Classic French Course in English

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William Cleaver Wilkinson. Classic French Course in English

PREFACE

I. FRENCH LITERATURE

II. FROISSART. 1337-1410

III. RABELAIS. 1495-1553

IV. MONTAIGNE. 1533-1592

V. LA ROCHEFOUCAULD: 1613-1680 (La Bruyère: 1646 (?)-1696; Vauvenargues: 1715-1747)

VI. LA FONTAINE. 1621-1695

VII. MOLIÈRE. 1623-1673

VIII. PASCAL. 1623-1662

IX. MADAME DE SÉVIGNÉ. 1626-1696

X. CORNEILLE. 1606-1684

XI. RACINE. 1639-1699

XII. BOSSUET: 1627-1704; BOURDALOUE: 1632-1704; MASSILLON: 1663-1742

XIII. FÉNELON. 1651-1715

XIV. MONTESQUIEU. 1689-1755

XV. VOLTAIRE. 1694-1778

XVI. ROUSSEAU. 1712-1778

XVII. THE ENCYCLOPÆDISTS

XVIII. EPILOGUE

INDEX

Отрывок из книги

Of French literature, taken as a whole, it may boldly be said that it is, not the wisest, not the weightiest, not certainly the purest and loftiest, but by odds the most brilliant and the most interesting, literature in the world. Strong at many points, at some points triumphantly strong, it is conspicuously weak at only one point,—the important point of poetry. In eloquence, in philosophy, even in theology; in history, in fiction, in criticism, in epistolary writing, in what may be called the pamphlet; in another species of composition, characteristically, peculiarly, almost uniquely, French,—the Thought and the Maxim; by eminence in comedy, and in all those related modes of written expression for which there is scarcely any name but a French name,—the jeu d'esprit, the bon mot, persiflage, the phrase; in social and political speculation; last, but not least, in scientific exposition elegant enough in form and in style to rise to the rank of literature proper,—the French language has abundant achievement to show, that puts it, upon the whole, hardly second in wealth of letters to any other language whatever, either ancient or modern.

What constitutes the charm—partly a perilous charm—of French literature is, before all else, its incomparable clearness, its precision, its neatness, its point; then, added to this, its lightness of touch, its sureness of aim; its vivacity, sparkle, life; its inexhaustible gayety; its impulsion toward wit,—impulsion so strong as often to land it in mockery; the sense of release that it breathes and inspires; its freedom from prick to the conscience; its exquisite study and choice of effect; its deference paid to decorum,—decorum, we mean, in taste, as distinguished from morals; its infinite patience and labor of art, achieving the perfection of grace and of ease,—in one word, its style.

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The first thing, perhaps, to strike the thoughtful mind in a comprehensive view of the subject, is not so much the length—though this is remarkable—as the long continuity of French literary history. From its beginning down to the actual moment, French literature has suffered no serious break in the course of its development. There have been periods of greater, and periods of less, prosperity and fruit; but wastes of marked suspension and barrenness, there have been none.

The second thing noticeable is, that French literature has, to a singular degree, lived an independent life of its own. It has found copious springs of health and growth within its own bosom.

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