wanted, and did not 
 play its part of literary pioneer at random. 
 
 Jacques Henri Bernardin de Saint-Pierre was 
 born at Havre in 1737, ^^ ^ family in which 
 there was little common sensé, but great preten- 
 sions. The father believed himself to be of 
 noble origin, and was never tired of discoursing 
 to his children of their illustrious ancestors. 
 He had three sons, and one daughter. One of 
 the sons, who took his ancestral glory quite 
 seriously, unable to bear up against the mortifi- 
 cations which awaited him in the world, went 
 out of his mind. The daughter, refusing with 
 disdain ail the offers of marriage she received, 
 repented when it was too late, and ended her 
 days in sadness and obscurity. The mother 
 was good and kind, free from vanity, and richly 
 gifted with imagination. Bernardin was fond of 
 relating a conversation which they had had 
 together when he was quite a child about the 
 growing corn. Mme. de Saint-Pierre had 
 explained to him that if every man took his 
 sheaf of corn there would not be enough on the 
 earth for every one, from which they came to the 
 conclusion " that God multiplied the corn when 
 it was in the barns." Hère we hâve already the 
 
4 Bernardin de St. Pierre, 
 
 scheme of the Études de la Nature and we need 
 not ask from whom Bernardin held his method 
 of reasoning. 
 
 In spite of the touch of folly which spoilt 
 some members of the family, it was an idéal 
 home for the children's happiness. The life 
 there was simple, and humble friends were by no 
 means despised. A servant of the old-fashioned 
 kind, an old woman called Marie, had her place 
 in it, gave her advice and spoilt the children. A 
 Capucine monk, Brother Paul, would bring 
 sugar-plums and delight the whole household 
 with his stories, which bore no trace of morose 
 religious views. Their studies were a little 
 desultory, their récréations delightfully homely. 
 They gardened, played games in the granary, 
 paddled about on the sea-shore, and fought with 
 the Street boys, for ail the world as though they 
 had no belief in their noble ancestors. Occa- 
 sionally they got old Marie to do up their 
 hair in numberless starched curl-papers, which 
 stiffened it and filled the good woman with 
 admiration ; they would then put on their best 
 clothes and go to visit Bernardin's godmother, 
 Mme. de Bayard. Those were happy days. 
 
 Mme. de Bayard was a countess of ruined 
 fortunes, rather too fond of borrowing, but she 
 had been at the court of Louis XIV. and had 
 known La Grande Mademoiselle^ which amounts 
 
Youth — Years of Travel. 5 
 
 to saying that M. de Saint-Pierre thought it 
 due to his aristocratie dreams to get her to 
 *'name" one of his children, as they called it in 
 those days. The honour of being her godson 
 devolved upon the future author, who soon learnt 
 to appreciate his good luck. Mme. de Bayard 
 was a handsome old lady, who had preserved in 
 her changed fortunes manners of exquisite 
 courtesy and the airs of a queen. Reduced to 
 ail sorts of shifts, and constrained at such times 
 to forget her pride, no sooner had she obtained 
 the necessary money than she raised her head 
 again, and hastened to prépare a fête for those 
 who had obliged her with their purse. Her 
 grâce and dignity of manner made them her 
 slaves. They would form a circle round her to 
 listen to her stories of the hero Monsieur le 
 Prince, of Louis XIV., amorous and gay, of 
 the Grande Mademoiselle, grown old, and still 
 weeping over the memory of the ungrateful 
 Lauzun, of the wonders of Versailles, and of the 
 romantic nocturnal revels on the grand canal at 
 Fontainebleau. She told such good stories, had 
 so much wit and cheerful kindliness, that no one 
 ever had the heart to ask for a return of the 
 loans they had made to her. 
 
 She brought into play the same fascinations 
 to win the heart of the first corner, were it only a 
 child, so that she appeared to her godson as a 
 
6 Bernardin de St. Pierre, 
 
 being quite apart, dazzling and adorable. He 
 was not ignorant of the straits she was put to, 
 and it had even happened to him, seeîng her in 
 tears, to slip his only silver-piece under her 
 cushion ; but none the less for that did she seem 
 to soar above him in a superior world. Under 
 her faded finer>^ she was to him the personifica- 
 tion of suprême élégance, and he was right. 
 She talked as no one else in Havre knew how 
 to talk, and in listening to her he was borne 
 away to a new world peopled with great princes 
 and beautiful princesses who welcomed Mme. 
 de Bayard with distinction. He himself became 
 a great noble and showered riches upon his 
 beloved godmother. He would hâve been a 
 poor créature not to prefer thèse beautiful 
 dreams to gifts of any kind, and besides, the old 
 Countess made présents just as she gave her 
 fêtes, at the most unexpected moments. M. de 
 Saint-Pierre respected her, and she had a great 
 influence, and it was always a beneficent one 
 upon little Bernardin's early éducation. 
 
 He was not an easy child to manage. Some 
 one who knew Bernardin de Saint-Pierre very 
 well, and who loved and admired him greatly,^ 
 said that he united in himself ail the good and 
 
 ' Aimé Martin, author of the great biography entitled 
 Memoirs of the Life and [Vorks of J. H. Bernardin de 
 Sai7it- Pierre, [i vol. 8vo. 1820.] 
 
Youth — Years of Travel. 7 
 
 ail the bad qualitîes of his brothers and his sîster, 
 who were themselves neither ordinary nor 
 accommodating, with the exception, perhaps, of 
 the youngest of the boys. They were a nervous 
 race, full of ambition, prompt to illusion, and 
 bitterly resenting déception and injustice. " A 
 single thorn," said Bernardin, "gives me more 
 pain than the odour of a hundred roses gives 
 me pleasure." He did not exaggerate, nature 
 had exquisitely adapted him for suffering. 
 
 From his earliest years he showed himself to 
 be of an unequal temper, which his father utterly 
 failed to understand. The child was often lost 
 in the clouds, or absorbed in the contemplation 
 of a blade of grass, a flovver, or a fly. One day 
 when M. de Saint-Pierre was calling his atten- 
 tion to the beauties of the spires of the Cathe- 
 dral of Rouen, he cried out in a sort of ecstacy : 
 " Ah, how high they fly ! " He had only 
 noticed the swallows wheeling about in the air. 
 His father looked upon him as an idiot, a 
 strange undisciplined créature, and he was very 
 far from guessing at what was taking place in 
 the mind of his little son. The boy had un- 
 earthed from a cabinet an enormous folio con- 
 taining "ail the visions of the hermits of the 
 Désert," taken from the Lives of the Saints. It 
 became his habituai study, and from it he 
 learnt that God comes to the help of ail those 
 
8 Bcr7ia7'din de St, Pierre, 
 
 who call upon Him. There could, therefore, be 
 nothing for him to fear from his masters, his 
 parents, old Marie, or in fact from any one. He 
 could abandon himself in peace to his beautiful 
 dreams, and withdraw himself into the idéal 
 world, vvhere his imagination shovved him only 
 tenderness, flowers, and sunshine. In case of 
 need he would call God to his aid, and God 
 would surely deliver him. 
 
 He did in fact call upon Him, and God came, 
 as He always comes to those who cry to Him in 
 faith. One day, when his mother had punished 
 him unjustly, he prayed to heaven to open the 
 door of his prison, and to make known his 
 innocence. The door remained closed, but a 
 ray of sunlight suddenly pierced the gloom and 
 lighted up the window. The little prisoner fell 
 upon his knees, and burst into tears in a trans- 
 port of joy. The miracle was accomplished. It 
 is with a ray of sunshine that God has ever 
 opened the prisons of His children. 
 
 But the more Providence showed an interest 
 in him, the more ungovernable he became. The 
 child so gentle, so compassionate to animais, 
 became passionate and violent, whenever the 
 shocks of real life unhinged him, so that he was 
 almost beside himself. His father raged, and 
 then it was that the godmother interfcred. She, 
 who understood it ail, found her godson interest- 
 
YoiUh — .Years of TraveL 9 
 
 ing, and vvhile she comforted him tenderly, she 
 pacifîed and reassured his parents. To her he 
 owed his recall from exile after some innocent 
 escapade which had terrified his family. To her 
 he owed some of his masters. To her he owed 
 the book which determined the bent of his mind, 
 and the influence of which one can trace every- 
 where in his works : Robinsoii Critsoe. 
 
 Mme. de Bayard had made him a présent 
 of it, just at a moment when it was thought 
 necessary to change the current of his thoughts. 
 Before he was twelve he had set his heart upon 
 becoming a Capucine monk, ever since the time 
 when Brother Paul had taken him with him for 
 a tour on foot through Normandy. The journey 
 had been a perpétuai enchantment, one long 
 junketing. They stopped at the convents, at the 
 country houses, with well-to-do peasants, and 
 there was nothing but feasting and kindliness 
 everywhere. Brother Paul told stories ail the 
 way, the weather was fine, the fields were in 
 bloom, and little Bernardin adored nature, 
 whom nobody just then seemed to think much 
 about, with the exception of one other dreamer 
 who had found her " dead in the eyes of men," 
 and who was just then engaged in resuscitating 
 her. But as yet young Saint-Pierre did not even 
 know the name of J. J. Rousseau. He only 
 knew that in the country " the air is pure, the 
 
lO Bernardin de St, Pierre. 
 
 landscape smilîng, walking pleasant, and livîng 
 easy " ; that he was very happy, and never 
 vvished to do anything else in the future than to 
 watch the growth of the plants, and listen to 
 the woodland sounds. He made uphis mind to 
 take the monk's habit and staff in order to be 
 able to spend the rest of his days wandering 
 about the lanes, and this resolution he announced 
 as soon as he reached home. His father laughed 
 at him, his godmother gave him Rohinson 
 Crnsoe. 
 
 This book had a great influence upon his 
 career. It suggested to him the idea of his 
 famous island, where Friday was replaced by a 
 people whom Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, by vvise 
 laws and by force of example, had recalled to 
 the " innocence of the golden âge." The more 
 he reflected upon it the more the enterprise 
 appeared to him practicable and worthy of a 
 man's powers, so much so that, having served as 
 the sport of his imagination, it became the aim 
 of his existence. After some months, no longer 
 able to curb his impatience, he obtained leave 
 to embark for Martinique in a vessel belonging to 
 one of his uncles. It seemed to him quite impos- 
 sible that he should not find somevvhere on the 
 wide océan a désert island, of which he would 
 make himself king. Nevertheless, that was what 
 happened, and he returned to Havre greatly dis- 
 
Youth — Years of Travel. 1 1 
 
 appointed but not discouraged. While awaiting- 
 another opportunity he matured his plans, in *' 
 which the suppression of ail schools held a pro- , 
 minent place. Time only served to strengthen 
 him in his design, and we shall find him giving 
 up the best part of his youth to the search for his 
 island. His long journeys had no other object. 
 Being unable to find ît, he wished at least to 
 demonstrate to theworld what it might hâve been, 
 and he laboured indefatigably to describe it. One 
 of the results of this fortunate obstinacy is en- 
 titled Paul and Virginia. We can understand 
 that Bernardin always preserved a feeling of the 
 liveliest gratitude towards his godmother and 
 towards Robinson Crtisoe. 
 
 It was again Mme. de Bayard, vvho on his 
 return from Martinique interposed to see that 
 he finished his studies. M. de Saint-Pierre did 
 not trouble himself about it, being discouraged 
 by the capricious and senseless method in which 
 his incorrigible son studied. He yielded, how- 
 ever, and sent Bernardin to the Jesuits at Caen, 
 who completed the work begun by the Lives of 
 the Saints and Robinson Crnsoe. They made 
 their pupils read the narratives of their mission- 
 aries, and those great voyages to foreign coun- 
 tries, the daring adventures, the sublime 
 sufîferings, the martyrs and the miracles finally 
 set on fire the imagination of young Bernardin. 
 
12 Bernardin de St, Pierre, 
 
 He worked no more, played no more, talked no 
 more, entircly given up to his determined reso- 
 lution that he also would become a missionary 
 and go for thèse wonderful voyages, and be a 
 martyr too. The Jesuit father in whom he con- 
 fided, smiled, but did not dîscourage him. M. 
 de Saint-Pierre hastened to recall him, and old 
 Marie went to meet him outside the town to say, 
 with tears in her eyes, " Then you mean to be- 
 come a Jesuit? " That was the first blow to his 
 vocation. The grief of his mother, and the 
 lectures of Brother Paul finally put an end to 
 it, and he thought no more of becoming a 
 martyr. 
 
 He had sufifered an irréparable loss during his 
 sojourn at Caen. Mme. de Bayard was dead ; 
 there was no longer any one to pour peace into 
 that restless and sombre nature. It became 
 more and more true that "ail his sensations 
 developed at once into passions," and more than 
 ever he sought a refuge from reality in dreams 
 which his âge made dangerous. Eager for soli- 
 tude, isolated in the midst of his companions, 
 he became absorbed in his visionary projects, 
 and expended upon the phantoms of his imagi- 
 nation the vague émotions that oppressed him. 
 
 He sustained another loss equally calamitous 
 to him though for very différent reasons. His 
 mother died while he was finishing his studies 
 
Youth — Years of TraveL 13 
 
 at Rouen, and wîth her disappeared the peace- 
 ful joys and sunshîne of the home, and her son 
 was astonished to discover that at the fîrst vaca- 
 tion he had no longer any vvish to return there, 
 the thought was so new and painful. The fol- 
 lowing year he went to Paris, with the intention 
 of becoming an engineer, and when he had been 
 there a year, he heard that his father had married 
 again and was no longer to be counted upon to 
 help his sons. One of them was a sailor, the 
 other a soldier. Bernardin found himself alone in 
 the streets of Paris, without money, and almost 
 without friends. His real éducation was about 
 to commence. He was twenty-three, good-look- 
 ing, very impressionable, with a délicate, keen 
 imagination, courage, and unstable character. 
 
 Almost ail his biographers hâve deplored the 
 use he made of his time up to the âge of thirty 
 and after. It is true that in the eyes of prudent 
 people, who approve of a regulated career with 
 promotion at stated intervais, his entrance inta 
 the world must appear absurd, even reprehen- 
 sible. No one could make a worse bungle of 
 his future than he did, his excuse is that it was 
 not intentional. On the contrary, he took great 
 pains to seek appointments, and believed him- 
 self to be a model employé. But instinct, 
 stronger than reason, constantly drove him 
 from a line which was not his own. He has 
 
14 Bernardin de St. Pie7'7'e, 
 
 very happily expressed în one of his works ^ the 
 combat which takes place under such circum- 
 stances in a highly-endowed mind. 
 
 He has just said that among animais, it is 
 upon the innate and permanent instinct of 
 each species that dépend their character, their 
 manners and, perhaps, even their expression. 
 " The instincts of animais, which are so varied," 
 he continues, " seem to be distributed in each 
 one of us in the form of secret inward impulses 
 which influence ail our lives. Our whole life 
 consists in nothing else but their development, 
 and it is thèse impulses, when our reason is in 
 conflict with them, which inspire us with im- 
 movable constancy, and deliver us up among 
 our fellows to perpétuai conflicts with others 
 and with ourselves." Bernardin de Saint- Pierre 
 knew of thèse struggles with instinct by his 
 own expérience. Thanks to them he was so 
 fortunate as to succeed in nothing for twelve 
 years, and to be în the end obliged to abandon 
 himself in despair to those "secret inward 
 impulses," which predestined hîm to take up the 
 pen. But prudent people hâve never forgiven 
 him for his inability to settle down, and they hâve 
 suggested that his conduct was détestable. 
 
 He entered the army with the greatest ease, 
 
 * Harmonies of Nature^ book v . 
 
Youth — Years of Travel, 15 
 
 owing, as it happened, to a misunderstanding. 
 They were just in the middle of the Seven Years' 
 War, and a great personage to whom Bernardin 
 had applied, mistook him for somebody else 
 and without any further investigation gave him 
 a commission in the Engineers. He went 
 through the campaign of 1760, fell out with 
 his superior officers, and vvas dismissed. On 
 his return to France, having been to see his 
 father, his stepmother made him feel that he 
 was not wanted, and he returned to Paris as 
 destitute and lonely as it is possible to be. 
 Youth takes thèse things to heart, and by reason 
 of them bears a grudge against the vvorld and 
 life. 
 
 The following year he succeeded in being 
 sent to Malta ; quarrelled with his superiors and 
 with his comrades, and was shelved. From his 
 return from Malta we may date the first of the 
 innumerable memorials he wrote upon ail 
 subjects — administrative, political, commercial, 
 military, moral, scientifîc, educational, philan- 
 thropie, and utopian — with which he never 
 ceased from that time to overwhelm the min- 
 isters and their offices, his friends and protectors ; 
 in fact, the whole universe, and which made 
 many people look upon him as a plague. One 
 cannot with impunity undertake to be a reformer 
 and to make the happiness of the human race 
 
i6 Bernardin de St. Pie^-re. 
 
 Bernardin was eager to point out to men ir^ 
 office the mistakes and faults in their ad- 
 ministration, and to suggest innovations in the 
 înterests of the public good, and he was 
 unaffectedly astonished at their ingratitude. 
 He claimed recompense for his good advice^ 
 and received no answer ; he insisted, got angry, 
 and ended by exasperating the most kindly 
 disposed, even his old friend Hennin, Chief 
 Clerk in the Foreign Office, who was obh'ged 
 to Write to hîm one day : " You deceive your- 
 self sir, the King owes you nothing, because 
 you hâve not acted by his orders. Your 
 memorials, however useful they may be, do not 
 in the least entitle you to ask favours from the 
 King as a matter of right." Such lessons, only 
 too well deserved, irritated the simple-minded 
 petitioner, who had struck out the forgiveness 
 of injuries from amongst the duties of philan- 
 thropy. " I hâve always needed the courage," 
 he said, "to forgive an insuit, do what I will 
 the scar remains, unless the occasion arises for 
 returning good for evil ; for any one under an 
 obligation to me is as sacred in my sight as 
 a benefactor." In the midst of his self-torment 
 he began again, and his afifairs went from bad to- 
 worse. 
 
 Meanwhile he had to live. In the ministry 
 they gave him no hope whatever of being 
 
Youth — Years of Travel. ly 
 
 restored to his rank. He had written to alî 
 his relations to ask for help, and had received 
 nothing but refusais. He had given lessons in 
 mathematics and lost his pupils. The baker 
 refused to give him crédit any longer, and his 
 landlady threatened to turn him out of doors. 
 There was no other resource left to him but 
 to found his kingdom, which, upon reflection, he 
 had converted into a republic. It was to this 
 that he devoted himself without further delay. 
 
 He no longer thought it essential that it 
 should be an island ; any désert would suffice, 
 provided it had a fertile soil and a good climate. 
 He fixed his choice upon the shores of the Sea 
 of Aral, and at once set about his préparations 
 for departure ; which consisted in taking his 
 books to the second-hand bookseller, and his 
 clothes to the old-clothes man, and in borrow- 
 ing right and left a few crowns. He thus 
 scraped together a few sovereigns, and took 
 the diligence to Brussels, whence he counted 
 on reaching Russia and the Sea of Aral. Why 
 Russia ? Why the Sea of Aral ? He has given 
 his reasons in a pamphlet, in which he goes back 
 to the Scythian migration, to Odin and Cornélius 
 Nepos, and which explains nothing, unless it îs 
 that Bernardin de Saint-Pierre became almost 
 a visionary when his hobby was in question. 
 Hère are the reasons which he gives for his 
 
 3 
 
i8 Bernardin de St. Pierre. 
 
 choice : " If therc were some place upon earth, 
 undcr a bright sky, where one could find at one 
 and thc same time, honour, riches, and society, 
 ail due to the securîty of possession, that place 
 would soon be fiUed vvith inhabitants. This 
 Jiappy coiiiitry is to be foiuid on the east coast of 
 the Caspian Sea ; but the Tartars who inhabit 
 it hâve only made of it a désert." That is ail. 
 On the other hand, a note at the bottom of the 
 page shows us where the future legislator had 
 sought his models, reserving to himself the 
 liberty to improve upon them. " The English 
 peopled Pennsylvania with no other invitation 
 than this : He zuho shall Jiere plant a tree sJiall 
 gatJier the fruits tJiereof. That is the whole spirit 
 of the law^ This notewas the reply to a famous 
 apostrophe in the Discours sitr rinégalité of 
 J. J. Rousseau. 
 
 " The first man who, havîng enclosed a terri- 
 tory, ventured to say this is mine, and who 
 found people simple enough to believe him, was 
 the real founder of civil society. How many 
 crimes, wars, murders, miseries and horrors, 
 would he not hâve spared the human race 
 who should hâve pulled up the stakes, filled 
 in the ditch, and cried to his fellows, ' Beware 
 of listening to this impostor ; you are lost if 
 y ou forget that tJie fruits of the earth are for 
 ally and that the earth belongs to no man' " 
 
Yoîtth — Years of TraveL 19 
 
 One mîght point out other disagreements 
 between the Discours sur Vinégalité and the 
 pamphlet upon the colony of the Sea of Aral, 
 but they ail bear upon questions of détail. Jean 
 Jacques and Bernardin agrée at bottom as to 
 the end to aim at and the path to foUow. Young 
 Saint-Pierre vvas already and for ever a disciple 
 of Rousseau. He steeped himself in his phil- 
 osophy, in anticipation of the day when he was 
 to corne to him for lessons in sentiment. Master 
 and pupil both believed that our ills come from 
 Society. Nature arranged everything for our 
 happiness, and man was good ; if we are wicked 
 and unhappy the fault is in ourselves, who hâve 
 provoked the evil by disregarding her laws. 
 One can easily see the conséquences of thèse 
 misanthropical views. As we hâve been the 
 authors of our own unhappiness and know where 
 we hâve been mistaken, there is certainly a 
 remedy. It rests with us to overcome most 
 of our sufferings by reforming society, and 
 changing our laws and our morality. Humanity 
 only needs a clear-sighted and courageous guide, 
 who would dare to fling in its face its follies and ' 
 cruelties — who would bring it back into the 
 right path. Rousseau was this guide in words 
 and on paper Saint-Pierre wished to become 
 the same in deed and in fact. He purposed to / 
 put into practice what his century was dreaming 
 
20 Derna7'din de St. Pierre. 
 
 of, and that is vvhy he set out one fine night 
 for a fabulous country. One may maintain that 
 he could hâve found other and more uscful ways 
 of employing his timc, but, at least, his way 
 vvas not commonplace or egotistical. 
 
 He travelled as an apostle, solely occupied 
 with his mission, trusting to Providence to bring 
 him with his 150 francs to the feet of Peter III. ; 
 for it was from the Empcror of Russia that he 
 mcant to ask help and protection to found his 
 idéal repubh'c, by which should be demonstrated 
 the vast inferiority of monarchies. He never 
 doubted but that the Czar would share his zeal, 
 then why disturb himself about the means of 
 accomplishing his design ? Had he not in old 
 times travelled with brother Paul without money 
 and without thought for the morrow ? Had he 
 come to any harm from it ? What people gave 
 to the mendicant friar for the love of God, they 
 would give to him for the love of humanity. 
 And so it turned out. He arrived in Russia 
 after having spent his last crown at the Hague. 
 His journey had been a perpétuai miracle. One 
 lent him money, another lodged him, a third 
 introduced him to others because of his good 
 looks. At Amsterdam they even offered him a 
 situation and a wife, which he did not think it 
 right to accept because of his republic. He felt 
 that he owed a duty to his people. 
 
Youth — Years of Travel. 21 
 
 He landed at St. Petersburg with six francs 
 in his pocket, and the miracle continued. He 
 did not dîne every day, thank heaven ! or the 
 romance would hâve had no further interest. 
 But on the eve of dying of hunger he always 
 encountered some generous person who, like his 
 godmother, thought him interesting. He must 
 indeed hâve been charming, this fine young 
 fellow, full of fire and good faith, starting out 
 from his garret to regenerate the world. So 
 much so indeed that, passed on from one to 
 another, from introduction to introduction, he 
 arrived at last in the train of a gênerai at 
 Moscow, where the court then was, received a 
 commission as sub-lieutenant of Engineers, and 
 replaced the clothes sold to the old-clothes man 
 in Paris by a brilliant uniform. When his new 
 friends saw him in his scarlet coat with black 
 facings, his fawn-coloured waistcoat, his white 
 silk stockings, his beautiful plume, and his 
 glittering sword, they foretold a great fortune 
 for him. One of them called him cousin ^ and 
 offered to présent him to the Empress Catherine, 
 whom the Révolution of 1762 had just placed 
 upon the throne. Bernardin de Saint-Pierre 
 was transported with joy at this proposai. It 
 was only four months since he had quitted 
 France, and he already neared his goal. Provi- 
 dence evidently watched over his republic. 
 
2 2 Bernardiyi de St. Pierre. 
 
 VVhat remaîned for him to do appeared mère 
 child's play after what he had accomplished. 
 His pamphlet upon his projected colony was 
 ready — it was the same from which vve hâve 
 quoted somc fragments above — and it was not 
 too ill-conceivcd. In it the author spoke little 
 of the happincss of peoples, and much of the 
 utility to Russia of securing a route to the 
 Indies. The settlement which he proposed to 
 found on the Sea of Aral lost under his pen its 
 doubtful character as a philosophical and 
 humanitarian enterprise, to take on the inno- 
 cent aspect of a military colony intended to 
 keep the Tartars in check, and to serve as an 
 emporium for merchandise from India. In fact 
 he thought he ought to support it with a speech, 
 which he composed, his Plutarch in his hand, 
 and in which he celebrated "the happiness of 
 kings who establish republics." But this 
 speech had no unpleasant conséquences as we 
 shall see presently. 
 
 On the day appointed for the audience he put 
 his pamphlet in his pocket, glanced over his 
 speech, and followed his guide to the palace. 
 They entered a magnifîcent gallery, full of great 
 nobles glittering with gold and precious stones, 
 who inspired our young enthusiast on the spot 
 with keen répugnance. There they were those 
 vile slaves of monarchy, whose lying tongues 
 
Yo2itk — Years of TraveL 25 
 
 knevv no other language than that of flattery ! 
 What would be their surprise, what their attitude,, 
 on hearing a free man speak boldly of freedom 
 to their sovereign ? Ail at once the door vvas 
 thrown open with a loud noise, the Empress 
 appeared, every one was silent and remained 
 motionless. The grand master of the céré- 
 monies presented M. de Saint-Pierre, who kissed 
 her hand, and forgot his pamphlet, his speech 
 imitated from Plutarch, his republic, ail man- 
 kind, and only remembered how to reply 
 gallantly to the great lady who deigned to 
 smile upon his youth and his beautiful blue 
 eyes. 
 
 And thus was buried for ever the project of 
 a colony by the Sea of Aral. The author took 
 it the next morning to the favourite of the day, 
 Prince Orloff, and explained its advantages to 
 him without being able to inspire him with the 
 least interest. The Prince indeed seemed 
 relieved when they came to tell him that the 
 Empress was asking for him. " He waited upon 
 her at once in his slippers and dressing-gown, 
 and left M. de Saint-Pierre profoundly distressed 
 and in a mood towritea satire against favourites.''^: 
 He returned, intensely discomfited, to his room 
 at the inn, and took up the éducation of his man- 
 servant while awaiting another opportunity of 
 * Aimé Martin. 
 
24 Bernardin de St. Pierre. 
 
 founding his idcal republîc. His servant was a 
 poor devil of a moujik, who had been kidnapped 
 from his family and made a soldier, and who would 
 sing, with tears in his eyes, sweet and melancholy 
 folk songs. He would put his master's shoes 
 into a bucket of water to clean them, only taking 
 them out when they were wanted. Bernardin 
 de Saint-Pierre, having taught him how to brush 
 a coat, he was ready to throw himself at his feet 
 and adore him as a superior being. 
 
 Meanwhile his master remained inconsolable 
 at having by his own fault failed to accomplish 
 the happiness of mankind. Russia had lost its 
 attraction, he now only saw in it matter for dis- 
 gust and anger, and he was angry with himself 
 for having come so far simply to contemplate 
 " slaves " and " victims." His profession bored 
 him. He had addressed to the Russian govern- 
 ment several memorials upon the military posi- 
 tion and means of defence of Finland, whither 
 his duties as officer of Engineers had called him, 
 and his labours had met with no better fortune 
 there than in France ; nobody paid any atten- 
 tion to it. Anger grew upon him, then bitter- 
 ness, and he seized upon the first pretext to send 
 in his résignation, and cross the frontier in order 
 to seek elsewhere a " land of liberty " where the 
 antique virtues still lived. A happy inspiration 
 induced him with this idea to follow the road 
 
YotUh — Years of Travel. 25 
 
 through Poland where the people were at that 
 time the most oppressed and most misérable in 
 Europe. At sight of Warsaw " he felt in his 
 heart ail the virtues of a republican hero." 
 
 They did not remain with him long, other and 
 more tender interests were soon to replace them. 
 Warsaw is the scène of the romance of his youth, 
 the adventure that his imagination as time went 
 on turned into a devouring passion, which he 
 ended in believing in himself, and which his 
 bîographers hâve related sometimes with virtuous 
 indignation, accusing him of having lived for 
 more than a year at the expense of a woman, 
 sometimes with the respect due to great suffer- 
 îngs and unmerited misfortunes. Unhappily or 
 happily, some letters of his, published for the 
 first time thirty years ago, ^ show him to hâve 
 been at once less culpable and less worthy of 
 compassion. Thèse letters are addressed to a 
 friend in Russia, M. Duval, a Genevese merchant 
 established at ^t. Petersburg. In them Saint- 
 Pierre speaks of his love affairs with the indiscré- 
 tion of youth and the vanity of a bourgeois 
 anxious to announce to the world that he has 
 made a conquest of a princess. It is amusing 
 to compare this sincère report, confirmed by the 
 Correspondence published in his complète works,^ 
 
 * In the appendix to vol. vi. of the Causeries du lundi. 
 ^ Three vols, in 8vo., edited by Aimé Martin, Paris, 
 1826, Ladvocat. 
 
26 Bernardin de St. Pier^^e. 
 
 with the officiai story no less sîncere, which the 
 hero of the adventure likcd to circulate in his 
 old âge. 
 
 He arrivcd at VVarsaw on the i/th of June, 
 1764, and was at once received into the houses 
 of several of the nobility. Some weeks passed 
 in festivities, which gave him more just views 
 upon the subject of PoHsh austerity, and the 
 antique virtues of the country, and he very soon 
 wished to leave. On the 28th of July he wrote 
 to his friend Hennin : " You think my position 
 hère agreeable, so it appears from afar, but if 
 you only knew how empty is the world in which 
 I wander ; if you knew how much thèse dances 
 and grand repasts stupefy without amusing me ! " 
 He then begs M. Hennin to use his interest for 
 him at Versailles, and to obtain for him a mission 
 to Turkey, " the finest country in the world as he 
 has been told." 
 
 On the 20th of August there is another letter 
 to M. Hennin, in which he shows that he is 
 more and more impatient to leave Poland : " If 
 nothing keeps me hère I shall leave in the 
 beginning of the month of September for . . . 
 Vienna, for I am tired of so much idleness, of 
 which the least evil is that I am growing accus- 
 tomed to an indolent life." This is certainly not 
 the language of a man desperatcly in love, 
 whose hcart would be broken if one tore him 
 
Youtk — Years of Travel. 27' 
 
 away from the spot where his divinity breathed. 
 But if we believe the legend, that was, however,. 
 the moment in which Bernardin de Saint-Pierre 
 surpassed the passion of Saint-Preux, and lived 
 the life of The Modem Heloïse^ because it was 
 his fate to realise ail that Rousseau had been 
 content to write about, as well in his romances 
 as in his plans of social reform. This is briefly 
 what the legend tells us. 
 
 Among the persons who had thrown open 
 their doors to him at Warsaw, was a young 
 princess named Marie Miesnik, remarkable for 
 "her love of virtue." We see that this is 
 exactly the starting-point of The Modem Heloïsey. 
 a plebeian falls in love with a patrician. " From 
 the first day," says Aimé Martin, " M. de Saint- 
 Pierre felt the double ascendancy of her genius 
 and her beauty, and she became at once the sole 
 thought of his life." On her side the Julia of 
 Poland did not remain insensible. We pass 
 over the émotions which filled and lacerated 
 their soûls to the day blessed and fatal, when 
 overtaken by a storm in a lonely forest, they re- 
 peated the scène of the groves of Clarens, adding 
 thereto recollections of Dido's grotto. " She 
 gave herself up like Julia, and he was delirious 
 with joy like Saint-Preux," continues Aimé 
 Martin, whose phrase proves how much the 
 resemblance with The Modem Heloïse was part 
 
28 Bernardin de St, Pierre. 
 
 of the tradition. Long intoxication follovved 
 thèse first raptures. More tJian a year passcd in 
 forgetfulncss of îJic ivJiole ivorld, but Princess 
 Marie's family began, like Julia's, to be irritated 
 with the insolence of this plebeian who dared to 
 make love to a Miesnik, and the end of it was an 
 order to départ, given by the lady to her lover, 
 like Rousseau again, and which was obeyed with 
 the same passionate lamentations. 
 
 That is what time and a little good-will 
 made of the adventure of Warsaw. Now for 
 history. 
 
 We hâve seen just now that nothing bound 
 Bernardin de Saint-Pierre to Warsaw on the 
 20th of August, 1764. Fifteen days after, the 
 5th of September, he writes to M. Duval at St. 
 Petersburg : " I must tell you, my dear friend, 
 for I hide nothing from you, that I hâve formed 
 an attachment hère which almost deserves to be 
 called a passion. It has had a good effect in 
 that it has cured me of my humours. Love is 
 therefore a good remedy to recommend to you, 
 above ail, love gratified. I hâve had such a 
 pleasant expérience of it, that I impart it to you 
 as an infallible secret, which will be as useful 
 to you as to me. My hypochondria is almost 
 cured. 
 
 " I might flatter my self-love by naming to 
 you the object of my passion, but you know I 
 
Youth — Years of Travel. 29 
 
 hâve more delicacy than vanity. I hâve then 
 found ail that could attach me, grâces without 
 number, wit enough, and reciprocal affection. 
 
 " Another time you shall know more, but be 
 persuaded that with me love does no wrong ta 
 friendship." 
 
 We are a long way from the genius, the in- 
 toxicating beauty, the unheard-of delights. A 
 young man, full of worries, finds distraction and 
 amuses himself with a lovely young lady wha 
 has " enough wit," and who is not unkind to 
 him. He is really in love with her, but in a 
 quite reasonable manner, for he writes the same 
 day to Hennin, then at Vienna, that the approacb 
 of the bad weather obliges him to make up his 
 mind, and that he will delay no longer in leaving 
 Warsaw. In fact, on the 26th of September he 
 announces his departure to Duval in a letter of 
 which I give the essential passages : 
 
 " My very worthy friend, the offers which you 
 make me, the interest which you take in me,, 
 your tender attentions, are in my heart subjects 
 of everlasting attachment. I do not know what 
 Heaven has in store for me, but it has never 
 before poured so much joy into my soûl. It was 
 something to hâve given me a friend, love has 
 left me nothing further to désire ; it is into your 
 bosom that I pour eut my happiness. 
 
 " I will not give you the name of the person 
 
30 ^Bernardin de St. Pierre, 
 
 who after you holds the first place in my hcart. 
 Her rank is high above mine, lier beauty not 
 extraordinary, but her grâces and her wit merit 
 ail the homage which I was not able to deny to 
 them. I hâve received help from her which 
 prevents me from actually accepting your ofifers. 
 It was pressed upon me so tenderly, that I 
 could not help giving it the préférence. I beg 
 you to forgive me for it. I hâve accepted 
 from her about the value of the sum you offered 
 me. . . . 
 
 ..." I am spending part of the night in 
 writing to you. I start to-morrow, and my 
 trunks are not yet ready." 
 
 One is sorry to learn that he had accepted 
 money from his Princess. His excuse, if there 
 were one for that sort of thing, will be found in 
 the letter of The Modem Heloïse, where Julia 
 persuades her lover, by means of éloquent invec- 
 tive, to receive money for a journey. " So I 
 offend your honour for which I would a thou- 
 sand times give my life ? I offend thine honour, 
 ungrateful one ! who hast found me ready to 
 abandon mine to thee. Where is then this honour 
 which I offend, tell me, grovelling heart, soûl 
 without delicacy ! Ah ! how contemptible art 
 thou if thou hast but one honour of which Julia 
 does not know," &c. Saint-Preux had submitted 
 lo this torrent. Bernardin de Saint-Pierre imi- 
 
Yottth — Years of Travel. 31 
 
 tated his model in this also. See where literary 
 loves lead one. 
 
 He left Warsaw on the 27th of September, 
 after remaining there three months and some 
 days. Three months in which to meet, to love, 
 to part, was really the least one could allow. 
 Certainly there was an épilogue, but how tran- 
 sitory ! 
 
 He had gone to rejoin M. Hennin at Vienna, 
 where he received a letter from the Princess 
 M., who had thought proper to depict for hîm 
 the sufferings of absence. With his ordinary 
 ingenuousness he took her at her word, got into 
 a carriage, returned to Warsaw unannounced, 
 arrived in the midst of a réception, was received 
 with fiery glances and insulting words, would 
 take no déniai, and after the departure of the 
 guests, wrested his pardon then and there. The 
 next day when he awoke, they gave him the 
 following note : 
 
 " Your passion is a fury which I can no longer 
 endure. Return to your sensés. Think of your 
 position and your duties. I am just starting, I 
 am going to rejoin my mother in the Palatinate 
 of X. î shall not return until I hear that you 
 are no longer hère, and you will receive no letters 
 from me until such time as I can address them 
 to you to France. Marie M — ." 
 She had in fact departed. Bernardin de 
 
32 Be7'7iardin de St, Pie^^re. 
 
 Saint-Pierre fclt outraged, and never saw her 
 again. 
 
 He returned to his vagrant excursions through 
 Dresden, Berlin, and Paris, to Havre, where he 
 found only his old nurse. His father was dead, 
 his sister in a convent, his brothers far away. 
 " Ah ! sir," said the good woman, upsetting her 
 spinning-wheel in her émotion, " the times are 
 indeed changed. There is no one hère to receive 
 you but me!" She invited him to dine in her 
 bare lodging, beside her bed of straw, and served 
 up an omelet and a pitcher of cider. Then she 
 opened her trunk, and took out a chipped glass, 
 which she placed gently beside her guest, saying, 
 " It was your mother's." They wept together,. 
 and then they talked over the news of the coun- 
 try, of Brother Paul, who was dead, of those who 
 had left the town, of those who had made their 
 fortunes. They spoke also of Russia, of what 
 they drank there, and of the priée they paid for 
 bread. Above ail things they talked of the 
 happy times when old Marie used to do up the 
 children's hair in starched curl-papers, admired 
 their nonsense, and with her own money bought 
 the class books lost by Bernardin, so as to save 
 him from a scolding. They wept together again, 
 kissed each other, and the young adventurer 
 set out once more, less discontented with 
 humanity than usual. He was also less satisfied 
 
Youth — Years of Travel. 33 
 
 with himself, after the lesson of résignation 
 which he had received from this poor old 
 woman, who lived upon three pence a day, and 
 praised God for taking care of her. 
 
 Returned to Paris he again overwhelmed the 
 mînisters of the king, Louis XV., with memorials 
 which no one wanted, with complaints and péti- 
 tions. He continued to invent schemes on ail 
 sorts of subjects, and to cover scraps of paper 
 with a thousand scattered ideas. M. Hennin, 
 clearly discerning where his talent lay, persuaded 
 him to Write his travels, but the time was not yet 
 corne, and the fragments of this date which hâve 
 been preserved to us, contain nothing but infor- 
 mation upon political, commercial, and agricul- 
 tural subjects. Bernardin de Saint-Pierre himself 
 felt that it was too soon. Announcing one day 
 to Hennin that he had conceived a new idea 
 about the movement of the earth, he added : 
 
 "You can see by that, that I grapple with 
 everything, and that I leave floating hère and 
 there threads, like the spider, until I can weave 
 my web. . . . 
 
 " Give me time to lick my cub. Time, which 
 ripens my intellect, will make the fruits thereof 
 more worthy of you " (Letter of the gth of July, 
 1767). 
 
 He had a sort of instinct that ail those 
 Northern scènes which he had passed through 
 
 4 
 
34 Bernardin de St. Pieri'e. 
 
 vvere of no use to him. He tried to find 
 employment in the countries of the sun — in the 
 East or West Indies — without knowing himself 
 why there more than anywhere else. It was 
 the exotic that sought him, and it came to him 
 in a most unexpected manner in the autumn of 
 1767. 
 
 It is hardly necessary to say that whoever 
 knew him, knevv his project of an idéal republic 
 To whom had he not mentioned it ? He had 
 never ceased to believe in it — to be sure that 
 people would come to it, one day or another ; 
 but his ill-luck at Moscow had made his belief 
 less confident and less active. He resigned 
 himself to await until Humanity should call 
 upon him to help it. Great then was his joy 
 when one of his patrons announced to him in 
 confidence one fine day that the French govem- 
 ment, converted to his ideas, was going to send 
 him to Madagascar, under the command of a 
 certain person from the Isle of France, to found 
 the colony of his dreams, and to attach the 
 island to France by " the power of wisdom " and 
 "the example of happiness." There was cer- 
 tainly some surprise mixed with his delight, but 
 not sufficient to make him ask himself whether 
 his protector wished merely to get rid of him, 
 or for what reason an expédition entrusted 
 solely to himself had for leader a planter from 
 
Yotith — Years of TraveL 35 
 
 the Isle of France. He only thought of his 
 préparations for his great enterprise. 
 
 His first care was to re-read Plato and 
 Plutarch, and to détermine the législation of his 
 colony. He remaîned faithful to his first idea 
 of a State entirely free, under the control com- 
 pletely absolute, arbitrary, and irresponsible, of 
 M. de Saint-Pierre. Some one, of course, would 
 hâve to compel the people to be " subject only 
 to virtue." That was the System put in force 
 later by the Jacobins. 
 
 He next drew out the plan of his chief town^ 
 and employed the small inheritance which came 
 to him from his father, in buying scientific 
 instruments and works upon politics, the navy, 
 and natural history. The expédition was to 
 embark at Lorient. He hastened to rejoin it, 
 and was at first disappointed with its composi- 
 tion, for instead of artisans and agriculturalists, 
 the Commander-in-chief had collected secre- 
 taries, valets, cooks, and a small troupe of 
 comedians of both sexes. However, Saint- 
 Pierre took heart at once on learning that the 
 Commander-in-chief had amongst his luggage 
 ail the volumes that had yet appeared of the 
 Encyclopœdia, He was, therefore, in spite of 
 ail, "a true philosopher," and things were 
 pretty evenly balanced. The Encyclopœdia 
 took the place of the artisans, and made the 
 
36 Bernardin de St. Pierre, 
 
 actresses pass muster. Take note that Ber- 
 nardin de Saint-Pierre always reproached his 
 contemporaries, especially the encyclopaedists, 
 vvith being mère visionaries, destitute of prac- 
 tical sensé. He flattered himself that he was 
 the practical man in this world of Utopians, but 
 at the same time he looked upon their work as 
 a sort of supernatural book. Such is the power 
 of opinion. 
 
 The expédition set sail under the most pro- 
 mising auspices, but once on the open sea, the 
 Commander wished to bring Bernardin de 
 Saint-Pierre to a more reasonable vievv of the 
 situation, and explained to him that he had 
 never had any other design than to sell his sub- 
 jects. I leave to the imagination the effects of 
 this thunderclap. They were taking him to join 
 them in the slave trade of the people of Mada- 
 gascar ! The horror of such a thought increasing 
 the shame of having been duped voyage, com- 
 panions, projects for the future, and the very 
 name of Madagascar, ail became odious to him 
 on the spot. His ship touched at the Isle of 
 France. He hastened to disembark, took a 
 situation as engineer, and left his Commander to 
 go on alone to Madagascar, where, it may be 
 remarked by the way, the expédition perished 
 of fever. For himself, discouraged and justly 
 embittered, he lived in a lonely little cottage 
 
YotUh — Years of TraveL 37 
 
 from which he could see nothing but the sea, 
 arid plains, and forests. Seated in front of his 
 one window, he spent long hours in letting his 
 gaze wander aimlessly. Or, perhaps, a melan- 
 choly pedestrian, he wandered about on the 
 shore, in the mountains, in the depths of those 
 tropical forests which we picture to ourselves 
 as so beautiful, and which he found so sad, 
 because nothing there recalled to him the 
 pleasant scènes of his own country, and because 
 he saw the Isle of France under such gloomy 
 auspices. 
 
 " There is not a flower," he wrote, " in the 
 meadows, which, moreover, are strewn with 
 stones, and full of a herb as tough as hemp ; no 
 flowering plant with a pleasant scent. Among 
 ail the shrubs not one worth our hawthorn. 
 The wild vines hâve none of the charms of 
 honeysuckle or ground ivy. There are no 
 violets in the woods, and as to the trees, they 
 are great trunks, grey and bare, with a small 
 tuft of leaves of a dull green. Thèse wild 
 régions hâve never rejoiced in the songs of birds 
 or the loves of any peaceable animal. Some- 
 times one's ear is offended by the shrieks of the 
 parroquet, or the strident cries of the mis- 
 chievous monkey." ^ 
 
 His melancholy lasted throughout his stay 
 
 * Voyage to the Isle of France. 
 
38 Bernardin de St, Pierre. 
 
 and vvas good for him : ** One enjoys agreeable 
 things," he said afterwards, " and the sad ones 
 make one reflect." That was the lesson which 
 the Isle of France had given to him. He had 
 been there much throvvn back upon himself, and 
 he had gained at last a glimpse of the right 
 road. Instead of continuing to cram his notes 
 ■of travel with technical détails, good at most to 
 adorn his memorials to the ministers, he had set 
 himself to note down vvhat he observed from his 
 window, or during his vvalks. He made a note of 
 the lines and forms of the landscape, of its gêne- 
 rai appearance, the formation of the ground, the 
 structure of the rocks, the outlines of the trees 
 and plants. He observed their colours, their 
 most subtle shades, their variations according to 
 the weather or time of day, their smallest 
 détails, such as the red fissure on a grey stone, 
 or the white underside of a green leaf. He 
 notes the sounds of his solitude, the particular 
 Sound of the wind on a certain day in a certain 
 place, the murmur belonging to each kind of 
 tree, the rhythm of a flight of birds, the imper- 
 ceptible rustling of a leaf moved by an insect. 
 He noted the movements of inanimate nature, 
 the vvaving of the grass, the parts of a circle 
 described by the force of the wind in the tree 
 tops, the svvaying of a leaf upon which a 
 bird had perched itself, the flowing of the 
 
Youtk — Years of TraveL 39 
 
 streams, the tossing of the sea, the pace of the 
 clouds.ï 
 
 Sometimes he drew, and his sketches were 
 only another form of notes. During the 
 Crossing, while full of acute sorrow, he had 
 drawn numberless clouds. He studied their 
 forms, their colour, their foreground and back- 
 ground, their combinations, by themselves or 
 with the sea, the play of light upon them, with 
 the attention and conscientiousness of a painter 
 of to-day, exacting in the matter of truth. 
 
 This rage for taking notes seems a simple 
 thing to us now ; it is the method of to-day, but 
 it was unique and unheard of in 1769. No one, 
 in France at least, had bethought themselves of 
 thèse descriptions, for vvhich one must hâve 
 materials. Moreover, no one was then in a posi- 
 tion to note the détails of a landscape, for the 
 simple reason that no one was capable of seeing 
 them, not even Rousseau. Not that he had not 
 the same keen perception for nature that Ber- 
 nardin de Saint-Pierre had, but it struck him in 
 a somewhat différent way, as we shall see later. 
 Besides, the Confessions and the Rêveries did 
 not appear till after his death, and could not 
 hâve had any influence whatever on the birth at 
 
 ^ The papers of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre are in the posses- 
 sion of the family Aimé Martin. M. Aimé Martin had beside 
 him, when he was writing Bernardin's biography, the numerous 
 notes taken by the latter from nature. 
 
40 Bernardin de St. Pierre. 
 
 the Isle of France in 1769 of picturesque 
 literature. 
 
 It was a birth as yet obscure and seemingly 
 uncertain. This young engineer, who sketched 
 sunsets instead of making plans, did not know 
 very vvell what he would do with his " observa- 
 tions." He felt that they would not be vvasted, 
 and that they were not like other stories of 
 travel, but the definite initiation into his own 
 sphère was still wanting. 
 
 It concerns us little what Bernardin de Saint- 
 Pierre did at the Isle of France, outside his 
 dreamings, or whether he was right or wrong in 
 his quarrels, his disagreements, and his lamenta- 
 tions. It sufïices for us that he returned to Paris 
 in the month of June, 177 1, his portfolio full of 
 scraps of paper, his trunks full of shells, plants, 
 insects and birds, and what was of more value, 
 his head full of pictures. He was as poor as 
 when he set out, and still more unsociable, but 
 he was ripe for his task. " He had seen, he had 
 felt, he had suffered, he had heaped up émotions 
 and colours, he had made himself différent to 
 other men. To the vulgar crowd he had been 
 an adventurer, but he had passed through the 
 school which develops painters, poets, and men 
 of talent. That is what he had gained by his 
 long travels." ^ It is a great advantage when 
 
 ' Villemain, The Literature of the Eighteenth Century. 
 
Yottth — Years of Travel. 41 
 
 one is oneself an exceptional beîng, to hâve had 
 a youth which was not like that of everybody 
 else. An ordinary man would hâve run a great 
 chance of coming out diminished in energy, and 
 on the wrong road, from those dangerous years 
 of apprenticeship which led the author of Paul 
 and Virginia to be himself Bernardin de 
 Saint-Pierre came through them without too 
 many mishaps. His travels only made him a 
 little more original, and more misanthropie than. 
 he was in the beginning. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 Period of uncertainty — Voyage to the Isle of 
 France— AcQUAiNTANCE with J. J. Rousseau 
 — The Crisis. 
 
 HE felt about for some time longer before 
 finally taking up the pen. In vain his 
 friend Hennin urged him : "Above ail, do not 
 keep saying as you hâve done hitherto, ' I vvill 
 Write, I will publish,' write, publish, and leave it 
 to your friends to make your work a success." 
 Bernardin de Saint-Pierre hesitated : " I am 
 occupying myself," he replied, "in putting in 
 order the journal of nriy travels, not that I wish 
 to become an author, that is too distasteful a 
 career and leads to nothing, but I imitate those 
 vvho learn to draw, in order to adorn their 
 rooms " (Letter of the 29th of December, 1771). 
 He speaks to him in the same letter of getting 
 the Government to give him a mission to the 
 Indies, so that he may be able to regale the 
 ministers with a few more memorials on politics 
 or strategy. 
 
 He hesitated because he did not knovv how to 
 set to work. He thought he saw a manner of 
 
 42 
 
Period of Uncertainty, 43 
 
 describing nature for vvhich he knevv of no 
 models ; and instead of trusting to himself, he 
 appealed to his writers, who could do nothing 
 for him. In the Harmonies de la Nature, his 
 last great work, into which he put ail his frag- 
 ments, there is a rhetorical lecture upon the 
 rules of landscape painting, which bears witness 
 to the care with which he had analysed the 
 methods of Virgil. In it Saint-Pierre explains 
 to some imaginary pupils the means employed 
 by the poet to obtain the desired effect : " When 
 Virgil tells us, * The ash-tree is very beautiful 
 in the woods, the poplar on the banks of the 
 rivers,' he puts the tree in the singular and the 
 site in the plural, in order to enlarge his horizon. 
 If he had put the végétation in the plural, and 
 the sites in the singular, they would not hâve 
 had the same scope. He would hâve contracted 
 his différent scènes if he had said : ' The ash- 
 trees are very beautiful in a wood\ the poplars 
 on the bank of a rivera The lines of the picture 
 once fixed, Virgil throws the flash of light upon 
 his landscape, and it appears either sad or 
 smiling. He succeeds in enlivening it with 
 bées, swans, birds and flocks ; or in saddening 
 it by painting it desolate. A landscape is 
 always melancholy when it includes nothing but 
 the primitive forces of nature." 
 
 It is a subtle pièce of observation, but the 
 
44 Berjiardin de SL Pierre, 
 
 feeling for nature which was awakening in 
 Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, and for which he 
 was striving to find expression, was more 
 complicated than that of Virgil. Neither the 
 Eclogiies nor the Gcoj-gics taught him anything 
 about what were to be the great novelties 
 of descriptive literature. The ancients did 
 not feel this need for précise and picturesque 
 détail, which has enabled us to take the por- 
 trait of a corner of country as we do that of a 
 person, with the same minutiae, and the same 
 care about the resemblance. On the other hand, 
 they had Httle of the intuition for that mys- 
 terious correspondence between the scène and 
 the spectator, of that reciprocal action of nature 
 upon our feelings, and of our feelings upon the 
 manner in which we look upon nature that in 
 our day gives so personal an emphasis to literary 
 pictures of scenery, and can lend a tragedy ta 
 the description of a bit of meadow. The only 
 one of the Greek or Latin writers, who has 
 described the relations of our soûls with the 
 world around us, has donc it magnificently ; but 
 Bernardin de Saint-Pierre had not read him. He 
 was a Father of the Church of the fourth century, 
 Saint Gregory of Nazianzen, some of whose 
 pages make us think of Chateaubriand. 
 
 " Yesterday, tortured by my regrets, I seated 
 myself under the shade of a thick wood, eating 
 
Period of Unceiiainty, 45 
 
 my heart in solitude; for in trouble this silent 
 eommuning with one's soûl is a consolation that 
 I love. From the tree-tops where the breezc 
 murmured, and the birds were singing, gladdened 
 by the sunlight, there fell a soft influence of 
 sleep. The grasshoppers hidden in the grass 
 echoed through the wood, a clear stream softly 
 gliding through its cool glades bathed my feet ; 
 as for me, I remained pre-occupied with my 
 grief, and had no care for thèse things ; for when 
 the soûl is overwhelmed with sorrow it cannot 
 yâeld itself up to pleasure. In the tumult of 
 my troubled heart, I spoke aloud the thoughts 
 which were contending within me: 'What hâve 
 I been ? What am I ? What shall I become ? 
 I knownot. One wiser than I knows no better. 
 Lost in clouds I wander to and fro ; having 
 nothing, not even the dream of what 1 
 désire.' " ^ 
 
 One might urge that Bernardin de Saint- 
 Pierre had not read the poets of the sixteenth 
 century any more than the Fathers of the 
 Church. It was not the fashion of his day, and 
 he was not the sort of man to go and explore 
 the libraries ; he was too much occupied in 
 making discoveries in the fields. Like almostr 
 ail his contemporaries, he jumped from antiquity! 
 to the seventeenth century with only Montaigne 
 
 ^ Poeins. Translatée! by Villemain. 
 
46 Bernardin de St, Pierre. 
 
 in the interval. After Homer, Virgil, the 
 
 Gospel, and Plutarch, his intellectual sustenance 
 
 had been Racine, La Fontaine, Fénélon, and at 
 
 last coming to his contemporaries, Jean Jacques 
 
 Rousseau. In vain he questioned them upon 
 
 the idea which pursued him ; not one of them 
 
 gave him a satisfactory answer. Racine, who 
 
 they say was enchanted with the valley of Port 
 
 Royal, had had no room in his tragédies for 
 
 Word pictures. La Fontaine had more the feel- 
 
 ing for the country than for nature. Fénélon 
 
 saw the woods and the fields from the point of 
 
 view of the ancients. We hâve purposely not 
 
 mentioned Buffbn ; Bernardin did not under- 
 
 stand or appreciate him. 
 
 There remained Rousseau, who loved the 
 beauty of the universe with ail his passionate 
 heart ; but the fine descriptions of Rousseau 
 appear in his posthumous works — in the 
 Co7ifessions and the Rêveries which were pub- 
 lished, it is well to insist upon this, nine years 
 after the Voyage to the Isle of France. The 
 celebrated landscapes in La Nouvelle Heloïse^ 
 which Saint-Pierre had certainly studied, hâve 
 about them something conventional, which 
 makes them appear cold. Call to mind Saint- 
 Preux in the mountains of Valais : 
 
 " Hère immense rocks hung in ruins above 
 my head ; there high and thundering cascades 
 
Period of Uncertainty. 47 
 
 drenched me with their thick mist ; again, an 
 eternal torrent would open beside me an abyss, of 
 which my eyes did not dare to sound the depths. 
 Sometimes I lost myself in the obscurity of a 
 thick wood. Sometimes on emerging from a 
 ravine my eyes would suddenly be rejoiced by 
 a pleasant plain. An astonishing admixture of 
 wilderness and cultivation shows everywhere the 
 hand of men, where one would hâve thought 
 that they had never penetrated : beside a cavern 
 you found houses, dried vine branches, where 
 one only sought brambles, vines growing upon 
 landslips, excellent fruit upon rocks, and fields 
 in the midst of précipices." 
 
 In this bit, almost ail the adjectives are ab- 
 stract. The torrent is eternal, the meadow 
 agreeable, the fruits excellent. It is still in the 
 style of Poussin, and nothing in it foretells the 
 pictures in the manner of Corot and Théodore 
 Rousseau, which Bernardin de Saint-Pierre was 
 soon to give to us. Let us say at once, in order 
 to establish the claim of the author of Paul 
 and Virginia to the character of an innovator 
 and pioneer, that the posthumous works of 
 Jean Jacques only give us his own impressions 
 of a picture which he suggests rather than shows 
 to us. The immortal summer night of the 
 Confessions, on the road near Lyons, or the 
 walk to Ménilmontant of the Rêveries after 
 
48 Bernardin de St. Pierre. 
 
 the vintage and through the Icafless country, 
 leave in the memory recollcctions of sensations 
 rather than pictures. One recalls a breeze of 
 voluptuous warmth, a soft light of autumn ; but 
 the physiognomy of the country escapes us. 
 Bernardin de Saint-Pierre vvill be the first to 
 paint it for us accurately. Just because he is 
 much less great than his glorious predecessor, 
 we must give him his due, and insist upon his 
 originality. 
 
 Thus thrown upon his ovvn resources, and 
 -finding by great good fortune no one to imitate, 
 he decided to take up the pen, and wrote, as 
 well as he could, and with many erasures, his 
 Voyage to the Isle of France. He had suc- 
 ceeded in sufficiently clearing up his ideas to 
 know very well what he wanted to do. He had 
 two objects in view : in the first place he wished 
 to awaken a love of nature amongst the public. 
 " By dint of familiarising ourselves with the 
 arts," he says in The Voyage, " Nature be 
 cornes alien to us ; we are even so artificial 
 that we call natural objects curiosities." He 
 was shocked that the multitude who became 
 enamoured of the works of men could pass by 
 the works of God without seeing them, and he 
 boasted for his part that he preferred a vine- 
 stock to a column . . . the flight of a gnat to 
 the colonnade of the Louvre." Moreover, he 
 
Period of Uncertamty. 49 
 
 could not understand how one could separate 
 man from his surroundings, from the air which 
 he breathed, the soil which he trod upon, the 
 plants and animais which were about him. " A 
 landscape," he says in his préface, " is the back- 
 ground of the picture of human life." 
 
 The second object of his work was in his 
 eyes still more important than the first. The 
 awakening of a love of nature amongst men was- 
 not to be a simple artistic pleasure. Saint- 
 Pierre designed to make use of it to teach thèse 
 same multitudes to seek évidences of the Divinité 
 elsewhere than in books. He wished to restore 
 to the France of the philosophers the sensé of 
 the présence of God in the universe, and the 
 best way to do it seemed to him to be to draw 
 attention towards the marvels of création. Na 
 argument in his eyes was worth a day passed 
 in the fields in looking at what was about him 
 and at his feet. " Nature, " he wrote, " présents 
 such ingenious harmonies, such benevolent 
 designs ; mute scènes so expressive and little 
 noticed, that if one could présent even a feeble 
 picture of them to the most thoughtless man,. 
 he would be forced to exclaim, * There is some 
 moving spirit in ail this.' " In another place he 
 apologises himself for having written about 
 plants and animais without being a naturaliste 
 and he adds : " Natural history not being con- 
 
 5 
 
50 Bernardin de St. Pieri'c. 
 
 fined to the libraries it seemed to me that it was 
 a book wherein ail the world might read. I 
 hâve thought I could perceive the tangible 
 évidence of the existence of a Providence, and 
 I hâve spoken of it, not as a System which 
 amuses my mind but as a feeling of which my 
 heart is full." 
 
 We notice in the two last lines the avowal, as 
 yet timid and obscure, of Bernardin de Saint- 
 Pierre's favourite maxim, the key to ail his 
 schemes philosophical, scientific, political, or 
 educational. He always strove, and more and 
 more openly as he gained réputation and 
 authority, to persuade the world that feeling is 
 ever a better guide than reason in ail ques- 
 tions, and that it gives us greater certainty. 
 He himself gave an example in applying it to 
 €verything, and in particular to the truths of 
 religion. We should say truthfuUy, that he was 
 sufficiently of his day, sufficiently imbued with 
 the spirit of the encyclopaedists to believe him- 
 self already conquered if he appealed to reason 
 in favour of God. He thought it safest to 
 address himself to the feelings of the reader 
 rather than to his intelligence, in order to 
 reconcile him with a personage so little in favour. 
 
 This fine programme was unhappily very 
 indifferently realised in the Voyage to the Isle of 
 France. Bernardin had first and foremost an 
 
Pej'iod of Uncertainty, 51 
 
 immense difficulty to contend against in the 
 absence of a picturesque vocabulary. " The art 
 of depicting nature is so new," he said in the 
 course of his narrative, " that îts termînology is 
 yet uninvented. Try to describe a mountain 
 so that it shall be recognisable : when you 
 hâve spoken of the foundation, of the sides, 
 and the summit, you will hâve said everything. 
 But what variety is there in those forms 
 bulging, rounded, extended, hère flattened, there 
 hollowed, &c. ! You can find nothing but 
 paraphrases. There is the same difficulty with 
 the plains and valleys. . . . It is not astonishîng, 
 then, that travellers give such poor accounts of 
 natural objects. If they describe a country to 
 you, you will see in it tovvns, rivers, mountains ; 
 but their descriptions are as barren as a geo- 
 graphical map : Hindostan resembles Europe ; 
 there is no character in it." 
 
 There are, in fact, accounts of travels of the 
 eîghteenth century in which one might con- 
 found a landscape in the East, with one in 
 Touraine. Not only they did not see so much 
 différence as we do : they wanted words to give 
 to each its own idiosyncrasy. To Bernardin de 
 Saint-Pierre is due the honour of having begun 
 the work of enriching the language, which was 
 one of the glories of the Romantic School. 
 
 Having to some extent overcome this first 
 
52 Bernardin de St. Pierre. 
 
 difficulty, Bernardin encountered a second be- 
 fore which he succumbcd. That was his in- 
 expérience, and the timidity of a novice who 
 dares not let himself go. His narrative is dry 
 and often tiresome. There are hère and there 
 fine descriptions, written with a certain breadth 
 and musical expression, but the whole only 
 créâtes an interest bccause it is an attempt to 
 achieve something new. The picture of the 
 port at Lorient is one of the best things in it, 
 It is at the beginning and it makes one hope for 
 better things. 
 
 " A strong wind was blowing. We had 
 crossed through the tovvn without meeting any 
 one. From the walls of the citadel I could see 
 the inky horizon, the island of Grois covered 
 with mist, the open sea tossing restlessly ; in the 
 distance great ships close-reefed, and poor 
 saihng luggers in the trough of the sea ; upon 
 the shore troops of women benumbed with cold 
 and fear ; a sentinel on the top of a bastion 
 surprised at the hardihood of those poor men 
 who fish with the gulls in the midst of the 
 tempest." 
 
 There is grandeur and emphasis in this pas- 
 sage. It has character, to use Bernardin de 
 Saint-Pierre's expression ; the sea which he 
 paints for us is the rcal océan, and the océan as 
 seen from the coast of France on a stormy day. 
 
Period of Uncertainty, 53 
 
 He is no less happy in describing familiar 
 things, witness his description of the fish market. 
 ** We returned well buttoned up, very wet, and 
 holding on our hats with our hands. In passing 
 through Lorîent we saw the whole market-place 
 covered with fish ; skates white and dark- 
 coloured, others bristling with spines ; dog-fish, 
 monstrous conger-eels writhing upon the ground ; 
 large baskets full of crabs and lobsters ; heaps 
 of oysters, mussels, and scallops ; cod, soles, 
 turbot, in fine a miraculous draught like that of 
 the apostles." 
 
 The tempest at sea in the Mozambique 
 Channel is perhaps the best page in the book. 
 In order to enjoy it thoroughly, we must turn 
 first to the classical tempests before Saint- 
 Pierre's time, which are still more featureless, 
 more destitute of character, than the landscapes. 
 The following example is taken from Telemachus-, 
 " While they thus forgot the dangers of the sea 
 a sudden tempest agitated the heavens and the 
 sea. The unchained winds roared with fury in 
 the sails ; dark waves beat against the sides of 
 the vessel, which groaned under their blows. 
 Now we rose on to the summits of the swollen 
 waves ; now the sea seemed to disappear from 
 under the ship and to plunge us into the abyss." 
 When one has read one of thèse accounts one 
 has read them ail. The same terms, few in 
 
54 Bernardin de St. Piei^re. 
 
 number, serve to fashion indefinitely the same 
 images of groaning vessels which roaring winds 
 precipitate into the abyss, and it is not even 
 necessary to hâve seen the sea in order to 
 acquit oneself quite respectably : it is enough 
 if one consults the proper authors Not a word 
 of the description which we hâve been reading 
 belonged really to Fénélon. He took it in 
 its entirety from Virgil and Ovid : 
 
 . , . stridens aquilone procella 
 Vélum adversa ferit. 
 
 (Virgil, The Eiiiad.) 
 Sœpe dat ingentem fluctu latus icta fragorem. 
 
 (Ovid. The Metamorphosis.) 
 Hi summo in fluctu pendent ; his unda dehiscens 
 Terram inter fluctus aperit. 
 
 (Virgil. The Eniad.) 
 
 Now compare with this literary tempest the 
 realistic description of Saint-Pierre, taken from 
 hour to hour, minute to minute, and put down 
 in a note-book as the rolling of the vessel 
 permitted. 
 
 ** On the 23rd (June, 1768), at half-past twelve,. 
 a tremendously heavy sea stove in four Windows 
 out of five in the large saloon, although their 
 shutters were fastened with crossbars. The 
 vessel made a backward movement as if she 
 was going down by the stern. Hearing the 
 noise, I opened the door of my cabîn, which in 
 
Period of Uncertainty. 55 
 
 a moment was full of water and floating furni- 
 ture. The water escaped by the door of the 
 grand saloon as though through the sluices of a 
 mill ; upwards of tvventy hogsheads had come 
 in. The carpenters were called, a light was 
 brought, and they hastened to nail up other 
 port-holes. We were then flying along under 
 the foresail ; the wind and the sea were 
 terrible. . . . 
 
 " As the rolling of the ship prevented me from 
 sleeping, I had thrown myself into my berth in 
 my boots and dressing-gown ; my dog seemed 
 to be seized with extraordinary fear. While I 
 was amusing myself trying to calm him, I saw 
 a flash of lightning through the dim light of my 
 port-hole, and heard the noise of thunder. It 
 might hâve been about half-past three. An 
 instant later a second peal of thunder burst 
 overhead, and my dog began to tremble and 
 howl. Then came a third flash of lightning^ 
 foUowed almost immediately by a third peal of 
 thunder, and I heard some one in the forecastle 
 cry that a ship was in danger ; in fact, the noise 
 was like the roar of a cannon discharged close 
 to us ; there was no réverbération. As I smelt 
 a strong odour of sulphur, I went up on deck^ 
 where at first I felt it intensely cold. A great 
 silence reigned there, and the night was so dark 
 that I could see nothing. However, I made out 
 
56 Bernardin de St. Pierre, 
 
 dimly some one near me. I asked him what had 
 happencd ; he replied, ' They hâve just carried 
 the officer of the watch to his cabin ; he has 
 fainted, as has also the pilot. The lightning 
 struck our vessel, and our mainmast is split.' I 
 could in fact distinguish the yard of the topsail, 
 which had fallen upon the cross-trees of the 
 main-top. Above it there was neither mast nor 
 rigging, and the whole of the crew had retired 
 into the chart-room. They made a round of the 
 decks, and found that the h'ghtning had de- 
 scended the whole length of the mast. A woman 
 who had just been confined had seen a globe of 
 fire at the foot of her berth ; nevertheless, they 
 found no trace of fire. Everybody awaited with 
 impatience the end of the night. 
 
 "At daybreak I went up on deck again. In 
 the sky were some clouds, white and copper- 
 coloured. The wind blew from the west, where 
 the horizon appeared of a ruddy silver, as though 
 the sun were going to rise there ; the east was 
 entirely black. The sea rose in huge waves, 
 resembling jagged mountain ranges, formed of 
 tier upon tier of hills. On their summit were 
 great jets of spray tinted with the colours of 
 the rainbow. They rose to such a height that 
 from the quarter-deck they seemed to us higher 
 than the topmast The wind made so much 
 noise in the rigging it was impossible for us to 
 
Period of Uncertainty . 57 
 
 hear one another. We were scudding before 
 the wind under the foresail. A stump of the 
 topmast hung from the end of the mainmast, 
 which was split in eight places down to the 
 level of the deck. Five of the iron bands with 
 which it was bound had been melted away. . . .' 
 
 Hère are now some extracts from one of 
 Pierre Loti's storms. We shall thus be able to 
 estîmate the progress which descriptive litera- 
 ture has made in the last two centuries. 
 
 " The waves, still small, began to chase one 
 another and melt together ; they were at first 
 marbled with white foam, which on their crests 
 broke înto spray. Then with a kind of hiss 
 there rose a smoke : you would hâve said the 
 water was boiling or burning, and the strident 
 clamour of it ail increased from moment to 
 moment. . . . The great bank of clouds which 
 had gathered on the western horizon in the 
 shape of an island, was beginning to break up 
 from the top and the fragments were scudding 
 over the sky. It seemed to be inexhaustible ; 
 the wind drew it out, elongated it, and stretched 
 it, bringing out of it dark curtains, which it spread 
 over the clear yellow sky, now become livid, cold, 
 and dark. 
 
 " And ail the while it grew stronger and 
 stronger, this mighty breath which made ail 
 things to tremble. 
 
58 Ber7ia7'din de St. Pierre. 
 
 " The ship, the Marie, prépares for bad 
 weather, and begins to fly to leeward. 
 
 " Overhead it had become quite dark, a dead 
 vault that seemed as if it would crush you — with 
 a fevv spots of a yet blackcr blackness, which 
 were spread over it in formless patches. It 
 seemed almost like a motionless dôme, and you 
 had to look closely to see that it was in the full 
 whirl of movement. Great sheets of grey cloud 
 hurrying by and unceasingly replaced by others, 
 rose from the bottom of the horizon, like gloomy 
 curtains unrolling from an endless coil. 
 
 " The Marie fled faster and faster before the 
 storm, and the storm fled after her as if from 
 some mysterious terror. Everything — the wind, 
 the sea, the ship, the clouds — was seized with the 
 same panic of flight and speed towards the same 
 point. And ail this passion of movement grew 
 greater, under an ever-darkening sky, in the 
 midst of ever-increasing din. 
 
 " From everything arose a Titanic clamour, 
 like the prélude of an apocalypse foreboding 
 the horror of a world's catastrophe. Amidst it 
 you could distinguish thousands of voices ; those 
 above were shrill or deep, and seemed far off 
 because they were so mighty ; that was the 
 wind, the great soûl of this confusion, the in- 
 visible power that dominated it ail. It filled 
 one with fear, but there were other sounds 
 
Period of Uncertainty. 59 
 
 nearer, more material, more ominous of des- 
 truction, which came from the vvrithen water^ 
 that hissed as it were upon embers." ^ 
 
 After the pages which we hâve just read there 
 is nothing more in the way of progress possible.. 
 The only thing to be done would be to return 
 to the great simplicity of Homer, Lucretius, and 
 Virgil, to obtain the same émotions in two or 
 three lines. 
 
 Bernardin de Saint-Pierre's style is bald 
 beside that of Pierre Loti ; it requires an effort 
 to return to it. The arrivai at Port Louis of the 
 ship, disabled, and filled with scurvy-smitten 
 people, is, however, strikîng in its simplicity. 
 " Just imagine this riven mainmast, this ship 
 with her flag of distress, firing guns every 
 minute ; a few sailors, looking like spectres^ 
 seated on the deck ; the open hatches, whence 
 rose a poisonous vapour ; the 'tween-decks full 
 of dying people, the deck covered with invalida 
 exposed to the heat of the sun, and who died 
 whilst speaking to one. I shall never forget a 
 young man of eighteen, to whom the evenîng 
 before I had promised a little lemonade. I 
 sought him on the deck amongst the others ; 
 they pointed him out to me lying on a plank ; 
 he had died during the night" 
 
 The passages in which the thought and the 
 
 ' Pécheur d'Islande. 
 
6o Bernardin de St, Pierre, 
 
 expression are thus wedded are unfortunately 
 rare in the Voyage to tJie Isle of France. In 
 gênerai, the writer does not yet understand hovv 
 to make the best use of his sketches and notes ; 
 and he did not hesitate later on to go over his 
 first sketches and develop them. This makes it 
 very convenient for following his progress in the 
 -difficult art vvhich he was creating. One can 
 judge of it in his account of a sunset at sea in 
 the tropics, which he re-\vrote for the Études de 
 la Nature. Hère îs the sketch as it appeared in 
 the Voyage to the Isle of France : 
 
 " Oneevening the clouds gathered towardsthe 
 west in the form of a vast net, resembling in 
 texture vvhite silk. As the sun passed behind 
 it each strand appeared in relief surrounded 
 with a circle of gold. The gold gradually 
 •dissolved into flame-colour and crimson tints, 
 and low on the horizon appeared pale tones of 
 purple. green, and azuré. 
 
 " Often in the sky there are formed ,land- 
 scapes of singular variety, where you can find 
 the most fantastic shapes, promontories, steep 
 declivities, towers, and hamlets, over which the 
 light throws in succession ail sorts of prismatic 
 colours." 
 
 This is but a summary account of the scène, 
 a sort of table of contents of the state of the sky 
 on a certain evening. The second description 
 
Period of Uncertaiiity, 6i 
 
 is almost too excessive, and contains too much. 
 imagery and too many colours. 
 
 " Sometimes the winds roll up the clouds as- 
 though they were strands of silk ; then they 
 drive them to the west, crossing them over one 
 another like the withies of a basket. They 
 throw to one side of this network the clouds 
 which they hâve not made use of, and which are 
 not few in number. They roll them up into 
 immense white masses like snow, and pile them 
 up one upon another, like the Cordilleras of 
 Peru, giving to them the forms of mountains^ 
 caverns, and rocks. Then towards the evening 
 they cal m dovvn a bit, as if they feared to dis> 
 arrange their work. When the sun goes dovvn. 
 behind this magnificent tracery, one sees through 
 ail the interstices a multitude of luminous rays, 
 which, lighting up two sides of each mesh, seem^ 
 to illuminate it with a golden auréole, while the 
 other two sides, which are in shadow, are tipped 
 with superb tones of pale red. Four or five- 
 rays of light rise from the setting sun right ta 
 the zénith, and edge with a golden fringe the- 
 vaguely-defined outline of this celestial barrier, 
 throwing their glowing reflections upon the. 
 pyramids of the airy mountains beside them, 
 which appear gold and vermilion. It is then 
 that you see in the midst of their numerous- 
 ridges a multitude of valleys which extend into- 
 
62 Bernardin de St. Pierre» 
 
 space, and are marked at their entrance by 
 some shade of flesh - colour or pink. The 
 celestial valleys présent in their diverse contours 
 inimitable tones of white, which melt away into 
 space as far as the eye can reach, or shadows 
 which lengthen out towards the other clouds 
 without losing themselves in them. You see 
 hère and there, emerging from the cavernous 
 sides of thèse cloud mountains, streams of light 
 which are thrown in bars of gold and silver 
 upon rocks of coral. Hère are gloomy rocks 
 pierced through so that you can see the pure 
 blue of heaven through their apertures ; there 
 appear long stretches of golden sands, which 
 extend into the wondrous depths of the crimson, 
 scarlet, and emerald-green sky. By degrees the 
 luminous clouds become faint-coloured, and the 
 faint-coloured fade into shadow. Their forms 
 are as varied as their tints, and in turn they 
 appear as islands, hamlets, hills planted with 
 palms, great bridges across rivers, countries of 
 gold, of amethysts, of rubies, or rather there is 
 nothing of ail thîs but just colours and heavenly 
 forms, which no brush can paint, and no tongue 
 express." 
 
 The landscapes of the Voyage to the Isle of 
 France are for the most part very sad. Bernar- 
 din de Saint-Pierre found the Isle of France 
 ugly and gloomy, perhaps because he had had 
 
Period of Uncertainty, 63 
 
 nothing but trouble there. Throughout his 
 narrative he tries to convey the impression of a 
 barren, cheerless country, in some places covered 
 with scorched grass, which makes it look " black 
 as a coal-pit," in others paved with stones of an 
 iron-grey colour, which form an unpleasant 
 surface to a rugged country. Plants, which he 
 generally loves so much, do not appeal to him 
 there. Many are thorny, others mal-odorous, 
 and the flowers are not pretty. He does not 
 like the trees, they hâve not the superb bearing 
 of French oaks and chestnuts, and their stiff 
 leaves of dark green give an effect of sadness to 
 the verdure. Hère and there, however, one 
 cornes across delightful spots where the great 
 woods are enlivened by babbling brooks, but 
 thèse solitudes, the refuge for runaway slaves, 
 are the théâtre of hideous man-hunts. You see 
 this unhappy quarry killed or wounded with 
 gun-shots, and hear the crack of the whip in the 
 air like pistol-shots, and cries which rend one's 
 heart, " Spare me, master, hâve pity ! " To the 
 heart thus oppressed the beauties of the land- 
 scape disappear, and one only sees in it " an 
 abominable country." Abominable country, 
 abominable abode, abominable inhabitants, for 
 the most part — that is, the Isle of France of the 
 Voyage — little in ail conscience to impress our 
 minds with the idea of a beneficent Providence, 
 
64 Bernai\iin de St, Picnx. 
 
 carcful of our nceds. The author saw this, for 
 he abandoned this part of his programme and 
 kcpt to picturesque effects, producîng in the end 
 a meagre book, only a rough sketch of what he 
 had in his head. 
 
 The volume appeared in the first months of 
 the year 1773, and in the article of the Corres- 
 pondence littéraire^ by Grunin, in the end of 
 February, The letter which accompanied the 
 copy destined for Hennin is dated March 17 : 
 " Hère at last, sir and dear friend, is some of 
 the fruit of my garden . . . Send me your 
 opinion of my Voyagea Saint-Pierre added in 
 another letter of the ist of June : ** My book 
 has had a great literary success ; but that is 
 almost the only profit which I hâve obtained 
 from it." 
 
 Did he really hâve a great success ? It is 
 doubtful as regards the masculine public. 
 Hennin kept an obstinate silence on the subject 
 in his letters, to the great disgust of the author^ 
 who had the bad taste to persist, and who wrote 
 to him two years later : " Why do you not talk 
 to me of my Voyage ? " Duval, his friend at St. 
 Petersburg, insinuated among his compliments 
 a few vvords on the passages which suggested 
 'an imitation of Rousseau, of Voltaire, or of 
 Montesquieu." Grunin did not understand it at 
 ail. Hère is the essential part of his notice : 
 
Period of Uncertainty . 65 
 
 " M. de Saint-Pierre is not wanting in wit, still 
 less in feeling ; this last quality appears to be 
 hîs especial and distinctive characteristic. The 
 greater part of the work consists of observations 
 made at sea, and détails of natural history. 
 That struck me as very superficial." Nothing 
 about the style, or the descriptive scènes, of 
 which the number ought, one would think, to 
 hâve arrested his observation. Grunin took the 
 Voyage for a scientific work and found it bad ; 
 its originality entîrely escaped him. It was the 
 same thing with Leharpe, who does not even 
 mention Bernardin de Saint- Pierre in his Cours 
 de Littérature, that is to say, that he took little 
 notice of secondary works. Then Sainte-Beuve, 
 who collected his information with so much care, 
 has contradicted himself about the effect pro- 
 duced by the Voyage to the Isle of Fraiice. One 
 r'eads in his first article upon Bernardin de Saint- 
 Pierre : " This narrative had a well-deserved 
 success," I and in his second article, written thir- 
 teen years later : " The work received very little 
 notice." 2 
 
 It is curions to compare the indifférence of 
 the men towards Bernardin de Saint-Pierre's 
 attempt, with the enthusiasm of the women for 
 the young unknown author who had spoken to 
 
 ^ Portraits littéraires, 1836. 
 
 ^ Causeries du lundi, 1852. 
 
 6 
 
66 Bernardin de St. Pierre, 
 
 them of the colour of the clouds and the melan- 
 choly of the great forests. Women arrive at a 
 conclusion much more quickly than men when 
 it is a question of feeling. The women who read 
 the Voyage to the Isle of France understood at 
 once that there was something in it beyond mère 
 observations made at sea and natural history 
 détails, more even than sentimental tirades upon 
 the negroes. They divined that they were 
 being introduced to new joys, and they hastened 
 to seek them under the guidance of the sympa- 
 thetic master who interpreted Nature to them, 
 her beauties, her gentleness, and her passion. 
 The interest which they took in this first work, 
 not very attractive as a whole, was a sort of 
 miraculous instinct on their part. 
 
 The Voyage to the Isle of France had hardly 
 appeared before Bernardin de Saint-Pierre set 
 to work again, in spite of ail his protestations 
 against ever becoming an author. His diffidence 
 had disappeared. He felt himself to be full of 
 courage and spirit, and it was not to his success 
 that he owed this, but simply to a visit which 
 he chanced to pay, and which was in its consé- 
 quences the great event of his career. " In the 
 month of May, 1772, a friend having proposed to 
 take me to see J. J. Rousseau, he conducted me to 
 a house in the rue Plâtriére, nearly opposite to the 
 Post Office. We ascended to the fourth story and 
 
Period of Uncertainty. 67 
 
 knocked at the door, vvhich was opened by Mme 
 Rousseau, who said to us, ' Enter, gentlemen, 
 you will find " my husband " in.' We passed 
 through a tiny ante-room, in which were neatly 
 arranged ail the household chattels, to a room 
 where J. J. Rousseau was sitting, in a frock-coat, 
 with a white cap on his head, occupied in copy- 
 ing music. He rose with a smile, offered us 
 seats, and returned to his work, giving his atten- 
 tion ail the while to the conversation." ^ 
 
 Rousseau was sixty in 1772 ; his infirmities, 
 his morbid ideas on the subject of persécution, 
 and his disputes with Hume, had put the finish- 
 ing touch to his réputation as a dangerous lunatic. 
 His visitor was struck with the sad expression 
 underlying his " smiling air." But he was irré- 
 sistible when he was not roused. Bernardin de 
 Saint-Pierre joyfully yielded to this all-powerfui 
 fascination. He felt that he had found the master 
 in literature who had been wanting to him, he 
 who was to give him the right impulse and direc- 
 tion, and that by oral teaching, so much more 
 fruitful than written instruction. 
 
 " Near him," he continues, " was a spinet, on 
 which from tîme to time he tried over some 
 airs. Two little beds, covered with coarse 
 print, striped blue and white like the hangings 
 •of his room, a chest of drawers, a table, and a few 
 
 ^ Essay upon J. J. Rousseau. 
 
68 Bernardin de St. Pierre, 
 
 chairs, completed his furniture. On the walls 
 hung a map of the forest and park of Mont- 
 morency, where he had lived, and a print of his 
 old benefactor the king of England. His wife 
 was seated sewing ; a canary sang in its cage 
 suspended from the ceih'ng ; some sparrows came 
 to pick up bread-crumbs from the window-sills 
 on the side of the street, and on those of the 
 ante-room one saw boxes and pots full of plants 
 such as Nature chose to sow there. The whole 
 effect of this little household was one of cleanh'- 
 ness, peace, and simplicity, which gave one 
 pleasure." 
 
 It suggests one of those interiors of Chardin, 
 where the neat little mistress of the house in 
 white cap and apron is busy about the children's 
 dinner. It is the most charming picture we 
 possess of Rousseau at home. 
 
 The conversation turned upon travels, the 
 news of the day, and the works of the master 
 of the house. Rousseau was most gracious ail 
 the time, and reconducted his visitors to the 
 head of the staîrs ; but who could tell with so 
 caprîcious a being whether this first visit would 
 lead to anything ? It did, in fact, to Bernardin's 
 intense satisfaction. " Some days after that he 
 came to return my visit. He had on a round 
 wig, well powdered and curled, a nankeen suit, 
 and carried his hat under his arm. In his hand 
 
Period of Uncertainty. 69 
 
 he held a small cane. His whole appearance 
 was modest but very neat, as was that of Socrates, 
 we are told." 
 
 This second interview also passed off most 
 agreeably, in looking at tropical plants and seeds, 
 but it was followed by the first tiff. Deceived 
 by the good-natured air of his new friend, Saint- 
 Pierre included him in a distribution he was 
 making of coffee, which he had received from 
 the Colonies. Rousseau wrote to him : " Sir, 
 we hâve only met once, and you already begin 
 to make me présents, that is being a little too 
 hasty it seems to me. As I am not in a position 
 to make présents myself, it is my custom, in 
 order to avoid the annoyance of unequal friend- 
 ships, not to receive the persons who make me 
 présents ; you can do as you like about leaving 
 this coffee with me, or sending to fetch it ; but 
 in the first case please accept my thanks, and 
 there will be an end of our acquaintanceship." 
 They made it up on condition that Saint- 
 Pierre received " a root of ginseng ^ and a work 
 on Ichthyology," in exchange for his coffee. 
 Rousseau appeased, invited him to dinner for 
 the next day. After the repast he read his 
 MSS. to him. They talked, the hours flew by, 
 and there resulted from thèse difficult beginnings 
 
 ^ Chinese name for a bitter-sweet root used in medicine. — 
 Translator. 
 
70 Bernardin de St. Pierre. 
 
 an intimacy, stormy, as it was bound to be with 
 Jean Jacques, but wonderfully fruitful for the 
 disciple, who drank in deep draughts of the nectar 
 of poetry, if not of wisdom, which fell from the 
 master's lips. Ail this took place during their 
 long walks together in the environs of Paris, 
 They would start on foot, early in the morning,. 
 cach choosing in turn the direction of their 
 vvalk. Rousseau loved the banks of the Seine 
 and the heights above them, as deserted then as 
 they are peopled to-day. They would go 
 through the bois de Boulogne, botanising as 
 they went along, and they sometimes saw in 
 "thèse solitudes" young girls occupied in making 
 their toilet in the open air. A ferry boat would 
 land the two friends at the foot of Mount 
 Valérien, and they would climb up to visit the 
 hermit at the top, who would give them food ; or 
 perhaps Rousseau would lead his companion 
 towards the height of Sèvres, promising him 
 " beautiful pine-woods and purple moors." The 
 *' deserted commons " of Saint Cloud had also 
 their attractions ; nevertheless ail that side of 
 Paris rather erred in the way of extrême wild- 
 ness. Such a powerful efifect did Nature hâve 
 upon thèse her first lovers, intoxicated with their 
 discoveries, and whose sensations had not been 
 discounted by descriptions taken from books. ' 
 When Bernardin de Saint-Pierre was the 
 
Period of Uncertainty, 71 
 
 guide they chose by préférence the direction 
 of Prés-Saint-Gervais and Romainville. The 
 familiar and peaceful nooks and corners around 
 thèse attracted him more than the extrême wild- 
 ness of Sèvres and Ville-d'Avray. "You hâve 
 shown me the places which please you," he said ; 
 " I am now going to show you one which is to 
 my taste." They passed by the park of Saint- 
 Fargean, absorbed to-day into Belleville, and, by 
 almost imperceptible degrees, gained the gentle 
 heights of those charming solitudes — for they 
 were also solitudes, but less severe than those 
 chosen by Rousseau ; green grass there took the 
 place of the brambles of Saint Cloud, and 
 cherry-trees and gooseberry-bushes the dark 
 pines of Sèvres. One had not to seek hospi- 
 tality from hermits ; there were inns, where 
 Rousseau liked himself to make an omelet of 
 bacon, while Saint-Pierre made the coffee, a 
 luxury brought in a box from Paris. They 
 would return by another road, gathering plants 
 and digging up roots as they went ; and nothing 
 can express the charm with which the cantan- 
 kerous and suspicious Jean Jacques knew howto 
 surround thèse excursions. He showed himself 
 a simple-minded, good fellow, an easy-going and 
 cheery comrade, interesting himself in everything, 
 talking of everything, and lavishing his ideas. 
 with the magnificent prodigality of the rich. 
 
72 Bernardin de St. Pierjx. 
 
 Whether Bernardin de Saint-Pierre turned 
 the conversation upon philosophy or questions 
 of economy, upon the Greeks and Romans, or 
 hygiène, upon his father the watchmaker, or upon 
 Voltaire, the stream flovved on in great waves, 
 pouring out pall-mall anecdotes, aphorisms, 
 théories, descriptions of scenery, and literary 
 opinions. One might hâve said that he vvas 
 taking his revenge for those conversations in 
 Society in vvhich he was known to fall short. 
 " My wit is always half an hour after that of 
 others," he said of himself It was not so in a 
 tête-à-tête, and every one of his words entered 
 Hke the stroke of a plummet into his young 
 companion's mind, whose ideas had need of a 
 little help before they could burst forth. The 
 effect of ail this was not long in showing itself. 
 Saint-Pierre has fixed the dates in a letter to 
 Hennin of July 2, 1778, six years after his in- 
 timacy with Rousseau. " At last I hope to find 
 water in my wells ; for six years I hâve jotted 
 down a great many ideas, which require putting 
 in order. Amongst much sand there are, I hope, 
 some grains of gold." 
 
 The enchantment of the walks lasted until 
 their return to Paris. Then Rousseau's brow 
 would grow dark at the sight of the first houses 
 of the suburb. His mania resumed possession 
 of him. He frowned, hastened his steps, became 
 
Period of Uncertainty , 73 
 
 taciturn and morose. One day, when his friend 
 tried to distract him, he stopped short, to say to 
 him ail at once, in the middle of the street : 
 *' I would rather be exposed to the arrows of 
 the Parthians than to the gaze of men." This 
 mood would sometimes be prolonged as long as 
 they were in the town, and no one was then safe 
 from the strokes of his sarcasm. 
 
 " One day, when I went to return a book . . . 
 he received me without saying a word, and with 
 an austère and gloomy air. I spoke to him ; he 
 only replied in monosyllables, continuing ail the 
 time to copy music ; he struck out or erased his 
 work every minute. To distract myself, I 
 opened a book which was on the table. ' You 
 like reading, sir?' he said, in a discontented 
 tone. I got up to go ; he rose at the same time, 
 and reconducted me to the head of the stairs, say- 
 ing, when I begged him not to trouble himself : 
 ' One must be ceremonious with persons with 
 whom one is not on a familiar footing.' " Saint- 
 Pierre, hurt, swore that he would never return ; 
 but they met, arranged another walk, and Rous- 
 seau once more became amiable at sight of the 
 first bushes. " At last," he said, "hère we are 
 beyond the carriages, pavements, and men." ^ 
 
 ^ He has expressed the same sentiment, only more energetically, 
 in a passage of the Huiiiènie Promenade, where he represents 
 himself as escaping at last from the " procession of the vvicked." 
 
74 Berna7'din de St. Pierre. 
 
 Their intimacy lasted until after Rousseau's 
 departure for Ermenonville in 1778, a short 
 time before his death. His friend mourned his 
 loss bitterly, and alvvays spoke of him with ten- 
 derness and admiration. He did not forget 
 how much he owed to him. He acknowledged, 
 at least in part — which is, after ail, fine and 
 praisevvorthy — that if he had shown a spark of 
 the sacred fire, it was Rousseau who had lighted 
 it in their intercourse. He has never sought to 
 hide the fact that his works are strewn with 
 ideas which occurred to them during their walks, 
 and which they had discussed as they sauntered 
 together under the shadow of some tree, or in 
 the green woodland paths. The results of thèse 
 walks with Jean Jacques will be found in the 
 Études de la Nature. In comparing this work 
 with the Voyage to the Isle of France, one can 
 see exactly what Bernardin owed to his illus- 
 trious friend. The Voyage proves to us that he 
 knew what he wished to do long before he met 
 the author of the Rêveries^ but that, at the same 
 time, he would never hâve reached the goal 
 without the impulse given to him by a genius 
 more robust than his own. 
 
 It hung on quite a small chance that his 
 career was not blighted at the very moment 
 when his fancy was preparing to take flight. 
 The success which the Voyage to the Isle of 
 
Period of Unce^'tainty , 75 
 
 France had with the fair sex nearly proved fatal 
 to its author. Their approval had to be paid 
 for, as is always the case. M. de Saint-Pierre 
 vvas invited into the fashionable world, and 
 charming women flung themselves at his head,. 
 with their habituai indiscrétion, and caused him 
 acute suffering. He had scruples, and he was 
 vain. The world laughed at his scruples, his 
 vanity could not console him for its scoffs, and 
 the women did not thank him for his respect ; 
 so that his soûl was filled with bitterness and 
 disgust. He could not get over the depravity 
 of Society, and was seized with a morbid irrita- 
 tion against it Some months after he had 
 mixed in it, his imagination made it appear to 
 him to be whoUy and solely occupied in making 
 fun of him, of his goodness, of his gentleness, 
 of his pride, of ail the virtues that he liked to 
 attribute to himself, and which he chose, as is 
 the habit of ail of us, amongst those he least 
 possessed. Soon he could not hear any one 
 laugh without thinking they were laughing at 
 him, and every gesture made him suspicious. 
 He said later : " I could not even walk along a 
 path in a public garden where a few people were 
 assembled without thinking, if they looked at 
 me, that they were disparaging me, even if they 
 were quite unknown to me." Thirty years later 
 he was still persuaded that Mlle, de Lespinasse 
 
76 Bernardin de St, P lettre. 
 
 had intended to insuit him one day when she 
 offered him a sweetmeat, at the same time 
 praising him for his kindness on a récent occa- 
 sion. 
 
 He fought duels in order to put a stop to the 
 whispered raillery which he thought he heard 
 around him. Two fortunate affairs vvere power- 
 less to soothe his nerves, and strange disorders 
 began to make him fear for his reason. He 
 consulted physicians, vvho recommendcd diverse 
 remédies ; but he required money for them, and 
 his bookseller had not paid him. Meanvvhile 
 the evil grew from bad to worse, and at last 
 came the crisis. " Flashes of light, resembling 
 lightning, disturbed my sight ; every object 
 appeared to me to be double, and as though in 
 motion. . . . My heart was not less troubled 
 than my head. On the finest summer day I 
 could not cross the Seine in a boat without feel- 
 ing intolérable qualms. ... If in a public gar- 
 den I but passed near the basin of a fountain full 
 of water, I felt a sensation of spasm and horror. 
 There were times when I believed that I must 
 hâve been bitten by a mad dog without know- 
 ing it." 
 
 Bernardin de Saint-Pierre was mad, not in- 
 curably so, or enough to be shut up ; but, for ail 
 that, mad. He knows it, acknowledges it, and 
 adds to his heartrending confession a note, 
 
Period of Uncertainty. y Y 
 
 which explains how he was able to hide his 
 condition from the vvorld around him. " God 
 granted me this signal favour, that however 
 much my reason was disturbed, I never lost the 
 consciousness of my condition myself, or forgot 
 myself before others. Directly I felt the ap- 
 proach of the paroxysms of my malady, I would 
 retire into solitude." Hère follows a sli^ht 
 metaphysical discussion upon " this extraor- 
 dinary reason," which warned him " that his 
 ordinary reason was disturbed." 
 
 Just about the same time his brother Dutailly 
 began the séries of exti-avagances which obliged 
 them to shut him up. 
 
 Meantime, the world from which Bernardin 
 de Saint-Pierre had succeeded in hiding himself, 
 was without indulgence for him, and pronounced 
 him to be wicked, while he was in reality only 
 unhappy. We hâve now arrived at the years of 
 pain, of physical and moral distress, of equivocal 
 111s, absurd suspicions, quarrels, ill-will, and, 
 alas ! of begging. Some of his friends became 
 estranged by his incompréhensible humour, 
 others gave him up, and of this number were 
 "the philosophers," d'Alembert, Condorcet, ail 
 the intimâtes of Mlle, de Lespinasse. Ber- 
 nardin de Saint- Pierre has, in an Apologie 
 addressed to Mme. Necker to beg her protec- 
 tion, naïvely explained that he quarrelled with 
 
y s Bernardin de St. Pierre. 
 
 "the philosophers " because they failed to induce 
 Turgot to help hîm. " If they had been my 
 friends," he adds, with indignation, "could they 
 hâve acted so ? Pensions, easy posts, rings for 
 their fingers, are distributed to their clients, 
 while to me they only corne to advise me to 
 leave the country, although I showed them that 
 I had the greatest répugnance to such a course."^ 
 (January 26, 1780.) 
 
 He retired from the world, living an unsociable 
 life in a misérable lodging-house, not willingly 
 seeing any one but Rousseau, so well able to 
 understand a misanthrope, and a few faîthful 
 friends who put up with ail his moods, at the 
 head of whom was Hennin, whose patience was 
 admirable. The position which the latter held 
 in the Foreign Office, led to his being charged 
 with the présentation of the pétitions that his 
 gloomy and needy friend addressed to the 
 ministers ; and the task was not an easy or 
 pleasant one, as their correspondence testifies. 
 Saint-Pierre begged shamelessly. " I hâve 
 neither linen nor clothes ; my excursions on 
 foot hâve worn them out. If you wish to see 
 me again, induce them to give me the means of 
 appearing. You know that your department 
 
 ' This curious note does not appear in the complète works. 
 It formed part of the collection of autographs belonging to M. 
 P'euillet de Conches. I owe the information to the kindness of 
 Mme. Feuillet de Conches. 
 
Period of Uncertainty. 79 
 
 decîdedly owes me something. . . . Do remem- 
 ber to think of me in the distribution of the 
 king's favours ; I need them greatly. ... I am 
 reduced to borrovving, and I hâve nothing to 
 expect till February of next year." And so on 
 from month to month, if not from week to week. 
 If there was delay in sending the money, M. 
 Hennin would receive a bitter letter, in which 
 M. de Saint-Pierre would excuse himself for not 
 having visited him on account of the bad weather, 
 adding : " If I had received the favour which 
 you led me to hope for, I should hâve taken a 
 carriage." If the money was forthcoming, it 
 was still worse for Hennin, because of the céré- 
 monies with which it had to be conveyed to its 
 récipient There is amongst their correspon- 
 dence a séries of letters which are quite comic, 
 about a sum of ^"300 that Saint-Pierre had 
 begged hard for, and which he wished M. de 
 Vergennes personally to press him to accept. 
 He demands a " letter of satisfaction and kind- 
 ness " from the minister, written with his own 
 hand, without which he refuses the :^300. 
 Silence on the part of Hennin, who is evidently 
 overcome by this extraordinary pretentious- 
 ness ; uneasiness on the part of Bernardin, who 
 trembles lest he should be taken at his word. 
 The /300 are sent to him ; he pockets them, 
 spends them, and continues to claim his letter. 
 
8o Bernardm de St. Pierre. 
 
 A year later he is still claiming it, without 
 having ceased to beg in the meantime. 
 
 It is true that this took place at a time when 
 the bounties of the king conferred honour upon 
 the récipient, and when the nobility of France 
 set the example of holding out the hat to catch 
 the royal manna. It is true that it took place 
 very near the time when the man of letters lived 
 upon his servile dedications, upon inferior em- 
 ployments among the rich and great, and con- 
 sidered himself only too happy, in the absence 
 of copyright, to repay in flatteries the rent of a 
 room at the Louvre or the Condé mansion. It 
 is true that one must not ask for a strict account 
 from a brain disturbed by hallucinations, and 
 that nothing could relieve the mind of Barnardin 
 de Saint-Pierre of the idea that the French 
 Government owed him compensation for his 
 journey to Poland, where he assured them he 
 had run the risk of being taken by the Russians 
 and sent to Siberia. It was the same with the 
 memorials, with which for fifteen years he 
 harassed people in office, and the others which 
 he promised to send them. The same with the 
 situations which he had lost through his own 
 fault, and those which had been refused to him. 
 The same with his literary works, to which he 
 gave up his time, and that had for their aim the 
 happiness of mankind ; and the same for the 
 
Period of Uncertainty, 8i 
 
 services which he had rendered to his country, a 
 long list of which appears in the Apologie. " I 
 remember that in the park at Versailles I pacified 
 an infuriated Breton peasant woman, who in- 
 tended, she informed me, to go and get up a 
 riot under the very Windows of the king. This 
 was during the bread riots. Another time I 
 had a discussion with an atheistical reaper." 
 How was it possible to refuse a pension to a 
 man who had done that ! 
 
 In common justice they owed him also com- 
 pensation for the great and glorious things 
 they had prevented him from accomplishing» 
 He had ripened his plan of an idéal colony, and 
 sent project after project to Versailles. Some- 
 times he offered himself to civilise Corsica, 
 sometimes to conquer Jersey, or North America^ 
 or to found a small state in France itself, within 
 the king's dominions. Nobody had deigned ta 
 take any notice of his plans, unless perhaps 
 "some intriguing, avaricious protégé" should 
 hâve stolen his ideas and was preparing to 
 carry them out in his stead ; such things did 
 happen sometimes. He laid the blâme of the 
 culpable négligence of the Government upon the 
 head clerk of the Foreign Office, and he did 
 not spare his reproaches. The excellent 
 Hennin groaned, grieved over it, but did not 
 get angry. He himself counted upon recom- 
 
 7 
 
82 Bernardin ae St. Pierre. 
 
 pense also, and he dîd not count in vain. As 
 soon as this mind diseased recovered itself a 
 little, there vvere most delightful outpourings to 
 the good and true friend who was never harsh 
 or unfeeling. Then there are periods in theîr 
 correspondence like oases of peace and poetry. 
 In the beginning of 1781 Bernardin de Saint- 
 Pierre, at Hennin's suggestion, quitted his 
 wretched furnîshed room, and took a lodging 
 in the rue Neuve- Saint- Etienne-du -Mont, 
 which he called his donjon, and where cheer- 
 fulness streamed in at every window. The 
 staircase was in the courtyard to the right, and 
 on ascending to the fourth story under the roof, 
 one found four small bright rooms, from which 
 one looked out upon a little bit of country. It 
 was nothing but gardens, orchards, convents, 
 peaceful little cottages, the wide sky overhead, 
 and the low horizon. Bernardin de Saint-Pierre 
 felt that he was saved. He wrote a letter to 
 Hennin which is a song of joy. He says : — 
 
 " I shall corne to see you with the first violet ; 
 I shall hâve to walk five miles, but shall do it 
 joyfully, and I intend to give you such a des- 
 cription of my abode as will make you long to 
 corne and see me and take a meal with, me. 
 Horace invited Mecaenas to come to his cottage 
 at Tivoli, to eat a quarter of lamb and drink 
 Falernian wîne. As my purse is getting very 
 
Period of Uncertainty. 83 
 
 low, I shall only offer you strawberrîes and 
 mugs of milk, but you will hâve the pleasure 
 of hearing the nightingales sing in the groves 
 of the convent of the English nuns, and of 
 seeing the young novices play in their garden." 
 (February 7, 1781.) 
 
 Another year April perfumes the air, and 
 Hennin has promised to corne and dine in the 
 donjon. His friend describes the menu to him : 
 " Simple vîands, amongst which will be found a 
 big pie that Mme. Mesnard is going to give me ; 
 a pure wine, good of its kind ; excellent coffee, 
 and punch, which I make well, let me say 
 without vanity." It is a question of fixing a 
 day. " Nature must undertake the chief cost of 
 this little feast, therefore I expect she will hâve 
 carpeted the paths with verdure and decorated 
 the groves of trees in my landscape with leaves 
 and flowers. If you were an observer of nature, 
 I should say to you start the very first day that 
 you see the chestnut tree set out its chandeliers ; 
 but you are one of those who only hâve eyes 
 for the évolution of human forces. Let me 
 know the day you choose," &c. 
 
 The dinner was as charming as the invitation. 
 It was talked of at Versailles, and some fair 
 dames lamented aloud that they had not been 
 invited. 
 
 To most of them the donjon would hâve 
 
84 Bernardin de St, Pierre, 
 
 appeared a hateful abodc : one froze in it in 
 winter and was roastcd in summer, and every 
 gust of wind threatencd to blow it away. 
 Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, obstinate dreamer 
 that he was, preserved ail his life the most 
 tender and faithful remembrance of his aërial 
 lodging : " It was there," he wrote in his mature 
 âge, " in the midst of a profound solitude, and 
 under a bewitching horizon, that I experienced 
 the sweetest joys of my life. I should perhaps 
 still be there if for a whim they had not forced 
 me to turn out in order to pull it down. It was 
 there that I put the finishing touches to my 
 Etudes de la Nature^ and from there I published 
 it." ^ And it is there that one must look upon 
 him in order to do him justice after our earlier 
 sad pictures of him. 
 
 Before he became first a morose beggar^ 
 suffering with weak nerves, he was, we must 
 remember, possessed with the idea that to a 
 man carrying in his head a book which he 
 believes to be good and useful, ail means are 
 fair for accomplishing his destiny of créative 
 artist and intellectual guide. He recognises no 
 choice of means, he is the slave, and at need 
 the victim of a superior power, which commands 
 him to sacrifice his repose and his pride on 
 condition that he acquits himself of his debt 
 
 ' Sequel to the Vows of a Her7nit. 
 
Period of Uncertainty. 85 
 
 tovvards mankind by giving to it a work which 
 will bring a little happiness to our poor vvorld. 
 Bernardin de Saint-Pierre was quite certain that 
 he possessed the magie word which lifts up the 
 heart, and rather than throw it to the four vvinds 
 of heaven, he would hâve begged alms on the 
 highway. Was he right ? was he wrong ? We 
 owe it to his great faith to leave our verdict 
 undecided. 
 
 Think of him in his garret, and you will 
 understand that he begged not for himself, but 
 for his book, which is a very différent matter. 
 He is avaricious because he hopes still to write 
 another chapter before going on the tramp 
 again. He has only one coat for the whole 
 year, winter and summer. He does his own 
 housekeeping, sweeps, cleans, cooks. He allows 
 himself so little firing that in winter the water 
 remains frozen for eight days in his rooms, and 
 his pitchers burst. He goes on foot to Ver- 
 sailles to see Hennin, and returns in the same 
 way at night ; ail the better if it is moonlight, 
 ail the worse if it rains. His health suffers, but 
 his head recovers, and he is happy ; he has a 
 *'' whole trunk " fuU of rough draughts, which he 
 copies, corrects, and arranges. " You cannot 
 imagine," he writes to Hennin, " the tenderness 
 «of an author for his production ; that of a mother 
 for her son is not to be compared to it. I am 
 
86 BernardiiL de St. Pie7^re, 
 
 always adding to or cutting out something of 
 mine. A bear does not lick her cub with more 
 care than I ; I fear in the end I shall rub avvay 
 the muzzle of mine with my licking. I do not 
 vvish to touch it any more. . . . There hâve 
 been moments when I hâve caught a glimpse of 
 heaven." (December i8, 1783.) 
 
 When the moment arrives to hâve his work 
 printed, he redoubles his economy. He is 
 sordid and at the same time a greater borrower, 
 more in debt than ever ; for after ail it is in 
 order to commit some extravagance for his 
 " child " — to hâve fine paper, to add a print hère, 
 a pretty frontispiece there. The extravagance 
 accomplished, he writes to Hennin, one of his 
 principal lenders, to demonstrate to him that 
 this is an excellent spéculation : — 
 
 " It is not a superfluous expense, even if the 
 print in 12° itself comes to fourteen or fifteen 
 pounds, because it is possible that many people 
 will buy. my work for the print alone, as has 
 happened to others. Moreover, I shall raise the 
 price of my édition with it, so as to reap more 
 than I sowed. So . . ." (June 29, 1784.) 
 
 Thus it was as clear as noonday that this 
 lovely engraving would make his fortune, a very 
 important matter to his creditors. We do not 
 possess Hennin's reply, but there is no doubt, 
 after what we know of his kindness, that he 
 made pretcnce of being convinced. 
 
III. 
 
 The " Études de la Nature." 
 
 The Études de la Nature appeared in three 
 volumes towards the end of 1784. It did not 
 then comprise the fragments of VArcadie^ 
 whîch hâve been since added to it, nor Paul 
 and Virginia^ which the author had eut out in 
 conséquence of an adventure that has been re- 
 counted a thousand times, and that we must 
 recount yet again in order to give consolation 
 to any disappointed young man who may be 
 breaking his heart because he is not understood. 
 Mme. Necker had invited him to come and 
 read some of his MSS. aloud, promising that 
 he should hâve for his audience some dis- 
 tinguished judges. Amongst them were in 
 fact Buffon, the Abbé Galiani, Thomas, Necker^ 
 and some others. Bernardin de Saint-Pierre 
 chose Paul and Virginia. At first they 
 listened in silence, then they began to whisper,, 
 to pay less attention, to yavvn, and finally not 
 to listen at ail. Thomas fell asleep, those 
 
 nearest the door slipped out, Buffon looked at 
 
 87 
 
88 Bernardin de St. Pierre. 
 
 his watch and callcd for his carrîage. Necker 
 smiled at seeing some of the vvomen, who dared 
 not appear otherwise touched, in tears. The 
 reading ended, not one of thèse persons, though 
 trained in the world's deceits, could find a word 
 of praise for the author. Mme. Necker was the 
 only person to speak, and it was to remark that 
 the conversations between Paul and the old 
 man suspended the action of the story, and 
 chilled the reader ; that it was " a glass of iced 
 water " : a very just définition, but ungracious, 
 and it reduced Bernardin de Saint-Pierre to 
 despair. 
 
 He thought he was condemned without 
 appeal, and returned to his house so prostrated 
 in spirit that he thought of burning Paid and 
 Virginia, the Études, and VArcadie — ail his 
 papers in fact — so as not to be tempted to 
 touch them again. One of the Vernets turned 
 up at this crisis, took pity upon his suffering, 
 had the despised work read over to him, and 
 recognised the charm of it. He applauded, 
 wept, proclaimed it a masterpiece, the MSS. 
 are saved, and the author consoled, without, 
 however, gaining sufficient courage to print a 
 work which had sent Thomas to sleep, and put 
 Buffon to flight. Paul and Virginia remained 
 in a drawer. 
 
 It was the same with the fragments of the 
 
The ''Études de la Nature!^ 89 
 
 Arcadie, and with much more reason, VArcadie^ 
 begun after the publication of the Voyage to the 
 Isle of France^ was to be an epic poem in prose 
 in twelve books, and was inspired by Telemaque 
 and Robifisoîi Cnisoe. Saint- Pierre proposed 
 ** to represent the three successive states 
 through which most nations pass : that of 
 barbarism, of nature, and corruption." ^ Notice 
 in passing this progression. The state of 
 nature is not the first state, it is between the 
 two, after the state of barbarism and before the 
 state of over-civih*sation, which proves that 
 before admiring or despising natural man, 
 according to the eighteenth century, ît is as 
 well to understand the sensé which each writer 
 gives to the words. 
 
 The picture of thèse three states furnished our 
 author with the means of expressing his ideas 
 upon the idéal republic which he proposed to 
 form. Thus V Arcadie became the instrument 
 of propagandism, just the thing to lead M. de 
 Saint-Pierre to fortune, and he never forgave 
 hîmself for having given up this work, a little 
 through Rousseau's fault, who proclaimed the 
 plan of the book admirable, but, nevertheless, 
 advised him to re-write it from beginning to 
 end. Jean Jacques acknowledged at the same 
 tîme, with a smile, that he had ceased to believe 
 
 * Introduction to V Arcadie. 
 
90 Bernardin de St. Pierre, 
 
 în poetical and virtuous shepherds since a 
 certain journey which he had taken beside the 
 Lignon : " I once made an excursion to Forez," 
 he continued, with the geniality of his good days^ 
 " solely to see the country of Céladon and 
 Astrea, of which Urfé gives us such charming 
 pictures. Instead of loving shepherds, I only 
 saw on the banks of the Lignon farrîers, 
 blacksmiths, and edge-tool makers." " What ! " 
 cried Saint-Pierre, overwhelmed with astonish- 
 ment, " that ail, in so delightful a country ? '* 
 " It is only a country of smithies," replied Rous- 
 seau. " It was that journey to Forez which cured 
 me of my illusion ; up to that time never a year 
 passed without my reading Astrea from end to 
 end. I was acquainted with ail its characters. 
 Thus does science rob us of our pleasures.^ " 
 
 It was in the bois de Boulogne, seated under 
 a tree, that Jean Jacques Rousseau taught his 
 astonished disciple not to take the Astrea for 
 history. He also told him with great modesty 
 that he felt himself incapable of governing the 
 Republic of their dreams ; that ail he could 
 
 * That is Bernardin de Saint-Pierre's account of the con- 
 versation. In reality, Rousseau had not visited le Forez. He 
 had been tempted to go there, but was dissuaded from his 
 Project by ** a landlady" whom he consulted as to the route 
 he should foUow, and whose description prevented him from 
 going to seek Dianas and Sylvanders amongst a population of 
 blacksmiths. {The Confessions, year 1732.) 
 
The ''Études de la N attire!' 91 
 
 do vvould be to live in it. This déclaration 
 piqued Bernardin de Saint-Pierre ; he thought 
 he perceived an underlying criticism, and en- 
 larged with enthusiasm upon the sublime virtues 
 of his future subjects which would make them 
 easy to govern. But even while disputing^ 
 about it he grew disgusted with VArcadiey put 
 it on one side, and used up the materials for his 
 Etudes. Posterity has no reason to regret it. 
 The fragments which hâve reached us suggest 
 a work in which the ideas are false and the 
 characters conventional. One reads in it for 
 example : " One could see by her timidity that 
 she was a shepherdess." The contrary is the 
 case in point of fact, and Saint-Pierre knew it 
 better than any one ; he who had trotted on 
 foot through the whole of Normandy in 
 quest of models for his heroes, before tracing the 
 portraits of the beautiful Cyanée of Tirteé, her 
 father, and their guest Amasis. His rustics seem 
 to be drawn by a wit who is a clumsy imitator 
 of Fénélon. He was quite wise to give it up. 
 
 According to his correspondence, the Études 
 de la Nature was begun in 1773. The plan of 
 it was at that time gigantic. He informs us on 
 the first page that he wished " to write a gênerai 
 history of nature, in imitation of Aristotle, of 
 Pliny, of Bacon, and other modem celebrities." 
 He set to work, but he soon acknowledged, in 
 
■92 Bernardin de St. Pierre, 
 
 •making his observations of a strawberry-plant, 
 that he woiild never hâve the time to observe ail 
 that there is on the earth. Although the page 
 upon the strawberry-plant has become classical, 
 ît is as well to re-read it in order to be able 
 to realise its effect upon readers, who up to 
 that time had dvvelt upon our beautiful Mother 
 Earth deaf and blind, without hearing the 
 pulsation of her life, without seeing her pro- 
 digious eternal productiveness. 
 
 " One summer day ... I perceived upon a 
 strawberry-plant, which had by chance been 
 placed upon my window-sill, a lot of little Aies, 
 so pretty, that I became possessed of the wish 
 to describe them. The next day I saw another 
 kind, and of them also I wrote a description. 
 During three weeks I observed thirty-seven 
 différent species of them ; but they came in 
 such numbers at last, and in so many varieties, 
 that I gave up the study of them, although it 
 was most interesting, because I had not sufficient 
 leisure, or, to tell the truth, sufficient command 
 of language for the task. 
 
 " The Aies which I did observe were distin- 
 guished from each other by their colours, their 
 forms, and their habits. There were some of a 
 golden hue, some silver, some bronze, speckled, 
 striped, blue, green, some dusky, some irridescent. 
 In some the head was round like a turban ; in 
 
The '' Éhides de la Naturel 93. 
 
 others, flat like the head of a nail. In some 
 they appeared dark like a spot of black velvet ; 
 in others, they shone out like a ruby. There 
 was no less variety in their wings ; some had 
 them long and brilliant like a sheet of mother- 
 o'-pearl ; in others, they were short and broad, 
 resembling the meshes of the finest gauze. 
 Each one had its own way of carrying its wings 
 and of using them. Some carried them erect, 
 and others horizontally, and they seemed to take 
 pleasure in spreading them out. Some would 
 fly, fluttering about like butterflies ; others 
 would rise in the air, flying against the wind 
 by aid of a mechanism somewhat resembling 
 toy beetles. Some would alight upon a plant 
 to deposit their eggs ; others simply to seek 
 shelter from the sun. But most of them came 
 for reasons which were quite unknown to me ;. 
 for some flew to and fro in perpétuai movement, 
 while others only moved their backs. There 
 were some who remained quite immoveable, 
 and were, perhaps, like me, engaged in making 
 observations. I disdained, as I already knew 
 them so well, ail the tribes of other insects who 
 were attracted to my strawberry-plant : such as 
 the snails who nestled under its leaves ; the 
 butterflies who fluttered around it ; the beetles 
 who dug at its roots ; the little worms who found 
 the means of living in the cellular tissue, that is 
 
94 Bernardin de St, Pierre, 
 
 to say, sîmply in the thîckness of a leaf ; the 
 wasps and the bées who hummed about its 
 flowers ; the aphis who sucked the stems, the 
 ants who ate up the aphis ; and last of ail, the 
 spîders who wove their webs near at hand in 
 order to catch ail thèse différent victims." 
 
 He then had recourse to the microscope to 
 examine into the world of the infinîtely little, 
 and saw that the only limit to his observation 
 was the imperfections of our instruments ; each 
 leaf of the strawberry-plant was a little universe 
 în which créatures invisible to the naked eye 
 were born, lived, and died. This led to the 
 reflection that his plant would be much more 
 peopled if it had not been in a pot, in the midst 
 of the smoke of Paris ; that, moreover, he had 
 only made his observations of it at one hour 
 of the day, and at one season of the year ; and 
 he perceived that the complète history of one 
 species of plant, comprising its relations with 
 the animal world, would be sufficient to occupy 
 several naturalists. His thoughts turned to the 
 immense number of plants and animais known 
 to us, and to the small amount of attention 
 which up to that time had been given to their 
 instincts, their appearances, their friendships and 
 enmities, so that almost everything remained 
 still to be found out. He thought over the 
 weakness of his intention, and acknowledged 
 
The ^'Études de la Naturel 95 
 
 himself vanquîshed at the outset. Far from 
 being able to embrace in his work this for- 
 midable mass of information which we call 
 création, he felt himself incapable of explaining 
 fully even its détails. " Ail my ideas," he wrote 
 to Hennin, "are but the shadows of nature, 
 collected by another shadow." He also com- 
 pared himself to a child who has dug a hole 
 in the sand with a shell, to contain the sea. So 
 he gave up his project of writing a gênerai 
 history, and lowered his ambition till it was 
 more in accordance with his povvers, declaring 
 himself satisfied that he had given his readers 
 some new delights, and extended their views 
 in the infinité and mysterious world of nature. 
 
 Nevertheless, if his work was given to the 
 public only in a curtailed and mutilated form, 
 his object remained, The Etudes de la Nature 
 was destined to paraphrase the first part of 
 Fénélon's Traité de V existence de Dieu, especially 
 of the second chapter, entitled " Proofs of the 
 Existence of God, taken from the Considération 
 of the Chief Marvels of Nature." Bernardin de 
 Saint-Pierre was born religious at heart in an 
 âge which had " lost the taste for God," to use 
 Bossuet's expression, when believers themselves 
 were wanting in spirit and tenderness. He was 
 brought up upon the celebrated phrase of 
 Voltaire — "The people must hâve a religion" 
 
gô Ber7îa7'din de St. Pierre, 
 
 — and never could reconcile himself to hear 
 repeated around him that in truth, " Religion 
 is the portion of the people, just a kind 
 of political engine invcnted to keep them in 
 check " [Études). Atheism seemed to him a 
 diminution of our being, a lessening of its most 
 noble sensations and its most elevated émotions. 
 " It is only religion," he said, " which gives ta 
 our passions a lofty character " ; and he related, 
 apropos of this, that the day on which he him- 
 self had perceived most vividly the power of 
 the "divine majesty " of suffering was in 
 contemplating a peasant woman from 
 Caux prostrated at the foot of the cross 
 one stormy day, praying, with clasped 
 hands, her eyes cast up to heaven, for 
 a boat which was in danger. The seven- 
 teenth century would not hâve admitted for 
 poetical reasons that they believed thus in God. 
 Men's minds were then too serious ; and the 
 great spiritual directors of the time of Bossuet 
 and Bourdaloue, without mentioning the Janse- 
 nists, would hâve been shocked at the sentimental 
 religion of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre. But 
 the eighteenth century had taught men to be 
 less nice, and such things appeared to it to be 
 sublime. 
 
 It must be said that they were very tired of 
 arguments and philosophy, and the idea that 
 
The ''Études de la Naturel 97 
 
 they might seek for truth by some less tiresome 
 paths was very pleasing. They had for so long 
 lived lîke the Carthusian frîars of the Harmonies. 
 " One day one of my friends went to visit a 
 Carthusian friar. It was the month of May ; 
 the garden of the recluse was covered with 
 flowers, in the borders and on the fruit-trees. 
 As for him, he had shut himself up in his room, 
 from which he could see absolutely nothing. 
 ' Why,' asked my friend, ' hâve you closed your 
 shutters ? ' 'In order/ replied the friar, ' to be 
 able to meditate without distraction on the 
 attributes of God.' ' Ah ! ' said my friend, 
 ' don't you think that perhaps you may find 
 greater distraction in your own heart than 
 nature would give to you in the month of 
 May ? Take my advice, open your shutters 
 and shut the door upon your imagination.' " 
 
 Open your shutters and shut your books, 
 cried this new-comer in the world of letters. 
 Nature is the source of everything which 
 is ingenious, useful, pleasant and beautiful, 
 but she must be contemplated in ail simplicity 
 of heart. It is for our happiness that she hides 
 from us the laws which govern her mighty 
 forces, and there is a kind of thoughtless im- 
 piety in wishing to penetrate too deeply into 
 her mysteries. Besides, we always fail, and our 
 imprudent efforts only succeed in adding the 
 
 8 
 
9 8 Bernardin de St. Pierre, 
 
 mist of our errors to the cloud which veils her 
 divinity. Let us make up our minds to not 
 being taken into the Divine confidence ; content 
 to examine Nature at work, observing her work 
 without studying it on a System, forgetting vvhat 
 the scholars and the acadamies hâve decided and 
 decreed as a matter of doctrine. The forces of 
 Nature, ever young and active, form one of the 
 most wonderful and admirable spectacles which 
 the universe affords us. The same spirit of life 
 which formed our world out of chaos, continues 
 to develop the germs under our eyes, to repair 
 the wounded plants and renew their injured 
 tissues with fresh growths. They tell you that 
 Nature brings forth at hazard, producing pell- 
 mell and indifferently the good and the bad, 
 annulling the good by this disorder. But I tell 
 you that not a blade of grass has been made at 
 hazard, and that the least mite testifies to the 
 existence of a sovereign intelligence and good- 
 ness. I assure you also that this goodness has 
 only had one pre-occupation — yourself; but one 
 aim — your happiness. God made nature for 
 man, and man for Himself Man is the end 
 and aim of everything upon the earth, and the 
 proofs of this are infinité in number. 
 
 A great part of the Études is taken up with 
 the gathering together of thèse proofs. I do 
 not believe that there exists another so intrepid 
 
The ''Études de la Nature!' 99 
 
 a partisan of final causes. Nothing turns him 
 from his démonstration, not facts, nor absurdities, 
 nor ridicule. Things are so because it is neces- 
 sary to the happiness of man that they should 
 be so : nothing turns Bernardin de Saint-Pierre 
 from that opinion. I do not say that he scoffed 
 at science ; he looked upon himself as a scienti- 
 fic spirit who was to set his predecessors right, 
 including Descartes and Newton ; I only say 
 that he speaks about it rather as though he 
 were laughing at it. 
 
 Our earth, then, has been solidified, modelled 
 and carved out by God for our needs and our 
 comfort. There is not a mountain whose 
 height, breadth, and site hâve not been calculated 
 by Divine wisdom for our advantage. One is 
 intended to refresh us vvith its ice, the other 
 to protect us from the north wind, a third to 
 produce a healthful current of air ; this last we 
 call eolian. Those îslands of rock strewn along 
 the seashore, and vulgarly called sand-banks, 
 are fortifications placed there by Providence, 
 without which our coasts would be demolished 
 by the océan. Those which one remarks at 
 the mouths of water-courses " form channels for 
 the rivers, each channel taking a différent 
 direction, so that if one becomes stopped up 
 by the winds or the currents from the sea, the 
 'water can escape by another." It speaks for 
 
loo Bernardin de St, Pierre. 
 
 itself that God does not hâve to try a thing over 
 and over again before it is perfect. Création 
 was perfect from the first day, and Bernardin 
 de Saint-Pierre suppresses the slow évolutions, 
 due to the action of the forces of nature, which 
 according to some incessantly alter the surface 
 of the earth. That surface is unchangeable. 
 There is no example that the sea ever"hollo\ved 
 out a bay, or detached anything from the conti- 
 nent ; " that the " rivers formed at their entrance 
 into the sea sand-banks and promontories ; " 
 that ancient ports had been effaced, islands 
 destroyed, or mountains denuded and levelled 
 to the ground. In truth, the works of God, like 
 those of man, are subject to wear, and need 
 réparation ; but the Divine Architect is never 
 idle, and works wîthout ceasing to maintain 
 them, which amounts to the same thing. 
 
 The means which He employs for réparation 
 often escape our notice from their very simplicity. 
 What pedestrian has not execrated the clouds 
 of sand or dust which the wind raises on the 
 strand or on barren plains. He would hâve 
 been rather astonished if he had known that 
 he was witnessing the dispersai of materials 
 designed by Providence to replace the soil in 
 the mountains, which had been worn away by 
 water, Sand and dust are transported to the 
 tops of the peaks upon the wings of storms, 
 
The ''Études de la Naturel loi 
 
 thanks to the *' fossil attractions " of the 
 mountains. 
 
 It vvas six years after Buffon's Époques de la 
 Nature had appeared, that Bernardin de Saint- 
 Pierre offered to the public this astonishing 
 System of the Universe. It needed a certain 
 amount of courage to be so deliberately behind- 
 hand. 
 
 The theory of final causes thus carried to 
 extrêmes occasioned a good deal of embarrass- 
 ment to the Deist. It is no slight matter to 
 undertake to explain, to the advantage of 
 Providence, everything that there is upon the 
 earth without any exception ; so many things 
 appear useless, so many hurtful, Saint-Pierre 
 never despaired of finding justification for every 
 one of them, with human happiness as its basis. 
 He went on bravely without disturbing himself 
 that the laugh was at his expense, and with an 
 ^rdour of conviction which convinced many of 
 the men and almost ail the women who read 
 him. The spirit of that day was not very 
 scientific. 
 
 Of what use are volcanoes ? Hardly any one 
 has failed to perceive that rivers are, so to speak, 
 the drains of the continent. The oils, the resin, 
 and the nitre of vegetables and animais " are car- 
 ried by the water-courses to the sea, where ail 
 their component parts become dissolved,covering 
 
102 Bcrna7'di}i de St, Pierre. 
 
 the surface with fatty matter, which does not 
 cvaporate because it resists the action of the air. 
 Without the intervention of Providence the 
 entire océan since the existence of the world 
 vvould be defiled with thèse tainted oils ; but 
 Providence made volcanoes, and the waters 
 were purified. In fact, volcanoes " do not 
 proceed from heat inside the earth, but they 
 owe their origin to the waters, and the matter 
 contained in them. One can convinceone's self 
 of this fact by remarking that there is not a 
 single volcano in the interior of a continent, 
 unless it is in the neighbourhood of some great 
 lake like that of Mexico." Nature, obeying a 
 Divine impulse, has " lighted thèse vast furnaces 
 on the shores of the océan," so that the oils of 
 which we hâve spoken, being attracted towards 
 them by a phenomenon which the author does 
 not explain, are burnt up as the weeds in a gar- 
 den are burnt in the autumn by a careful gardener, 
 One does in truth fînd lava in the interior of a 
 country, but a proof that it owes its origin to 
 water is that the volcanoes which hâve produced 
 it hâve become extinct, when the waters hâve 
 failed. Those volcanoes were lighted there like 
 those of our day, by the animal and vegetable 
 fermentations with which the earth was covered 
 after the Déluge, when the remains of so many 
 forests and so many animais, whose trunks and 
 
The ''Études de la Nature!' 103 
 
 bones are] still found in our quarries, floated on 
 the surface of the océan, forming huge deposits, 
 which the currents accumulated in the cavities 
 of the mountains, so that the ancient craters of 
 the Auvergne mountains prove that ail volcanoes 
 are found beside the sea. Inundations afford us 
 the pleasures of boating and fishing. That is 
 the reason that the nations which inhabit the 
 shores of the Amazon and the Orinico, and 
 many other rivers which overflow their banks, 
 looked upon thèse inundations as blessings 
 from heaven before the arrivai of Europeans, 
 who upset their ideas : " Was it, then, so dis- 
 pleasing a spectacle for them to see their 
 immense forests intersected by long water- 
 roads, which they could navigate without 
 trouble of any sort in their canoës, and of 
 which they could gather in the produce with the 
 greatest ease ? Some colonies like those on the 
 Orinico, convinced of thèse advantages, had 
 adopted the strange habit of living in the tops 
 of trees, like the birds, seeking board, lodging 
 and shelter under their foliage. In spite of the 
 epithet strangCy one feels that he regretted thèse 
 picturesque manners, and that it would not hâve 
 displeased him at ail to see the dwellers on the 
 banks of the Loire, nesting with the magpies 
 and jays in their own poplars." 
 
 Beasts of prey rid the earth of dead bodies, 
 
I04 Bernardin de St, Pierre, 
 
 which without them would not fail to infect the 
 air. Every year there dies a natural death at 
 least the twentieth part of the quadrupeds, the 
 tenth part of the birds, and an infinité number 
 of insects, of which most of the species only live 
 a year. There are some insects even vvho only 
 live a few hours, such as the ephemera. This 
 enormous destruction would soon poison the air 
 and the water without the aid of the innumerable 
 army of grave-diggers created and maintained 
 by Nature to keep the surface of the globe clean. 
 Saint- Pierre draws a description of it which is 
 wonderful for its colour and spirit : " It îs above 
 ail in hot countries, where the effects of de- 
 composition are most rapid and most dangerous, 
 that Nature has multiplied carnivorous animais. 
 Tribes of lions, tigers, léopards, panthers, civet- 
 cats, lynxes, jackals, hyenas, condors, &c., there 
 come to reinforce the wolves, foxes, martens, 
 otters, vultures, ravens, &c. Légions of voracious 
 crabs make their homes in the sand there ; 
 alligators and crocodiles lie in ambush amongst 
 their reeds, an innumerable species of shell-fish, 
 armed with implements to enable them to suck, 
 to bore, to file, to crush, bristle on the rocks and 
 pave their sea-shores. Clouds of sea-birds fly 
 screaming along the rocks, or sail round them 
 on the tops of the waves seeking their prey ; 
 eels, garfish, shad, and every species of carti- 
 
The ''Études de la Nature!' 105 
 
 lagînous fish which only lives upon flesh, such 
 as long sharks, big skate, hammer-fish, octopuses 
 armed with suckers, and every variety of dog-fish, 
 swim about in shoals, occupied ail the time in 
 devouring the remains of the dead bodies which 
 collect there. Nature also musters insects to 
 hasten on the destruction. Wasps armed with 
 shears eut the flesh, flies pump out the fluîds, 
 marine worms separate the bones . . . What 
 remains of ail thèse bodies, after having served 
 as food to numberless shoals of other kinds of 
 fish, some with snouts formed like a spoon, 
 others like a pipe, so that they can pick up 
 every crumb from the vast table, at last con- 
 verted by so many digestions into oils and 
 fats and added to the vegetable pulps which 
 descends from ail parts into the océan, would 
 reproduce a new chaos of putréfaction in its 
 waters, if the currents did not carry it to the 
 volcanoes, the fires of which succeed in decom- 
 posing it and giving it back to the éléments. It 
 is for this reason, as we hâve already indicated, 
 that volcanoes . . . are ail in the neighbourhood 
 of the sea or big lakes." 
 
 How happy are the poets ! for they can talk 
 nonsense with impunity. With ail his extra- 
 vagant ideas, Bernardin de Saint-Pierre has 
 brouerht home to us like no one else, the 
 sensation of the activity of Nature, and of the 
 
io6 Bernardin de St. Pierre, 
 
 swarming life which covers the earth, moves 
 inside it, and fills the air and the sea. 
 
 He had quite foreseen that people would 
 oppose to ail this the sufferings inflicted by 
 beasts of prey, large and small, upon living 
 animais, men even, but this objection did not 
 embarrass him in the least. As far as animais 
 are concerned, it would disappear of itself only 
 by taking a broader view of things. " It is 
 true," he said, " several species of carnivorous 
 beasts devour living animais. . . . Let us return 
 to the great principle of Nature : she has made 
 nothing in vain. She destines few animais to 
 die of old âge, and I believe even that it is only 
 man whom she permits to run through the 
 entire course of life, because it is only man 
 whose old âge can be useful to his fellovvs. 
 Among animais what would be the use of 
 unreflecting old âge to their posterity, which is 
 born with the instinct which takes the place of 
 expérience? On the other hand, how would 
 the decrepid parents find sustenance among 
 their children who leave them the moment 
 they know how to swim, fly, or walk ? Old 
 âge would be for them a weight from which the 
 wild beasts deliver them." Let us add that to 
 them death means little suffering, they are 
 generally destroyed in the night during their 
 sleep. ** They do not attach to this fatal 
 
The '' Étîtdes de la Nature,'' loj 
 
 moment any of the feelîngs which render it sa 
 bitter to the greater part of humanity — the 
 regrets for the past and anxieties for the future. 
 In the inidst of a life of innocence^ often witJi 
 tJieir dreams of love still fresh^ tJieir tintrotibled 
 spii'its wing iheir flight into the shades of night, 
 It is very prettily phrased, but unhappily no 
 one has ever succeeded, often as they hâve 
 tried, in convincing those who are eaten that it 
 is for their good." 
 
 The objection relative to man is dismissed 
 with the same ease. " Man has nothing to fear 
 from beasts of prey. Firstly, most of them only 
 go abroad in the night, and they possess striking 
 characteristics which announce their approach 
 even before they become visible. Some of them 
 hâve strong odours of musk liké the marten, the 
 civet cat, and the crocodile ; others shrill voices 
 which can be heard for long distances in the 
 night like the wolves and jackals ; again, others 
 hâve strongly-marked colours which can be 
 distinguished a long way off upon the neutral 
 tint of their skins : such are the dark stripes of 
 the tiger and the distinct spots of the léopard. 
 They ail hâve eyes which shine in the darkness. 
 . . . Even those which attack the human body 
 hâve distinguishing signs ; either they hâve a 
 strong odour like the bug, or contrasts in colour 
 to the parts to which they attach themselves,. 
 
loS Bernardin de St. Pierre. 
 
 like whitc insects on the hair, or the blackness 
 of fleas against the whiteness of the skin." Hovv 
 about niggers and their fleas ? 
 
 The flea's usefuhiess does not stop with its 
 blackness, it is also useful from the point of view 
 of political economy, by obh'ging " the rich to 
 employ those who are destitute, in the capacity 
 of domestics/ to keep things clean about them." 
 Furthermore hail, with the help of its ally, the 
 hurricane, destroys a great many insects ; earth- 
 quakes are no less necessary and useful, their 
 function being to purify the atmosphère. Hail, 
 tempests, earthquakes, are in reality so many 
 benefactors, unrecognised because we are 'not 
 penetrated to the marrow of our bones with 
 thèse fundamental truths : the happiness of 
 man is the first law of the world ; " nothing 
 superfluous exists, only such things as are useful 
 relatively to man." 
 
 Hère are some more proofs which Bernardin 
 de Saint-Pierre considers striking. Nature 
 invented the hideous scorpion to be a salutary 
 terror to us, to keep us away from damp, 
 unhealthy places, its ordinary abode. She has 
 given four teats to the cow, which only brings 
 forth one calf at a time, and a dozen to the sow, 
 who has to bring up as many as fifteen young 
 ones, and this because mankind, liking milk and 
 pork, the cow had to bc made to give us of 
 
The ''Études de la Naturel log 
 
 " the superabundance of her milk, and the sow 
 of that of her young." 
 
 What shall be said of the " royal foresight " 
 of the Divinity when it wishes to act upon our 
 hearts and prépare them to learn patience, or 
 open them to gentle feelings ? Every one of 
 us has mourned a dog, and has asked himself 
 why thèse faithful animais hâve so short a life. 
 Listen to the answer. " If the death of the dog 
 of the house reduces our children, whose com- 
 panion and contemporary he has been, to 
 despair, doubtless Nature wished to gîve them, 
 through the loss of an animal so worthy of 
 human affection, their first expérience of the 
 privations of which human life is fuU." The 
 example of the melon and the pumpkin is still 
 more characteristic. While most fruits are 
 cultivated for the mouth of man, like cherries 
 and plums, or for his hand like pears and apples, 
 the melon much larger and divided into quarters, 
 " seems intended to be eaten by the family." As 
 for the enormous pumpkin, Nature intends that 
 one should share it with one's neighbours ; it is 
 pre-eminently a sociable fruit. 
 
 In spite of ail thèse benefits, we hear our 
 impious race accusing Nature, and blaspheming 
 Providence. We are angry against Heaven 
 when we suffer, when this or that fails us, as 
 though Providence could be at fault, and as 
 
1 1 o Bernardin de St. Pïcj're. 
 
 though we were not ourselves the real authors of 
 our woes. A littlc faith, a little confidence, and 
 we should be comforted, but we do not possess 
 it, and we rush to our ruin through ignorance 
 and unbelief, just as it happened one day to 
 some men who had landed upon a désert island 
 where there were no cocoa-nut trees. Soon the 
 sea "threw upon the strand several sprouting 
 cocoa-nuts, as if Providence were eager to per- 
 suade them by this useful and agreeable présent 
 to remain upon the island and cultivate it." 
 Notice that this was not brought about by any 
 chance currents, because sea-currents are regular, 
 and those which surrounded this island had had 
 time since the création of the world to sow it 
 with ail sorts of seeds. " However that may 
 be, the emigrants planted the cocoa-nuts, and in 
 the course of a year and a half they sent up 
 shoots four feet in height. So marked a favour 
 from Heaven was, nevertheless, not sufficîent to 
 keep them in this happy spot : a thoughtless 
 désire to procure for themselves wives, induced 
 them to leave it, and plunged them in a long 
 séries of misfortunes, which most of them could 
 not survive. For iny part, I do not doitbt that if 
 they had had that confidence in Providence which 
 they owed to her, she would hâve sent wives to 
 them in their désert island, as she had sent tJiem 
 cocoa-mits J' 
 
The ''Études de la NaticreT iir 
 
 Providence also takes touching care of the 
 animais. The thorns of the brambles and 
 bushes protect the little birds in their nests, and 
 collect the sheep's vvool to line the nests with. 
 Ermines hâve the tips of their tails black, " so 
 that thèse small animais, entirely white, when 
 going after one another in the snow, where they 
 leave hardly any footmarks, may recognise one 
 another in the luminous reflections of the long 
 nights of the North." Hairy animais are gene- 
 rally white underneath because white keeps them 
 warmer than any other colour, and because "the 
 stomach needs most heat on account of the di- 
 gestive and other functîons ; on the other hand, 
 the head is always the deepest in colour, above ail 
 in hot countries, because that part has most need 
 of coolness in the animal economy." It is also 
 for the last reason that several of the birds in hot 
 régions hâve tufts and crests on their heads, to 
 shade them. Lastly, ail animais without excep- 
 tion find their table set for them ever since the 
 world began, even those who only feed upon car- 
 rion. " Ancient trees grow in the depths of new 
 forests to afiford sustenance to the insects and 
 birds who find it in their aged trunks. Corpses 
 were createdfor the carnivorous animais. In every 
 âge there must come forth créatures young, old, 
 living and dyîng." There is always an essential 
 différence in the methods of Providence towards 
 
1 1 2 Bernardin de St. Pierre. 
 
 animais, and towards man. God takes care of us 
 for our own sakes, He only takes care of animais 
 or plants as they affect us, and in such measure 
 as they are useful or agreeable to us. Bernardin 
 de Saint-Pierre was never tired of making 
 remarks in support of thèse diverse opinions, 
 and we could multiply quotations indefinitely, 
 but what has already been said gives an adéquate 
 idea of his theory of the universe. 
 
 At first sight we are inclined to shrug our 
 shoulders and pity the final causes for having 
 found an advocate capable of such sad non- 
 sense ; but on reflection we are obliged to admit 
 that once the principle îs conceded, there is no 
 means of stopping one's self in the downward 
 course. Why admit this final cause and reject 
 that one ? If the world is arranged for the 
 happiness of man, ought we not to explain 
 the utility of moths and weevils after that of 
 wool and corn? And if we see in it, as Saint- 
 Pierre did, a means of compellingthe monopolists 
 to sell theîr merchandise for fear that the poor 
 would hâve to go naked or die of hunger, hâve 
 we not the right to maintain that one argument 
 is worth another, and that it would be difficult 
 to you to find a better ? On the whole. Ber- 
 nardin only developed Fénélon's idea, who also 
 subordinated the création to man, and was led 
 by that, in spite of ail his cleverness, to affirm 
 
The '^Études de la Naturel 113 
 
 that the stars were made to give us light ; that 
 the dog is born " to give us a pleasant picture 
 of Society, friendship, fidelity, and tender 
 affection ; " that wild beasts are intended " to 
 exercise the courage, strength, and skill of man- 
 kind." Betvveen Fénélon and Saint-Pierre, as 
 between ail determined partisans of final causes, 
 ît is only a question of more or less ingenuity, 
 and Saint-Pierre was very ingenious. Grimm 
 wrote, " I do not believe that any man had as 
 yet ventured to recognise Providence, or to 
 attribute to it more skilful attention, more refined 
 research, more delicacy of feeling, but his idea 
 is carried beyond ail bounds, and leads him 
 occasionally into ail kinds of nonsense and 
 absurd puerilities. His book is one long col- 
 lection of eclogues, hymns and madrigals in 
 honour of Providence." ^ The Études de la 
 Nature makes us still better able to understand 
 the warmth with which Buffon repudiated the 
 theory of final causes. 
 
 Bernardin de Saint-Pierre would hâve been 
 immensely astonished if he had been told that 
 he was labouring to prépare générations of pessi- 
 mists by attributing to Providence the cares and 
 solicitude of a nurse in its relations with men. 
 Nothing was further from his thoughts, and yet 
 nothing is more certain from the moment that 
 ^ Literary Correspondence, April, 1785. 
 9 
 
114 Bernardin de St. Pierre. 
 
 his Works became a success vvith the public, and 
 exerted an influence over men's minds. Man 
 once convinced that his happiness is the concern 
 of God, considers it the duty of the Divinity to 
 secure it. In misfortune he has no patience to 
 bear his troubles, because he looks upon himself 
 as injured by Providence. The horror of the 
 injustice done to him redoubles his suffering, 
 and he curses the Heaven which does not 
 respect his rights. It would be doing too much 
 honour to Bernardin de Saint-Pierre if we were 
 to make him answerable for the gloomy and 
 bitter turn of mind of our contemporaries, but he 
 certainly helped it on, since for a thoughtful 
 mind his philosophy has a fatal tendency to 
 demonstrate the fallibility of Providence. 
 
 He perceived the difficulty quite vvell, and 
 felt that it is not sufflcient to keep repeating 
 over and over again the axiom : " Ail is for the 
 best in the best of worlds." When one has 
 finished repeating it, the evil is not ended or 
 explained. Bernardin de Saint-Pierre was only 
 too glad to fall back upon his ovvn century, on 
 which he had turned his back during his 
 religious exaltation, and to explain by reasons 
 taken from Diderot and Jean-Jacques the 
 sufferings of humanity in a world created 
 perfect. So he wrote : " Man is born good ; it 
 is Society that makes bad people, and your 
 
The ''Études de la Natti^^e'' 115 
 
 éducation which prépares them." Man is born 
 good ; take the savages, who alone upon the 
 earth still possess "real virtue." A good man 
 continues happy so long as he does not turn 
 aside from "the law of nature." Take the 
 savages again — their happiness is perfect, accord- 
 ing to the missionaries, so long as they hâve 
 no intercourse with civilised nations. Society 
 " makes bad people " by its stupid and brutal 
 laws, which ignore and defy those of nature and 
 precipitate us into abysses of evil. Our éduca- 
 tion prépares our young people to be in their 
 turn wicked, because it is founded upon the false 
 idea with which our whole civilisation is im- 
 pregnated : it develops the intelligence înstead 
 of developing the heart Nature " does not wish 
 man to be skilful and vainglorious ; she wishes him 
 to be happy and good." We are going against 
 her intentions when we undertake to invent 
 scientific Systems which " déprave the heart," 
 instead of cultivating sweet and tender senti- 
 ments amongst our children. In doing so we 
 commit a crimînal error every day of our lîves, 
 the fatal conséquences of which are quite 
 apparent. Consider what man has become 
 under the influence of thîs civilisation of which 
 we are so proud. 
 
 " Nature, which intended him to be loving, did 
 not furnish him with arms, and so he forged 
 
1 1 6 Bernardin de St. Pierre. 
 
 them hîmself to fight his fellows with. She 
 provides food and shelter for ail her children ; 
 and the roads leading to our towns are only 
 distinguishable from afar by their gibbets! The 
 history of nature présents only benefîts, that of 
 man nothing but wrath and rapine." And 
 further on : " There are many lands which hâve 
 never been cultivated ; but there are none known 
 to Europeans which hâve not been staîned with 
 human blood. Even the lonely wastes of the 
 sea swallow up in their depths shiploads of men 
 sent to the bottom by their fellows. In the 
 towns, flourishing as they seem with their arts 
 and monuments, pride and cunning, superstition 
 and impiety, violence and treachery, wage their 
 eternal strife and fill with trouble the lot of the 
 unfortunate inhabitants. The more civilised the 
 Society there^ the more cruel are its evils and the 
 more they increase in number^^ 
 
 Bernardin de Saint-Pierre had his Rousseau. 
 beside him, when he thus launched his anathemas 
 against civilisation and the sciences. He occa- 
 sionally makes use of expressions which closely 
 recall the Discours sur les lettres ^ les sciences et les 
 artSy and the Discours sur V inégalité par^ni les 
 hommes. Unhappily for his thesis, his éloquent 
 rage against our social state rings false. We 
 feel that it is a rhetorical artifice to help him out 
 of the difïiculty of his theory of final causes, and. 
 
The ''Études de la Naturel 117 
 
 to open out a vvay for him to bring at last his 
 character of legislator before the public. The 
 occasion was unique for showing to France what 
 she had lost through the incapacity of her 
 ministers, who allowed the memorials of M. de 
 Saint-Pierre to moulder in their portfolios. 
 We thus return to Robinson CricsoCy the idéal 
 colony, and those famous laws of nature which 
 it is our mission to contrast with the laws made 
 by man. 
 
 The laws of nature are " moral " and " senti- 
 mental " laws ; they comprise in the first place 
 ail the good and noble sentiments which God 
 has placed in our hearts. Just as reason is a 
 misérable and inferior faculty, so sentiment is 
 the glory and strength of mankind ; man owes 
 to it everything great and splendid which he 
 has ever accomplished. " Reason has pro- 
 duced many men of mind in the so-called 
 civilised âges, and sentiment men of genius in 
 the so-called barbarous âges. Reason varies 
 from âge to âge, sentiment is always the same. 
 Errors of reason are local and transitory, the 
 truths of sentiment are unchanging and universal. 
 By reason the ego is made Greek, English, 
 Turkish ; by sentiment it becomes human, divine. 
 ... In truth, reason gives us some pleasures ; 
 but if it reveals some portion of the order of the 
 universe, it shows us at the same time our own 
 
I : S Berjiardin de St, Pierre. 
 
 destruction, which is involved in the lavvs of îts 
 préservation. It shows us at once past ills and 
 those that are to corne. . . . The wider it ex- 
 plores it brings back to us the évidence of our 
 nothingness ; and far from calming our anxieties 
 by its researches, it often only increases them by 
 its knowledge. On the contrary sentiment, blind 
 in its desires, surveys the reUcs of ail countries 
 and ail times ; it trusts in the midst of ruins, of 
 battles, even of death, in some vague eternal 
 existence ; in ail its yearnings it strives after the 
 attributes of the Divinity — infinity, scope, dura- 
 tion, power, greatness, and glory ; it adds ardent 
 désire to ail our passions, gives to them a sub- 
 lime impulse, and in subjugating our reason, 
 becomes itself the noblest and best instinct 
 of human life." We must correct Descartes and 
 say : " I feel, therefore I exist." 
 
 The apotheosis of sentiment, " blind in its 
 desires " and indomitable in their pursuit, which 
 *' subjugates our reason " and makes us act on 
 impulse, strongly resembles an apotheosis of 
 passion, and in fact has led to it. So George 
 Sand strikes some roots in the insipid sensibility 
 of the last century, but we know already that it 
 was not within the scope of Bernardin de Saint- 
 Pierre to calculate the not very remote con- 
 séquences of his principles. He dreamt, without 
 the very least anxiety, of a world entirely 
 
The ''Études de la Nature.'' 119 
 
 governed by sentiment, and emancipated from 
 that abominable reason. No danger could 
 threaten this regenerated community, because 
 its leader had sorted out the sentiments common 
 to humanity, and only allowed such of them to 
 prevail as pity, innocence, admiration, melan- 
 choly, and love. This choice promised to the 
 world a succession of Idylls. As for the bad 
 sentiments, hâte, avarice, jealousy, ambition, 
 there was no need to take them into considéra- 
 tion or to fear their usurpation ; they would 
 disappear from the face of France so soon as 
 the plan of éducation placed at the end of the 
 Études de la Nature had been adopted. 
 
 There is nothing like coming at the right 
 time. At the beginning of the Révolution thèse 
 sort of things were listened to with a contrite 
 spirit, and no one thought of laughing at them, 
 such sentiments appeared as wise as they were 
 beautiful ; no one doubted his own virtue and 
 goodness, and ail rejoiced in this picture of the 
 delightful émotions which awaited the new 
 Society» Bernardin de Saint-Pierre laboured to 
 draw seductive pictures of it, and his efforts hâve 
 procured us some analyses of public feeling 
 which their date render most interesting. 
 
 His chapter on Melancholy is one of the 
 most interesting. Melancholy had only lately 
 come into fashion, and he exerted himself to 
 
I20 Bernardin de St. Pierre. 
 
 inquire into the source of this seductive senti- 
 ment, the svveetest and most cherished poison of 
 the soûl. He to some extent recognised the 
 danger of it, for the word vohiptuoiis occurs 
 several times under his pen : " I do not know," 
 he wrote, " to what physical law the philosopher 
 may attribute the sensations of melancholy. 
 For my part I think that they are the most 
 voluptuous impressions of the soûl." That is 
 very finely expressed and very true. Further 
 on, apropos of people vvho try by artificial means 
 to give themselves sensations of melancholy, he 
 writes : " Our voluptuaries hâve artificial ruins 
 erected in their gardens. . . . The tomb has sup- 
 plied to the poetry of Young and Gessner pictures 
 full of charm ; therefore our voluptuaries hâve 
 imitation tombs put up in their gardens." He is 
 himself " a voluptuary " when he solaces his 
 woes, by abandoning himself to the melancholy 
 which bad vveather créâtes in him. " It seems to 
 me at such times that nature conforms to my 
 situation like a tender friend. She is, besides, 
 always so interesting under whatever aspect she 
 reveals herself, that when it rains I seem to 
 see a beautiful woman in tears, ail the more 
 beautiful the more she is distressed. In order to 
 expérience thèse sentiments, which I dare to call 
 voluptuous, we must hâve no plans for going 
 out, or paying visits, or hunting, or travelling, 
 
The ''Études de la Nature'' 121 
 
 which always put us into a bad temper, because 
 we are thvvarted ; . . . to enjoy bad weather it is 
 necessary that our soûl should travel, our body 
 stay quiet." 
 
 We hâve in thèse lines a great science of 
 melancholy, given to us by a refined " voluptu- 
 ary " who understands how to give to agreeable 
 sensations their maximum of enjoyment. One 
 is quite taken in to find directly after a séries of 
 pretentious articles in the manner of the day, in 
 which Bernardin de Saint-Pierre explains the 
 pkasure of the grave by the sentiment of the 
 immortality of the soûl, and thepleasure of decay 
 by that of the infinity of time. I notice in it, 
 however, an effort to interest the reader in the 
 real and native gothic ruins, which might be 
 called daring, at that time of mania for fiUing 
 one's garden with Greek and Roman érections : 
 imitation temples, imitation tombs, imitation 
 columns, and imitation ruins, ornamented with 
 allegorical emblems and sentimental inscriptions. 
 Bernardin de Saint-Pierre did not oppose this 
 classical bric-à-brac which pleased him only too 
 well, but he possessed to a greater extent than 
 his contemporaries the sensé of the picturesque, 
 which bore fruit in some romantic scènes like 
 the description of the Château of Lillebonne. 
 
 The château is perched on a height com- 
 manding a valley. " The high walls which 
 
122 Bernardin de SL Pierre. 
 
 surround ît are rounded off at the corners, and 
 so covered with ivy that there are but fevv points 
 from which one can mark their course. About 
 the middle of their length, where I should think 
 it would not be easy to penetrate, rise high battle- 
 mented towers, upon the tops of which grow big 
 trees, having the appearance of a thick head of 
 hair. Hère and there through the carpet of ivy 
 which covers their sides, are gothic Windows^ 
 embrasures and gaps resembHng mouths of 
 caverns, through which one can see the stairs. 
 The only birds to be seen flying round this 
 desolate habitation, are buzzards, which hover 
 about in silence ; and if occasionally the cry of 
 a bird is heard, it is sure to be an owl whose 
 nest is there. . . . When I remember at sight 
 of this stronghold, that it was formerly inhabited 
 by petty tyrants who from there used to plunder 
 their unlucky vassals and even travellers, I 
 seem to see the carcass of some great beast of 
 prey." This conclusion is from a man who, in 
 default of arî historical sensé, has at least an 
 historical imagination. 
 
 Love inspires him with a charming page on 
 the expansion of every living thing during the 
 love-season. The plant opens its flowers, the 
 bird puts on his most beautiful plumage, the 
 wild beasts fiU the forests with their roaring, and 
 the soûl of the young man " receives its fuU 
 
The '^Études de la Nature!' 123 
 
 expansion." His soûl also opens its flowers and 
 exhales its perfume of generosity, candour, hero- 
 ism, and holy faith, and love adorns it with 
 wondrous grâces which take the form of " ail 
 the characteristics of virtue." It is a dazzling 
 metamorphosis, and it is in some sort a disguise, 
 for the virtues, which are only a transforma- 
 tion of love, run great danger of evaporating 
 with the âge of love, like the parade dress 
 of certain birds in the Indies, which are only 
 lent by nature during the pairing season. 
 Bernardin de Saint-Pierre remarks that certainly 
 young men hâve some modesty, and that " most 
 of our old men hâve none at ail, because they 
 hâve lost the feeling of love." Honour to the 
 sentiment which thus raises us above ourselves ! 
 It is a great thing to hâve felt certain things 
 once in our lives. 
 
 Admiration is another of the moral laws by 
 which nature, left to herself, governs the earth. 
 The author adds to it the pleasures of igriorance^ 
 which he déclares to be incomparable. Ignor- 
 ance is the suprême blessing from Heaven, the 
 masterpiece of nature, " the never-failing source 
 of our pleasures." We owe to it the exquisite 
 enjoyments of mystery. It takes away ail our 
 ills, and embellishes the good things of this life 
 with illusion, upholds the poetry of the world 
 against science. " It is science which has 
 
124 Bernardin de St, Pierre. 
 
 hurled the chaste Diana from lier nocturnal 
 chariot ; has banished the vvood-nymphs from 
 our ancient forests and the sweet naiads from 
 our fountains. Ignorance invited the gods to 
 share in its joys, its sorrows, its hymeneal fes- 
 tivities and its funeral rites : science sees 
 nothing there but the éléments. It has aban- 
 doned man to man, and thrown him upon the 
 •earth as into a désert" Every epoch which 
 répudiâtes the supernatural will recognise itself 
 in this man abandoned to man^ and feeling that 
 he is in a désert. 
 
 It vvould hâve been best to stop there, 
 glorifying ignorance on poetical grounds only. 
 Bernardin de Saint-Pierre spoilt everything by 
 insisting on the misdeeds of science. He wished 
 to profit by the occasion to crush his enemies 
 the Academicians, men with Systems, who never 
 appeared to take his théories seriously, and he 
 gravely affirms that ignorance is the only 
 preservative against the errors into which the 
 " so-called human sciences " plunge us. When 
 one knows nothing, one is sure to know no 
 nonsense. Let it be said in passing that the 
 scientific works of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre 
 confirm this maxim ; for if he had not learnt 
 geometry, he would not hâve said such absurd 
 things as we shall see presently, and which 
 covered him with ridicule in the eyes of the 
 
The ''Études de la Naturel 125 
 
 scholars of his day. But he did not think of 
 himself in celebrating the advantages of perfect 
 ignorance ; in such a case one never does think 
 of oneself. 
 
 After the preceding, one does not expect 
 study to hold a great place in the plan of 
 éducation which crowns the Études de la Nature, 
 the object of which is to expel ail evil senti- 
 ments from the hearts of the French people. To 
 begin with, Saint-Pierre abolishes learning from 
 the éducation of women, of whom he only 
 purposes to make housekeepers and mistresses. 
 Love is their only end upon earth, the sole 
 reason of their existence, and expérience has 
 proved that learning does not help them in this : 
 " Those who hâve been learned, hâve almost ail 
 been unhappy in love, from Sappho to Christina, 
 Queen of Sweden." It is not with theology and 
 philosophy that they gain a man's affection, it is 
 by ail their féminine séductions, and it is with 
 cookery that they keep it. " A man does not 
 like to find a rival or an instructor in his wife." 
 A husband likes good pastry when he is well, 
 and good herb-tea when he is ill. He likes his 
 cofifee to be good, préserves in which " the juice 
 is as clear as the flash of a ruby," flowers 
 preserved in sugar which " display more brilliant 
 colours than the amethyst in the rocks of Gol- 
 conda." He likes his dining-room to be well 
 
126 Bernai' din de St. Pie^'re. 
 
 lighted, the fishing expédition well organised. 
 Look at Cleopatra : it was with her talents as 
 mistress of the house that she subjugated 
 Antony, and made him forget " the virtuous 
 Octavia, who was as beautiful as the Queen of 
 Egypt, but who as a Roman dame had neglected 
 ail the homely womanly arts, to occupy herself 
 with affairs of state." Let us beware of turning 
 our daughters into Octavias. They are to hâve 
 no books ; the best are of no use to them. No 
 théâtres. Give them a dancing master, a singing 
 master,let them learn needlework and the science 
 of housekeeping ; nothing more is necessary to a 
 young girl in the interest of her own happiness. 
 It is thus that united families are prepared, 
 where contentment engenders goodness and 
 makes virtue easy.i 
 
 Boys are to leave classical studies alone, as 
 they only delay at a dead loss their entry into life. 
 Seven years of humanities, two of philosophy, 
 three of theology ; twelve years of weariness, 
 ambition, and self-conceit. ..." I ask if, after 
 going through that, a schoolboy, following the 
 dénominations of thèse same studies, is more 
 
 * Bernardin de Saint-Pierre had developed his ideas upon the 
 éducation of women, long before the publication of the Etudes 
 de la Nature^ in a speech delivered in 1777, without success, at 
 an academical meeting in the country. Some of the détails given 
 hère are borrowed from this Discours sur V Education des 
 femmes. 
 
Tke *'' Études de la Naturel 127 
 
 human, more philosophical, and believes more 
 in God than a good peasant who does not know 
 how to read ? Of what use is it ail to most 
 men ?" A boy ought to hâve finished his studies 
 and begun a trade at sixteen. Up to then he 
 is to study according to a programme which has 
 made good its way in the world since, and for 
 which Bernardin de Saint-Pierre merits a second 
 time the title of pioneer. Thèse boys were to 
 learn nothing but useful things — arithmetic, 
 geometry, physics, mechanics, agriculture, the 
 art of making bread and weaving cloth, how to 
 build a house and decorate it. A very careful 
 civil éducation. It is generally forgotten that 
 Bernardin de Saint-Pierre is the inventor of 
 school-drill. It was one of his favourite ideas ; 
 he even wished the little school-boys to under- 
 take the grand manœuvres. 
 
 "During the summer, when the harvest is 
 gathered in, towards the beginning of Septem- 
 ber, I should take them into the country in 
 battalions, divided under several flags. I should 
 give them a picture of war. I should let them 
 sleep on the grass in the shadow of the woods, 
 where they should prépare their food themselves, 
 and learn to défend and attack a post, swim a 
 river, exercise themselves in the use of firearms, 
 and at the same time in manœuvres taken from 
 the tactics of the Greeks, who are our superiors 
 in almost everything." 
 
128 Bei^nardin de St, Pierre. 
 
 A little Greek and Latin they might learn 
 during their last years at school, but taught " by 
 use," without grammar ; lessons learnt by heart, 
 or written exercises ; a little law, something of 
 politics, some ideas upon the history of religion ; 
 but no abstract spéculations or researches, even 
 in science. 
 
 One did not expect to meet so utilitarian a 
 Bernadin de Saint-Pierre. In a hundred years 
 we hâve not got beyond him, and yet we know 
 whether our génération prides itself upon its 
 contempt of the schools or not. The vvonder is 
 that he found means to retain his Louis XVI. 
 sentimentalism in spite of this overflow of prac- 
 tical ideas. He corrected with one stroke of 
 his pen the dryness of his programme. Every- 
 thing which was to be taught in his Ecoles de 
 la Patrie — orthography, ethics, arithmetic, 
 baking — ail, without exception, were to be " put 
 into verse and set to music." Out of school- 
 hours the pupils were to be commanded by " the 
 Sound of flûtes, hautbois, and bagpipes." Hère 
 we find ourselves again in the land of Utopia, 
 and we recognise our Bernardin. 
 
 The schemes of political and social reforms 
 which fill the two last volumes of the Études 
 de la Nature are full of this curious mixture of 
 a practical mind with a romantic imagination. 
 Saint-Pierre is a democrat, and rather an 
 
The ^' Étîides de la Naturer 129 
 
 advanced one for the day for which he was 
 writing. He works with ail his might to dis- 
 turb the existing state of things, and the end is 
 always simply a dream. You hâve the impres- 
 sion that in his regenerated state the most 
 serious questions would be " put into verse and 
 set to music," like the course of geometry in his 
 model school. He asks for the suppression of 
 large estâtes and great capitalists, monopolies^ 
 privileged companies, the rights of taxation. 
 He proposes several means of putting down the 
 nobility, whose existence would not fail in the 
 long run to bring about the downfall and ruin 
 of the State. He demands energetically the 
 confiscation of the property of the clergy for 
 the good of the poor. He wishes to replace 
 hospitals with home nursing, by which the 
 farhilies of the sick persons would benefit ; to 
 ameliorate prison régime and madhousés to 
 secure pensions to aged workmen, and to con- 
 struct in Paris édifices large enough to admit of 
 fêtes for the people being held there. Ail at 
 once he interrupts himself in thèse grave sub- 
 jects to describe an Elysiiim of his invention,, 
 which will be like the visible epitome of the 
 happy metamorphosis of France. 
 
 His Elysium is situated at Neuilly, in the 
 island of the Grande-yatte, enlarged by the 
 small arm of the Seine and a bit of the shore. 
 
 10 
 
130 Bernardin de St, Pierre. 
 
 It is encumbered with ail that the eighteenth 
 century could invent in the way of symbols, 
 allégories, emblems, touching combinations, and 
 instructive conjunctions. There are nothing but 
 obélisques, péristyles, tombs, pyramids, temples, 
 urns, altars, trophies, busts, bas-reliefs, médaillons, 
 statues, domes,columns and colonnades, epitaphs, 
 mottoes, maxims, complicated bowers, and " en- 
 chanted groves." There is not an object of art 
 in it which has not a moral signification ; not a 
 pebble or blade of grass which does not give the 
 passer-by a lesson in virtue or gratitude. Thus, 
 for example, upon a rock placed in the midst of 
 a tuft of strawberry-plants from Chili, one reads 
 thèse words : — 
 
 " / was îinknown in Europe ; but in such a 
 year, such a one, born in such a place, trmisplanted 
 me from the high mountains of Chili ; and 7iow 
 I bear flowers and fruit in the pleasant climate of 
 France" 
 
 Under a bas-relief of coloured marble, repre- 
 senting small children eating, drinking, and 
 enjoying themselves, one would read this in- 
 scription : — 
 
 " We were exposed in the streets, to the dogs, to 
 hunger and cold ; such a one, front such a place, 
 lodged us, clothed us, and gave us the milk refused 
 to îis by our motliersT 
 
 At the foot of a statue, in white marble, of a 
 
The '^Études de la Nature.'' 131 
 
 young and beautiful woman, seated, and wiping 
 her eyes with symptoms of sadness and joy : — 
 
 "/ zvas hatefîd in the sight of Heaven and 
 before men ; but, toiLched with repentance, I 
 appeased Heaven with my tears ; and I hâve 
 repaired the evil which I did to men, by serving 
 the sorrowful" 
 
 Not far from thîs repentant Magdalen, whose 
 marble face expresses, according to the aesthetics 
 of the day, at one and the same time joy and 
 sadness, some statues are erected to good house- 
 wives " who shall re-estabHsh order in an untidy 
 house," to widows who hâve not re-married on 
 account of their children, and to women " who 
 shall hâve attained to the most illustrions posi- 
 tion through the very modesty of their virtues." 
 Further on are the busts of inventors of useful 
 instruments, ornamented with the objects which 
 they hâve invented : " the représentation of a 
 stocking-frame and that of a silk-throwing mill." 
 As for the inventor of gunpowder, if he is ever 
 •discovered, there is no place for him in the 
 Elysium. 
 
 Further away still, a magnificent tomb, sur- 
 rounded with tobacco-plants, is consecrated to 
 Nicot, who imported tobacco into Europe. A 
 tuft of Lucern-grass, from Media, " surrounds 
 with its tendrils the monument dedicated to the 
 memory of the unknown husbandman who was 
 
132 Bernardin de St. Pierre. 
 
 the first to sovv seed on our stony hills, and to 
 présent to us pasturage which renews itself four 
 times a year on spots which were barren." And 
 so on for ail travellers who hâve brought into 
 the country useful or agreeable plants. Seeing 
 an urn in the midst of a nasturtium bed, a 
 pedestal among the potatoes, the people would 
 think of their benefactors, and their hearts 
 would be softened. They would leave the island 
 Grande-yatte better men ; easy, too, as to their 
 future, for this sublime spot would make the 
 fortune of Paris. This Elysium would attract a 
 crowd of rich foreigners, anxious to " deserve 
 well " of France, so as to obtain the honour of 
 being buried in the panthéon of virtuous men. 
 
 In the eyes of Bernadin de Saint-Pierre this 
 enormous toy-fair was nothing less than " the 
 re-establishment of one of the laws of nature 
 most important to a nation — I would say an 
 inexhaustible perspective of the Infinité." In 
 the same way the reforms which hâve just been 
 expounded ail hâve for their object " the appli- 
 cation of the laws of nature to the evils of 
 Society," and for a resuit the cure of thèse ills 
 bv the return of the "harmonious laws of nature" 
 and the " natural affections." Unhappily for 
 France, Saint- Pierre was not the only man who 
 knew what he meant when he talked this jargon, 
 without sensé to us. In 1784 there was a large 
 
The ''Études de la Naturel 133 
 
 number of persons who imagined that there was 
 something in it, and that, in fact, nothing was 
 simpler than to return to the " harmonious laws 
 of nature." The Étitdes de la Nature corre- 
 sponded with a widely-diffused current of ideas, 
 and that adds to their interest They help to 
 represent to us the condition of many minds 
 at the beginning of the Révolution. At that 
 time they thought to overthrow everything to 
 the Sound of the bagpipes, and they believed in 
 the panacea of Elysiums. 
 
 We hâve sketched the gênerai plan of the 
 work ; it now remains to point out some of the 
 ideas " by the way," which are its chief riches. 
 The author strongly suspected that he was never 
 more interesting than when he gave loose rein 
 to his pen, and he never refused himself a 
 digression or fancy. "Descriptions, conjectures, 
 insight, views, objections, doubts, and even my 
 errors," he says in his " Plan of Work," " I col- 
 lected them ail." He did well ; for it is when 
 he wanders from the point and forgets his 
 System that he is original and interesting. 
 
 In Art he could not disabuse his mind of the 
 mania for moral effect ; he does not even spare 
 the landscape. " If one wishes to find a great 
 deal of interest in a smiling and agreeable land- 
 scape, one must be able to see it through a great 
 triumphal arch, ruined by time. On the con- 
 
134 Berna7'din de St. Pierre. 
 
 trary, a town full of Etruscan and Egyptian 
 monuments looks much more antique when one 
 sees it from under a green and flowery bower." 
 
 He is, however, much more realistic, and con- 
 sequently more modem, than his description of 
 his Elysium would lead one to suppose. He 
 deserves to be pardoned his philosophical land- 
 scapes, because he was the first to say that there 
 is nothing ugly in nature, one only needs to 
 knovv how to look a| it. Man disfigures it by 
 his Works, but that which he has not touched 
 ahvays retains its beauty. " The ugliest objects 
 are agreeable when they are in the place where 
 Nature put them." A crab or a monkey which 
 appears to you hideous in a natural history col- 
 lection, ceases to be so when you see it on the 
 shore or in a vîrgin forest ; they then form an 
 intégral part of the gênerai beauty of the land- 
 scape. 
 
 The same with people. A fig for conven- 
 tional types and mythological costumes 1 copy 
 nature. Make real shoe-blacks with their black- 
 ing-boxes ; real nuns with their mob-caps ; real 
 kitchens with the real milk-jug and saucepan. 
 Make your great men look like other people, 
 instead of representing them "like angel 
 trumpeters at the day of judgment, hair flying, 
 wild eyes, the muscles of the face convulsed, and 
 their draperies floating about in the wind.'* 
 
The '^Études de la Naturel 135 
 
 " Those are," say the painters and sculptors, 
 *' expressions of genius. But men of genius and 
 great men are not fools. . . . The coins of Virgil, 
 Plato, Scipio, Epaminondas, and even of Alex- 
 ander, represent them with a calm, tranquil air." 
 Show us a real Cleopatra, not " an academical 
 face without expression, a Sabine in stature^ 
 looking robust and full of health, her large eyes 
 cast up to heaven, wearing around her big and 
 massive arms a serpent coiled about them Hke a 
 bracelet. No, make her as Plutarch shows her 
 to us : ' Small, vivacious, sprightly, running 
 about the streets of Alexandria at night dis- 
 guised as a market-woman, and concealed 
 amongst some goods, being carried on Apollo- 
 dore's shoulders to go and see Julius Csesar.' " 
 
 In ethics Bernardin de Saint-Pierre warmly 
 combats the theory of the influence of climate, 
 race, soil, tempérament and food upon the 
 vicious or virtuous tendencies of men. It seemed 
 to him absurd to say, like Montesquieu, that the 
 mountain is republican, and the plain monarchie ; 
 that cold makes us conquerors, and heat slaves. 
 That is only " a philosophical opinion . . . re- 
 futed by ail historical évidence." 
 
 He attacked with the same ardour the theory 
 of heredity which has become so widespread in 
 our day. " I myself ask where one has ever 
 seen inclination to vice or virtue communicated 
 
136 Beriia7^din de St, Pierre, 
 
 through the blood ? " History proves that that 
 too is only " a philosophical opinion," and it is a 
 good thing that it is so, for man would no longer 
 be at liberty to choose betvveen good and evil if 
 thèse différent doctrines were true. 
 
 It is curious to see the partisans of free-will pre- 
 occupying themselves, more than a hundred years 
 ago, with the theory of heredity. It is a proof 
 that ideas float about a long time in the air in the 
 germ-stage before they corne to maturity, and 
 are adopted into the gênerai advance of thought. 
 It would be as absurd to prétend that Bernardin 
 de Saint- Pierre had actually conceived the 
 physiological law, whose conséquences make him 
 so indignant as to attribute the discoveries of 
 Darwin to his grandfather Erasmus. It is none 
 the less true that his génération had glimmering 
 ideas of a number of questions which hâve 
 become common-places in the second half of the 
 nineteenth century. 
 
 With a little good will we find even in the 
 Etudes de la Nature a kind of embryo of 
 Hegel's theory of Contradictions. Contraries 
 produce agreement, said Bernardin de Saint- 
 Pierre. " I look upon this great truth as the key 
 to the whole of philosophy. It has been as 
 fruitful in discoveries as this other maxim : 
 ' Nothing has been made in vain.' " He adds : 
 '* Every truth, except the truths of fact, is the 
 
The '^Études de la Nature!' 137 
 
 resuit of two contrary ideas. ... If men paid 
 attention to this lavv, it would put an end to 
 most of their mistakes and their disputes ; for 
 one may say that everything being compensated 
 by contraries, every man who affirms a simple 
 proposition is only half right, because the con- 
 trary proposition exists equally in nature." 
 
 We hâve already said that he had not been 
 happy in the field of science. It would be doing 
 him a service to pass over in silence this part of 
 his work, but his shade would not forgive us. 
 He attached an enormous importance to it, and 
 only attributed to the spirit of routine and pro- 
 fessional jealousy the obstinacy of the learned 
 men in taking no notice of his two chief dis- 
 coveries — the origin of tides, and the elongation 
 of the pôles. We will explain them briefly. It 
 is picturesque science if ever anything was. 
 
 The pôles, says Saint- Pierre, are covered with 
 an immense cupola of ice, " according to the 
 expérience of sailors, and also of common sensé. 
 The cupola of the north pôle is about two thou- 
 sand leagues in diameter, and twenty-five in 
 height. It is covered with icicles, which are about 
 ten leagues high. The cupola of the south pôle 
 is larger still. Each one melts alternately during 
 half the year, according as each hémisphère is in 
 summer or winter. The two pôles are thus ' the 
 sources of the sea, as the snow mountains are the 
 
138 Bernardin de St. Pierre. 
 
 sources of the principal rivers.' From the sides 
 of the pôles escape currents which produce the 
 great movements of the océan. This granted, 
 the flow of thèse currents takes its course to the 
 middle channel of the Atlantic océan, drawn to- 
 wards the line by the diminution of waters which 
 the sun évaporâtes there continually. Tvvo 
 contrary currents or collatéral eddies are thus 
 produced, which are in fact the tides." 
 
 Now imagine the terrestrial globe capped at 
 the two pôles with thèse formidable glaciers, 
 beside which Mont Blanc is only a mole-hill. 
 The globe is necessarily oval in form. " In truth 
 some celebrated academicians hâve laid down as 
 a principle that the earth is flattened at the 
 pôles." I According to them " the curve of the 
 earth is more sudden towards the equator in the 
 sensé north and south, because the degrees are 
 there smaller ; and the earth, on the contrary, is 
 flatter towards the pôles because the degrees are 
 larger there." 
 
 Note that it is not only^ " celebrated academi- 
 cians," but ail theastronomers,all the geographers 
 every one having some notions of geometry, who 
 conclude, from the increase in length of the 
 
 ^ The celebrated academician to whom allusion is made in 
 this passage is Pierre Bouguer, who took part in the scientific 
 expédition sent to the equator in 1736 to détermine the shape 
 of the earth. The quotation which follows is taken from his 
 Traité de la Navigation^ Book II., Chap. xiv. 
 
The ''Études de la Naturel 139 
 
 degrees of the equator, that the earth is flat at 
 the pôles. But from thèse same measurements, 
 of which he does not dispute the accuracy, Ber- 
 nardin de Saint-Pierre draws an absolutely con- 
 trary conclusion. Hère is an abridgment of his 
 démonstration. " If one placed a degree of the 
 meridian of the polar circle upon a degree of the 
 same meridian at the equator, the first degree 
 would exceed the second according to the ex- 
 periments of the academicians. Consequently 
 if one placed the vvhole arc of the meridian 
 which crovvns the polar circle, and which is 
 forty-seven degrees, upon an arc forty-seven 
 degrees of the same meridian near the equator, 
 it would produce a considérable enlargement 
 there, because its degrees are larger. . . . As the 
 degrees of the polar curve are, on the contrary,, 
 larger than those of an arc of the circle, the 
 entire curve must be as extensive as an arc of the 
 circle ; now it cannot be more extensive than by 
 supposing it more enlarged and circumscribed at 
 this arc ; consequently the polar curve forms an 
 elongated ellipsis." 
 
 If there happens to be amongst my readers a 
 graduate of science, the defects of this rea- 
 soning must be obvious to him. Saint-Pierre 
 implicitly believes that the two verticles whose 
 angle forms a degree meet in the centre of the 
 earth, which would be true if the earth was a 
 
140 Bernardin de St. Pierre. 
 
 perfect sphère, but which is not so at ail if it îs 
 flat at the pôles, as ail the world admits it to be, 
 or if it is elongated, as he maintains. He was 
 apparently unaware that the curve of a contour 
 at a certain point is defined according to the 
 radius of the circle of curvature at that point, 
 and that the curve is greater than the radius, and 
 consequently the degree of the circle of curvature 
 îs smaller. The smallness of the degrees at the 
 equator is, then, a proof that the curve is larger 
 there, or, what cornes to the same thing, that the 
 earth is flat at the pôles. His strange mistake 
 proves that his scientific equipment was limited 
 to the most elementary knowledge of geometry, 
 which makes his audacity in continually going 
 to war against "the celebrated academicians," 
 against Newton, and every scholar whose works 
 thwarted his poetical ideas about the universe, 
 very characteristic. It is the indication of a 
 strong dash of infatuation, to which is joined an 
 •equally large dash of obstinacy. He never 
 admits that he might hâve been mistaken. He 
 fought ail his life for his theory about the tides 
 and his elongation of the pôles. He judged of 
 men by their manner of speaking of it, or being 
 silent ; it was for him the touchstone of charac- 
 ter no less than of the intelligence. Whosoever 
 •expressed an objection to it was an ignoramus 
 or a fool, if he was not malicious. Whosoever 
 
The ''Études de la Nature y 141 
 
 said nothing was a vulgar pédant, an abject 
 flatterer, one of those servile créatures who "only 
 flatter accredited Systems by which one gains 
 pensions." (Letter to Duval, December 23, 
 1785.) Ail the French scholars had the misfor- 
 tune to place themselves in one of thèse positions, 
 and many sharp words were the conséquence. 
 
 Bernardin is not the first or the last writer 
 who has mistaken his real vocation. His was 
 neither science, nor philosophy, nor teaching. It 
 was the love of the fields, the profound feeling 
 and passion for this lîving and changing spec- 
 tacle which we call a landscape. The design of 
 his work impelled him to abandon himself to his 
 adoration. He lost himself in it, and the resuit 
 was a book which, when it appeared, was unique. 
 From end to end it is nothing but descriptions ; 
 of the tropics, of Russia, of the Island of Malta, 
 of Normandy, and of the environs of Paris. His 
 travels had taught him to observe. The hurri- 
 cane in the Indian Océan, and the aurora borealis 
 of Finland had made him more sensitive than 
 ever to the sweetness of French scenery, to the 
 charm of a bit of meadow, or a hedge in flower. 
 He is, besides, much more sure of himself than in 
 the beginning, much more capable of depicting 
 whatever struck his fancy. His powers did not 
 betray him any more as they had done in the 
 Voyage to the Isle of France. There is an end of 
 
142 Bernardin de St. Pierre, 
 
 gênerai descriptions and abstract epithets ; at 
 the first glance we are made to distinguish the 
 characteristic of each tree, each tuft of grass, the 
 colour of every stone, and of merging those par- 
 ticular and manifold impressions in a gênerai 
 impression. Hère, for example, is a scène in 
 Normandy, taken from the first étude, into which 
 enter only "localities, animais, and vegetables 
 of the commonest kind in our climate." It 
 has ail the air of having been destined by the 
 author to instruct those persons who do not 
 admire anything less than the Bay of Naples. 
 In any case it was a révélation in the way of a 
 landscape, taken no matter whence, and of the 
 colours which the French language even then 
 offered to its painters in prose and verse. 
 
 Bernardin de Saint-Pierre supposes himself to 
 be upon " the most barren spot, a rock at the 
 mouth of a river," and to be at liberty to 
 ornament it with plants suitable to such a soil. 
 Thèse plants spring to life under his pen, and 
 one sees them overrun this misérable corner 
 of earth until its bareness disappears under 
 a glorious mantle of végétation in ail sorts of 
 brilliant and soft tints. " That on the side 
 towards the sea the waves shall cover with 
 foam, its rocks clad with wrack, fucus, and sea- 
 weed of ail colours and ail forms — green, brown, 
 purple, in tufts and garlands, as I hâve seen 
 
The ''Études de la Nature.'' 143 
 
 ît in Normandy, on crags of mari, detached 
 from its clififs by the sea ; that on the side 
 towards the river one shall see on the yellow 
 sand, fine turf mîxed with clover, and hère 
 and there some tufts of marine wormvvood. 
 Let us plant there some willows, not like those 
 of our meadows, but with their natural growth 
 — let us not forget the harmony of the différent 
 âges — that we may hâve some of thèse 
 willows smooth and succulent, shooting their 
 young branches into the air, and others very 
 old, whose drooping branches form cavernous 
 bowers ; let us add to thèse their auxiliary 
 plants, such as green mosses and golden-tinted 
 lichens, which variegate their grey bark, and 
 a few of those convolvuli called lady's smocks, 
 which like to climb round the trunk and adorn 
 the branches that hâve no apparent flowers 
 with their heart-shaped leaves and bell-shaped 
 flowers, white as snow. Let us also place there 
 the animal life natural to the willow and its 
 plants — the Aies, beetles, and other insects, with 
 the winged créatures who do battle with them, 
 such as the aquatic dragon-flies, gleaming like 
 burnished steel, who catch them in the air, the 
 water-wagtails who, with their tails cocked, 
 pursue them to earth, and the kingfishers who 
 lie in wait for them at the water's edge." 
 
 Hère we hâve the rock quite covered with 
 
144 Bernardin de St, Pierre, 
 
 a thousand différent tints, and yet remark that 
 Saint-Pierre has only given us one kind of tree. 
 Let us finish the picture. " Contrast with the 
 willow the aider, vvhich like it grows on the 
 banks of rivers, and which by its form, resem- 
 bling a turret, its broad leaves, its dusky green 
 colour, its fleshy roots, like cords running along 
 the banks and binding up the soil, differs in 
 every way from the thick mass, the light-green 
 foliage, grey underneath, and the taproots 
 of the willow ; add to this the plants of différent 
 âges which cling to the aider, like so many 
 obalisques of greenery, with their parasites, 
 such as the maidenhair fern, shining out like 
 a star on its humid trunk, the long hart's-tongue 
 fern hanging down from its branches, and the 
 other accessories of insects, birds, and even 
 quadrupeds, which probably contrast in form, 
 in colour, in manner and instincts with those of 
 the willow." 
 
 The picture is now complète as regards form 
 and colour, but how much is wanting to it still 1 
 First of ail \h^ flash of light We light up our 
 rock with the " first flush of dawn," and we see 
 at the same time strong shadows and transparent 
 ones thrown upon the grass, and dark and 
 silvery green shades flung upon the blue of 
 the heavens, and reflected in the water. Now 
 we will put life into it. " Let us imagine hère 
 
The ''Études de la Natîirey 145 
 
 what neither painting nor poetry can render — 
 the odour of the herbs, even that of the sea, 
 the trembling of the leaves, the humming of 
 the insects, the morning song of the birds, the 
 rumbling, hollow murmurs, alternated with the 
 silence of the billows which break on the shore, 
 and the répétitions that the echoes make 
 of ail thèse sounds in the distance, as they 
 lose themselves in the sea and seem like the 
 voices of the nereids." Now it is finished, 
 and if you do not breathe the sait air, do not 
 feel yourself surrounded by the universal life, 
 before this medley of changing colours and 
 variable forms, this rustling, mumuring, roaring, 
 it must be that the feeling for nature is not 
 awakened in you — you are before Bernardin 
 de Saint-Pierre's day, and the nineteenth cen- 
 tury has passed in vain for you. 
 
 Perhaps we see better still the indefatigable 
 activity of nature in the Jardin abandonné. 
 It is a French garden, with straight, trimmed 
 walks, symmetrical flower-beds,regular fountains, 
 and mythological statues. A country house 
 stands in the midst of it. The hand of man 
 has been withdrawn from this place, once so 
 well cared for, and it becomes what the gênerai 
 life of earth chooses to make of it. It is soon 
 done. " The ponds become swamps ; the 
 hedges of yoke-elm look ragged ; ail the arbours 
 
 II 
 
146 Bernardin de St. Pierre, 
 
 are choked up, and ail the avenues overgrown. 
 The végétation natural to the soil déclares 
 war against the foreign végétation ; the starry 
 thistles, and the vigorous mullein choke the 
 English turf with their large leaves ; thick 
 masses of coarse grass and clover crowd round 
 the judas trees ; dog rose-briers climb upon 
 them with their thorny brambles, as though 
 they were going to take them by assault ; tufts 
 of nettles take possession of the naiad's urn, 
 and forests of reeds of Vulcan's forges ; greenish 
 patches of moss cover the faces of the Venuses, 
 without respect for their beauty. Even the 
 trees besiege the house ; wild cherry trees, elms, 
 and maples rise to the roof, thrusting their long 
 taproots into its raised parapet, finally taking 
 command of its proud cupulas." In the eyes 
 of a passer-by this is merely a ruin ; in Ber- 
 nardin's it is the re-establishment of order 
 and beauty. Man appears to him nowhere 
 so mischievous as when he alters the land- 
 scape. 
 
 His descriptions of foreîgn countries had a very 
 great success and a great influence. As his first 
 book vvas not much read, it is through the second 
 that he has been the father of exoticism in 
 French literature. Chateaubriand found his path 
 prepared when he wrote Atala. Another had 
 already revealed the virgin forest, dazzled the 
 
The ''Études de la NatîU'eT 147 
 
 eyes with tropical colouring, and amused the 
 mind with strange types and costumes. Ber- 
 nardin de Saint-Pierre carried the taste for 
 exoticism to childishness, as we do in our day, 
 and he it was who invented exhibitions of 
 savages and semi-savages. He dreamed of 
 drawing to Paris Indians with their canoës, 
 caravans of Arabs mounted on camels and 
 bullocks, Laplanders in their reindeer sledges, 
 Africans and Asiatics. " What a delight for 
 us," he said, " to take part in their joy, to see 
 their dances in our public squares, and to hear 
 the drums of the Tartars, and the ivory horns 
 of the negroes, resounding around the statues of 
 our kings." 
 
 To su m up, the Etudes de la N attire is a beauti- 
 ful prose poem upon a bad philosophical thesis. 
 In Bernardin de Saint-Pierre Providence had 
 a compromising advocate, which happens, how- 
 ever, pretty often. Not content with dragging 
 the final causes into everything, he gave them 
 such a royal following of false ideas and 
 scientific errors, that the reading of his book 
 becomes in places îrksome. In order to find 
 pleasure in it to-day we must follow his advice, 
 throw away reason and give ourselves up 
 entirely to feeling. In such a case it is im- 
 possible not to be touched with this effort 
 to recall man to the thought of the Infinité, 
 
148 Bernardin de St. Pierre. 
 
 or not to let oneself be seduced by the charm 
 of the advocate. As soon as we hâve given 
 up disputing with the author on fundamental 
 grounds, we are fiUed with pleasure at his 
 sincère enthusiasm, the wealth of his sensations 
 and their quite modem subtilty. He is himself 
 as though intoxicated by the vividness of his 
 impressions. By the strength of his love for 
 nature he confounds it with the Divinity, and 
 adores the works instead of the Author of them. 
 He speaks of nature with a tenderness which 
 communicates itself to his writing and wins over 
 his reader. He wished to re-open the door 
 to Providence, he re-opened it to the great god 
 Pan; a resuit which was not worth the other,. 
 no doubt, but which has had immense consé- 
 quences in our century. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Paul and Virginia." 
 
 BEFORE the appearance of the Études de 
 la Nature^ Bernardin de Saint-Pierre was 
 a poor devil, in want, and little known outside 
 one or two salons, where he was not liked, and 
 with reason. He quite counted upon his work 
 not passing unnoticed. " I dare say that I 
 shall astonish you," he wrote to Hennin, before 
 going to print, when announcing his intention 
 of reading a fragment of his MS. to him ; but 
 it is doubtful vvhether he expected to make a 
 noise in the world. He had said what he 
 wished to say, but not in the manner which he 
 had dreamed of. His language appeared to 
 him poor, in spite of his efforts to vary his 
 vocabulary. " The nevv career which I hâve 
 adopted,'* he said, " has not furnished me with 
 new expressions ; I hâve often to repeat the 
 same. But notwithstanding îts defects, which 
 
 spring from the incapacity of the workman, I 
 
 149 
 
150 Berna7'din de St, Pierre, 
 
 dare to affirm that the basis of my work is 
 calculated to throw a great Hght on every part 
 of nature, and to overthrow the methods which 
 are employed to study it. What a fertile 
 subject it would be in happier hands." (Letter 
 to Hennin, December 25, 1783.) For 
 himself the Etudes de la Nature was valuable 
 because of the ideas in it ; the form they took 
 was of less importance — a judgment which 
 appears very singular to us in our day. 
 
 There is as much astonishment as pleasure in 
 the first letters where he tells his old friend of 
 the enthusiastic réception given to his book 
 by the public. " I receive letters in which I 
 am exalted far above my merits ; I really must 
 hâve done something quite out of the common. 
 I hâve, however, but touched upon the shadows 
 of the reality. It is but a trifle, the work of a 
 man " (March i, 1785). Three days later : "I 
 receive . . . private letters from persons with 
 whom I hâve no connection, but which praise 
 me too much to allovv of my showing them to 
 any one." The applause grevv, reached the 
 provinces, and became formidable. As is usual, 
 the author quickly got accustomed to it, and 
 soon learnt to speak with complaisance of the 
 shower of visits, letters, and invitations to dinner 
 which descended upon his garret. " An old 
 friend of Jean-Jacques and D'Alembert came 
 
''Paul and Virginia ^ 151 
 
 to express ail sorts of affection and interest in 
 me, and wished actually to carry me off to his 
 country house. He appeared to hâve been 
 particularly struck with what I hâve said about 
 plants. Painters are enraptured with what I 
 hâve said about the arts ; others upon éduca- 
 tion ; and yet more on the causes of the tides " 
 (March 20, 1785). " It seems that my book 
 makes a great sensation amongst the clergy ; a 
 grand vicar of Soissons, named M. l'Abbé de 
 Montmignon, came to see me four or five times, 
 and begged me to accept a lodging with him in 
 his country house, so that I might satisfy my 
 taste for the fields. I told him that in truth I 
 did wish for a country house, but not other 
 people's. . . . Another grand vicar of Agde,. 
 called M. l'Abbé de Bysants, came to see 
 me, . . . and is going to take me next Wednes- 
 day to visit the Archbishop of Aix, who wishes 
 to see me in order to speak of me at the con- 
 vocation of the clergy. . . . There are five or 
 six great dinners that I hâve refused during the 
 last eight days " (April 25). " Sentimental 
 people send me letters full of enthusiasm ; from 
 women I get receipts for my ailments ; rich 
 men offer me dinners ; gentlemen of property 
 country houses ; authors theîr works ; men 
 of the world their influence, their patronage, 
 and even money. I find in ail that but the 
 
152 Bernardin de St. Pierre, 
 
 simple testîmony of theîr good will " (June 
 
 3). 
 
 He is discreet ; he keeps to hîmself the 
 
 déclarations of love by which a man knows at 
 
 once that he is become celebrated. None of 
 
 them escapes it, let him be writer, statesman, 
 
 or ténor, and Bernardin de Saint-Pierre received 
 
 his share like the rest. One of the first came 
 
 from a young Svviss lady of Lausanne, whose 
 
 letter is a jewel of artless simplicity. She 
 
 writes to him that she is young, beautiful, and 
 
 rich ; that she offers him her hand, with her 
 
 mother's sanction, but that being a protestant, 
 
 she does not wish to marry a Roman Catholic ; 
 
 she continues, " I wish to hâve a husband who 
 
 will love only me, and who will always love me. 
 
 He must believe in God, and must serve Him 
 
 in the same way that I do ; ... I would not 
 
 be your wife unless we are to work out our 
 
 salvation together." He replied evasively : " I 
 
 think as you do, and to love, Eternity does not 
 
 seem to me too long. But before ail people 
 
 must know one another, and see one another 
 
 in the world." His young correspondent found 
 
 the reply too vague, and sent a friend of hers 
 
 to M. de Saint- Pierre to ask him whether or 
 
 not he would become a convert. The ambassa- 
 
 dress was pressing : " You hâve said that the 
 
 birds sing their hymns, each one in his own 
 
''^ Paul and Virginia^ 153 
 
 language, and that ail thèse hymns are accept- 
 able in the sight of God ; therefore you will 
 become protestant and marry my friend." M. 
 de Saint-Pierre contended : " I hâve never said 
 that a nightingale ought to sing like a black- 
 bird, I shall therefore neither change my religion 
 nor my song." The negotiation ended there. 
 
 Another suit was pressed upon him by an 
 abbé. The letter began with reproaches upon 
 the pride of which M. de Saint-Pierre had given 
 proof on several occasions, and continued in 
 thèse terms : " My nièce is a very amiable 
 young lady, as artless as innocence itself, pure 
 as a beautiful spring day, of noble stature, 
 happy countenance . . . (vve abridge), and 
 above ail, of the best disposition." This nièce 
 being only seventeen, her husband would receive 
 her " straight from the hand of nature, before 
 Society had moulded her to its methods," which 
 is certainly the duty of the author of the Études 
 de la Nature, The lady has not a penny, but 
 that would evidently not deter the author of the 
 Études. " We believe," wrote her uncle, " you, 
 she, and I, in Providence." We hâve not got 
 Bernardin de Saint-Pierre's reply, but he did 
 not marry this time either. 
 
 He refused with the same prudence invita- 
 tions to go and stay with people in the country. 
 *' Benevolence," he said wittily, " is the flowej. 
 
154 Bernardin de St. Pierre, 
 
 of friendship, and its perfume lasts as long as 
 one leaves it on its stem, without plucking it." 
 
 He tried to reply to his letters, but had to 
 give up the attempt ; they came now from the 
 whole of Europe. Very soon he was compelled 
 to refuse them at the post office, for they did 
 not frank them at that time. He paid upwards 
 of £Zo for postage of letters in one year, saw 
 that glory costs too much, and from that time 
 made a sélection of his letters. 
 
 At last, joy of joys ! the Queen Marie 
 Antoinette mentioned the Etudes de la Nature 
 at a dinner at Mme. de Polignac's, and Mme. 
 de Genlis took the princes, her pupils, to visit 
 the author, the lion of the day, in his hermitage. 
 
 The reasons of this triumph are easily ex- 
 plained. The influence of Rousseau, which was 
 always growing, had a good deal to do vvith it. 
 People only asked to be sentimental, to believe 
 in natural laws, to make the social organisation 
 responsible for ail their ills. Many of them, too, 
 only asked to rest from the aggressive and dry 
 irreligion in which they had lived for so long. 
 Ail the tender soûls for whom scepticism is 
 never anything but a passing mood, hailed with 
 joy the religious reaction of which the Études de 
 la N attire gave the signal. This was one of the 
 two principal reasons of its enormous success. 
 The other great reason was that people were 
 
*' Paul and Virginiar 155 
 
 beginning to read the Confessions and the 
 Rêveries^ just published at Geneva, and that 
 men's minds were open to poetry, of which 
 they had been for many générations deprived. 
 Poetry was the thing most wanting in France 
 at the end of the eighteenth century, and was 
 most in need of being revived. Bernardin de 
 Saint-Pierre was a poet, and he brought them 
 a new poetry that became popular in a few 
 weeks. As to his false science, it only irritated 
 the scientists. The great public was at that 
 time very ignorant on ail scientific subjects, and 
 quite ready to judge by sentiment of the origin 
 of volcanoes and the form of the pôles. Ber- 
 nardin de Saint-Pierre's théories found zealous 
 partisans, and seven months had not passed 
 when a candidate at the Sorbonne presented 
 a thesis in which he compared the Etudes de la 
 Nature to Buffon's Epoques de la Nature, which 
 was a great enemy to final causes, as we know, 
 and held the natural man to be a simple brute. 
 
 Meantime the object of so much praise re- 
 mained poor. Imitations of his book appeared 
 on ail sides, and took from him the best of 
 his profits. " Hardly hâve I gathered a few 
 sheaves," he wrote on the 6th of July, 1785, 
 " than the rats enter my granary." Besides 
 that he worked hard to pay his debts, which 
 were many. That is why he begged just as 
 
156 Bernardm de St, Pier^'e, 
 
 before, pensions from the king, and gratuities 
 from the ministers. The habit was formed, as 
 often happens to men vvho hâve had a needy 
 youth. 
 
 His first savings (he made them in spite of 
 everything, and that is what makes it difficult 
 to excuse him this time) were devoted to buying 
 a cottage and garden in an obscure part of the 
 town, amongst low, misérable surroundings. 
 His Street was not paved, and he said gaily 
 about it : " Perhaps if my work continues to 
 bring me so many visitors, the carriage-folk 
 Avill employ their influence at least to hâve it 
 cleaned for me." The ragged neighbours did 
 not frighten him. " When I came to live 
 amongst the poor in this part of the town," 
 he replied to remarks, " I took my place 
 amongst the class to whîch I hâve belonged 
 for some time. Everything gave way to the 
 happiness of having a corner of land to dig 
 and mess about in. Hardly established in it, 
 the naïve pride of the householder bursts 
 forth in his letters. He had paid for house 
 and garden £200^ and one would think, in 
 reading what he writes of it, that he possessed 
 an extensive park. He has " an orchard, some 
 vines," and a large space for flowers. He writes 
 to ask his friends to give him seeds, bulbs, and 
 plants ; one would imagine that ail the species 
 
*' Paul and Virginia!' 157 
 
 of both hémisphères would not suffice to fill his 
 garden. As soon as his innocent mania is 
 known, they send him from ail sides enough ta 
 fill the parterres of Versailles, but he still finds 
 so much room that he sovvs a patch of vege- 
 tables. 
 
 With ail that he is sad and ill, the réaction 
 has been too great He writes to Duval : " I 
 hâve experienced a succession of such vexa- 
 tious events . . . that I may say the depths of 
 my soûl hâve been shaken by them." (January 
 7, 1787). To some one who congratulâtes him 
 on his success, he replies : " You only see the 
 flower, the thorn has remained in my nerves." 
 Little by little he calmed down, recovered him- 
 self, and gained enough courage to dispute the 
 genuineness of the judgment of the noble 
 tribunal, which had once condemned one part 
 of his work. A fourth volume of the Etudes 
 de la Nature appeared in 1788. It contained 
 Paul and Virginia. 
 
 The introduction to Paul and Virginia 
 clearly explains the intention of the author. 
 " I had great designs in this little work. I 
 tried to depict in it a différent soil and végéta- 
 tion to those of Europe. Our poets hâve toa 
 long allowed theîr lovers to repose upon the 
 banks of streams, in the meadows, and under 
 the foliage of the beech-trees. I wished to place 
 
158 Be^niardin de St, Pierre. 
 
 mine on the seashore, at the foot of the rocks, 
 in the shadow of the cocoa-nut palms, bananas, 
 and flowering lemon-trees. It only needs, at the 
 other side of the world, a Theocritus, or a Virgil, 
 to give us pictures, at least as interesting as 
 those of our country." The ambition to be the 
 Theocritus and Virgil of the tropics, cornes out 
 in ail that he had hitherto written, but he wished 
 for something more in his romance, and what 
 follovvs makes one bless the insubordination of 
 genius, which goes on its way laughing at the 
 best made plans. " 1 also proposed to myself 
 to bring forward in it several great truths ; 
 amongst others this one, that our happiness 
 consists in living according to nature and 
 virtue." A later édition is still more explicit : 
 " This little work is but a relaxation from my 
 Etudes de la Nature^ and the application which 
 I hâve made of its laws to the happiness of two 
 unhappy families." In other vvords, Bernardin 
 de Saint-Pierre meant Paid and Virginia to be 
 an instructive and useful romance, a sort of 
 lesson in things intended to prove the justice 
 of the théories developed in his Études de la 
 Nature, and the wisdom of the reforms which 
 he there set forth. His young hero and heroine 
 were to be the living and striking démonstration 
 of the natural goodness of man, of the useless- 
 ness of our vain sciences, and of an infinité 
 
^' Paul and Virginia'^ 159 
 
 number of other " great truths " propounded in 
 the course of his vvork. Happily the poet was 
 often able to make the philosopher forget his 
 programme. 
 
 It is the poet, the Theocritus of the tropics, 
 who begins. He sings of a voluptuous nature 
 that squanders her caresses upon tvvo nurslings. 
 She lulls them to the murmur of the springs, 
 and smiles upon them in a thousand brilliant 
 colours. Around their cradle is only warmth 
 and perfume. They develop harmoniously in 
 this solitude, whose gentle influences are in ac- 
 cord with the gentleness of the sentiments placed 
 by Providence in the hearts of the nevvly-born. 
 Nothing could be more charming than thèse 
 two beautiful children, " quite naked, according 
 to the custom of the country, hardly able to 
 walk, holding each other by the hand and under 
 the arms, as we represent the tvvins in the 
 zodiac. Night even could not separate them, 
 they were often found in the same cradle, cheek 
 to cheek, breast to breast, the hands of each 
 round the other's neck, asleep in each other's 
 arms." Thèse last lines are exquisite ; it would 
 be impossible better to express the ineffable 
 grâces of the sleep of childhood. 
 
 Paul and Virginia grew up, and their games 
 and little adventures are recounted with the 
 same charm. It is not high art, it is too pretty, 
 
i6o Bernardin de St, Pierre. 
 
 could be too easily turned into a ballad, or 
 used to decorate a chocolaté box, but it is 
 delightful ail the same. Besides, the beauty of 
 some of the pictures is considerably heightened 
 by theîr frames ; for instance, the two children 
 performing pantomines " like the negroes." 
 " The place generally chosen for the scènes was 
 the cross-roads of a forest, whose glades formed 
 around us several arcades of foliage. In their 
 midst we were sheltered from the heat during the 
 whole day ; but when the sun had sunk to the 
 horizon, its rays, broken by the trunks of the 
 trees, were divided among the shadows of the 
 forest into long luinino7is beavis^ which produced 
 the most majestic efifect Sometimes his whole 
 dise would appear at the end of one of the 
 avenues, making it sparkle with light. The 
 foliage of the trees, lighted from below with the 
 sun's safifron-tinted rays, shone with the glow of 
 the topaz and the emerald. Their trunks, mossy 
 and brown, seemed to be changed into columns of 
 antique bronze ; and the birds already gone to 
 rest in silence under the dark leaves, there to 
 pass the night, surprised by the vision of a 
 second dawn, would salute altogether the star of 
 the day with a thousand songs." How beautiful 
 and true ail this is. This sudden illumination 
 of a great forest from below by the setting sun, 
 is as real as it is dazzling. One understands 
 
' ' Paul and Virp-inia . " 1 6 1 
 
 ô 
 
 how scènes like that astonished a génération 
 brought up upon the Fastes of Lemierre and the 
 Jardins of Delille. 
 
 The infancy of Bernardin de Saint- Pierre's 
 young hero and heroine is passed entirely in a 
 a désert, far from ail society ; and in them can 
 be verified the statement made in the Etudes 
 de la Nature, that " man is born good." They 
 only possess virtuous instincts, good feelings, and 
 not a germ of vice, for thèse germs are only 
 communicated to us from without, nature did 
 not place them in us. 
 
 Before going further we would remark once 
 again how anti-Christian thèse ideas are. The 
 necessity for the Rédemption disappears with 
 original sin, and Christianity altogether is only 
 a superfluity, if not perhaps even charlatanism. 
 Faith must certainly hâve been very weak, 
 when the author of thèse hérésies received from 
 religious people a rapturous welcome, and from 
 the Church of Rome so benignant a réception,, 
 that the philosophers accused him of being in 
 the pay of the clergy. Godless âges very soon 
 reach a point where they lose their sensé of 
 religion. Then there comes a gênerai atmo- 
 sphère of ignorance and want of intelligence of 
 sacred things, from which Christians who hâve 
 retained their belief also suffer ; they accustom 
 themselves to be too inexacting, and not to look 
 too closely into things. 
 
 12 
 
102 Bernardin de St. Pierre, 
 
 The moment arrives to educate the two 
 children, and to demonstrate what is also said 
 in the Études de la Nature that, " it is society 
 which makes evil doers, and it is our éducation 
 which prépares them." The philosopher hère 
 interrupts the poet, and explains his System. 
 Paul and Virginia are not " prepared " to be- 
 come wicked, because they are brought up far 
 from schools and libraries, without any other 
 teacher but nature. " Ail their study was to 
 take delight in and help one another. For the 
 rest they vvere as ignorant as créoles, and did 
 not know hovv to read or write. They did not 
 disturb themselves about what had happened in 
 remote times, far from them ; their curiosity 
 did not extend beyond their mountain. They 
 believed that the world ended where their 
 island did, and they never imagined anything 
 pleasant where they were not. Their affection 
 for each other and for their mothers, occupied 
 ail the activity of their soûls. Useless sciences 
 had never made their tears flow ; lessons of sad 
 morality had never filled them with weariness. 
 They did not know that they must not steal, for 
 they had ail things in common ; nor that they 
 must not be intemperate, for they had as much 
 as they liked of simple food ; nor that they must 
 not lie, having nothing to hide. No one had 
 ever frîghtened them by telling them that God 
 
^' Pattl and VirginiaT 163 
 
 reserves terrible punishments for ungrateful 
 children ; with them filial love was born of 
 maternai love." Daphnis and Chloe had less 
 innocent soûls, less pure from ail human teach- 
 ing ; they knew how to read, and, having flocks 
 to mind, they had, at least, been taught that 
 thieves exist. 
 
 An éducation so adapted to scandalise the 
 Académies naturally produced the happiest 
 results. At twelve Paul was " more robust and 
 more intelligent than Europeans of fifteen." He 
 had more " enlightenment." Virginia was no 
 less superior to the girls of our countries. For 
 ail that they had no clocks, almanacs, or books 
 of chronology, history, and philosophy, they 
 were not ignorant, except to our pedantic ideas, 
 as they possessed the knowledge which the 
 country teaches us. " They knew the hours of 
 the day by the shadows of the trees, the seasons 
 by the time which gave them their flowers and 
 their fruits, and the year by the number of 
 their harvests." They knew the names and 
 characteristics of ail the plants and birds, and of 
 everything which had life in their valley and 
 its environs. They knew how to make every- 
 thing necessary to the life of a man in the 
 country, and they accomplished ail thèse works 
 with the good temper which cornes from health, 
 open air, and the absence of care. Seeing them 
 
164 Berna7^din de St, Pie7're. 
 
 so skilful, ingenious, and happy, their mothers 
 congratulated thcmselves on having been " com- 
 pelled by misfortune to return to nature." 
 
 Bernardin de Saint-Pierre foresaw thatpeople 
 might make some objections, and he hastened 
 to be beforehand with them. " You Euro- 
 peans, whose soûls are filled from infancy with 
 so many préjudices contrary to happiness, 
 cannot understand that nature could give so 
 much sagacity, judgment, and pleasure. Your 
 soûls, circumscribed by a small sphère of human 
 knowledge, soon reach the limit of their arti- 
 ficial pleasures, but nature and the heart are 
 inexhaustible." . . . After ail, what need had 
 thèse young people to be rich and learned in 
 our manner ? their wants and their ignorance 
 added still more to their happiness. There was 
 not a day in which they did not impart to each 
 other some help or some information, ay, real 
 information ; and if some errors were mixed up 
 in it a pure man has no dangerous ones to fear." 
 
 There is a touch of déclamation about this 
 apostrophe. It threatens to become a little 
 dull, when the poet awakes, and carries us with 
 a flap of his wings above ail théories and Systems. 
 The poet only knows one thing : his hero and 
 heroine are beautiful, loving, tender, at an âge 
 to love, let them love therefore. Ail else is 
 forgotten, and Bernardin de Saint-Pierre in his 
 
''Paul and Virginia^ 165 
 
 turn writes, like so many others, the everlasting 
 romance of sweet fifteen. He writes it with 
 chastity and fire, with a pure pen, but with deep 
 and stirring passion. Genius just touched him 
 with its breath for the first and last time, and he 
 writes some pages of lofty conception such as 
 mère talent however great cannot reach. 
 
 " Nevertheless for some time Virginia was 
 agitated by an unknown trouble. Her beautiful 
 blue eyes had black circles under them ; her 
 complexion became yellow, and a great languor 
 took possession of her. Serenity was no longer 
 on her brow, nor a smile upon her lips. They 
 saw her ail at once gay without joy, and sad 
 without sorrow. She shunned her innocent 
 sports, her pleasant labours, and the society of 
 her beloved family. She wandered hither and 
 thither in the most lonely parts of the home- 
 stead, everywhere seeking repose and finding 
 none. . . . Sometimes at sight of Paul she 
 would go towards him gaily, then ail at once 
 on getting near to him, a sudden embarrassment 
 would seize her, a vivid blush would dye her 
 pale cheeks, and her eyes would not dare to 
 meet his. Paul would say to her, ' Thèse rocks 
 are covered with verdure ; our birds sing when 
 they see thee ; everything around thee is gay, 
 thou only art sad,' and he would try to cheer her 
 by embracing her, but she would turn away her 
 
i66 Ber7ia7'din de St. Pierre. 
 
 head and fly trembling i:owards her mother, 
 The unhappy girl fclt herself troubled by the 
 caresses of her brother. Paul could not under- 
 stand such new and strange caprices." 
 
 Bernardin de Saint- Pierre had so absolutely 
 lost sight of his Systems, that he gives to 
 Virginia the refined modesty which is only 
 generated in créatures compHcated by civilisa- 
 tion. " Children of Nature " are ignorant of 
 thèse shy reserves which do not occur at ail 
 vvithout a certain amount of knowledge. Longus 
 is niuch more to the point vvhen he depicts the 
 amorous Chloe kissing her Daphnis with ail 
 her heart, and without thinking of any harm^ 
 as a " simple girl brought up in the country, 
 and never having in her life heard even the name 
 oflove." 
 
 A terrible summer came to increase the 
 mysterious trouble from which Virginia suffered. 
 " It was towards the end of December when the 
 Sun in Capricorn, for weeks burns the Isle of 
 France with its vertical rays. The south wind 
 which prevails there nearly the whole year, 
 blew no longer. Great clouds of dust rose 
 upon the roads and remained suspended in the 
 air. The earth cracked in ail directions ; the 
 grass was burnt ; warm exhalations issued from 
 the sides of the mountains, and most of the 
 brooks were dried up, Not a cloud came from 
 
''Paul and Virginia'' 167 
 
 the side of the sea, only during the day a ruddy 
 vapour would rise from its plains, appearing at 
 sunset like the blaze of a conflagration. Night 
 even brought no coolness to the heated atmo- 
 sphère. The moon, quite red, rose in the misty 
 horizon with extraordinary grandeur. The 
 flocks, prostrate upon the hill-sides, inhaling the 
 air, made the valleys écho with their sad 
 bleatings. Even the Kafir tending them lay 
 upon the earth to find some coolness there ; 
 but everywhere the ground was burning, and 
 the stifling air resounded with the hum of 
 insects, trying to quench their thirst in the 
 blood of men and animais." 
 
 The drama now develops itself in strict 
 accordance with thèse exterior sensations. " On 
 one of those sultry nights Virginia felt ail the 
 symptoms of her malady redoubled. She rose, 
 sat up, lay down again, not finding in any 
 attitude sleep or repose. By the light of the 
 moon she directed her steps towards the spring. 
 She could see its source which, in spite of the 
 drought, still flowed like a silver thread along 
 the brown surface of the rock. She plunged 
 into its trough, and at first the coolness revived 
 her, and a thousand agreeable recollections 
 presented themselves to her mind. She re- 
 membered that in her infancy her mother and 
 Marguerite amused themselves by bathing her 
 
i68 Bernai'din de St. Pierre. 
 
 with Paul in this same place ; that Paul after- 
 wards, reserving this bath for her, had hollovved 
 it out, covered the bottom with sand, and sôwn 
 on its margin aromatic herbs. She caught a 
 glimpse in the water on her bare arms and 
 bosom of the reflections of two paîm-trees, 
 planted at her own and her brother's birth, 
 which interlaced their green branches and young 
 cocoa-nuts above her head. She thought of 
 Pauls friendship, sweeter than perfume, purer 
 than the waters of the springs, stronger than 
 the united palm-trees, and she sighed. She 
 thought of the night, of solitude ; and a de- 
 vouring fire took possession of her. She rose 
 at once, afraid of thèse dangerous shadows, and 
 thèse waters more burning than the suns of the 
 Torrid Zone. She ran to her mother to seek 
 protection from herself Several times, wishing 
 to tell her her sufferings, she took her hands 
 between her own, several times she was near 
 breathing Paul's name, but her oppressed heart 
 left her tongue without speech, and laying her 
 head on her mother's breast she could only 
 burst into floods of tears." 
 
 A tempest ravages their valley and destroys 
 their garden, leaving however after it a feeling 
 of peace and repose. Virginia restored, becomes 
 once more familiar and affectionate with Paul, 
 but it is only a flash of light in the darkness. 
 
* ' Paul and Virgin ia!' 169 
 
 which disappears with the expansion of nerves 
 produced by the cool damp air. 
 
 Already while his hero and heroine were but 
 infants, Bernardin de Saint-Pierre showed us 
 how nature, even at that early âge, mingled 
 in their pleasures and needs, so that " their life 
 seemed one with that of the trees, like the fauns 
 and hamadryads." Now it is in their passions 
 that nature takes part, and with what intensity 
 the scène of the bath, and the return of intimacy 
 after the storm show us vividly. The author 
 profits by the characters he has in hand to 
 reah'se a conception already old, and establish a 
 bond, henceforth indissoluble, between the human 
 soûl and its surroundings. The bond existed 
 before his time ; it is as old as the world and 
 it acts, without their knowledge, upon the most 
 uncultured beings. But in the âge and sur- 
 roundings where men hâve learnt to recognise it, 
 to be conscious of it, it requires so much strength 
 and importance that we may be allowed to 
 welcome it as a new force. Bernardin de Saint- 
 Pierre pointed it out, showed it at work, and the 
 lesson was not lost. Chateaubriand was twenty at 
 the time of the appearance of Paul and Virginia. 
 When his René cries out amidst the whistling 
 of the wind, " Be swift to gather ye tempests 
 that I hâve longed for," he does not know 
 •whether he is speaking of real storms or of those 
 
170 Bernardin de St. Pierre. 
 
 in his soûl. He confounds thcm, and no one 
 is unaware how much poetical inspiration has 
 been given to our âge by this confusion between 
 our feelings and external impressions. 
 
 Lçt us remark in passing that it was not 
 worth while being so indignant in the Etudes de 
 la NaUire against those vvho dared to say that 
 morals vary witli the climate. The fragments 
 which we hâve just read bring us to exactly the 
 same conclusion. 
 
 It is also a landscape which prépares us, 
 if I may so express it, for the scène of the love- 
 confession, when after the épisode of the letter 
 which calls Virginia away to France, the two 
 young people go out after supper to spend their 
 last evening together. They seat themselves 
 upon a hillock and at first remain absolutely 
 silent. 
 
 It was one of those delicious nights so 
 common in the tropics, whose beauty no brush 
 however skilful can paint. The moon appeared 
 in the midst of the firmament, surrounded with 
 a curtain of clouds which were gradually dis- 
 persed by her rays. Her light spread by 
 degrees over the mountains of the island, and 
 over their highest peaks which shone with 
 silvery green. The winds heid their breath. 
 One heard in the woods, in the depths of the 
 vallcys, and on the rocky heights, little cries, 
 
'' Paul aiid Virginia r 171 
 
 soft murmurs of birds billing and cooing in 
 their nests, happy in the moonlight and the 
 tranquility of the air. On the ground every- 
 thing seemed to be stirring, even the insects, 
 
 The night seemed to breathe of love : an 
 intoxicating languor stole over the two lovers, 
 and they spoke at last and confessed their 
 secret. Paul's speech is a little too set, the 
 phrases too smooth, too careful. Virginia's 
 reply is full of passion and impulse, even when 
 we abridge it, and only retain the cry at the 
 end : " Oh, Paul, Paul ! thou art much dearer 
 to me than a brother ! How much has it not 
 cost me to hold thee at a distance ! . . . Now 
 whether I remain or go, live or die, do with me 
 as thou wilt. . . ." At thèse words Paul clasped 
 her in his arms. 
 
 Virginia départs, and with her goes the in- 
 spiration. Bernardin de Saint-Pierre seems to 
 be fiUed with remorse for having lingered over 
 trifles which hâve taught us nothing, unless it is 
 that love belongs to the number of " natural 
 laws " which govern our earth (we ourselves 
 rather question it). He tries to make up for 
 lost time, and succeeds only too well, for until 
 the final catastrophe, we never cease to be taught,, 
 and to verify the truth of the ideas propounded 
 in the Études de la Nature. Paul learns to 
 read and write so as to be able to correspond. 
 
172 Bcmardm de St. Pierre. 
 
 vvith Virginia, and he loses at once his tran- 
 quility of mind. What he learns from romances 
 makes him uneasy and jealous : " His know- 
 ledge already makes him unhappy." He talks 
 sometimes with the other inhabitants, but their 
 slander, their vain gossip are so many more 
 causes of sorrow ; why was he so imprudent as 
 to leave his désert ? " Solitude restores man in 
 part to natural happiness, by keeping from him 
 social unhappiness." 
 
 He becomes ambitious, dreams of gaining 
 " some high position " so as to be more worthy 
 of Vircrinia. The old man reveals to him that 
 ail the roads are closed to those who hâve 
 neither birth nor fortune. Hère follows a 
 digression upon hereditary nobility, the trafific 
 in public offices, the indifférence of the great to 
 virtue. 
 
 Paul déclares that he will attach himself to 
 some " Society." " I shall entirely adopt its spirit 
 and its opinions," he says ; " I shall make 
 myself liked." The old man reprimands him 
 severely for his weak désire to clin g to some- 
 thîng. Another digression upon the sacrifice 
 of conscience demanded by societies which 
 " besides interest themselves very little in the 
 discovery of truth." 
 
 In despair of his cause Paul décides to be a 
 writer. One can imagine how this is received. 
 
'' Paul and Virginia y 173 
 
 The old man draws so black a picture of the 
 persécutions which attend men of letters, that 
 the poor boy is terrified at the thought of the 
 sufferings which each book represents, and ex- 
 claims, embracing a tree planted by Virginia, 
 " Ah ! she who planted this papaw-tree has given 
 the inhabitants of thèse forests a more useful 
 and charming présent than if she had given 
 them a library." Further digression upon the 
 Gospel and the Greek philosophers. 
 
 This is the part that Mme. Necker, at the 
 time of the famous reading in lier salon,, 
 compared to " a glass of iced water." The 
 criticism was just. The author himself was 
 chilled by the dialogues between Paul and 
 the old man, and cannot regain the passion 
 which carried him so high just before. The 
 shipwreck of XhQ'Saint-Géraii^ and the death of 
 Virginia, which made us ail shed floods of tears 
 when we were children, are, it must be allowed, 
 somewhat melodramatic, and from a literary 
 point of view very inferior to the passionate 
 scènes. 
 
 Let us forget the didactic portions of the work, 
 and the old preacher who is no other than 
 Bernardin himself. There remains a love-story, 
 one of the most passionate ever written in any 
 language. The more one re-reads it, the less 
 one understands how it could hâve been taken 
 
174 Bernardin de St. Pierre, 
 
 for an innocent and somewhat insipid pastoral. 
 Sainte-Beuve was surprised at it even forty 
 years ago. " This charming little book," he 
 writes, " which Fontanes placed a little too con- 
 ventionally, perhaps, between Tclémaqiie and La 
 Mort d'Abel (de Gesner), I should myself place 
 between DapJinis and Chloe, and that immortal 
 fourth book in honour of Dido." Théophile 
 Gautier declared that Paidand Virginia appeared 
 to him to be the most dangerous book in the 
 world for young imaginations. He recalls the 
 fervid émotion which he himself felt in reading 
 it, and which was never equalled later by any 
 other book.ï Thèse two criticisms hâve nothing 
 exaggerated in them. The place of Virginia 
 with her beautiful eyes and their black circles, 
 is in the front rank of illustrions lovers, between 
 Chloe, passionate and simple, and the despairing 
 Dido. Nevertheless, such is the empire of the 
 commonplace, that by dint of being enraptured 
 over the grâce and sentiment of Bernardin's 
 narrative, one has become accustomed more and 
 more to see in it but a superior Berquin, and to 
 relegate it insensibly to the literature of child- 
 hood. More than one reader was scandalised 
 just now that we dared to speak freely of a 
 sacred masterpiece, though he has not read Paîd 
 
 * Théophile Gautier, Souvenirs intimes ^ by Mme. Judith 
 'Gautier. 
 
*^ Patcl a7îd Virginia y 175 
 
 and Virginia since the days when he bowled his 
 hoop, and would hâve been much surprised if it 
 had been proposed to him. 
 
 At the time when the book was most in favour, 
 curiosity was rife to know how far it was a true 
 story. The problem does not interest us to-day, 
 except for what it teaches us about the author's 
 manner of composition. Our realistic novelists 
 would find little to change in it. 
 
 The Framework is true. The landscapes are 
 copied from nature and perfected by a divina- 
 tion as to what would be the tropical végétation 
 in a country more fertile than the Isle of 
 France. " Paid and Virginia^' Humboldt wrote, 
 "has accompanied me to the countries which 
 inspired Bernardin de Saint-Pierre. I hâve re- 
 read it during many years with my companion. 
 . . . When the noonday sky shone with its pure 
 brightness, or in rainy weather, on the shores 
 of the Orinico, while the rolling thunderstorm 
 illuminated the forest ; and we were struck, both 
 of us, with the admirable truth with which, in so 
 few pages, the powerful nature of the tropics in 
 ail their original features is represented." 
 
 The principal characters of Paid and Virginia^ 
 those whom he took pains to make alive, are 
 formed of traits borrowed from flesh and blood 
 models, and arranged according as they were 
 needed. We hâve already said that the author 
 
176 Bcrna7'dm de St, Pierre. 
 
 put himself into the book in the character of the 
 old man. In his héroïne hc lias recalled two 
 charming girls whom lie had met at one tîme in 
 Russia and at Berlin, Mlle, de la Tour, and Mlle. 
 Virginie Taubenheim. 
 
 Longus furnished the primitive idea of the 
 narrative ; the transformation of friendship into 
 love at a fatal moment between two young 
 people brought up together. Bernardin de 
 Saint-Pierre also borrovved from him several 
 points of détail ; there are in the first lialf of 
 Patd a?id Virginia some passages vvhich very 
 closely follow DapJniis and Chloe, 
 
 The description of the manners of the Isle 
 of France was exact when it was written. 
 Réminiscences of several periods suggested the 
 épisodes. The pretty scène of the children 
 sheltering themselves from the rain under Vir- 
 ginia's petticoat had been observed by Bernardin 
 de Saint-Pierre in the Faubourg Saint Marceau. 
 The tragedy of the dénoument had been related 
 to him ; he did not see it himself, whence it 
 doubtless comes that it looks rather as though it 
 had been arranged. " He only knew how to 
 Write about what he had seen," said Aimé 
 Martin ; but what he had seen he always illus- 
 trated, and one might even give as an epigraph 
 to Paul and Virginia the title wliich Goethe 
 chose for his memoirs : Poetry and Truth. 
 
^^ Paul and Virginia.'' 177 
 
 The book was praised up to the skies the 
 moment it appeared. It was translatée into 
 English, Italian, German, Dutch, Russian, Polish, 
 and Spanish. Upwards of three hundred imita- 
 tions were v/ritten in French. It was put into 
 novels, plays, pictures, and popular engravings. 
 Mothers called their newly-born children Paul 
 or Virginia. Bernardin de Saint-Pierre was 
 decidedly a great man, and in 1791 when the 
 National Assembly drew up a list from among 
 which to choose a governor for the Dauphin, his 
 name figures in it, in company with that of 
 Berquin, of Saint-Martin, called the unknown 
 philosopher, of de Sieyes and of Condorcet ; a 
 strange medley that says a good deal for the dis- 
 order which at that time reigned in men's minds. 
 
 This brilliant success was not a mère flare up. 
 Some years later we find the Bonaparte family 
 showing a marked enthusiasm. First there is a 
 letter signed Louis Bonaparte, in which the 
 author relates that he had wept so much in 
 reading Paul and Virginia that he would like ta 
 know what is true in the story, " so that another 
 time in re-reading it I can say to myself to com- 
 fort my afflicted feelings — 'this is true, this is 
 false.' " Then comes a note from General Bona- 
 parte, commanding the army in Italy, who finds 
 time between two battles to write to M. de 
 Saint-Pierre : " Your pen is a paint brush ; ail 
 
 13 
 
178 Bernardin de St. Pierre. 
 
 that you paînt one can see ; your works charm 
 and comfort us ; you vvill be one of the men 
 whom I shall see oftenest and with most 
 pleasure in Paris." After the letters came visits 
 from Louis, from Joseph, from Napoléon, who 
 flatter and praise the vvriter of the day. His 
 book never leaves them during the campaign in 
 Italy, " it reposed under the pillow of the 
 General-in-Chief, as Homer did under that of 
 Alexander." Joseph endeavoured to imitate it in 
 a pastoral called Mo'ùia, which he respectfully 
 submitted to Saint-Pierre. Napoléon envies 
 from the bottom of his soûl the peaceful exis- 
 tence of his host " in the bosom of nature." He 
 expresses himself in accents of such sincerity 
 that Bernardin hastens to offer him a small 
 country house of which he had become the pro- 
 prietor. The " Conqueror of Italy smiled in 
 rather an embarrassed manner and murmured 
 in a lovv voice some words about his retinue, 
 equipment, and repose from labour," but he re- 
 doubled his politeness, and invited the celebrated 
 man to dinner. Matters became somewhat 
 strained when the celebrated man refused to 
 enrol himself amongst the paid journalists. 
 However, Bernardin de Saint-Pierre never had 
 to complain of the Empire, and on his side 
 Napoléon remained faithful to his admiration 
 for Paîd and Virginia ; we are assured that he 
 re-read it several times at Saint Helena. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 Works of his Old Age— The two Marriages— 
 Death of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre— His 
 LiTERARY Influence. 
 
 WE hâve not yet got through half the Co7n- 
 plete Works, and our task is nearly 
 done. With the exception of certain pages, 
 pleasant or valuable for the information which 
 they contain, the rest might as well not hâve 
 been published ; the réputation of the author 
 would hâve lost nothing by it. In the month 
 of September, 1789, appeared the Vœux d'un 
 solitaire. The opening promises something 
 rural : 
 
 " On the first of May, of this year 1789, 1 went 
 down into my garden at sunrise to see what con- 
 dition it was in after the terrible winter, in which 
 the thermometer on the 3ist of December had 
 gone down to 19° below freezing. . . . 
 
 " On entering it I could see neither cabbages 
 
 nor artichokes, white jasmin or narcissus ; 
 
 179 
 
i8o Bernardin de St. Pierre. 
 
 almost ail my carnations and hyacinths had 
 perished ; my fig-trees were dead, as were also 
 my laurel-thyme which generally flovvered in 
 January. As for my young ivy, its branches 
 were dried and its leaves the colour of rust. 
 
 " However, the rest of my plants were doing 
 well although their growth was retarded three 
 weeks. My borders of strawberry-plants, violets, 
 thyme, and primroses were variegated green, 
 white, blue, and red ; and my hedges of honey- 
 suckle, raspberry, and gooseberry bushes, roses 
 and lilacs were ail covered with leaves and buds. 
 My avenues of vines, apple-trees, pear-trees, 
 peach-trees, plum-trees, cherry-trees, and apricots 
 were ail in blossom. In truth, the vines were 
 only beginning to open their buds, but the 
 apricots had already their fruit set. 
 
 " At this sight I said to myself," . . . what he 
 said to himself were certain reflections upon the 
 " interests of the human race," and upon " the 
 révolutions of nature," which remind him of 
 " those of the state," ..." and I said to myself 
 kingdoms hâve their seasons like the country,they 
 hâve their winter and their summer, their frosts 
 and their dews : the winter of France is passed^ 
 her spring is coming. Then full of hope I seated 
 myself at the end of my garden on a little bank 
 of turf and clover, in the shadow of an apple- 
 trcc in blossom, opposite a hive, the bées of 
 
♦ Works of his Old Age, 1 8 1 
 
 which hovered about humming on ail sides. . . . 
 And I began to hâve aspirations for my country." 
 We know already from the Etudes de la Nature 
 what his aspirations were ; they were nothing 
 very original or bold considering it was the year 
 1789, after the taking of the Bastille. Saint- 
 Pierre demands that every employaient shall be 
 open to ail, that individual liberty shall be 
 assured, that there shall be an end put to clérical 
 abuses, &c. The book had no success and 
 possesses no interest for us ; we may proceed. 
 
 Two years after the Vœux dhin solitaire^ in 
 1791, appeared the taie entitled La Chaumière 
 Indienne. A party of learned Englishmen (the 
 Académies again !) undertake to start an 
 encyclopaedia. Each member receives a list of 
 3,500 questions, and sets out for a différent 
 country in order *' to seek for . . . information 
 upon ail the sciences." The most learned of the 
 band travels overland to the Indies, and on his 
 way makes a collection of MSS. and rare books 
 forming " ninety baies weighing altogether 
 9,55olbs. troy." He converses " with Jewish 
 rabbis, protestant ministers, superintendents of 
 Lutheran churches, catholic doctors, acade- 
 micians from Paris, la Crusca, the Arcades, and 
 twenty-four others of the most famous académies 
 of Italy, Greek popes, Turkish mollahs, Armenian 
 priests, the Seids, and Persian priests, Arab 
 
i82 Bernardiît de St, Pierre^ 
 
 sheiks, ancient Parsees, and Indian pundits. 
 He prépares to rcturn to London, enchanted to 
 possess " such a splendid cargo of information," 
 when he perceives that ail he has learnt, ail he 
 has collected, only serve to confuse and render 
 obscure the 3,500 questions on his list. In 
 despair he goes to consult a celebrated Brahmin, 
 who only tells him that the Brahmins know 
 everything and tell nothing. A storm obliges 
 him, just in the nick of time, to ask shelter in 
 the cottage of a pariah, and this man teaches 
 him more in an hour about the way to fînd the 
 truth than ail the académies of the world had 
 been able to teach him in several years. One 
 guesses that the pariah did not know how to 
 read or write, and that his secret consisted in 
 studying nature " with his heart and not with 
 his mind." This amusing slight fancy is told 
 gracefully and pleasantly. 
 
 Meanwhile the terror approached, and in 
 spite of certain alarms, it was one of the most 
 tranquil periods of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre's 
 life. After some months passed at the Jardin 
 des Plantes, of which he was for a short time 
 governor, he looked on at the revolutionary 
 storm from the depths of a charming retreat, 
 chosen by him, arranged by him, and which he 
 owed to the mania of women to marry celebrated 
 men. 
 
JVorks of his Old A^e, 183 
 
 We hâve not forgotten that from the moment 
 of his first literary success several people 
 proposed to him. After Paul and Virginia 
 romantic and sensitive hearts turned more than 
 ever towards him, and at last he allowed himself 
 to be touched. The daughter of his printer, Mlle. 
 Félicité Didot, had loved him for a long time. 
 She " did not fear to own it to him," and was 
 rewarded for so doing : he consented to marry 
 her. He was fifty-five, she twenty. 
 
 He consented, making his own conditions 
 however ; his letter to Mlle. Didot is cate- 
 gorical. He wishes for a secret marriage. 
 Further, he insists that his father-in-law shall 
 buy him an island at Essonnes, and build him a 
 house there. " It will take three months to 
 build the house and make it habitable ; when 
 it is ready your parents will retire to Essonnes, 
 taking you with them, and I shall rejoin you 
 there for our marriage. I shall hâve a house, an 
 island, and a wife, without any one in Paris 
 knowing anything about it. I shall establish 
 you on my island with a cow, some fowls, and 
 Madelon, who understands to perfection how to 
 raise them. You will hâve books, flowers, and 
 the neighbourhood of your parents. I shall 
 certainly come to see you as often as possible." 
 According to what foUows in the corre- 
 spondence this arrangement was not to Mlle 
 
184 Beiniardin de St, Pie7're, 
 
 Didot's taste. She drcamed of sharing his 
 glory, and he offered her the post of his house- 
 keeper. He did not insist upon the secret 
 marriage, but on the question of the country he 
 would not give in, declaring that he could only 
 be happy there. " When my business forces 
 me to be in Paris, I shall write to you frequently. 
 You will be the reward of my labours ; I shall 
 come to forget in your bosom the troubles of 
 the town. Until I can hâve you always with 
 me as my companion, I shall come and pass 
 weeks, whole months with you. This is my 
 plan of life. I shall rise in the morning with 
 the sun. I shall go into my library and occupy 
 myself with some interesting study, for I hâve a 
 large amount of material to put in order. At 
 ten breakfast, which you will hâve prepared 
 yourself (he held to this) will re-unite us. 
 After breakfast I shall return to my work, and 
 you can accompany me, if the cares of the 
 household do not callyou elsewhere ; I présume 
 that you will occupy yourself with them in the 
 morning. At three o'clock a dinner of fish, 
 vegetables, poultry, milk-food, eggs, and fruit 
 produced on our island, will keep us an hour at 
 table. From four to five rest, and a little 
 music ; at five, when the beat will hâve passed, 
 fishing, or a walk in our island until six. At 
 six we shall go to see your parents and walk 
 
The Two Marriages. 185 
 
 in the neighbourhood. At nine a frugal 
 supper." 
 
 Mlle. Didot understood that she might take 
 ît or leave it, and resîgned herself to become 
 the head-servant of the Island of Essonnes. If 
 she had cherished any illusions as to what was 
 before her, she was not long in losing them. 
 The letters which her husband wrote to her 
 after their marriage hâve been published. This 
 is the beginning of the first one, written during 
 a journey of Mme. de Saint-Pierre to Paris. 
 
 " I send thee, my dear, some wire for my 
 tenant, your mother's carpet-bag, some potatoes, 
 some beetroots, which thou dost not much like, 
 but which necessity will perhaps render agree- 
 able to thee. If thou wilt share them with 
 
 citizen M junior, thou wilt give me pleasure. 
 
 In this case thou wilt send Madelon with them, 
 and wilt give her also the wire intended to 
 clear the conduit to the well of my house. . . ." 
 
 Then comes a long paragraph on the nails of 
 varions kinds of which he has need for his work- 
 men, and he continues: "Dost thou remember 
 hôw many handkerchiefs I had ? there were 
 only eleven hère," and in a P.S., " There is no 
 sugar hère at ail, send me a pound of moist 
 $ugar." 
 
 He had not deceîved her, nevertheless his 
 happiness was great in this first union. He did 
 
i86 Bernardin de St. Pierre. 
 
 not certainly use much coquetry with this young 
 wifc, who was about thirty years younger than 
 himself. Everlasting household détails: " Send 
 me somc apples." ..." Sow some cucumbers." 
 ..." Do not forget the haricot beans." . . . 
 " Why hâve a pig when we hâve need of 
 potatoes ? " It was not worth while having 
 married a poet ! As for him, the country 
 enchanted him, and he left his island as seldom 
 as possible. He endeavoured to ignore events 
 in Paris, so as to be able to prépare in peace 
 his Harino7iies de la Nature, " Putting aside 
 ail newspapers and books which might hâve 
 told him of the mad excitement of his country, 
 he made a solitude of his enclosure ; and when 
 the mists and hoar frost on the trees bare of 
 leaves and singing birds, made the country look 
 sad, VirgiVs eclogues^ Telemachiis, and the Vicar 
 of Wakefield^ gave him in an idéal world, the 
 happiness which no longer existed on the 
 earth." ^ Let us remember this passage. The 
 circumstances under v/hich the Harvioiiies were 
 composed explain the work. 
 
 The death of his father-in-law brought him 
 back willingly or unwillingly to the world of 
 reality. There was a burdensome liquidation, 
 family dissensions, and worries of ail kinds. 
 Thcn Mme. de Saint-Pierre died in her turn, 
 ' The Biography, by Aimé Martin. 
 
The Two Marriages. 187 
 
 leaving a daughter Virginia, and a son PauL 
 It was a gênerai breaking up of things. 
 
 There are some people magnificently obstinate 
 in being happy. Bernardin had the courage to 
 begin life again. At sixty-three he married 
 a pretty little schoolgirl, Mlle. Désirée de 
 Pelleporc, whose exercises it amused him to 
 correct, and who was dazzled with the idea of 
 marrying the author of Pmd and Virginia. He 
 found that he had done quite the right thing. 
 There is no more any question of cabbages in 
 his letters to his second wife. Bernardin is in 
 love, he wishes to please, and this old grey-beard 
 finds again his imagination of twenty to write 
 to his Désirée, his " joy," his " dear delight," his 
 "everlasting love." She is ailing. "Do not 
 distress thyself ; I shall work beside thee ; I 
 shall comfort thee with my affection ; I shall 
 kiss thy feet and warm them with my love." 
 She writes to him and he is overcome with 
 admiration : " Ah ! how fuU of charm is thy 
 last letter ! it is an enchanting combination of 
 youthful imagery, tenderness, philosophy, and 
 loving religion, I admired that last thought of 
 thine, it is new, it is sublime — ah ! my second 
 providence ! &c. I hâve sent to invite Ducis to 
 come and see us. If thou hadst not made me 
 full of love for thee, thou wouldst hâve filled me 
 with pride." 
 
i8S Bernardin de St. Pierre, 
 
 Poor Félicité never had so much attention in 
 her life as Désirée in this one day, and that is 
 not ail ; the letter ends thus : " I believe that 
 the new moon of yesterday will make a change 
 in the weather. Meantime she has announced 
 herself by heavy shovvers ; but this abundance 
 of water accélérâtes the growth of the vege- 
 tables ; it is necessary to their progress and their 
 needs : the month of May is an infant who 
 would always be at the breast. I embrace thee, 
 my love, my delight, my month of May. [Signcd) 
 Thy friend, thy lover, thy husband." 
 
 Sainte-Beuve thought this ending charming. 
 ^* This month of May " he says, " which is an 
 hifant that would always be at the breast, is it 
 not the most graceful and most speaking 
 picture, above ail addressed to a young wife, a 
 young mother ? " 
 
 It is Bernardin who now does the com- 
 missions, and he does not bring Désirée any 
 nails or moist sugar. Not a bit of it ! He 
 brings her crayons and colours, perfumery, a 
 fine tent for her garden. His impatience to 
 return is extrême ; he no longer lives away 
 from her, is capable of nothing without her. 
 "The absence of the clear-sighted wife leaves 
 the husband only one eye to see with, deprives 
 him of the best part of his sensés. Thy absence, 
 my angel, throws me more and more into a 
 
The Two Mar7'iages, 189 
 
 State of indolence which I cannot overcome. It 
 is absolutely imperative that I corne to see thee^ 
 and that thou return, my love." In another 
 letter : " I must return to kindle my flame in 
 the sunlight of thy présence. . . . Good-bye,. 
 my delight ; I wish to live and die beside thee." 
 
 He does not doubt that the whole universe 
 shares in this admiration for Désirée, who was 
 moreover really charming, and the joy of his 
 old âge. One day when she is alone at Eragny, 
 their country house on the Oise, which had 
 taken the place of the island of Essonnes, her 
 husband sends her some détails about the battle 
 of Eylau. He tells her that two days before 
 the battle Napoléon had written in an album 
 found in a country house : " Happy retreat of" 
 peace, why art thou so near to the scène of the 
 horrors of war ? " " Does it not seem," con- 
 tinues Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, " that he was- 
 thinking of our Eragny } If he had seen thee 
 there with our dear family, dost thou think he 
 would ever hâve fought that battle? I warn 
 thee that if it falls to my turn to address him,. 
 I shall charge thee with the correction of my 
 speech." Mlle, de Pelleporc had certainly not 
 been taken in like Mlle. Didot. 
 
 It was in his capacity of Academician that 
 Bernardin de Saint-Pierre was liable to be 
 called upon to address the Emperor. He had 
 
190 Bernardin de St, Pierre, 
 
 belonged to the Academy ^ ever since Napoléon 
 had re-established it (1803). He had belonged 
 to the Institute in the division of moral and 
 political science from its foundation in 1795. In 
 the same year he had charge of the course of 
 ethics at the Normal School, and the Normal 
 School had been suppressed almost directly, 
 which was very lucky, for he did not know how 
 to speak. The élévation of the Bonaparte 
 family sufficed to crown his old âge. He was 
 pensioned, decorated, and well treated by the 
 Emperor. The Parisian world petted and 
 flattered him. On one of his journeys to Paris 
 he writes to his second wife : " What is to 
 become of our former dreams of rural solitude ? 
 How is it possible, in the midst of so much 
 writing to be answered, and of visits active and 
 passive, to make a fair copy of any pages of 
 my old or new Etudes? I am like the corn- 
 beetle, living happily in the midst of his family, 
 in the shadow of the harvest-field ; should a 
 ray of the rising sun light up the emerald and 
 gold of his sheath, then the children seeing him, 
 take possession of him and shut him up in a 
 
 ' That is to say to the class of French language and 
 literature at the Institute which the French Academy 
 revived, except for the title, at the time of the re- 
 organisation of the Institute by Bonaparte. (Decreed 
 January 22, 1803.) 
 
The Two Marriages. 191 
 
 lîttle cage, choking him wîth cake and flowers, 
 believing that they make him happier with their 
 caresses than he was in the bosom of his family." 
 Of course not a word of this great boredom is 
 to be believed in. The little beetle is enchanted, 
 like ail literary beetles, to be covered with 
 flowers and shut up in those beautiful cages 
 whîch are called aristocratie salons. He would 
 be perfectly happy if he had a good temper." 
 
 But his temper is worse than ever. He had 
 never had so many quarrels, and there is a 
 concert of récrimination among his colleagues. 
 The Academy is his favourite field of battle, and 
 two of its sittings above ail hâve, thanks to him, 
 remained mémorable. At the first one he was 
 in the right ; it was in 1798. Religion was still 
 suppressed, and many people would not allow 
 the name of God to be spoken. Bernardin de 
 Saint-Pierre had been entrusted with the report 
 upon some meeting, and into this report he had 
 bravely insinuated a profession of religions faith. 
 Cries of fury arose in the hall, and through the 
 noise one heard Cabanis crying out : " I swear 
 that there is no God ! and I demand that his 
 name shall not be mentioned within thèse 
 walls ! " Another wished to do battle with the 
 blasphémer, and prove to him, sword in hand^ 
 that God did not exist. They ail abused him 
 threatened him, and laughed at him, but he held 
 
192 Bernardm de St. Pierre. 
 
 his own against the storm, and refused to efface 
 the scandalous passage. The Academy refused 
 to read his report in open meeting. 
 
 His other great battle was in favour of a less 
 glorious cause. He found means to raise a 
 tempest apropos of the Dictionary, in which he 
 wished to insert some sentiment. " Just imagine," 
 he wrote to Désirée, " that they hâve put in their 
 Dictionary under the word appertain, * It apper- 
 tains to a father to chastise his childreii! I told 
 them that it was strange that among a hundred 
 duties which bind a father to his children, they 
 should hâve chosen the one which would make 
 him odious to them. Thereupon Morellet the 
 harsh, Suard the pale, Parny the amorous, 
 Naigeon the atheist, and others ail quoted the 
 Scripture, and ail talking at once, assailed me 
 with passages from it, and united themselves 
 against me as they always do. Then, becoming 
 warm in my turn, I told them their quotations 
 were those of pédants and collegians, and that 
 if I were alone in my opinion, I should hold it 
 against them ail. They put it to the vote, ail 
 raising their hands to heaven, and as they con- 
 gratulated themselves on having a very large 
 majority, I told them that I challenged their 
 statement because they were ail celibates. Thèse 
 are the kind of scènes to which I expose myself 
 when I wish to uphold some natural truth ; but 
 
The Two Marri âge s. 193 
 
 it suits me from time to time to défend the 
 lavvs of nature against people who only know 
 those of fortune and crédit." (Letter of Sep- 
 tember 23, 1806.) 
 
 It was hard on him ! He had persuaded him- 
 self that he was persecuted by the Institute. In 
 his mind the chief occupation of the Institute 
 was to invent some bad turn against M. de Saint- 
 Pierre. In 1803 Maret asked him for his vote. 
 Bernardin replies : " Of what use can the vote 
 of a solitary man be to you, one who has long 
 been persecuted by the body to which you 
 aspire ? It can only do you harm. The atheists 
 who govern the Institute, and against whom I 
 hâve never ceased to contend, hâve not only 
 deprived me of ail influence, be it in preventing: 
 me from reading from the tribune at our public 
 meetings the papers which my class hâve pre- 
 pared for that purpose ; be it in hindering me 
 from obtaining the smallest post to help me to- 
 bring up my family, but they hâve even taken 
 pleasure in publishing abroad that the First 
 Consul said on one occasion : * I shall néver 
 give any employment to a writer who dissemi-- 
 nates error.' Thus they hâve even depriv.ed me 
 of hope, ' , ' 
 
 " That is not ail, they hâve lately been trying- 
 to take from me my actual means of sub-- 
 sistence." Hère follows a long list of grievançes. 
 
 14 
 
194 Bernardin de St, Pierre. 
 
 He has only receîvcd £2^ indemnity on an 
 occasion when other mcmbers of the Academy 
 hâve had £ôf^ ; one of his pensions has been 
 reduced £2 per month ; his works hâve been 
 mutilated by the Censor ; he hardly dares to 
 présent to the public his theory of the tides 
 for fear of sharing the fate of Gahleo ; he 
 expects to be exiled, compelled to find at a 
 distance a spot " wherein to place the cradles of 
 his three children and his own grave." The 
 admiration of the world vvould be powerless to 
 protect him against the stubborn animosity of 
 his colleagues in the Institute. " I resemble 
 those saints who attract from afar the homage 
 and the prayers of men, but who near at hand 
 are bitten by insects." This is ail nonsense ; 
 he had discussed persécutions too much vvith 
 J. J. Rousseau. 
 
 It is not surprising that he was detested by 
 most of his colleagues. Andrieux remembers 
 M. de Saint-Pierre as " a hard, ill-natured man." 
 It is just to add that those who liked him — 
 Ducis, for instance — liked him very much, and 
 that he knew how to take pains to keep his 
 frîends. There was no middle course with him : 
 he was hateful or delightful. 
 
 He continued to write to the end of his life. 
 " He made a point," says his biographer, " of 
 never letting a single day pass without writing 
 
The Two Marriages. 195 
 
 <ïown some observations on nature, îf it were 
 only a single lîne. The resuit was, in the long 
 rlin, a multitude of rough notes, hardly decipher- 
 able, written upon scraps of paper, which he 
 compared to the Sibylline leaves blown about by 
 the wind, and of which, according to the inten- 
 tion of the author, we hâve collected the best 
 in his Harmonies'^ 
 
 He also continued to publish without suc- 
 ceeding in shaking his réputation, though it was 
 not his fault if it remained intact, for from the 
 date of the Chmimière Indienne one can count on 
 one's fingers the pages which are not worthless. 
 
 The Harmonies de la Nature (three vols., 
 1796) is only a tame répétition of the Etudes 
 de la Nature. We must recall under what 
 conditions the Harmonies was written. It 
 required a miracle of faith or fixed resolution 
 lo persévère under the Terror, in teaching that 
 there is no evil in the heart of man any more 
 than in the rest of création. Bernardin de 
 Saint-Pierre accomplished this miracle, but it 
 was useless for him to shut himself up in his 
 study with Telemac/ms and the Vicar of Wake- 
 field ; inspiration did not come, and he had to 
 content himself with sifting the same ideas with 
 nothing newbut a degree more of exaggeration. 
 
 The arguments in favour of final causes sur- 
 passes in naïveté, if possible, those of the 
 
196 Bcr7iardi7i de St. Pierre. 
 
 Études. The forcsight of création has no 
 limit : " Not only has nature given us végéta- 
 tion suitable to our physical needs, but she has 
 produced some in connection with our moral 
 enjoyment which hâve become the symbols of 
 it by the duration of their verdure ; such as the 
 laurel for victory, the olive for peace, the palm 
 for glory. They hâve been made to grow on 
 ail those sites which by their melancholy and 
 religious aspect seem destined for burial places." 
 Thèse last, which nature has created expressly 
 " to decorate our tombs," and which for this- 
 reason are named " funereal trees," are divided 
 into two groups having " opposite character- 
 istics. Those in the first group let their long, 
 and slender branches trail to the earth, and one 
 sees them waving about at the pleasure of the , 
 wind, looking dishevelled and as though deplor- 
 ing some misfortune. The second group of 
 funereal trees includes those which grow in the 
 form of obelisks or pyramids. If the dishevelled 
 trees seem to carry our regrets towards the 
 earth, thèse with their upright branches seem. 
 to direct our hopes heavenwards." 
 
 This example will suffice. 
 
 The goodness of man appears to him to be 
 more apparent than ever. " I repeat, for the 
 consolation of the human race, moral evil is as 
 foreign to man as physical evil, both only spring. 
 
The Two Marriages, 197 
 
 from a déviation from the natural law. Nature 
 made man good." This goodness would be 
 plaîn to ail at once if they would put into 
 practice M. de Saint-Pierre's plan of éducation, 
 and it could hardly be put ofîf much longer. 
 ^* A day will corne, and I already sec its dawn, 
 when Europeans will substitute in the hearts 
 of their children the wish to serve their fellow- 
 creatures for the fatal ambition to be the first 
 amongst them, and when they will recognise 
 that the interest of each of them is the interest 
 of the human race." 
 
 A few new scientific ideas come in to prove 
 that the author is incorrigible on this point. 
 *' If the forces of the vegetable kingdom reflect 
 and augment the heat of the sun, if they effect 
 the atmosphère and the water, they hâve no less 
 influence upon the solid globe of the earth, of 
 which they extend the circumference from year 
 to year. It is quite certain that each plant leaves 
 upon the globe a solid and permanent deposit, 
 and that it is out of the sum total of thèse 
 vegetable remains that the circumference of the 
 globe is annually augmented." We coula hâve 
 pardon ed him this theory before the works of 
 Lavoisier, but coming after, they betray a greater 
 amount of ignorance that can be allowed even 
 to a poet in speaking of science. 
 
 He has also an extraordinary theory upon 
 
198 Bcrna7'din de St, Pierre. 
 
 the chcmical composition of thc sun. " If it 
 was allowed to a being as limited as I am to 
 dare to speculate about a star vvhich I hâve not 
 even had the happiness to see through a téle- 
 scope, I should say that the material of whicJi it 
 is coniposed is gold, because gold is the heaviest 
 of ail known metals ; which would apply to the 
 sun placed in the centre of our universe. . . . Its 
 light . . . gilds every object that it strikes, and 
 seems to be volatilised gold. . . . We are assured 
 that it forms the gold in the depths of the earth.'^ 
 Mystical reasons confirm Bernardin de Saint- 
 Pierre in his opinion. " Gold is the prime 
 mover in societies of human beings as the sun is 
 in the universe. Gold sets in motion ail social 
 harmonies amongst civilised as vvell as uncivilised 
 peoples." 
 
 It is always through sentiment that he makes 
 his scientific discoveries. " Evidence is but the 
 harmony of the soûl with God . . . thus the 
 mind has no science if the heart has no con- 
 science. Certainty is then after ail a sentiment, 
 and this sentiment is only the resuit of the lavvs 
 of nature. ... I should then defir^e science as 
 the sentiment of the lavvs of nature in relation 
 to man. . . . This définition of science in gênerai 
 applies to ail sciences in particular. . . . Astro- 
 nomy . . . is only the feeling of the laws which 
 exist between the stars and men." 
 
The Two Marriages. 199 
 
 In virtue of " the laws which exist between 
 the stars and men," he knows that the other 
 planets are inhabited, and he could describe 
 their Fauna and Flora, their landscapes, and the 
 manners of the inhabitants. The men on the 
 planet Mercury are philosophers ; those on 
 Venus " must give up ail their time to love," to 
 the dance, to festivals and songs. The charac- 
 ter of those of Jupiter no doubt resembles that 
 of the maritime peoples of Europe ; " they must 
 be industrious, patient, wise, and thoughtful, 
 like the Danes, the Dutch, and the English." 
 On ail the planets, the soûls of the just fly away 
 after death into the sun, where they are better 
 placed than any where else for enjoying a vievv 
 of the whole universe. " It is there without 
 doubt that you are unfortunate, Jean-Jacques, 
 who, having reached the end of this life, behold 
 a new one in the sun ! " It is there that Ber- 
 nardin hopes to go to find again his master, and 
 from whence in spirit he sees himself throvving 
 " a triumphant glance to earth where men weep, 
 and where he is no longer." So ends the Har- 
 monies de la Nature in a sort of ecstasy. 
 
 It is deadly duU reading. You are soon sur- 
 feited, as after a feast of nothing but sweet 
 dishes. There is too much feeling, too much 
 happiness ; the world is too well-arranged, too 
 engineered, too highly coloured and varnished. 
 
200 Bernardin de St. Pierre, 
 
 One agrées in the judgment which the book 
 inspired in Joubert: " Bernardin de Saint-Pierre's 
 style is like a prism which tires the eyes. After 
 one has read him for long one is charmed to see 
 that the grass and trees hâve less colour in 
 nature than they hâve in his writings. His 
 harmonies make us love the discords which he 
 banishes from the world, and which one cornes 
 across at every step. Nature certainly has her 
 music, but happily it is rare. If reality afforded 
 the mélodies which thèse gentlemen find every- 
 where, one would live in an ecstatic languor, and 
 die of inanition." 
 
 The Works which succeeded to the Harmonies 
 de la Nature are not worth spending time over 
 any more than his posthumous ones.^ When 
 we hâve excepted the Café de Surate^ a charming 
 satirical taie of a few pages, and the fragments 
 on J. J. Rousseau, upon which we hâve drawn 
 largely in retracing the history of their acquaint- 
 ance, we may dispense with reading the rest. 
 On the whole Bernardin de Saint-Pierre is com- 
 plète in a single book, the Études de la Nature^ 
 
 ' We give the titles of them : De la Nature de la morale (1798)1 
 Voyage en Silésié (1807), La Mort de Socrate, drama (1808), 
 Ejfipsael and la Pierre d'Abraham, philosophical novels in the 
 form of dialogues, le Café de Surate — fragments on Rousseau, 
 some accounts of travels, sonie pamphlets and fragments of the 
 Amazon. 
 
The Two Marriaçres. 201 
 
 't> 
 
 on condition that we take one of the copies 
 perfected by the addition of Pmil and Virginia. 
 
 His last years were the happiest of his long 
 career. They were passed innocently in observ- 
 ing his flowers, adoring his young wife, and in 
 reah'sing at last on paper his project of an idéal 
 colony, without fatigue or expense. It was the 
 best way. He oîcupied himself every day for 
 an hour or two in organising it according to the 
 laws of nature, bringing up the children there 
 to the Sound of horns and flûtes, and obtaining 
 results without a précèdent, which he recorded 
 in the annals of the young state.^ 
 
 The colony was situated on the banks of the 
 Amazon, because, as a child, Bernardin de Saint- 
 Pierre had told himself a story of how he em- 
 barked for the Amazon, and there founded a 
 republic. It was above ail distinguished for a 
 fabulous abundance of every thing. On fête 
 days the citizens took their places at public 
 tables, at which were served whole whales, with- 
 out counting an înfinity of other dishes. Con- 
 tempt of Systems had there produced some 
 almost incredible scîentific and industrial suc- 
 cesses ; people went about in balloons formed 
 like fish, and capable of being steered ; one saw 
 "camelsladen with provisions, led by negroes, 
 and sledges drawn by reindeer." AU the inhabi- 
 
 ï See the fragments of the Amazon. 
 
202 Bernardin de St. Pierre. 
 
 tants of this favoured spot vvere goôd, virtuous, 
 and happy. 
 
 It was an inoffensive and harmless mania. 
 In the end I really believe that Bernardin de 
 Saint-Pierre was no longer surly and bellicose, 
 except in the Institute. There he certainly was 
 so, but he paid dcarly for it. What did they not 
 impute to him for crime? * They reproached 
 him for sending his son to collège, his daughter 
 to Ecouen, after having written against public 
 éducation in France. It is what the adversaries 
 of our university System do every day ; we blâme 
 and we submit, because we cannot do otherwise. 
 They reproached him with having been servile 
 in his intercourse with Napoléon, whom he com- 
 pared in an academical oration to an eagle 
 " advancing in the very centre of the storm." 
 He certainly would hâve done better not to 
 flatter the master, but he was in such good 
 Company ! We pass over other absolutely 
 absurd grievances. His enemies returned his 
 blows with interest, and, being vindictive, he died 
 without making peace with them. 
 
 In the month of November, 1813, being then 
 in Paris, he felt that his life was ebbing ; several 
 apoplectic attacks had reduced his strength. He 
 hastened to rcturn to his home at Eragny, to 
 see again his garden, the forest of Saint-Germain, 
 the banks of the Oise, and there he slovvly 
 
The Two Marriages, 203. 
 
 passée! away, filling his eyes with the splendeurs 
 of the world. He awaited death with serenity, 
 as it becomes a sage to await the accomplish- 
 ment of a law of nature, talking peacefully with 
 those around him of the terrors which it gene- 
 rally inspires. He said that our fear of death 
 arises from the fact that " the thought of it does 
 not enter familiarly enough into our éducation." 
 It is always spoken of as something strange, Hke 
 a misfortune happened to some one else ; we are 
 even surprised at it, so that there seems to be 
 nothing natural in an act which is beîng accom- 
 plished ceaselessly. Listen to the history of a 
 malady he adds : " I do not believe ever to hâve 
 heard of one in which death did not corne from 
 the fault of the sick person, or from the doctor ; 
 never from the will of God.'* 
 
 His heart never failed him except in seeing 
 his dear Désirée weep. "I see her," he said,. 
 " incessantly occupied in holding back my soûl 
 which is ready to escape." For the last time he 
 had himself carried into his garden. A Bengal 
 rose-bush was still covered with flowers, but the 
 winter had turned its leaves yellow. "To- 
 morrow," said the dying man to his wife, " the 
 yellow leaves will no longer be there." On the 
 2ist of January, 18 14, the earth was white with 
 snow, the air misty, and a cold wind shook the 
 bare trees. At mid-day the sun pierced through 
 
204 Bernardin de St. Pierre. 
 
 the mist, and fcU upon the face of Bernardin de 
 Saint-Pierre, who died breathing the name of 
 God. He was seventy-seven years old. His 
 death passed unobserved in the midst of the 
 great events which were then agitating France. 
 
 He had intrusted his réputation and his 
 Works to his wife ; he could not hâve left them 
 ïn better hands. The charming Désirée has 
 been the faithful and tender guardian of his 
 memory, a guardian sometimes blind ; but who 
 would think of reproaching her with that ? She 
 married again, later, an ardent admirer of her 
 first husband, Aimé Martin, the author of the 
 great biography of Bernardin de Saint- Pierre, 
 and the indefatigable editor of his works. 
 Together they raised an altar to his memory. 
 One is obliged to challenge Aimé Martin's 
 romantic and enthusiastic biography, but one 
 could not read without being touched, the 
 pages in which the youthful love affairs of the 
 hero are poetised and magnified out of ail 
 proportion, for those détails can only hâve been 
 supplied by his widow. Désirée idealised for 
 posterity even his most vulgar adventures. 
 
 The man was soon forgotten, and then was 
 invented the legend of which we hâve spoken at 
 the beginning of this book. The public very 
 much dislikes to admit that there can be any 
 <iisagreement between a writer and, his works. 
 
His Death, 205 
 
 It made of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre a reflection 
 of his writings, a very gentle and universally 
 benevolent man without any fault except being 
 too over-sensitive. The obstinate combatant 
 of the Academy became transformed in the 
 imagination of the crowd into an easy-going 
 man, good-natured and tearful, until his outline 
 was effaced from men's memory. Nothing 
 remains to-day but an undefined shadow, a 
 vague something, and this something still finds 
 means to hâve an insipid expression. It is a. 
 good thing to restore to the original his angry 
 brow and bitter expression. 
 
 An analogous disaster awaited almost ail his 
 Works. Bernardin de Saint-Pierre enjoyed the 
 dangerous honour of having disciples much 
 greater than himself. His unobtrusive halo 
 was lost sight of in the glitter of Chateaubriand 
 and the radiance of Lamartine. He assisted at 
 the literary triumphs of the first ; but instead of 
 rendering each other mutual homage, master 
 and disciple treated each other coldly. Ber- 
 nardin de Saint-Pierre could not without 
 impatience allow " the most covetous of honour 
 among his heirs," according to the expression 
 of Sainte-Beuve, to throw him into the shade. 
 Chateaubriand, at first eulogistic, was not long 
 before he became irritated at hearing malevolent. 
 critics compare the élégant simplicity of his- 
 
2o6 Ber7iardin de St. Pierre. 
 
 predecessor to his own pomp of style. Tovvards 
 the year 1810, some onehaving asked Bernardin 
 îf he knew Chateaubriand, the old man reph'ed, 
 " No, I do not know him ; I hâve in my time 
 read some extracts of the Génie du Christianisme ; 
 his imagination is too strong." They certainly 
 became acquainted after the nomination of 
 Chateaubriand to the Academy in 181 1. We do 
 not find that anything resulted from it, but the 
 following lines from the Mémoires d'outre Tombe : 
 " A man whose brush I hâve admired and 
 always shall admire, Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, 
 was wanting in judgment, and unfortunately 
 his character was on a level with his judgment. 
 How many pictures are spoilt in the Études de 
 la Nature by the writer's limited intelligence and 
 want of élévation of soûl ! " 
 
 Lamartine, on the contrary, was the most 
 grateful of pupils, always eager to acknowledge 
 his master, and make the best of him. Paul 
 .and Virginia had been the favourite book of his 
 childhood, and the poet paid his debt royally 
 to the favourite volume by giving it a place of 
 honour in two of his own works. Jocelyn read 
 and re-read Paul and Virginia, Graziella is lost 
 from having heard it only once. Her soûl, until 
 then dormant, revealed itself to her in the soûl of 
 Virginia. Her beautiful impassive face becomes 
 suddenly overspread with the stormy tints and 
 
His Literary Influence. 207 
 
 lines of passion. One hour has sufficed to 
 transform an innocent and joyous child into a 
 palpitating woman, ripe for love and its 
 sufferings, and it is Bernardin de Saint-Pierre 
 who has accomplished this miracle. 
 
 It was ail in vain ; such glorious homage 
 could not protect the bulk of his work against 
 an indifférence which became ever more and 
 more profound. The réputation of the author 
 of the Études de la Nature has dispersed in our 
 day like smoke, so much so indeed that in 
 establishing the literary relation of Chateau- 
 briand and Lamartine, their direct precursor is 
 usually suppressed ; they jump over him to J. 
 J. Rousseau. Every one of us has forgotten 
 what we owe to Bernardin de Saint-Pierre. 
 Maurice de Guérin said in 1832, after having 
 read the Études de la Nature : " This book sets 
 at liberty and illuminâtes a sensé which we ail 
 possess, but which is generally obscure and 
 without activity ; the sensé which gathers up 
 for us physical beauties, and présents them to 
 the soûl." It has not been given to many 
 writers to awaken amongst the masses a sleeping 
 faculty, and the event should be of sufificient 
 importance for us not to lose the remembrance 
 of it. But in our day we are accustomed to 
 observe this sensé which " gathers up physical 
 beauties " active within us, and increasing with- 
 
2o8 Beniardiît de St, Pierre. 
 
 ont intermission the treasure of our sensations 
 of incomparable enjoyments. This ail seems so 
 natural to us, that we hâve no more gratitude 
 for him who " set at liberty and illuminated " 
 this precious faculty in the soûls of our grand- 
 fathers and grandmothers. , 
 
 There is the same ingratitude amongst 
 modem writers who do not seem to hâve 
 remembered what they owe to him. Not 
 content with having loved nature vvith a con- 
 tagious tenderness, Bernardin has bequeathed 
 to his successors the first grand models of 
 descriptive landscapes, and restored to the 
 French language a picturesque vocabulary of 
 which it had been deprived for two hundred 
 years. Thèse are two immense services by 
 which he has exercised agréât influence on the 
 literature of the nineteenth century. Without 
 the Études de la Nature not only René and 
 Atala^ Jocelyn and Graziella^ but the Génie du 
 Christianisme and the Méditations would hâve 
 been différent from what they are. Chateau- 
 briand and Lamartine would hâve followed a 
 somewhat différent bent, and the whole of the. 
 modem school would hâve followed their lead. . 
 It is a very great honour to hâve given impulse 
 to the descriptive literature of the nineteenth 
 century. Nevertheless, if Bernardin de Saint-, 
 Pierre had not possessed another title to glory- 
 
Engravings of Épindes Picture. 209 
 
 hîs name would no longer be known except to 
 literary men. 
 
 But he had another, over which a very 
 faithful public bas undertaken to watch. The 
 people, who never forget what bas profoundly 
 toucbed tbem, bave guarded tbe memory of 
 Paul and Virginia. Tbey love tbese two 
 cbildren, so beautiful, so unbappy ; and we still, 
 find in tbe bornes of tbe peasants penny 
 engravings of Epinde's picture in glaring 
 colours, in wbicb are represented tbeir games, 
 tbeir young love and tbeir tragical end. On a 
 day of inspiration Bernardin de Saint-Pierre 
 conquered tbe glory, enviable above ail otbers, 
 and wbicb is given to few ; be created imaginary 
 but living cbaracters, beings wbo never existed, 
 and wbo nevertbeless remain more real and 
 more alive tban tbousands of créatures of flesb 
 and blood ; more alive, if I dare to say so, tban 
 tbe beroes and beroines of bis most illustrions 
 disciples. Jocelyn is already forgotten by tbe 
 world, Atala is no more tban an empty sbadow, 
 but tbe popular imagination will for a long time 
 yet keep in mind tbe little Virginia sbeltering 
 ber Paul under ber petticoat, and tbose two 
 laughing beads flying togetber in tbe sbower. 
 
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