to see that there is glory enough in both; in the art of highlyfinished composition and presentation, and in the art of bold and striking creation. Yet Vauvenargues was able to see the secret of the popularity of Molière, and the foundation of the common opinion that no other dramatist had carried his own kind of art so far as Molière had carried his; "the reason is, I fancy, that he is more natural than any of the others, and this is an important lesson for everybody who wishes to write." He did not see how nearly everything went in this concession, that Molière was above all natural. With equal truth of perception he condemned the affectation of grandeur lent by the French tragedians to classical personages who were in truth simple and natural, as the principal defect of the national drama, and the common rock on which their poets made shipwreck. Let us, however, rejoice for the sake of the critical reputation of Vauvenargues that he was unable to read Shakespeare. One for whom Molière is too eccentric, grotesque, inelegant, is not likely to do much justice to the mightiest but most irregular of all dramatists.

A man's prepossessions in dramatic poetry, supposing him to be cultivated enough to have any prepossessions, furnish the most certain clue that we can get to the spirit in which he inwardly regards character and conduct. The uniform and reasoned preference which Vauvenargues had for Racine over Molière and Corneille, was only the transfer to art of that balanced, moderate, normal, and emphatically harmonious temper which he brought to the survey of human nature. Excess was a condition of thought, feeling, and speech, that in every form was disagreeable to him; alike in the gloom of Pascal's reveries, and in the inflation of speech of some of the heroes of Corneille. He failed to relish even Montaigne as he ought to have done, because his method was too prolix, his scepticism too universal, his egoism too manifest, and because he did not produce complete and artistic wholes.3

Reasonableness is the strongest mark in his thinking. Perhaps this was what the elder Mirabeau meant when he wrote to Vauvenargues, who was his cousin, "You have the English genius to perfection," and what Vauvenargues meant when he wrote of himself to Mirabeau, "Nobody in the world has a mind less French than I."4 These international comparisons are among the least fruitful of literary amusements, even when they happen not to be extremely misleading, as when, for example, Voltaire called Locke the English Pascal, a description which can only be true on condition that the qualifying adjective is meant to strip Pascal of most of his characteristic traits. And if we compare Vauvenargues with any of our (2) i. 243. (3) Euvres, i. 275. (4) Correspondence, ii. 131 and 207.

(1) i. 238.

English aphoristic writers, there is not resemblance enough to make the contrast instructive. The obvious truth is that in this department our literature is particularly weak, while French literature is particularly strong in it. With the exception of Bacon, we have no writer of apophthegms of the first order; and the difference between Bacon as a moralist and Pascal or Vauvenargues is the difference between Polonius's famous discourse to Laertes and the soliloquy of Hamlet. His precepts refer rather to external conduct and worldly fortune, than to the inner composition of character, or to the "wide, grey, lampless" depths of human destiny. We find the same national characteristic, though on an infinitely lower level, in Franklin's oracular saws. Among the French sages a psychological element is predominant, as well as an occasional transcendent loftiness of feeling not to be found in Bacon's wisest maxims, and which from his point of view in their composition we could not expect to find there. We seek in vain amid the positivity of Bacon, or the quaint and timorous paradox of Browne, or the acute sobriety of Shaftesbury, for any of that poetic pensiveness which is strong in Vauvenargues and reaches tragic heights in Pascal.1 Addison may have the delicacy of Vauvenargues, but it is a delicacy that wants the stir and warmth of feeling. It seems as if with English writers poetic sentiment naturally sought expression in poetic forms, while the Frenchmen of nearly corresponding temperament were restrained within the limits of prose by reason of the vigorously prescribed stateliness and stiffness of their verse at that time. A man in this country with the quality of Vauvenargues, with his delicacy, tenderness, elevation, would have composed lyrics. We have undoubtedly lost much by the laxity and irregularity of our verse, but as undoubtedly we owe to its freedom some of the most perfect and delightful of the minor figures that adorn the noble gallery of English poets.

It would be an error to explain the superiority of the great French moralists by supposing in them a fancy and imagination too defective for poetic art. It was the circumstances of the national literature during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries which made Vauvenargues, for instance, a composer of aphorisms rather than a moral poet like Pope. Let us remember some of his own most discriminating words. "Who has more imagination," he asks, "than Bossuet, Montaigne, Descartes, Pascal, all of them great philosophers? Who more judgment and wisdom than Racine, Boileau, La Fontaine, Molière, all of them poets full of genius? It is not

(1) Long-winded and tortuous and difficult to seize as Shaftesbury is as a whole, in detached sentences he shows marked aphoristic quality, e. g., "The most ingenious way of becoming foolish is by a system;""The liker anything is to wisdom, if it be not plainly the thing itself, the more directly it becomes its opposite," &c.

true, then, that the ruling qualities exclude the others; on the contrary, they suppose them. I should be much surprised if a great poet were without vivid lights on philosophy, at any rate moral philosophy, and it will very seldom happen for a true philosopher to be totally devoid of imagination." With imagination in the highest sense Vauvenargues was not largely endowed, but he had as much as is essential to reveal to one that the hard and sober-judging faculty is not the single, nor even the main element, in a wise and full intelligence. "All my philosophy," he wrote to Mirabeau, when only four or five and twenty years old, an age when the intellect is usually most exigent of supremacy, "all my philosophy has its source in my heart."

In the same spirit he had well said that there is more cleverness in the world than greatness of soul, more people with talent than with lofty character.3 Hence some of the most peculiarly characteristic and impressive of his aphorisms; that famous one, for instance, Great thoughts come from the heart, and the rest which hang upon the same idea. "Virtuous instinct has no need of reason, but supplies it." "Reason misleads us more often than nature." "Reason does not know the interests of the heart." "Perhaps we owe to the passions the greatest advantages of the intellect." Sayings which are only true on condition that instinct and nature and passion have been already moulded under the influence of reason; just as this other saying, which won the warm admiration of Voltaire, "Magnanimity owes no account to prudence of its motives," is only true on condition that by magnanimity we understand a mood not out of accord with the loftiest kind of prudence. But in the eighteenth century reason and prudence were words current in their lower and narrower sense, and thus one coming, like Vauvenargues, to see this lowness and narrowness, sought to invest ideas and terms that in fact only involved modifications of these with a significance of direct antagonism. Magnanimity was contrasted inimically with prudence, and instinct and nature were made to thrust from their throne reason and reflection. Carried to its limit, this tendency developed the speculative and social excesses of the great sentimental school. In Vauvenargues it was only the moderate, just, and most seasonable protest of a fine observer against the supremacy among ideals of a narrow, deliberative, and calculating spirit. His exaltation of virtuous instinct over reason is in a curious way parallel to Burke's memorable exaltation over reason of prejudice. “Prejudice,” said Burke, "previously engages the mind in a steady course of wisdom and virtue, and does not leave the man hesitating in the moment of decision, sceptical, puzzled, and unresolved. Prejudice renders a man's virtue his habit, and not a series of unconnected acts; through just prejudice his duty becomes a part of his nature." (1) No. 278 (i. 411). (2) Euvres, ii. 115.

(4) Reflections on French Revolution, Works (ed. 1842), i. 414.

i. 87.

What Burke designated as prejudice Vauvenargues less philosophically styled virtuous instinct; each meant precisely the same thing, though the difference of phrase implied a different view of its origin and growth; and the opposite of each of them was the same-namely, a sophisticated and over-refining intelligence narrowed to the consideration of particular circumstances. Translated into the modern equivalent, the heart, nature, instinct, of Vauvenargues mean character. He insisted upon spontaneous impulse as a condition of all greatest thought and action. Men think and work on the highest level when they move without conscious and deliberate strain after virtue when, in other words, their habitual motives, aims, methods, their character, in short, naturally draw them into the region of what is virtuous. All this has ceased to be new to our generation, but a hundred and thirty years ago, and indeed much nearer to us than that, the key to all nobleness was thought to be found only by cool balancing and prudential calculation. A book like "Clarissa Harlowe" shows us this prudential and calculating temper underneath a varnish of sentimentalism and fine feelings, an incongruous and extremely displeasing combination, particularly characteristic of certain sets and circles in that many-sided century. One of the distinctions of Vauvenargues is, that exaltation of sentiment did not with him cloak a substantial adherence to a low prudence, nor to that fragment of reason which has so constantly usurped the name and place of the whole. He eschewed the too common compromise which the sentimentalist makes with reflection and calculation, and it was this which saved him from being a sentimentalist.

That doctrine of the predominance of the heart over the head, which has brought forth so many pernicious and destructive phantasies in the history of social thought, represented in his case no more than a reaction against the great detractors of humanity. Rochefoucauld had surveyed mankind exclusively from the point of view of their vain and egoistic propensities, and his aphorisms are profoundly true of all persons in whom these propensities are habitually supreme, and of all the world in so far as these propensities happen to influence them. Pascal, on the other hand, leaving the affections and inclinations of man very much on one side, had directed all his efforts to showing the pitiful feebleness and incurable helplessness of man in the sphere of the understanding. Vauvenargues is thus confronted by two sinister pictures of humanity-the one of its moral meanness and littleness, the other of its intellectual poverty and impotency. He turned away from both of them, and found in magnanimous and unsophisticated feeling, of which he was conscious in himself and observant in others, a compensation alike for the selfishness of some men and the intellectual limitations of all men, which was ample enough to restore the human

self-respect that Pascal and Rochefoucauld had done their best to weaken. The truth in the disparagement was indisputable so far as it went. It was not a kind of truth, however, on which it is good for the world much to dwell, and it is the thinkers like Vauvenargues who build up and inspire high resolve. "Scarcely any maxim, runs one of his own, "is true in all respects." We must take them in pairs to find out the mean truth; and to understand the ways of men, so far as words about men can help us, we must read with appreciation not only Vauvenargues, who said that great thoughts come from the heart, but La Rochefoucauld, who called the intelligence the dupe of the heart, and Pascal, who saw only desperate creatures, miserably perishing before one another's eyes in the black dungeon of the universe. Yet it is the observer in the spirit of Vauvenargues of whom we must always say that he hath chosen the better part. Vauvenargues's own estimate was sound. "The Duke of La Rochefoucauld seized to perfection the weak side of human nature; may be he knew its strength too; and only contested the merit of so many splendid actions in order to unmask false wisdom. Whatever his design, the effect seems to me mischievous; his book, filled with delicate invective against hypocrisy, even to this day turns men away from virtue, by persuading them that it is never genuine." Or, as he put it elsewhere, without express personal reference, "You must arouse in men the feeling of their prudence and strength, if you would raise their character; those who only apply themselves to bring out the absurdities and weaknesses of mankind enlighten the judgment of the public far less than they deprave its inclination."3 This principle was implied in Goethe's excellent saying, that if you would improve a man it is best to begin by persuading him that he is already that which you would have him to be.

2

To talk in this way was to bring men out from the pits which cynicism on the one side and asceticism on the other had dug so deep for them, back to the warm precincts of the cheerful day. The cynic and the ascetic had each looked at life through a microscope, exaggerating blemishes, distorting proportions, filling the eye with ugly and disgusting illusions. The maxims of Vauvenargues were a plea for a return to a healthy and normal sense of relations. "These philosophers," he cried, "are men, yet they do not speak in human language; they change all the ideas of things, and misuse all their terms." 5 These are some of the most direct of his retorts upon Pascal and La Rochefoucauld :

(1) No. 111.

:

(4) "A man may as well pretend to cure himself of love by viewing his mistress through the artificial medium of a microscope or prospect, and beholding there the coarseness of her skin and monstrous disproportion of her features, as hope to excite or moderate any passion by the artificial arguments of a Seneca or an Epictetus."Hume's Essays (xviii.), The Sceptic.

(5) i. 163.