French literature

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French literature

Table of Contents

Introduction

The Middle Ages

The 16th century

The 17th century

The 18th century to the Revolution of 1789

From 1789 to the mid-19th century

From 1850 to 1900

From 1900 to 1940

The mid-20th century

Approaching the 21st century

French literature, the body of written works in the French language produced within the geographic and political boundaries of France. The French language was one of the five major Romance languages to develop from Vulgar Latin as a result of the Roman occupation of western Europe.

Since the Middle Ages, France has enjoyed an exceptional position in European intellectual life. Though its literary culture has no single figure whose influence can be compared to that of Italy’s Dante or England’s Shakespeare, successive periods have seen its writers and their language exercise an influence far beyond its borders. In medieval times, because of the far-reaching and complex system of feudal allegiances (not least the links of France and England), the networks of the monastic orders, the universality of Latin, and the similarities of the languages derived from Latin, there was a continual process of exchange, in form and content, among the literatures of western Europe. The evolution of the nation-states and the rise in prestige of vernacular languages gradually eroded the unifying force of these relationships. From the early modern period onward, France developed its own distinctive and many-stranded cultural tradition, which, while never losing sight of the riches of the medieval base and the Judeo-Christian biblical tradition, has come chiefly to be thought of as Mediterranean in its allegiance, rooted in the imitation of Classical models as these were mediated through the great writers and thinkers of Renaissance Italy.

The version of French tradition that began in the 17th century and has established itself in the cultural histories and the schoolbooks was given fresh force in the early 20th century by the philosopher-poet Paul Valéry and, especially, his English admirers in the context of the political and cultural struggle with Germany. In this version, French culture prizes reason, formal perfection, and purity of language and is to be admired for its thinkers as much as for its writers. By the end of the ancien régime, the logic of Descartes, the restraint of Racine, and the wit of Voltaire were seen as the hallmarks of French culture and were emulated throughout the courts and salons of the Continent. Other aspects of this legacy—the skepticism of Descartes, calling into question authoritarian axioms; the violent, self-seeking intensity of Racinian passion, fueled by repression and guilt; and the abrasive irony that Voltaire turned against established bigotry, prejudice, and injustice—were less well viewed in the circles of established order. Frequently forced underground, these and their inheritors nevertheless gave energy to the revolutionary ethos that constituted another, equally French, contribution to the radical traditions of western Europe.

The political and philosophical revolutions installed by the end of the 18th century, in the name of science and reason, were accompanied by transformations in the form and content of French writing. Over the turn of the 19th century and beyond, an emergent Romantic sensibility challenged the Neoclassical ideal, which had become a pale and timid imitation of its former self. The new orthodoxy asserted the claims of imagination and feeling against reason and of individual desire against social and moral convention. The 12-syllable alexandrine that had been used to such effect by Jean Racine remained the standard line in verse, but the form was relaxed and reinvigorated; and the thematic domain of poetry was extended successively by Victor Hugo, Alfred de Vigny, Charles Baudelaire, and Arthur Rimbaud. All poetic form was thrown into the melting pot by the Modernist revolutions at the turn of the 20th century.

As the novel overtook poetry and drama to become the dominant literary form in the 19th century, French writers explored the possibilities of the genre and, in some cases, reinvented it. The novel cycles of Honoré de Balzac and Émile Zola developed a new mode of social realism to celebrate and challenge the processes at work in a nation that was being transformed by industrial and economic revolution. In the work of other writers, such as Stendhal, Gustave Flaubert, and Marcel Proust, each following his own distinctive path, a different kind of realism emerged, focused on a preoccupation with the analysis of individual action, motivation, and desire as well as a fascination with form. Between them, the 19th-century French novelists traced the fate of the individualistic sensibilities born of aristocratic and high bourgeois culture as they engaged with the collectivizing forms of a nation moving toward mass culture and the threshold of democracy. Joris-Karl Huysmans’s aristocratic hero, Des Esseintes, in À rebours (1884; Against Nature or Against the Grain), offered a traditionalist, pessimistic version of the final outcome. Halfway through the next century, Jean-Paul Sartre’s trilogy Les Chemins de la liberté (1945; Roads to Freedom) responded to a world in which the balance of the argument had visibly shifted.

During the first half of the 20th century, Paris remained the hub of European intellectual and artistic life. Its position was challenged from the 1930s, and especially after World War II, by Anglo-American writers, many of whom honed their own skills within its culture and its borders; but it still continued to generate modes of thinking and writing that others followed. From the 1950s, proponents of the nouveau roman, or New Novel, mounted a radical attack on the conventions of the genre. At the same time, boulevard drama felt on its neck the breath of the avant-garde; and from the 1960s onward French writers began stimulating new approaches to almost every field of rational inquiry. The international status of the French language has declined steadily since World War II, with the rise of American market hegemony and, especially, with the rapid spread of decolonization. French is still, however, the preferred medium of creative expression for many in Switzerland, Belgium, Canada, France’s former colonies in Africa and Asia, and its Caribbean dependencies. The contribution of Francophone authors outside its borders to the renewal of French literary traditions has become increasingly significant.

This article focuses on French literature produced within the Hexagon, as the country of France is often called because of the configuration of its boundaries, from the 9th century (to which the earliest surviving fragmentary texts belong) to the present day. Literary works written in French in countries outside the Hexagon, including former dependencies, are discussed under the appropriate national entries. For the French literature of Belgium, for example, see Belgian literature: French. Other related entries of significance are Anglo-Norman literature and African literature: Modern literatures in European languages. Jennifer Birkett The Middle Ages The origins of the French language

By 50 bc, when the Roman occupation of Gaul under Julius Caesar was complete, the region’s population had been speaking Gaulish, a Celtic language, for some 500 years. Gaulish, however, gave way to the conquerors’ speech, Vulgar Latin, which was the spoken form of Latin as used by the soldiers and settlers throughout the Roman Empire. In different regions, local circumstances determined Vulgar Latin’s evolution into the separate tongues that today constitute the family of Romance languages, to which French belongs. This linguistic development was speeded by the empire’s collapse under the impact of the 5th-century-ad barbarian invasions and isolation from Rome. Gaul was overrun by Germanic tribes, in the north principally by the Franks (who gave France its name) and by the Visigoths and Merovingians in the south. But the Latin speech survived: not only was it the language of the majority of the population, but it was also backed by its associations with the old Roman culture and with the new Christian religion, which used Low Latin, its own form of the Roman tongue. While it retained relatively few Celtic words, the developing language had its vocabulary greatly enriched by Germanic borrowings, and its phonetic development was influenced by Germanic speech habits. The 9th-century Norse incursions and settlement of Normandy, by contrast, left few traces in the language.

The Romans had introduced written literature, and until the 12th century almost all documents and other texts were in Latin. The first text in the vernacular is the Serment de Strasbourg, the Romance version of the Oath of Strasbourg (842), an oath sworn by Louis the German (Louis II) and Charles the Bald (Charles II) against their brother Lothar in the partitioning of the empire of their grandfather Charlemagne. A German version also survives. Only a few other texts, all religious in content, survive from before about 1100.

Early texts show a broad division between the speech of northern Gaul, which had suffered most from the invasions, and that in the more stable, cultured south, where the Latin spoken was less subject to change. The tongue spoken to the north of an imaginary line running roughly from the Gironde River to the Alps was the langue d’oïl (the future French), and to the south it was the langue d’oc (Occitan), terms derived from the respective expressions for “yes.”

Vulgar Latin’s development had not been uniform throughout the area of the langue d’oïl; and, by the time a recognizable Old French had developed, various dialects had evolved, notably Francien (in the Île-de-France, the region around Paris), Picard, Champenois, and Norman. From the last one stemmed Anglo-Norman, the French used alongside English in Britain, especially among the upper classes, from even before the Norman Conquest (1066) until well into the 14th century. Each dialect had its own literature. But, for various reasons, the status of Francien increased until it achieved dominance in the Middle French period (after 1300), and from it Modern French developed. Old French was a fine literary medium, enlarging its vocabulary from other languages such as Arabic, Occitan, and Low Latin. It had a wide phonetic range and, until the decay of the two-case system it had inherited from Latin, syntactic flexibility. The context and nature of French medieval literature

Whatever Classical literature survived the upheavals of the early Middle Ages was preserved, along with pious Latin works, in monastic libraries. By encouraging scholars and writers, Charlemagne had increased the Latin heritage available to educated vernacular authors of later centuries. He also left his image as a great warrior-emperor to stimulate the legend-making process that generated the Old French epic. There one finds exemplified the feudal ideal, evolved by the Franks, that was the means of establishing a hierarchy of dependency and, thereby, a cohesiveness that would lead to a national identity. The warrior’s code of morality, founded on loyalty to the monarch and on the bond between brother knights, bolstered the entire political system. As stability increased under the Capetians, windows opened onto other cultures and elements: that of the Arabs in Spain and, with the Crusades, the East; the advanced Occitan civilization; and the legends of Celtic Britain. The Roman Catholic church grew in wealth and power, and by the 12th century its schools were flourishing, training generations of clerks in the liberal arts. Society itself became less embattled, and the nobility became more leisured and sophisticated. The machismo of the epics was tempered by the social graces of courtoisie: generosity, modesty, and consideration for others, especially the weak and distressed, and by a concept of love that did not view it as a weakness in a knight but as an inspiration consistent with chivalry.

By the 13th century an additional source of patronage for writers and performers was the bourgeoisie of the developing towns. New genres emerged, and, as literacy increased, prose found favour alongside verse. Much of the literature of the time is enlivened by a rather irreverent spirit and a sometimes cynical realism, yet it also possesses a countercurrent of deep spirituality. In the 14th and 15th centuries France was ravaged by war, plague, and famine. Along with a preoccupation in literature with death and damnation, there appeared a contrasting refinement of expression and sentiment bred of nostalgia for the courtly, chivalric ideal. At the same time a new humanistic learning anticipated the coming Renaissance.

Before 1200 almost all French “literature” had been composed as verse and had been communicated orally to its public. The jongleurs, professional minstrels, traveled and performed their extensive repertoires, which ranged from epics to the lives of saints (the lengthy romances were not designed for memorization), sometimes using mime and musical accompaniment. Seeking an immediate impact, most poets made their poems strikingly visual in character, more dramatic than reflective, and revealed psychology and motives through action and gesture. Verbal formulas and clichés were used by the better poets as an effective narrative shorthand, especially in the epic. Such oral techniques left their mark throughout the period. The chansons de geste

More than 80 chansons de geste (“songs of deeds”) are known, the earliest and finest being the Chanson de Roland (c. 1100; The Song of Roland). Most are anonymous and are composed in lines of 10 or 12 syllables, grouped into laisses (strophes) based on assonance and, later, rhyme. Their length varies from about 1,500 to more than 18,000 lines. The genre prospered from the late 11th to the early 14th century, offering exemplary stories of warfare, often pitting Franks against Saracens, that fire the emotions with their insistent rhythms. Under the influence of the genre known as romance, however (see below The romance), the chansons de geste lost some of their early vigour. Their story lines became looser, their adventures more exotic, and their tone often amatory or even humorous. Many were eventually turned into prose.

Cycles formed as new songs were composed featuring heroes, families, or themes already familiar. The Chanson de Roland belongs to the cycle known as the Geste du Roi (“Deeds of the King”), the king being Charlemagne, Roland’s uncle, in whose service he perished with the rear guard at Roncevaux. Dominating the Geste de Garin de Monglane is Garin’s great-grandson, Guillaume d’Orange, whose historical prototype was the count of Toulouse and Charlemagne’s cousin. His dogged loyalty to an unworthy monarch (Charlemagne’s son Louis) is the subject of a group of poems that include the Chanson de Guillaume (“Song of William”). The epics in the Geste de Doon de Mayence deal with rebellious vassals, among them Raoul de Cambrai, in a gripping story of injustice and strained loyalties. The fanciful 13th-century Huon de Bordeaux (Huon of the Horn), which introduces the fairy king Auberon (Shakespeare’s Oberon), has been placed here and in the Geste du Roi. The First Crusade is handled, with legendary embellishment, in a minor cycle.

Controversy surrounds the origins of the genre and its development and transmission. It is not known how most of the poems came to contain elements, somewhat garbled, from Carolingian history some 300 years before their composition. Some scholars believe in a continuous process of oral transmission and elaboration. Others suppose the historical facts were retrieved much later by poets wishing to celebrate certain heroes, many of whom were associated with pilgrim routes that the jongleurs could then ply with profit. In fact, very few texts belong to the period before 1150. The romance

The romance, which came into being in the middle of the 12th century in France and flourished throughout the Middle Ages, was a creation of formally educated poets. The earliest romances took their subjects from antiquity: Alexander the Great, Thebes, Aeneas, and Troy were all treated at length, and shorter contes were derived from Ovid. Other romances, such as Floire et Blancheflor (adapted in Middle English as Flores and Blancheflur), exploited Greco-Byzantine sources; but by about 1150 the Celtic legends of Britain were capturing the public’s imagination.

The standard metre of verse romance is octosyllabic rhyming couplets. It differs from the chanson de geste in concentrating on individual rather than communal exploits and presenting them in a more detached fashion. It offers fuller descriptions, freer dialogue, and more authorial intervention. Christian miracles and fervour are replaced by Eastern or Celtic marvels and the cult of courtoisie and amour courtois (“courtly love”). There is more interest in psychology, especially in the love situations.

The universally popular legend of Tristan and Isolde had evolved by the mid-12th century, apparently from a fusion of Scottish, Irish, Cornish, and Breton elements, beginning in Scotland and moving south. The main French versions (both fragmentary) are by the Anglo-Norman poet Thomas (c. 1170) and the Norman Béroul (rather later and possibly composite). The legend was reworked in French prose and widely translated (Thomas’s version can be reconstructed from Gottfried von Strassburg’s German rendering and another in Old Norse). Chrétien de Troyes’s treatment, mentioned in his Cligès, has been lost.

The deep-rooted British tradition of King Arthur was firmly established on the Continent by Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia regum Britanniae (1135–38; History of the Kings of Britain), translated and romanticized by the Jerseyman Wace as the Roman de Brut (1155; Arthurian Chronicles [containing Wace’s Roman de Brut and Lawamon’s Brut]). The Bretons and Anglo-Normans were likely intermediaries in the transmission of further Arthurian material to French writers such as Chrétien de Troyes, the virtual founder of Arthurian romance, who wrote between about 1160 and 1185. His first known romance, Erec et Enide (Erec and Enide), is a serious study of marital and social responsibilities and contains elements of Celtic enchantment. Cligès, a partly Greco-Byzantine tale of young love and an adulterous relationship, uses the motif of feigned death best known, later, from Romeo and Juliet. Lancelot; ou, le chevalier de la charrette (Lancelot; or, The Knight of the Cart) relates the infatuated hero’s rescue of the abducted queen Guinevere. Yvain; ou, le chevalier au lion (The Knight with the Lion) treats the converse of the situation depicted in Erec et Enide. Chrétien’s ironies and ambiguities invited divergent interpretations, of no work more than the incomplete Perceval; ou, le conte du Graal, which may be the conflation of two unfinished poems. The grail, first introduced here, was to become, as the Holy Grail, a remarkably potent symbol. The verse romance genre was diversely exploited well into the 14th century, but by then Jean Froissart’s contribution, Méliador (1383–88), was only a ponderous valediction to romance’s golden age, and prose was the principal form (see below Prose literature). On the genre’s periphery were short courtly tales and lais like those of Marie de France, treating Celtic themes and probably composed in England. The unique Aucassin et Nicolette (Aucassin and Nicolette), a charmingly comic idyll told in alternating sections of verse (to be sung) and prose (to be recited), pokes sly fun at the conventions of epic and romance alike. Lyric poetry to the 13th century

The 12th century saw the revolution in sexual attitudes that has come to be known as amour courtois, or courtly love (the original term in Occitan is fin’amor). Its first exponents were the Occitan troubadours, poet-musicians of the 12th and 13th centuries, writing in medieval Occitan, of whom some 460 are known by name. Among them are clerics and both male and female nobles. The troubadours no longer considered women to be the disposable assets of men. On the contrary, the enjoyment of a woman’s love was a man’s aspiration, achievable, if at all, only after the suitor had served a period of amorous vassalage, modeled on the subject’s service to his lord and where spiritualization became an end in itself, based on the notion of an erotic, unsatisfied love. This is the main theme of the troubadours’ songs, whose origins have been sought in Arabic poetry, the writings of Ovid, Latin liturgical hymns, and other, less likely sources. The canso (French chanson), made of five or six stanzas with a summary envoi, was the favourite vehicle for their love poetry; but they used various other forms, from dawn songs to satiric, political, or debating poems, all usually highly crafted. Guilhelm IX, duke of Aquitaine (see William IX), the first known poet in the Occitan language, mixed obscenity with his courtly sentiments. Among the finest troubadours are the graceful Bernard de Ventadour; Jaufre Rudel, who expressed an almost mystical longing for a distant love; the soldier and poet Bertran de Born; and the master of the hermetic tradition, Arnaut Daniel.

The langue d’oïl had a tradition of dance and spinning songs before the troubadours exerted by the mid-12th century an influence encouraged by, among others, Eleanor of Aquitaine, Guilhelm IX’s granddaughter and queen of France and later England (as the wife of Henry II). The troubadours’ verse inspired a number of northern trouvères, including Chrétien de Troyes (two of whose songs are extant), Guiot de Provins, Conon de Béthune, and some nobles such as Thibaut (Theobald I), count of Champagne and king of Navarre, and Richard Coeur de Lion (Richard I of England, the Lion Heart).

More interesting is the work of certain bourgeois poets, notably, in the 13th century, a group from Arras and especially Rutebeuf, a Parisian who perhaps came originally from Champagne and is often compared with François Villon. Rutebeuf wrote verse in personal, even autobiographical mode (though the personal details are probably fictional) on a variety of subjects: his own pitiful circumstances, the quarrel between the University of Paris and the religious orders, the need to support the Crusades, his reverence for the Virgin, and his disgust at clerical corruption. Satire, the fabliaux, and the Roman de Renart

Medieval literature in both Latin and the vernacular is full of sharp, often bitter criticism of the world’s evils: the injustice of rulers, churchmen’s avarice and hypocrisy, corruption among lawyers, doctors’ quackery, and the wiles and deceits of women. It appears in pious and didactic literature and, as authorial comment, in other genres but more usually in general terms than as particular, corrective satire. Human vice and folly also serve purely comic ends, as in the fabliaux. These fairly short verse tales composed between the late 12th and the 14th centuries—most of which are anonymous, though some are by leading poets—generate laughter from situations extending from the obscene to the mock-religious, built sometimes around simple wordplay and frequently elaborate deceptions and counterdeceptions. They are played out in all classes of society but predominantly among the bourgeoisie. Many fabliaux carry mock morals, inviting comparison with the didactic fables. Realistic in tone, they paint instructive pictures of everyday life in medieval France. They ultimately yielded in importance to the farces, bequeathing a fund of anecdotes to later writers such as Geoffrey Chaucer and Giovanni Boccaccio.

Inspired partly by the popular animal fable, partly by the Latin satire of monastic life Ysengrimus (1152; Eng. trans. Ysengrimus), the collection of ribald comic tales known as the Roman de Renart (Renard the Fox) began to circulate in the late 12th century, chronicling the rivalry of Renart the Fox and the wolf Isengrin, and the lively and largely scandalous goings-on in the animal kingdom ruled by Noble the Lion. By the 14th century about 30 branches existed, forming a veritable beast epic. Full of close social observation, they exude the earthy humour of the fabliaux; but, particularly in some of the later branches, this is sharpened into true satire directed against abuses in church and state, with the friars and rapacious nobility as prime targets. Allegory

Allegory, popular from early times, was employed in Latin literature by such authorities as Augustine, Prudentius, Martianus Capella, and, in the late 12th century, Alain de Lille. It was used widely in religious and moralizing works, as in the long Pèlerinage de la vie humaine (“The Pilgrimage of Human Life”) by Guillaume de Deguileville, Dante’s contemporary and a precursor of John Bunyan. But the most influential allegorical work in French was the Roman de la rose (The Romance of the Rose), where courtly love is first celebrated, then undermined. The first 4,058 lines were written about 1225–30 by Guillaume de Lorris, a sensitive, elegant poet who, through a play of allegorical figures, analyzed the psychology of a young couple’s venture into love. The affair is presented as a dream, in which the plucking of a crimson rose by the dreamer/lover would represent his conquest of the lady. Guillaume, however, left the poem unfinished, with the dreamer frustrated and his chief ally imprisoned. Forty or more years later, a poet of very different temperament, Jean de Meun (or de Meung), added more than 17,700 lines to complete it, submerging Guillaume’s delicate allegory with debates and disquisitions by the characters, laden with medieval and ancient learning. Courtly idealism is shunned for a practical, often critical or cynical view of the world. Love, only one of many topics treated in the completed version, is synonymous with procreation; and a misogynistic tone pervades the writing. Embodying these two characteristically medieval but diametrically opposed attitudes to love, The Romance of the Rose was immensely popular until well into the Renaissance and gave rise to one of the earliest and most important instances of the Querelle des Femmes (“Debate on Women”; a literary disputation over the alleged inferiority or superiority of women.) Christine de Pisan’s attack on the misogyny and obscenity of The Romance of the Rose, in the Épistre au Dieu d’Amours (1399; “Epistle to the God of Love”), foreshadows her later extended allegory in defense of women, the vigorous, scholarly, and immensely readable Livre de la cité des dames (composed 1404–05; The Book of the City of Ladies). Le Livre des trois vertus (1405; “The Book of Three Virtues”; Eng. trans. A Medieval Woman’s Mirror of Honor: The Treasure of the City of Ladies) sets out in detail the important social roles of women of all classes. Lyric poetry in the 14th century

Allegory and similar conceits abound in much late medieval poetry, as with Guillaume de Machaut, the outstanding musician of his day, who composed for noble patronage a number of narrative dits amoureux (short pieces on the subject of love) and a quantity of lyric verse. A talented technician, Machaut did much to popularize and develop the relatively new fixed forms: ballade, rondeau, and virelai (a short poem with a refrain). Eustache Deschamps, Machaut’s great admirer and perhaps also his nephew, struck in his own verse a more personal note than many of his contemporaries. A prolific writer, he dealt with public and private affairs, sometimes satirically; but he composed little love poetry, and his work was not set to music. Jean Froissart, the chronicler, also wrote pleasantly in a variety of lyric forms, as did Christine de Pisan, whose poetry had a greater individuality. Most court verse of this period has an unreal air, as if, amid the political and social agonies of the Hundred Years’ War, the poets were voicing a yearning for humane and gracious living founded on the ideals of courtoisie. Thus Alain Chartier, a political polemicist in both French and Latin, was most admired for his poem La Belle Dame sans mercy (1424; “The Beautiful Woman Without Mercy”), which tells of the death of a lover rejected by his lady. Villon and his contemporaries

One distinguished victim of the Hundred Years’ War was Charles, duc d’Orléans, who was captured at Agincourt at the age of 21 and was held prisoner in England for 25 years. There is an elegiac tone to much of his graceful courtly verse. On his return to France, his court at Blois became a literary centre, where he encouraged the work of artists and poets such as François Villon.

Born in Paris about 1431 as François de Montcorbier, Villon adopted the name of his uncle, a priest, who saw to his upbringing. At the University of Paris, where he became Master of Arts in 1452, he acquired some learning but also became involved in rioting, robbery, and manslaughter. His forced departure from Paris was the occasion for his Le Lais, or Le Petit Testament (1456; The Legacy: The Testament and Other Poems). This mock legacy in eight-line octosyllabic stanzas is conversational and often facetious in tone, full of allusions to people and events sometimes made cryptic by Villon’s taste for antiphrasis. His main work, the Testament (or Le Grand Testament), was written five or six years later after a spell in the bishop of Orléans’s dungeons. It uses the octets of the Lais interspersed with ballades and rondeaux and is similarly packed with personal gossip, often tongue-in-cheek but leaving a bitter aftertaste. Following more brushes with justice, Villon disappeared for good, narrowly escaping hanging. Commonly considered to have been the first modern French poet, he brings a personal note to the familiar lyric themes of age, death, and loss and mixes elegy with irony, satire, and burlesque humour. His verse shows great technical skill, a keen command of rhythmic effects, and an economy of expression that not only enhances his lively wit but produces moments of intensely focused vision and, in individual poems, moving statements of human experience.

None of his contemporaries or immediate successors was able to match the vigour of his verse. Often obsessed by metrical ingenuity, extravagant rhymes, and other conceits, they favoured Italian as well as Classical models, thus heralding the Renaissance. It is unfair, however, to judge them by their words alone, since music was, for most, a vital ingredient of their art. Prose literature

Prose flourished as a literary medium from roughly 1200. A few years earlier Robert de Boron had used verse for his Joseph d’Arimathie (associating the Holy Grail with the Crucifixion) and his Merlin; but both were soon turned into prose. Other Arthurian romances adopted it, notably the great Vulgate cycle written between 1215 and 1235, with its five branches by various hands. These included the immensely popular Lancelot, the Queste del Saint Graal (whose Cistercian author used Galahad’s Grail quest to evoke the mystic pursuit of Christian truth and ecstasy), and La Mort le Roi Artu (The Death of King Arthur), powerfully describing the collapse of the Arthurian world. The Tristan legend was reworked and extended in prose. To spin out their romances while maintaining their public’s interest, authors wove in many characters and adventures, producing complex interlacing patterns, which Sir Thomas Malory simplified when he drew on them for his Le Morte Darthur (c. 1470).

As well as traditional material, new fictions appeared in prose, taking a very different view of love, and often in the form of short comic tales. Early in the 15th century, the ironically titled Les Quinze Joies de mariage (The Batchelars Banquet, or The Fifteen Comforts of Matrimony) continued the tradition of misogynist satire. In his Histoire du petit Jehan de Saintré (1456; Little John of Saintre), Antoine de la Sale drew an ill-starred relationship in which hero and heroine both sought to exploit the social game of courtly love for their own ends; the work’s realism and psychological interest have made it for some the first French novel. The bawdy tales of the Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles (c. 1465; The One Hundred New Tales), loosely modeled on the work of Giovanni Boccaccio, are more in the spirit of the fabliaux, though written for the Burgundian court.

Pious and instructional works abound. More interesting are the chronicles, which avoid the romantic extravagances of their verse predecessors. Geoffroy of Villehardouin’s Conquête de Constantinople (“Conquest of Constantinople”) is a sober, if biased, eyewitness account of the Fourth Crusade (1199–1204). Jean, sire de Joinville, was 84 when, in 1309, he completed his Histoire de Saint Louis, a flattering biographical portrait of his intimate friend Louis IX, whom he had accompanied on the Seventh Crusade. (Both Villehardouin’s account and Joinville’s biography are to be found in a 20th-century English translation as Joinville and Villehardouin: Chronicles of the Crusades. Jean Froissart, who traveled extensively in England and Scotland and on the Continent, projected his admiration of chivalry into his four books of chronicles. Covering the years 1325 to 1400, they contain much picturesque detail, largely from personal observation. A far more cynical view of people, politics, and feudal values is found in the Mémoires of Philippe de Commynes, composed over the period 1489 to 1498 and published posthumously in 1524–28; these are the texts with which modern French historiography may be said to begin.

Hundred Years' WarBattle of Sluys during the Hundred Years' War, illustration from Jean Froissart's Chronicles, 14th century.PD-art Religious drama

Serious drama in Europe was reborn in the Middle Ages within the Roman Catholic church. There, from early times, musical and dramatic elements (tropes) were introduced into certain offices, particularly at Easter and Christmas. From this practice sprang liturgical drama. Performances took place inside churches, with the cast of clergy moving from place to place in the sanctuary. At first only Latin was used, though occasionally snatches of vernacular verse were included, as in the early 12th-century Sponsus (“The Bridegroom”; Eng. trans. Sponsus), which uses the Poitevin dialect. Stories from the Bible and lives of the saints were dramatized; and, as the scope of the dramas broadened, more plays were performed outside the church and used only the vernacular. The all-male casts employed multiple settings (décor simultané) and moved from one setting, or mansion, to another as the action demanded.

The first extant mystère, or mystery play, with entirely French dialogue (but elaborate stage directions in Latin) is the Jeu d’Adam (Adam: A Play). It is known from a copy in an Anglo-Norman manuscript, and it may have originated in England in the mid-12th century. With lively dialogue and the varied metres characteristic of the later mystères (all of which were based on biblical stories), it presents the Creation and Fall, the story of Cain and Abel, and an incomplete procession of prophets. Neither it nor the Seinte Resurreccion (c. 1200; “Resurrection of the Saviour”), certainly Anglo-Norman, shows the events preceding the Crucifixion, the matter of the Passion plays; these first appeared in the early 14th century in the Passion du Palatinus (“Passion of Palatinus”). Of relatively modest proportions, this contains diversified dialogue with excellent dramatic potential and probably drew on earlier plays now lost.

The oldest extant miracle, or miracle play (a real or fictitious account of the life, miracles, and martyrdom of a saint), is the remarkable 13th-century Jeu de Saint Nicolas (“Play of Saint Nicholas”), by Jehan Bodel of Arras, in which exotic Crusading and boisterous tavern scenes alternate. Rutebeuf’s Miracle de Théophile is an early version of the Faust theme, in which the Virgin Mary secures Théophile’s salvation. From the 14th century comes the Miracles de Notre-Dame par personnages (“Miracles of Our Lady with Dramatic Characters”), a collection of 40 miracles, partly based on a nondramatic compilation by Gautier de Coincy. These miracles probably were performed by the Paris goldsmiths’ guild.

By the 15th century, societies had been formed in various towns for the performance of the increasingly elaborate mystery plays. In Paris the Confraternity of the Passion survived until 1676, though its production of sacred plays was banned in 1548. Notable authors of mystères are Eustache Marcadé; Arnoul Gréban, organist and choirmaster at Notre-Dame, and his brother Simon; and Jehan Michel. Arnoul Gréban’s monumental Mystère de la Passion (c. 1450, reworked by Michel in 1486; The True Mistery of the Passion) took four days to perform. Other plays took up to eight days. Biblical material was supplemented with legend, theology, and elements of lyricism and slapstick, and spectacular stage effects were employed.

Setting for the Valenciennes mystery play, miniature by Hubert Cailleau, 1547; in the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris.Courtesy of the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris Secular drama

A crucial factor in the emergence of the comic theatre was the oral presentation of much medieval literature. A natural consequence was complete dramatization and collaborative performances by jongleurs and later by guilds or confréries (confraternities) formed for the purpose.

The earliest comic plays extant date from the second half of the 13th century. Le Garçon et l’aveugle (“The Boy and the Blind Man”), a simple tale of trickster tricked, could have been played by a jongleur and his boy and ranks for some scholars as the first farce. At the end of the century, the Arras poet Adam de la Halle composed two unique pieces: Le Jeu de la feuillée (“The Play of the Bower”), a kind of topical revue for his friends, and Le Jeu de Robin et de Marion (The Play of Robin and Marion), a dramatized pastourelle (a knight’s encounter with a shepherdess and her friends) spiced with song and dance. The first serious nonreligious play was L’Estoire de Griseldis (1395), the story of a constant wife.

The profane theatre eventually had its own societies of actors, such as the Basoches (associations of lawyers and clerks) and the Enfants sans Souci (probably a special group of Basochiens) in Paris. The societies frequently presented plays in triple bills: first a sotie, a slight, sometimes satiric, sketch; next a moralité (morality play), a didactic and often allegorical piece; and finally a farce. Some 150 farces have survived from the 15th and 16th centuries. Most are of fewer than 500 lines and involve a handful of characters acting out plots similar to those of the fabliaux. They use the octosyllabic rhyming couplet and may include songs, commonly in rondeau form. By far the best is the unusually long La Farce de maistre Pierre Pathelin (c. 1465; Master Peter Patelan, a Fifteenth-Century French Farce), a tale of trickery involving a sly lawyer, a dull-witted draper, and a crafty shepherd.

For information related to French literature of this period, see also Anglo-Norman literature. D.D.R. Owen Jennifer Birkett The 16th century Language and learning in 16th-century Europe

The cultural field linking the Middle Ages and the early modern period is vast and complex in every sense. Chronologically, there is no simple or single break across the turn of the century, though there is indeed among many writers of the period the sense of a cultural rebirth, or Renaissance. The term, first used during the 18th century, was given currency in the 19th century by Jacob Burckhardt and Jules Michelet, who used it to describe what they perceived as a movement representing a clean break with the medieval past and inaugurating the forms and values of modern European secular and progressive nation-states. But the turn to antiquity was already visible in France in the 12th century, and echoes of Classical literature and traces of Latinizing style are present again from the mid-15th century in the work of the Grands Rhétoriqueurs (poets such as Guillaume Crétin, Octovien de Saint-Gellais, Jean Marot, Jean Bouchet, and Jean Lemaire de Belges), better known for their commitment to formal play, rhyme games, and allegorizing, in the medieval tradition. Writing inspired by the medieval tradition continued to be produced well into the 16th century. Old and New Testaments of the Christian Bible were as much a sourcebook as any Latin or Greek text, especially with the new impetus provided by the Catholic Reformation. Writers were certainly grouping in new ways around their patron courts, and their writing was becoming attached to the defense of particular positions within the nascent nation-state. Themes and forms would mutate within the developing context, but the processes making the literature of early modern France are characterized by struggle rather than by any clear moment of change.

Many of the thinkers and writers of the 16th century belong to Europe as a whole as much as to a particular nation. Many still wrote and thought in Latin, and neo-Latin literature continued to thrive. Even those who preferred the vernacular, however, saw themselves as heirs and contributors to a European as much as a local inheritance. Erasmus, though born in Rotterdam, Holland, lived in France, England, and Switzerland. The assignment of Jean Lemaire de Belges to a particular country is equally difficult, for he was a Walloon who wrote in French and traveled among various courts. During this period writers made many journeys, either by choice or by necessity. François Rabelais, Joachim du Bellay, and Michel de Montaigne all made the trip from France to Italy. Clément Marot died in Turin, and Marc-Antoine de Muret, after a long exile, died in Rome. This was a time of intensive and varied cultural exchanges, which focused on, for example, the crossroads city of Lyon, turned as much toward Italy as toward Paris, or on the courts of a succession of great royal patrons, such as Marguerite de Navarre (Margaret of Angoulême), in Béarn, and Charles IX, in Paris. The craving for new knowledge was fueled by the books coming off the recently developed printing press, both original works and the great texts newly come into translation that were to form the mind and manners of the cultured European: the Bible (available in full for the first time in 1530, in the translation by Jacques Lefèvre d’Étaples); Baldassare Castiglione’s Il cortegiano (Book of the Courtier), translated into French by Jacques Colin in 1537; and Plutarch’s Bioi paralleloi (Parallel Lives), translated by Jacques Amyot in 1559. Martin Luther’s writings helped spread the ideas of the Protestant Reformation swiftly through France from 1519 onward. In 1536 the first version of the refugee John Calvin’s study of Christianity was distributed from Basel; by the early 1540s Calvin was finally settled in Geneva, with the resources of Geneva’s publishing trade at his disposal to disseminate the French version of his work. The classical texts of Renaissance humanism moved with equal speed, disseminating across Europe the Neoplatonism of Marsilio Ficino and the morality of Plutarch and Seneca, along with the poetic forms of Ovid and Horace. The elevation of the French language

Latin remained important as the language of diplomats, theologians, philosophers, and jurists; though the Edict of Villers-Cotterêts (1539), requiring judgments in the law courts to be given solely in French, marked a turning point. Erasmus polemicized in Latin with the Sorbonne or with Luther. Calvin used Latin to write the first version of his Christianae Religionis Institutio (1536; definitive Latin version, 1559; Institutes of the Christian Religion). Petrus Ramus (Pierre de la Ramée) created a sensation when, after earlier writings in Latin, he produced his Dialectique (1555; “Dialectics”), the first major philosophical work in French. In 1562 his Gramère (“Grammar”) was a significant contribution to a host of new studies produced in the midcentury of the vocabulary and syntax of French. At the same time, the poets began to declare their mission to work, through their writing, for the elevation of the national language. Thomas Sébillet, a humanist of the school of Clément Marot, who also looked back to the later Middle Ages, produced his Art poétique français (“The Art of French Poetry”) in 1548. It was overshadowed in the following year by Joachim du Bellay’s Deffence et illustration de la langue francoyse (1549; The Defence and Illustration of the French Language), which came to be considered as a manifesto by the group of young poets known as the Pléiade (Pierre de Ronsard, du Bellay, Jean Dorat, Jean-Antoine de Baïf, Rémy Belleau, Étienne Jodelle, and Pontus de Tyard), who were totally committed to the new learning in its classical forms, and who attached themselves to the service of the Valois court. As the century drew to its close, the great political thinker Jean Bodin, the first theorist who sought to define the powers and the limits of sovereignty, published in French his Six livres de la République (1576; The Six Books of a Commonweale). The Latin version of the work followed 10 years later. Major authors and influences Poetry

The art of Clément Marot, at least at the beginning of his career, took its inspiration and the forms to express it from the Grands Rhétoriqueurs, as in the allegorical poem “Le Temple de Cupidon” (“The Temple of Cupid”). But aspects of humanism in his culture, life at court (a protégé of Marguerite de Navarre throughout his life, he succeeded his father as valet de chambre to Francis I in 1527), and, above all, the events of his day gave his works a new dimension. Practitioner of a wide range of forms—including the medieval fixed forms of the ballade and the rondeau, chansons, blasons (poems employing descriptive details to praise or to satirize), and elegies—Marot preferred the epistle for its freedom of style and the epigram for its vivacity. With the epistle he reached the summit of the highly subtle art by which he defined himself, a poet of the court and also a Protestant, aspiring to a pure and simple happiness of true religious faith. He wrote his allegorical satire on justice, L’Enfer (“Hell”), in 1526 after his brief imprisonment on charges of violating Lenten regulations, and he fled into exile in 1534 to avoid persecution after the Affaire des Placards (in which placards attacking the Mass appeared in several cities and on the king’s bedchamber door). His return to Paris in 1537 made him no more prudent; he continued his translations of the Psalms, a brilliant literary achievement, publishing the first collection in 1539. Marot’s translation, continued by the Calvinist theologian Theodore Beza, became the Huguenot psalter.

While Marot was translating the Psalms, other poets were engaged with a different kind of mysticism. In Lyon an important group including Maurice Scève, Pernette du Guillet, and Louise Labé were writing Neoplatonist and Petrarchan love poetry, highly stylized in form, in which desire for an earthly Beauty inflames the poet with an inspirational frenzy that elevates his creative powers and draws him toward the spiritual Beauty, Truth, and Knowledge that she mirrors. In her Euvres (1555; Louise Labé’s Complete Works), Labé presents a collection of elegies, sonnets, and prose reversing the usual gender perspective and summoning other women to follow her example in search of poetic fame. The love poetry of the Pléiade is in similar mode, as reflected in the sonnet cycles of du Bellay (L’Olive, 1549) and Ronsard (from Les Amours [1552] to the Sonnets pour Hélène [1578, 1584, 1587; Eng. trans. Sonnets pour Hélène]) and in the metrical experiments of Baïf. It is more varied in its inspirations and in its technique; Ronsard, for example, uses a wide range of Classical models to write poems in different registers to different mistress-figures, and he often brings more sensuous variations to the stylized motifs. There is also a conscious foregrounding of a more worldly dimension, especially in Ronsard. The desire for fame, the recognition of one’s creative genius by contemporaries and posterity, merges with the aspiration to possess the mistress and the divine Truth she represents.

The themes and modes of Pléiade poetry, however, ranged wider than love, even the love that presides over the life of the entire cosmos, as sung by Jacques Peletier in L’Amour des amours (1555; “The Love of Loves”). Ronsard’s poetic debut, the first four books of his Odes (1550), mixed politics and the pastoral, celebrating in Pindaric mode the great men and women of Henry II’s court—both politicians and poets—and turning to Horace and Anacreon for models to evoke the natural beauties of the landscape of a peaceful and idyllic France. Du Bellay’s sonnet collection, Les Regrets (1558), combines satire and pastoral to depict the corruption of society in Rome, to which diplomatic duties had exiled him, and to express his yearning for the beauty and peace of his native Anjou. A “scientific” and philosophical poetry appeared, taking many forms—not least the hymn, reinvented by Ronsard (Les Hymnes, 1555–56). In drama, Étienne Jodelle revived the themes and forms of Classical tragedy. Whatever form inspiration took—love, nature, knowledge—Art dominated them all. Refining the forms elaborated by fellow-craftsmen from the high ages of human art, the poet demonstrated his ability to match the creative powers that move the cosmos.

When the civil wars broke out in 1562, the Pléiade was on the side of the great Catholic families who occupied the throne. Ronsard eloquently defended the cause of Catholic reform against the Protestant Reformers and their aristocratic allies in his Discours (1562–63). Not all the members of the Pléiade, however, were as absolute against the Protestant enemy, especially as the century advanced and the atrocities increased. In the massacre that began on St. Bartholomew’s Day (August 24/25, 1572), some 3,000 Huguenots in Paris alone were murdered by Catholics on the rampage. The plays of Robert Garnier frequently took subjects of biblical as well as humanist inspiration that reflected the pain of all those caught in the violence of the times (Les Juifves, 1583).

The warrior-poet of Protestantism, Théodore-Agrippa d’Aubigné, represented the perfect synthesis of humanism and Calvinism. He studied to perfection the three traditional languages, Latin, Greek, and Hebrew; and he was familiar with modern languages, especially Italian. In his youth, between 1571 and 1573, he wrote love poetry modeled on Petrarch. His master poem, Les Tragiques, composed for the most part at the end of the century but not published until 1616, is a visionary, apocalyptic account of the civil conflict from the perspective of the Protestant Reformers. Prose

The production of poetry in the 16th century did not outdo the other genres in quantity. Readers turned above all to works in prose, for accounts of voyages, lives of saints, and collections of diverse leçons or lectures (readings). Prose was slow in freeing itself from the heavy yoke thrown over it by the medieval humanists. But with Jean Lemaire de Belges prose became eloquent, and with François Rabelais it became a prodigious domain of experimentation.

Rabelais’s writing found some of its most appreciative readers and critics in the 20th century, not least the great Russian critic Mikhail Bakhtin, who celebrated the revolutionary power of Rabelais’s “carnivalesque” discourse. Humanism rightfully claims Pantagruel (1532; Eng. trans. Pantagruel) and Gargantua (1534; Eng. trans. Gargantua), with their celebrated giants, feasting, drinking, and discovering and proclaiming the new and better ways of learning, of the conduct of war and peace, and of the true religion, which, for Rabelais resided in individual prayer, charity, and the virtuous life. He called Erasmus his spiritual father and befriended numerous Protestants. But uniquely, this voice of Evangelical humanism speaks through the thundering roll of a laughter that spares no one and nothing, keeping its best aim for the worst, most benighted, and most grotesque exponents of the medieval theology, scholarship, medicine, and law that sought to stifle the emerging individual. Rabelais’s last three books, published long after the first two, continue the search for the good life: Le Tiers Livre (“The Third Book”) in 1546, Le Quart Livre (“The Fourth Book”) in 1552, and Le Cinquième Livre (“The Fifth Book”) in 1564 (of questionable authenticity); these can be found in English translation in The Works of François Rabelais (1970). The terror of cuckoldry experienced by Pantagruel’s all-too-human companion, Panurge, and the churchmen’s theological nitpicking over doctrinal irrelevancies and absurdities—these are so many examples of what Rabelais considered the absurd but tragic way men wasted in idle discourse time that could be spent in the search for sound religion, good companionship, and the intoxicating wine of the new life.

Rabelais dedicated his Tiers Livre to Marguerite de Navarre, patron of Evangelical humanist reform and author of religious poetry. She is best known in the modern era, however, for her Heptaméron (published posthumously, 1558–59; The Heptameron), modeled on Boccaccio’s Decameron. Marguerite’s collection of tales held together in a narrative frame is one of the major landmarks in the creation of the modern French realist novel. The games of courtly love are here played in the context of court life while more ribald games are played by serving men, maids, and monks, and the players’ motives and behaviour are commented on by the courtiers, men and women, who form the audience for the tales. Marguerite’s language is more discreet than that of Rabelais, but there is the same mixture of styles and tones, seriousness and bawdy, and the same awareness of the resources of both spirit and body. With her fellow novelist Hélisenne de Crenne (Les Angoysses Douloureuses qui procèdent d’amours [1538; The Torments of Love]), Marguerite is one of the few writers to mark the making of the new culture with a distinctive female sensibility and voice.

In the closing years of the century, Michel de Montaigne continued his predecessors’ exploration of the newly discovered realms of body and mind and of the delights of humanist learning and language, but he employed a very different tone and form. Engaged in his youth in politics, war, and diplomacy alongside his peers, Montaigne largely withdrew from public life in 1570 and thereafter spent much of his time in his library, writing the works that established him as the founder of the tradition of self-exploration and self-writing as well as an emblem of modern liberal individualism. The first two volumes of his Essais (Essays) were published in 1580. A third was added in 1588, along with an enlarged edition of the first two. When he died in 1592, he left his own copy of the Essays, with numerous revisions written in his own hand. This revised text was published in 1595. The earliest essais were to a large degree developments, increasingly elaborate, on the themes suggested by his extensive readings in ancient authors, particularly Plutarch’s Lives. But as he wrote, Montaigne became more and more his own subject, exploring through introspection his own experience—not just as his own but also as the mirror of the universal human condition, a life subject to death and defined by the relative circumstance of historical place, moment, and society in which it is situated. Remembering, analyzing, imagining, considering the operations of his intellectual faculties and his bodily functions, observing himself sick, well, aging, Montaigne is especially concerned with the concept of change. He is the writer who perhaps best represents the 16th century’s achievement in placing the individual, body and soul, in the flow of history. The form he conceived to carry the results of his meditations is perfectly adapted to this purpose. Free in form, the sentences and paragraphs of the essai follow seamlessly the movement of ideas, linked by their author’s own associations and changing moods. The language is clear, simple, and measured, giving a calculated but effortless appearance of spontaneity, engaging readers in a conversation that takes them gently into the paths of self-discovery.

The legacy to posterity of this most moderate and self-moderating of thinkers is a double one. Montaigne’s invention and celebration of the individual subject also contributes to the antiauthoritarian direction of Western thought. In the 17th century he was anathematized by Blaise Pascal for his “foolish” project to paint himself, which the Jansenist saw as a challenge to the religious values of self-abnegation and submission. In the 18th century Jean-Jacques Rousseau acknowledged the influence of Montaigne on his Les Rêveries du promeneur solitaire (1782; The Reveries of the Solitary Walker), celebrating radical individualism. No Western proponent of absolute authority or order would be immune to the challenge posed by the humanist’s discovery of the central place of change in the affairs of men or by his unswerving advocacy of Pyrrhonism, the skeptical mind-set opposed to all dogmas and dismissive of all claims by the human mind to possess absolute truth. Corrosive and cleansing, Montaigne’s skepticism cleared the way for the scientific rationalism of René Descartes and the Enlightenment. Daniel Ménager Jennifer Birkett The 17th century Literature and society Refinement of the French language

At the beginning of the 17th century the full flowering of the Classical manner was still remote, but various signs of a tendency toward order, stability, and refinement can be seen. A widespread desire for cultural self-improvement, which is also a sign of the pressures to conformity in a society constructing itself around the king and his court, is reflected in the numerous manuals of politesse, or formal politeness, that appeared through the first half of the century; while at the celebrated salon of Mme de Rambouillet men of letters, mostly of bourgeois origin, and the nobility and leaders of fashionable society mixed in an easy relationship to enjoy the pleasures of the mind. Such gatherings did much to refine the literary language and also helped to prepare a cultured public that could engage in the serious analysis of moral and psychological problems.

The formation of the Académie Française, an early move to place cultural activity under the patronage of the state, dates from 1634. Its usual functions concerned the standardization of the French language. This effort bore fruit in the Académie’s own Dictionnaire of 1694, though by then rival works had appeared in the dictionaries of César-Pierre Richelet (1680) and Antoine Furetière (1690). A similar desire for systematic analysis inspired Claude Favre, sieur de Vaugelas, also an Academician, whose Remarques sur la langue françoise (1647) records polite usage of the time. In the field of literary theory the same rational approach produced the Poétique (1639; “Treatise on Poetry”) of Hippolyte-Jules Pilet de La Mesnardière and the Abbé d’Aubignac’s Pratique du théâtre (1657; “The Practice of Theatre”), both treatises instigated by Cardinal de Richelieu’s personal patronage, which strongly influenced the development of Classical doctrine.

The earliest imaginative literature to reflect the new taste for moral analysis and refinement was written in imitation of the pastoral literature of Italy and Spain; the masterpiece of the genre was L’Astrée (1607–27; Astrea) by Honoré d’Urfé. Manners are stylized, settings are conventional, and the plot is highly contrived; but the sentiments of the characters are highly refined, and the psychology of their relationships is sharply analyzed.

Refinement of the language of poetry was the self-imposed task of François de Malherbe. Resolutely opposed to the Pléiade’s exalted conception of the poet as inspired favourite of the Muses, he owes his place in literary history not to his undistinguished creative writing but to the critical doctrine he imposed on fellow poets. Malherbe called for a simple, harmonious metre and a sober, almost prosaic vocabulary, pruned of poetic fancy. His influence helped to make French lyric verse, for nearly two centuries, elegant and refined but lacking imaginative inspiration. Malherbe’s alexandrine, however—clear, measured, and energetic—was a metre marvelously suited to be a vehicle for Pierre Corneille’s dramatic verse.

Not all poets of the 1620s accepted Malherbe’s lead. The most distinguished of the independents was Théophile de Viau, who not only was the antithesis of Malherbe in style and technique but also expressed the free thought inherited from Renaissance Italy. Théophile’s verse, with its engaging flavour of spontaneity and sincerity, shows a sensual delight in the natural world. He was the leader of a freethinking bohemia of young noblemen and men of letters, practising and preaching social and intellectual unorthodoxy. His persecution, imprisonment, and early death ended all this: libertinage went underground, and repressive orthodoxy was entrenched for a century or more. The poetry of Théophile and other independents is a last example of that exuberant and extravagant manner developed in the late 16th century to which modern criticism has given the name Baroque. The development of drama

Unlike the humanist playwrights of previous generations, Alexandre Hardy was first and foremost a man of the theatre. Poète à gages (in-house writer) to the Comédiens du Roi, the company established at the Hôtel de Bourgogne in Paris, he wrote hundreds of plays, of which 34 were published (1623–28). In addition to writing tragedies, he developed the tragicomedy and the pastoral play, which became the most popular genres between 1600 and 1630. In the theatre as elsewhere, the pastoral was a refining influence, providing a vehicle for the subtle analysis of feeling. Although the finest play of the 1620s is a tragedy, Théophile de Viau’s Pyrame et Thisbé (1623; “Pyramus and Thisbe”), which shares the fresh, lyrical charm of the pastorals, tragicomedy is without a doubt the Baroque form at its best. Here the favourite theme of false appearances, the episodic structure, and devices such as the play within the play reflect the essentials of Baroque art. During the 1630s a crucial struggle took place between this irregular type of drama and a simpler and more disciplined alternative. Theoretical discussion focused on the conventional rules (the unities of time, place, and action, mistakenly ascribed to the authority of Aristotle), but the bienséances (conventions regarding subject matter and style) were no less important in determining the form and idiom the mature Classical theatre was to adopt.

Comedy gained a fresh impetus about 1630. The new style, defined by Corneille as “une peinture de la conversation des honnêtes gens” (“a painting of the conversation of the gentry”), simply transposes the pastoral into an urban setting. At the same time, ambitious young playwrights competing for public favour and the support of the two Paris theatre companies, the Hôtel de Bourgogne and the Marais, did not neglect other types of drama; and Corneille, together with Jean Mairet, Tristan (François L’Hermite), and Jean de Rotrou, inaugurated “regular” tragedy. But it was some time before Corneille, any more than his rivals, turned exclusively to tragedy. The eclecticism of these years is illustrated by his L’Illusion comique (performed 1636; The Comedy of Illusion), a brilliant exploitation of the interplay between reality and illusion that characterizes Baroque art. The two trends come together in Corneille’s theatre in Le Cid (performed 1637; The Cid), which, though often called the first Classical tragedy, was created as a tragicomedy. The emotional range Corneille achieves with his verse in The Cid is something previously unmatched. Contemporary audiences at once recognized the play as a masterpiece, but its form was subjected to an unprecedented critical attack. The querelle du Cid (“quarrel of The Cid”) caused such a stir that it led to the intervention of Cardinal de Richelieu, who referred the play to the judgment of the newly founded Académie Française.

The effect of the querelle du Cid on Corneille’s evolution is unmistakable: all his experimentation was henceforth to be carried out within the stricter Classical formula. A remarkable spell of creative activity produced in quick succession Horace (1640), Cinna (1641), and Polyeucte (1643), which, with The Cid, represent the playwright’s highest achievement. In terms of form, the essence of Classical French tragedy is a single action, seized at crisis point.

Another of Richelieu’s protégés, Jean Chapelain, began in the 1630s to exert an influence similar to that of Malherbe a generation earlier. Chapelain was a major architect of Classicism in France. More liberal than Malherbe, he made allowance for that intangible element (“le je ne sais quoi”) that rules cannot produce. The Sentiments de l’Académie (1638; “The Opinions of the Academy”), compiled by Chapelain as a judgment on The Cid, reflects prudent compromise, but one can sense beneath the pedantry of certain comments a genuine feeling for the harmony and regularity that Classical tragedy was to achieve.

Tragicomedy lingered on as a popular alternative. Jean de Rotrou’s Le Véritable Saint-Genest (1647; “The Real Saint Genest”), for example, provides an interesting contrast with Polyeucte, treating in the Baroque manner similar themes of divine grace and conversion. By the 1640s the mixture of modes was falling out of favour. Writers and their public had become more responsive to various standardizing influences. René Descartes’s Discours de la méthode (1637; Discourse on Method), with its opening sentence, “Le bon sens est la chose du monde la mieux partagée…” (“Good sense is of all things in the world the most equally distributed…”), clearly assumes that the mental processes of all men, if properly conducted, will lead to identical conclusions. A similar assumption is implicit, as regards the psychology of the passions, in Descartes’s Traité des passions de l’âme (1649; Treatise on Passions).

The long struggle to produce a literature that could claim to represent the moral and cultural values of a homogeneous society occupied the whole of the first half of the century. The spirit of insurrection that inspired the Fronde (a period of civil unrest between 1648 and 1653, in which the high aristocracy allied themselves with the judicial bodies known as parlements in an attempt to reassert their independence of the centralizing monarchy) is clearly marked in the writing of the time, not least in Corneille’s tragedies. His self-reliant heroes, meeting every challenge and overcoming every obstacle, are motivated by the self-conscious moral code that animated Cardinal de Retz, Mme de Longueville, and other leaders of the heroic but futile resistance to Cardinal Mazarin. Neither Corneille’s heroes nor Mazarin’s opponents show a devotion to cause that is free from self-glorification; in both cases, the approbation of others is as necessary as the desire to leave an example for posterity. Such optimistic, heroic attitudes may seem incompatible with a tragic view of the world; indeed, Corneille provides the key to his originality in substituting for the traditional Aristotelian emotions of pity and fear a new goal of admiration. Corneille asks that his audience admire something larger than life, and the best of his plays are still capable of arousing this response. The heroic ideal

The same appetite for heroic subject matter is reflected in the midcentury novels. These resemble L’Astrée in that they are long-winded, multivolume adventure stories with highly complicated plots, but they have moved from the world of the pastoral to that of ancient history. The two best-known examples, Artamène; ou, le grand Cyrus (1649–53; Artamenes; or, The Grand Cyrus) and Clélie (1654–60; Eng. trans. Clelia), both by Madeleine de Scudéry, are set in Persia and Rome, respectively. Such novels reflect the society of the time. They also show again what influenced the readers and playgoers of the Classical age: the minute analysis of the passions, when divorced from the superficial concerns of these novels, looks forward to the psychological subtlety of Jean Racine.

Other writers of the period make a more individual use of the novel form. Cyrano de Bergerac returned to the Renaissance tradition of fictional travel as a vehicle for social and political satire and may be seen as an early exponent of science fiction. So provocative were the ideas expressed in his Histoire comique des états et empires de la lune (1656; “Comical Tale of the States and Empires of the Moon”) and Histoire comique des états et empires du soleil (1661; “Comical Tale of the States and Empires of the Sun”), collectively published in English translation by Richard Aldington as Cyrano de Bergerac: Voyages to the Moon and the Sun (1923), that neither work was published until after 1655, the year of his death. Paul Scarron, an early practitioner of more realistic writing, was more down-to-earth in purpose and manner: in Le Roman comique (1651–57) he set out to parody the heroic novels. The honnête homme

Partly because of the influence of the salons and partly as a result of disillusionment at the failure of the Fronde, the heroic ideal was gradually replaced in the 1650s by the concept of honnêteté. The word does not connote “honesty” in its modern sense but refers rather to an ideal aristocratic moral and social mode of behaviour, a sincere refinement of tastes and manners. Unlike the aspirant after gloire (“glory”), the honnête homme (“gentleman”) cultivated the social graces and valued the pleasures of social intercourse. A cultured amateur, modest and self-effacing, he took as his model the Renaissance uomo universale (“universal man”). François de La Rochefoucauld, an aristocrat who had played a leading part in the Fronde, provides an interesting illustration of the transition between the two ages. The Maximes (1665; Maxims and Moral Reflections), his principal achievement, is a collection of 500 epigrammatic reflections on human behaviour, expressed in the most universal terms: the general tone is bitingly cynical, self-interest being seen as the source of all actions. If a more positive message is to be seen, it is the recognition of honnêteté as a code of behaviour that holds society together. However, even this is touched with cynicism. La Rochefoucauld’s view of honnêteté is a pragmatic one, falling as far short of the ideal defined by Antoine Gombaud, chevalier de Méré, in his Discours de la vraie honnêteté (1701; “Discourse on True Honnêteté”), as it does of the example set by Charles de Saint-Denis, sieur de Saint-Évremond, who, in the opinion of contemporaries, most nearly lived up to such an ideal. Few honnêtes gens had the culture, the taste, and the temperament to practice the art of living in such an exemplary way, but the ideal of tolerant, cultured Epicureanism for a while set the tone of fashionable society in Paris.

This period also saw the fullest development of the cult of préciosité, a style of thought and expression exhibiting delicacy of taste and sentiment. Inasmuch as honnêteté stands for moderation and achieved simplicity and préciosité for the cult of artifice and allusion, the two phenomena may seem to be opposites. The sentiments and manners satirized by Molière in Les Précieuses ridicules (performed 1659; The Pretentious Young Ladies) do not represent the whole picture, however, and, although the performance of some followers of the mode led to ludicrous extremes or, worse, degeneration into meaningless cliché, précieuses such as Madeleine de Scudéry were responsible for introducing a new subtlety into the language, establishing new standards of delicacy in matters of taste, and propagating advanced ideas about the equality of the sexes in marriage. Their aims thus ran parallel to those of the honnêtes gens, and the ideal of the educated, emancipated woman was the female counterpart of the masculine ideal defined above.

The fullest representation of the honnête homme in imaginative literature is to be found in the theatre of Molière. A bourgeois by birth, a courtier, and an honnête homme, Molière was also an actor-manager and an entertainer. He toured the provinces with his theatre troupe from about 1645 until 1658, when they returned to Paris. Molière soon succeeded in winning audiences to a completely new type of comedy. While his early plays may be divided conventionally into literary comedy and popular farces, from L’École des femmes (performed 1662; The School for Wives) onward he fused these two strains, creating a formula that combined the Classical structure, the linguistic refinement, and the portrayal of manners expected of comedy with the caricatural characterization proper to traditional French farce and the Italian commedia dell’arte. Even in stylized verse plays such as The School for Wives, Le Misanthrope (performed 1666), Le Tartuffe (first version 1664; Tartuffe: The Hypocrite), or Les Femmes savantes (1672; The Learned Ladies), the comedy of manners merely provides a framework for the comic portrait of a central character, in which exaggeration and fantasy play a considerable part. However topical the subject and however prominent the contemporary satiric element in Molière’s plays, his characters always possess a common denominator of universal humanity. Most of his plays contain, alongside the comic character, one or more examples of the honnête homme; and the social norm against which his comic characters offend is that of a tolerant, humane honnêteté. In Le Tartuffe, and in Dom Juan (1665), topical references and satiric implications were so provocative in dealing with the delicate subject of religious belief that there were strong reactions from churchmen. However, from the start of his Paris career Molière could count on the active support of the king, Louis XIV. A number of his plays were written for performance at Versailles or other courts; and Molière also wrote several comédies-ballets and collaborated with Jean-Baptiste Lully and others in other divertissements that brought together the arts of poetry, music, and dance.

The biggest box-office success of the century, judged by length of first run, was the Timocrate (1656) of Pierre Corneille’s younger brother Thomas, a prolific playwright adept at gauging the public taste. Timocrate was exactly contemporary with the précieux novels of Madeleine de Scudéry, and, like Philippe Quinault in his tragédies galantes, the author reproduced the disguises and amorous intrigues so much admired by habitués of the salons. However, the 1660s were to see the rivalry between two acknowledged masters of serious drama. Pierre Corneille, returning to the theatre in 1659 after a hiatus, wrote several more plays; but, though Sertorius (performed 1662) and his last play, Suréna (performed 1674), bear comparison with earlier masterpieces, heroic idealism had lost conviction. While Corneille retained his partisans among older playgoers, it was Jean Racine who appealed to a new generation. Racine’s fatalism

Whether Jean Racine’s Jansenist upbringing determined his view of a human nature controlled by perverse and willful passions—or whether his knowledge of Greek tragedy explains the fatalism of his own plays—is a question that cannot be answered. Certainly, both are engaged in the service of a creative imagination that reflects powerfully the frustrating limits placed on individual desire by society’s conventions and constraints. The world and the sensibility of his heroes could not be more different from those of Corneille’s. Tragedy for Racine is an inexorable series of events leading to a foreseeable and inevitable catastrophe. Plot is of the simplest; the play opens with the action at crisis point, and, once the first step is taken, tension mounts between a small number of characters, locked together by conflicting ambitions and desires, in increasingly straitened and stifling circumstances. Racinian poetic language represents preciosity at its best: the intense and monstrous nature of frustrated passion is thrown into relief by the cool, elegant, and understated formulations that carry it. His work set a standard and a model for the study of the entanglement of the public and the personal that continued into the 20th century. The language of such diverse playwrights as Jean-Paul Sartre and Bernard-Marie Koltès interacts (albeit in different ways) with the luminous clarity of Racinian style. In the 1960s and ’70s the director Roger Planchon found in Bérénice and Athalie fresh relevance for contemporary society.

Racine’s career began in 1664 with the first performance of La Thébaïde (The Fatal Legacy, a Tragedy), a grim account of the mutual hatred of Oedipus’s sons; this was followed by Alexandre le Grand (performed 1665), his only attempt at the manner of Quinault. The masterpieces date from the highly successful Andromaque (1667), another subject from Greek legend, after which, for Britannicus (1669) and Bérénice (1670), Racine turned to topics from Roman history. Bajazet (1672) is based on modern Turkish history; Mithridate (1673) has as its hero the famous enemy of Rome; and finally there followed two plays with Greek mythological subjects: Iphigénie en Aulide (1674; “Iphigenia in Aulis”) and Phèdre (1677). His last two plays, Esther (1689) and Athalie (1691), written not for the professional theatre but for the girls’ school at Saint-Cyr, at the request of Mme de Maintenon, turn to Old Testament subjects; but, in Athalie in particular, the challenge of the individual will to power against the decrees of an authoritarian father-god presents as powerful a conflict as that found in any of his secular plays. Nondramatic verse

Nondramatic verse still enjoyed a special prestige, as shown in Nicolas Boileau-Despréaux’s L’Art poétique (1674; The Art of Poetry), in which the genres most highly esteemed are the epic (of which no distinguished example was written during the century), the ode (a medium for official commemorative verse), and the satire. Boileau himself, in his satires (from c. 1658) and epistles (from 1674), as well as in The Art of Poetry, established himself as the foremost critic of his day; but, despite a flair for judging contemporaries, his criteria were limited by current aesthetic doctrines. In Le Lutrin (1674–83; “The Lectern”; Eng. trans. Boileau’s Lutrin: A Mock-Heroic Poem), a model for Alexander Pope’s The Rape of the Lock, he produced a masterpiece of comic writing in the Classical manner. Jean de La Fontaine’s Fables (1668; 1678–79; 1694; The Complete Fables of Jean de la Fontaine) succeed in transcending the limitations of the genre; and, although readers formerly concentrated heavily on the moral teaching they offer, it is possible to appreciate beneath their apparent naïveté the mature skills of a highly imaginative writer who displays great originality in adapting to his needs the linguistic and metrical resources of the Classical age. The Classical manner

Though the novel was still considered to be a secondary genre, it produced one masterpiece that embodied the Classical manner to perfection. In La Princesse de Clèves (1678) by Marie-Madeleine, comtesse de La Fayette, the narrative forsakes the fanciful settings of its pastoral and heroic predecessors and explores the relationship between the individual and contemporary court society in a sober, realistic context. The language achieves its effects by understatement and subtle nuance rather than by rhetorical flourish. The expressive medium forged in the salons is here used to generate original insights into the inchoate feelings of confusion and disarray that overwhelm the naive, unformed young woman confronted with the experienced seducer. The other great woman writer of her age, Marie de Rabutin-Chantal, marquise de Sévigné, produced an intimate, informal style of letter writing that was nevertheless composed with a careful eye to literary effect. Mme de Sévigné not only was an admirable example of the cultured reader for whom the grands classiques wrote but was herself one of the most skillful prose writers of her day.

The most distinguished prose writer of the age, however, was a man who, if he does reflect the society he lived in, does so in a highly critical light. The Pensées (1669–70; “Thoughts”; Eng. trans. Pensées) of Blaise Pascal present an uncompromising reminder of the spiritual values of the Christian faith. The work remains incomplete, so that, in spite of the aphoristic brilliance, or the lyrical power, of many fragments, some of the thinking is enigmatic, incoherent, or even contradictory. Nevertheless, the central theme is clearly and strongly posed. Pascal’s view of human nature has much in common with that of La Rochefoucauld or Mme de La Fayette, but Pascal contrasts the misery of godless man with the potential greatness attainable through divine grace. Pascal is the first master of a really modern prose style. Whereas Descartes’s prose is full of awkward Latinisms, Pascal uses a short sentence and is sparing with subordinate clauses. The clarity and precision he achieves are equally appropriate to the penetrating analysis of human nature in the Pensées and to the irony and comic force of the Provinciales (1656–57; The Provincial Letters), his masterly satire of Jesuit casuistry. Religious authors

A new intellectual climate can be recognized from 1680 onward, as the centralizing authority of absolute monarchy tightened its hold on nation and culture. An increased spiritual awareness resulting from Jansenist teaching, the preaching of Jacques-Bénigne Bossuet and others, and the influence of Mme de Maintenon at court marked French cultural life with a new moral earnestness and devotion. The position of Bossuet is an ambivalent one. In spite of his outspoken criticism of king and court, his view of kingship and of the relationship between church and state made him one of the principal pillars of the regime of the Sun King (Louis XIV), carrying Richelieu’s policies to their logical conclusion. His ultraorthodox views are expressed in writings such as the Discours sur l’histoire universelle (1681; Discourse on Universal History); but he also exerted a considerable moral influence in his sermons and funeral orations, which took the art of pulpit oratory to a new high level. François de La Mothe-Fénelon was a much less orthodox churchman, and the influence he wielded was of a more liberal nature. Like Bossuet, he was a tutor in the royal household, and he was also author of a novel, Les Aventures de Télémaque (1699; Telemachus, Son of Ulysses), that combines moral lessons with Classical romance. Satire

Just as Fénelon chose an ancient model—his novel purports to be the continuation of Book Four of the Odyssey—so Jean de La Bruyère chose to write his Caractères de Théophraste traduits du grec, avec les caractères ou les moeurs de ce siècle (1688; “The Characters of Theophrastus Translated from the Greek, with the Characters or Manners of This Century”; Eng. trans. The Characters, or the Manners of the Age) in the style of the Greek moralist Theophrastus. However, his work, appended to his translation of Theophrastus, was from the beginning more specific in its reference to his own times; and successive editions, up to 1694, made of it a powerful indictment of the vanity and pretensions of the high-ranking members of a status-conscious society. La Bruyère attacks the extravagance and warmongering of the king himself. He writes as an ironic commentator on the social comedy around him, in a highly personal, visual, fast-moving prose that brings his targets to vivid life.

An equally satiric picture of the age is left by a number of Molière’s successors writing for the comic theatre (which, from the founding of the Théâtre Français in 1680, was organized on a monopoly basis). Comedy, at the hands of such writers as Jean-François Regnard, Florent Carton Dancourt, and Alain-René Lesage, continued to be lively and inventive; but the writing of tragedy, by contrast, with the exception of the work of Racine, already had become a much more derivative exercise. The Ancients and the Moderns

The end of Louis XIV’s reign witnessed the critical debate known as the querelle des anciens et des modernes (“Quarrel of the Ancients and the Moderns”), a long-standing controversy that came to a head in the Académie and in various published works (see Ancients and Moderns). Whereas Boileau and others saw imitation of the literature of antiquity as the only possible guarantee of excellence, “moderns” such as Charles Perrault in his Parallèle des anciens et des modernes (1688–97; “Comparison of the Ancients and Moderns”) and Bernard Le Bovier, sieur de Fontenelle, in his Digression sur les anciens et les modernes (1688; “Digression on the Ancients and Moderns”), claimed that the best contemporary works were inevitably superior, because of the greater maturity of the human mind. It was a sterile and inconclusive debate, but the underlying issue was most important, for the moderns both indirectly and explicitly anticipated those 18th-century thinkers whose rejection of a single universal aesthetic in favour of a relativist approach was to hasten the end of the Classical age. William Driver Howarth Jennifer Birkett The 18th century to the Revolution of 1789 The Enlightenment

The death of Louis XIV on September 1, 1715, closed an epoch, and thus the date of 1715 is a useful starting point for the Enlightenment. The beginnings of critical thought, however, go back much further, to about 1680, where one can begin to discern a new intellectual climate of independent inquiry and the questioning of received ideas and traditions.

The earlier date permits the inclusion of two important precursors. Pierre Bayle, a Protestant forced into exile by the repressive policies of Louis XIV against the Huguenots, paved the way for later attacks upon the established church by his own onslaught upon Roman Catholic dogma and, beyond that, upon authoritarian ideologies of all kinds. His skepticism was constructive, underlying a fervent advocacy of toleration based on respect for freedom of conscience. In particular, his Dictionnaire historique et critique (1697; 2nd ed., 1702; An Historical and Critical Dictionary) became an arsenal of knowledge and critical ideas for the 18th century.

Bayle’s contemporary Fontenelle continued in Descartes’s wake to make knowledge, especially of science, more accessible to the educated layperson. His Entretiens sur la pluralité des mondes (1686; Conversations on the Plurality of Worlds) explains the Copernican universe in simple terms. The Histoire des oracles (1687; The History of Oracles) complements this popular erudition by a rationalist critique of erroneous legends. Fontenelle helped to lay the basis for empirical observation as the proper approach to scientific truth.

Both Bayle and Fontenelle promoted the Enlightenment principle that the pursuit of verifiable knowledge was a central human activity. Bayle was concerned with the problem of evil, which seemed to him a mystery understandable by faith alone. But such unknowable matters did not at all invalidate the search for hard fact, as the Dictionnaire abundantly shows. Fontenelle, for his part, saw that the furtherance of truth depended upon the elimination of error, arising as it did from human laziness in unquestioningly accepting received ideas or from human love of mystery.

The baron de Montesquieu, the first of the great Enlightenment authors, demonstrated a liberal approach to the world fitting in with an innovative pluralist and relativist view of society. His Lettres persanes (1721; Persian Letters) established his reputation. A fictional set of correspondences centred on two Persians making their first visit to Europe, they depict satirically a Paris in transition between the old dogmatic absolutes of monarchy and religion and the freedoms of a new age. At their centre is the condition of women—trapped in the private space of the harem, emancipated in the salons of Paris. The personal experience of the Persians generates debate on a wide range of crucial moral, political, economic, and philosophical issues, all centring on the link between the public good and the regulation of individual desire.

Montesquieu’s interest in social mechanisms and causation is pursued further in the Considérations sur les causes de la grandeur des Romains et de leur décadence (1734; Reflections on the Causes of the Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire). To explain Rome’s greatness and decline, he invokes the notion of an esprit général (“general spirit”), a set of secondary causes underlying each society and determining its developments. Herein are the seeds of De l’esprit des lois (1748; The Spirit of the Laws), the preparation of which took 14 years. This great work brought political discussion into the public arena in France by its insistence upon the wide variation of sociopolitical forms throughout the world, its attempt to assess their relative effectiveness, and its assertion of the need, in whatever form of society, to maintain liberty and tolerance as prime objects of concern.

title page of Voltaire's CandideTitle page of an early printed version of Voltaire's Candide published in London, 1759.The Newberry Library, Louis H. Silver Collection purchase, 1964 (A Britannica Publishing Partner)

Voltaire (François-Marie Arouet), on any count, bestrides the Enlightenment. Whether as dramatist, historian, reformer, poet, storyteller, philosopher, or correspondent, for 60 years he remained an intellectual leader in France. A stay in England (1726–28) led to the Lettres philosophiques (1734; Letters on England), which—taking England as a polemical model of philosophical freedom, experimental use of reason, enlightened patronage of arts and science, and respect for the new merchant classes and their contribution to the nation’s economic well-being—offered a program for a whole civilization, as well as sharp satire of a despotic, authoritarian, and outdated France. In later years Voltaire’s onslaught upon the power of the Roman Catholic church became more direct, as he denounced its doctrines and practices in countless pamphlets and the Dictionnaire philosophique (1764; Philosophical Dictionary), the vade mecum of Voltairean attitudes. He laboured on historical works all his life, producing most notably Le Siècle de Louis XIV (1751; The Age of Louis XIV) and the Essai sur les moeurs (1756; An Essay on Universal History, the Manners and Spirit of Nations from the Reign of Charlemaign to the Age of Lewis XIV), the latter a world history of a half-million words. Above all, it was the growth of civilizations and cultures that particularly commanded his attention and formidable energy. He is best remembered for the tale Candide (1759), a savage denunciation of metaphysical optimism that reveals a world of horrors and folly. Candide at last renounces the search for absolute truths as futile and settles for the simple life of labours within his reach, “cultivating his garden.” The conte (“tale”) called L’Ingénu (1767; “The Naïf”; Eng. trans. in Zadig, and L’Ingenu [1964]) continued this lesson, with a turn from metaphysics to social satire on the corrupt French government (which he prudently set retrospectively in Louis XIV’s reign). Reformist appeals to justice were the main focus of Voltaire’s writings in his last 20 years, as he protested against such outrages as the executions, motivated by religious prejudice, of Jean Calas and the chevalier de La Barre.

Another universal genius, Denis Diderot, occupied a somewhat less exalted place in his own times, since most of his greatest works were published only posthumously. But his encylopaedic range is undeniable. He was a theorist of the bourgeois drama, the first great French art critic (the several Salons), a sharp observer of the psychology of repression and its political function in authoritarian society, and author of the greatest French antinovel of the century, which, influenced by Laurence Sterne’s Tristram Shandy, anticipates in its form and techniques and in its language both 20th-century realism and the mode of the nouveau roman (Jacques le fataliste et son maître [1796; Jacques the Fatalist and His Master]). Diderot seized on the Spinozist vision of a world materialistic and godless yet pulsating with energy and the unexpected. Jacques the Fatalist captures the fluidity of a disconcerting universe where nothing is ever clear-cut or under control, where history, in the form of choices already made by others, determines any individual’s fate, and yet free will and responsibility are among the highest human values. The admirable servant Jacques, who sees through yet loyally serves and protects his bonehead of a master and who establishes and maintains his own humane values, following his heart as well as his head in a world given over to cruelty and chance, is the model new man of the Enlightenment.

Diderot’s interest in the plasticity of matter (he reasoned that categories such as animal, vegetable, and mineral are not as distinct as conventional thought suggested), combined with an interest in biology and medicine, is nowhere better exemplified than in Le Rêve de d’Alembert (written 1769, published 1830; D’Alembert’s Dream). This work is written in the characteristic form of a dialogue, allowing Diderot to range free with speculative questions rather than attempt firm answers. Other dialogues focus on key contemporary events and explore the philosophical questions they posed. The Supplément au voyage de Bougainville (1773; Supplement to Bougainville’s Voyage in The Libertine Reader: Eroticism and Enlightenment in Eighteenth-Century France), for example, takes the great explorer’s landfall in Tahiti to consider the relativity of sexual mores in different societies and to satirize again politics founded on sexual repression.

In his own day, Diderot was best known as editor of the Encyclopédie, a vast work in 17 folio volumes of text and 11 of illustrations. He and Jean Le Rond d’Alembert inaugurated the undertaking, and d’Alembert introduced the first volume in 1751. Diderot edited alone from 1758 until the final volume of plates appeared in 1772. A summation of new scientific and technological knowledge and, by that very fact, a radically polemical enterprise, the Encyclopédie is the epitome of the Enlightenment, disseminating practical information to improve the human lot, reduce theological superstition, and, in Diderot’s words from his key article “Encyclopédie,” “change the common way of thinking.” Drama Tragedy and the survival of Classical form

Classical tragedy survived into the 18th century, most notably in the theatre of Voltaire, which dominated the Comédie-Française from the premiere of Oedipe (1718) to that of Agathocle (1779). But even in Voltaire a profound change in sensibility is apparent as pathos reigns supreme, to the exclusion of terror. Tragedy, in the view of Fontenelle or the Abbé Dubos, should teach men virtue and humanity. Voltaire’s Zaïre (1732; The Tragedy of Zara) aims to do just that, through the spectacle of Christian intolerance overwhelming the eponymous heroine, torn as she is between the religion of her French Roman Catholic forefathers and the Muslim faith of her future husband, a Turk. No fatality of character destroys her, but simply the failings of Christians unworthy of their creed, allied to gratuitous and avoidable chance. The great tragic emotions are replaced by simple bourgeois sentimentality. Marivaux and Beaumarchais

The best of 18th-century drama takes a different course. Pierre Marivaux wrote more than 30 comedies, mostly between 1720 and 1740, for the most part bearing on the psychology of love. Typically, the Marivaudian protagonist is a refined young lady who finds herself, to her bewilderment or even despair, falling in love despite herself, thereby losing her autonomy of judgment and action. La Surprise de l’amour, a title Marivaux used twice (1722, 1727), becomes a regular motif, the interest of each play resting in the precise and delicate changes of attitude and circumstance rung by the dramatist and the sharp, witty discourse in which his characters’ exchanges are couched. His sympathy for the generally likable heroes and heroines stops short, however, of indulgence. The action is dramatic essentially because the characters’ stubborn pride, central to their being, has to succumb to the demands of their instincts. Vanity, in Marivaux’s view, is endemic to human nature. In Le Jeu de l’amour et du hasard (1730; The Game of Love and Chance), the plot of which is based on disguise, with masters and servants exchanging parts, Silvia experiences profound consternation at the quite unacceptable prospect of falling for a valet. When she learns the happy truth, her relief immediately gives way to a determination to force her lover Dorante into surrender while he still thinks her a servant. Many plays deal explicitly with social barriers created by rank or money, such as La Double Inconstance (1723; Changes of Heart) and Les Fausses Confidences (1737; “False Confidences”). As the subtlety of Marivaux’s perceptions and the genius of his language have become better understood, he has come to be regarded as the fourth great classic (after Corneille, Racine, and Molière) of the French theatre.

Pierre-Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais is best remembered for two comic masterpieces, Le Barbier de Séville (1775; The Barber of Seville) and Le Mariage de Figaro (1784; The Marriage of Figaro). Both are dominated by the servant Figaro, a scheming dynamo of wit and generosity. Some commentators during the Revolution detected prerevolutionary sentiments in The Marriage of Figaro, but the evidence is too insubstantial to argue for any intention on the author’s part. As much as the sharpness of wit and character, the brilliance of structure wins admiration. All is movement and vicissitude, particularly in The Marriage of Figaro, with its 92 scenes (about three times the average number in a Classical play) and profusion of theatrical “business” rising to the magisterial imbroglio of the final act. Bourgeois drama

Beaumarchais himself espoused the drame bourgeois (“bourgeois drama” or “middle-class tragedy”) in his Essai sur le genre dramatique sérieux (1767; “Essay on the Genre of Serious Drama”). He wrote several drames, among them the sequel to The Marriage of Figaro in L’Autre Tartuffe; ou, La Mère coupable (1792; “The Other Tartuffe; or, The Guilty Mother”). The growing importance of sentiment on the stage had proved as inimical to Classical comedy as to Classical tragedy. More popular was a type of comedy both serious and moralistic, such as Le Glorieux (1732; The Conceited Count) by Philippe Néricault Destouches or the comédies larmoyantes (“tearful comedies”) of Pierre-Claude Nivelle de La Chaussée, which enjoyed great popularity in the 1730s and ’40s. Diderot’s Entretiens sur “Le Fils naturel” (1757; “Conversations on ‘The Natural Son’”) gave a theoretical underpinning to the new mood. The author called for middle-class tragedies of private life, realistic and affecting, able to inspire strong emotions and incline audiences to more elevated states of mind. The new genre, reacting against the articulate tirades of Classical tragedy, would draw on pantomime and tableaux or inarticulate speech rather than on eloquent discursiveness. Though Diderot’s plays did not live up to his theories, the emphasis upon middle-class virtuousness was to be made dramatically effective in Michel-Jean Sedaine’s Le Philosophe sans le savoir (1765; “The Unwitting Philosopher”; Eng. trans. The Duel). But the success of the drame bourgeois was short-lived, perhaps because it attempted the incompatible aims of being both realistic and didactic. Poetry

The emphasis upon reason, science, and philosophy may explain the absence of great poetry in the 18th century. The best verse is that of Voltaire, whose chief claim to renown during most of his lifetime was as a poet. In epic, mock-epic, philosophical poems, or witty society pieces he was preeminent, but to the modern critic the linguistic intensity that might indicate genius is missing. The novel

Despite official opposition and occasional censorship, the genre of the novel developed apace. The first great 18th-century exemplar is now seen to be Robert Challes, whose Illustres françaises (1713; The Illustrious French Lovers), a collection of seven tales intertwined, commands attention for its serious realism and a disabused candour anticipating Stendhal. As the bourgeoisie acquired a more prominent place in society and the focus switched to exploring the textures of everyday life, the roman de moeurs (“novel of manners”) became important, most notably with the novels of Alain-René Lesage: Le Diable boiteux (1707; The Devil upon Two Sticks) and especially L’Histoire de Gil Blas de Santillane (1715–35; The History and Adventures of Gil Blas of Santillane). The latter, a loose-knit picaresque novel, recounts its hero’s rise in society and concomitant moral education, set against a comprehensive picture of the surrounding world. Characterization and the representation of the new ethos of sensibility receive greater attention in the novels of the prolific Abbé Prévost, author of multivolume romances but best known for the Histoire du chevalier des Grieux et de Manon Lescaut (1731; “Tale of the Chevalier des Grieux and Manon Lescaut”; Eng. trans. Manon Lescaut). In this ambivalent mixture of idealistic passion and shabby criminality, des Grieux, a young scapegrace but also, Prévost urges, a man of the most exquisite sentiments, sacrifices a glittering career to his fantasy of the amoral, delicate, and forever enigmatic Manon. In this tragic tale, love conquers all, but it constantly needs vulgar money to sustain it. Tears and swoonings abound, as do precise notations of financial costs, in a blend of traditional romance and sordid realism.

By contrast, Marivaux as novelist devoted his main energies to psychological analysis and the moral life of his characters. His two great narratives, La Vie de Marianne (1731–41; The Life of Marianne) and Le Paysan parvenu (1734–35; Up from the Country), follow one single character recounting, as in Manon Lescaut, her or his past experience. But it is the comic note that prevails as Marianne and Jacob make their way upward in society. Reflection upon conduct becomes more important than conduct itself; the narrators, now of mature years, comment and endlessly interpret their actions when young and still in transit socially. The result provides a rich density of feelings, meticulously analyzed or finely suggested, in a precise and witty prose. Both protagonists are morally equivocal, born survivors with an eye for the main chance, representative of a social class making its way from margins to mainstream; yet they are also attractive, both to their peers in the novel and to their readership, in their disarming self-revelations.

Increasingly, from the middle of the century, studies of women’s position in society, salon, or family emerged from the pen of women writers. Françoise de Graffigny (Lettres d’une Péruvienne [1747; Letters of a Peruvian Princess]), Marie-Jeanne Riccoboni, and Isabelle de Charrière use the popular epistolary form of the novel to allow their heroines to voice the pain and distress of a situation of unremitting dependency. The processes of modernization were beginning to bring their own solutions to women’s subordination. The educationalist Madame de Genlis (Stéphanie-Félicité du Crest), much influenced by Rousseau, found a Europe-wide readership for her treatises, plays, and, especially, the novel Adèle et Théodore; ou, lettres sur l’éducation (1782; Adelaide and Theodore; or, Letters on Education), which offered enlightened and advanced educational programs for children and young women of all classes, based on the recognition that men engaged increasingly with duties, responsibilities, and work in the public sphere needed well-educated and skilled wives at home to manage their households and estates. The subordination of women to men was still a given in Genlis’s philosophy, and it was a theme emphasized in the highly popular historical and political romances she would later write in exile, during the Revolution, and on her eventual return to Paris to become an ardent spokesperson for all old hierarchies in Napoleon’s restored court. Rousseau

The preeminent name associated with the sensibility of the age is that of Jean-Jacques Rousseau. His work gave rise to the cult of nature, lakes, mountains, and gardens, in contrast to what he presented as the false glitter of society. He called for a new way of life attentive above all to the innate sense of pity and benevolence he attributed to men, rather than dependent upon what he saw as the meretricious reason prized by his fellow philosophes; he espoused untutored simplicity and declared the true equality of all, based in the capacity for feeling that all men share; and he argued the importance of total sincerity and claimed to practice it in his confessional writings, which are seminal instances of modern autobiography. With these radical new claims for a different mode of feeling, one that would foster a revolutionary new politics, he stands as one of the greatest thinkers of his time, alongside, and generally in opposition to, Voltaire. He established the modern novel of sensibility with the resounding success of his Julie; ou, la nouvelle Héloïse (1761; Julie; or, The New Heloise), a novel about an impossible, doomed love between a young aristocrat and her tutor. He composed a classic work of educational theory with Émile; ou, de l’éducation (1762; Emile; or, On Education), whose hero is brought up away from corrupting society, in keeping with the principles of natural man. Emile learns to prefer feeling and spontaneity to theory and reason, and religious sensibility is an essential element of his makeup. This alone would separate Rousseau from Voltaire and Diderot, not to mention the materialist philosophers Claude-Adrien Helvétius, Paul-Henri d’Holbach, and Julien de La Mettrie, for whom the progress of the Enlightenment was judged by the emancipation of the age from superstition, fanaticism, and the authority of prejudice passing as faith.

The sharp hostility toward contemporary society already evident in his Discours sur les sciences et les arts (1750; Discourse on the Sciences and Arts) is more profoundly elaborated in the Discours sur l’origine et les fondements de l’inégalité parmi les hommes (1755; “Discourse on the Origin and Foundations of Inequality among Men”; Eng. trans. Discourse on the Origin of Inequality). In the latter work he argues that social inequality has come about because men have allowed their God-given right of freedom to be usurped by the growth of competition, specialization and division of labour, and, most of all, by laws that consolidated the inequitable distribution of property. Further, he states that elegant, civilized society is a sham whose reality is endless posturing, hostility, injustice, enslavement, and alienation. The revolutionary implications of these beliefs are spelled out in the Contrat social (1762; The Social Contract), with its examination of the principle of sovereignty, its critique of the divine right of kings, and its formulation of a right of resistance. True liberty and equality can be established, according to Rousseau, only on the hypothesis of a people who have never yet been divided or corrupted by any form of government, through a social pact of all with all, willingly accepted, in which each individual agrees to submit to and defend the volonté générale (“general will”), which alone has sovereignty. This is the ground on which active citizens, and full humans, can be developed. But such self-denial would already require a moral transmutation requiring the prior existence of the higher reasoning and selflessness that it is meant to help create and foster. To break the vicious circle, Rousseau proposes to introduce into his nascent community a Lawgiver, who may use his authority, or the seductions of religion, to persuade people to accept the laws. At the origin of his newly contracted society of truth, sincerity, and respect for others’ rights and freedoms, he must posit an authoritarian and manipulative principle. Commentators have differed widely in their readings of The Social Contract as either a liberal or a totalitarian document. Rousseau saw himself as unambiguously defending freedom from despotism; from 1789 to 1917, revolutionaries throughout the world took him as an icon.

Rousseau’s struggle toward a morality based on transparent honesty and on values authenticated not by any external authority but by his own conscience and feelings, is continued in the Confessions (written 1764–70; Eng. trans. Confessions). Here he suggests that self-knowledge is to be achieved by a growing familiarity with the unconscious, a recognition of the importance of childhood in shaping the adult, and an acceptance of the role of sexuality—an anticipation of modern psychoanalysis. This original exploration of the self, in its dreams, desires, fantasies, obsessions, and, ultimately, delusions, is developed further in the Rêveries du promeneur solitaire (written 1776–78; The Reveries of the Solitary Walker), which has been seen as foreshadowing even more strongly the Romantic Movement and the literature of introspection of the next century. Laclos and others

The later 18th-century novel, preoccupied with the understanding of the tensions and dangers of a society about to wake up to the Revolution of 1789—the Great Revolution to which the modern French state traces its origins—is dominated by the masterpiece of Pierre Choderlos de Laclos, Les Liaisons dangereuses (1782; Dangerous Acquaintances), and its stylish account of erotic psychology and its manipulations. The libertine Valmont and his accomplice and rival, Mme de Merteuil, plot the downfall of their victims in a Parisian society that illustrates Rousseau’s strictures: natural human values have no place in a world of conformist expediency, cynicism, and vicious exploitation. Laclos’s novel is, he claims, didactic, a moral satire of a dangerous, heartless world; yet he also admires the cold, vengeful intelligence that invents and directs that world’s viciousness, which the highly crafted epistolary construction of the work, as well as its elegant, sharp-witted, and subtle language, brilliantly exemplify.

By contrast, Jacques-Henri Bernardin de Saint-Pierre’s utopian Paul et Virginie (1788; Paul and Virginia), a rich evocation of exotic nature in the tropical setting of Mauritius, often seems overly sentimental to modern tastes. Another, very different, follower of Rousseauist ideals, the verbose and prolific Nicolas-Edme Restif de la Bretonne, became the self-proclaimed chronicler and analyst of Parisian society, a representative young man of the generation that had gone from country to city in search of fresh fortune. In his philosophical treatises, novels, and short-story collections, he evoked vividly the manners and morals of men and especially women, in all their social ranks, from the bourgeois mistress of the house to the prostitutes in the street. Along with the work of Louis-Sébastien Mercier, author of Le Tableau de Paris (1781–89; Panorama of Paris [selections]), his evocations of the life and movement of the burgeoning metropolis prepare the ground for Honoré de Balzac’s analyses of its human, social, and political dramas. A very different response to this time of radical change came from Donatien-Alphonse-François, comte de Sade, generally known as the Marquis de Sade, whose fascination with the connections of power, pain, and pleasure, between individuals and in society’s larger structures, gave rise to the word sadism. In Sade’s philosophy, where the essential operation of Nature is not procreation but destruction, murder is natural and morally acceptable. The true libertine must replace soft sentiment by an energy aspiring to the total freedom of individual desire. The language and thematics of Sade’s fantasies owe much to the Enlightenment, of which his antisocial egoism is, however, only a perverted expression. But in works such as Justine; ou, les malheurs de la vertu (1791; Justine; or, The Misfortunes of Virtue) or the tale of Justine’s sister, Juliette (1797; Eng. trans. Juliette), he made the reader aware as never before that the search for fulfillment in the enjoyment of cruelty forms part of the human psyche. The text he wrote in the Bastille, never published in his lifetime, Les 120 Journées de Sodome (written 1784–85, published 1904; The 120 Days of Sodom, and Other Writings), has, since the studies of the Surrealists and Georges Bataille, become a classic sourcebook for the study of the imaginative forms of the modern unconscious. Haydn T. Mason Jennifer Birkett From 1789 to the mid-19th century Revolution and empire

The French Revolution of 1789 provided no clean break with the complex literary culture of the Enlightenment. Many ways of thinking and feeling—whether based on reason, sentiment, or an exacerbated sensibility—and most literary forms persisted with little change from 1789 to 1815. Certainly, the Napoleonic regime encouraged a return to the Classical mode. The insistence on formal qualities, notions of good taste, rules, and appeals to authority implicitly underlined the regime’s centralizing, authoritarian, and imperial aims. This classicism, or, strictly speaking, Neoclassicism, represented the etiolated survival of the high style and literary forms that had dominated “serious” literature—and drama in particular—in France for almost two centuries. But Rousseau’s emphasis on subjectivity and sentiment still had its heirs, as did the new forms of writing he had helped to evolve. Likewise, while the Gothic violence that had emerged in early Revolutionary drama and novels was curbed, its dynamic remained. The seeds of French Romanticism had been sown in national ground, long before writers began to turn to other nations to kindle their inspiration. The poetry of Chénier

André Chénier was executed during the last days of the Terror. His work first appeared in volume in 1819 and is thus associated with the first generation of French Romantic poets, who saw in him a symbol of persecuted genius. Although deeply imbued with the Classical spirit, especially that of Greece, Chénier exploited Classical myths for modern purposes. He began work on what he planned to be a great epic poem, “Hermès,” a history of the universe and human progress. The completed fragments reflect the Enlightenment spirit but also anticipate the episodic epic poems of the later Romantics. Chénier, though a moderate in revolutionary terms, was deeply committed in his politics. This is evident in the scathing fierceness of his lyrical satires, the Ïambes, many of which were written from prison shortly before his execution. His best-known poems, however, are elegies that sing of captivity, death, and dreams of youth and lost happiness. Revolutionary oratory and polemic

The intensity of political debate in Paris during the Revolution, whether in clubs, in the National Assembly, or before tribunals, threw into prominence the arts of oratory. Speaking in the name of reason, virtue, and liberty and using the Roman Republic or the city-states of Greece as a frame of reference, Revolutionary leaders such as Honoré-Gabriel Riqueti, comte de Mirabeau, Jean-Paul Marat, Maximilien Robespierre, and Louis de Saint-Just infused the intellectual preoccupations of the Enlightenment with a sense of drama and passion. This renewal of rhetoric is echoed in the enormously expanded political press, including Marat’s L’Ami du peuple (“The Friend of the People”), Jacques-René Hébert’s Le Père Duchesne (“Old Duchesne”), and Gracchus Babeuf’s Le Tribun du peuple (“The Defender of the People”). To some extent the proclamations and communiqués of Napoleon prolonged this Revolutionary eloquence. Chateaubriand

The French Revolution made an émigré of François-Auguste-René, vicomte de Chateaubriand, and his first major work, the Essai sur les révolutions (1797; “Essay on Revolutions”; Eng. trans. An Historical, Political and Moral Essay on Revolutions, Ancient and Modern), is a complex and sometimes confused attempt to understand revolution in general, the French Revolution in particular, and the individual’s relationship to these phenomena. Chateaubriand took as his model the stance of the 18th-century philosophe, but his Génie du christianisme (1802; The Genius of Christianity) caught a new mood of return to religious faith based on emotional appeals and proclaimed the aesthetic superiority of Christianity. The impact of this work was enormous, not least in its reinstatement of nature, and natural landscape, as the lodging place of spiritual repose and renewal. Within it were two short narratives, Atala (Eng. trans. Atala, also translated in Atala, René), a tale of fatal passion and savage (Indian) nobility, and René (Eng. trans. René). A young hero not dissimilar to Goethe’s Werther, René, who flees pain and suffering in Europe to look vainly for refuge in the wilds of America, came to represent the mal du siècle (world-weariness, literally “sickness of the century”), the essence of Romantic sensibility; he is insecure, solitary, disorientated, and in flight, searching for a happiness that will always evade him.

Behind all Chateaubriand’s works lies the sense of a break, caused by the French Revolution, in a stable, ordered existence. His Mémoires d’outre-tombe (1848–50; “Memoirs from Beyond the Tomb”; Eng. trans. The Memoirs of Chateaubriand), the masterpiece he worked on most of his adult life and intended for posthumous publication, uses the autobiographical format to meditate on the history of France, the passing of time, and the vanity of human desires. His lyrical and rhythmic prose left a deep impression on many Romantic writers. Mme de Staël and the debate on literature

Mme de Staël (Anne-Louise-Germaine Necker, baronne de Staël-Holstein) was truly encyclopaedic in her interests. Her contribution to intellectual debate far exceeded any narrow definition of literature. At first liberal and then, after her offer of support was rebuffed, fiercely anti-Napoleon in politics, eclectic in philosophy, mixing rationalism and spiritualism, and determinedly internationalist in her feeling for literature, she moved most easily in a world of ideas, surrounding herself with the salon of intellectuals she founded at Coppet, Switzerland. Her two novels, Delphine (1802; Delphine) and Corinne (1807; Corinne, or Italy), focus on the limits society tries to impose on the independent woman and the woman of genius. The account of Corinne’s personal drama is combined with an examination of national identities in postrevolutionary Europe, offering original insights into how new alliances can be forged across old, hostile boundaries and what part artistic form and women’s influence could play in making new communities. Her two most influential works, De la littérature (1800; The Influence of Literature upon Society) and De l’Allemagne (1810; Germany), expanded conceptions of literature with the claim that different social forms needed different literary modes: in particular, postrevolutionary society required a new literature. She explored the contrast, as she saw it, between the literature of the south (rational, Classical) and the literature of the north (emotional, Romantic), and she explored the potential interest for French culture of foreign writers such as William Shakespeare, Ossian, and above all the German Romantics.

Many of these ideas emerged from discussions with August Wilhelm von Schlegel, whose work on the drama was widely translated, and from meetings with and readings of the Germans Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller. The Genevan economist and writer Jean-Charles-Léonard Simonde de Sismondi reinforced many of Mme de Staël’s points in his De la littérature du midi de l’Europe (1813; Historical View of the Literature of the South of Europe). This cosmopolitan cultural relativism was infuriating to many of Staël’s French contemporaries in the prevailing Neoclassical literary climate. Romanticism

In general, full-blown Romanticism in France developed later than in Germany or Britain, with a particular flavour that comes from the impact on French writers’ sensibilities of revolutionary turmoil and the Napoleonic odyssey. Acutely conscious of being products of a very particular time and place, French writers wrote into their work their obsession with the burden of history and their subjection to time and change. The terms mal du siècle and enfant du siècle (literally “child of the century”) capture their distress. Alfred de Musset took the latter phrase for his autobiography, La Confession d’un enfant du siècle (1836; The Confession of a Child of the Century). Most French Romantics, whether they adopted a liberal or conservative attitude or whether they tried to ignore the weight of history and politics, asserted that their century was sick. Romantics often retained the encyclopaedic ambitions of their predecessors, but faith in any simple notion of progress was shaken. Some distinction can be made between the generation of 1820, whose members wrote, often from an aristocratic viewpoint, about exhaustion, emptiness, loss, and ennui, and the generation of 1830, whose members spoke of dynamism—though often in the form of frustrated dynamism. Foreign influences

When the émigrés who had fled from the effects of the Revolution trickled back to France, they brought with them some of the cultural colouring acquired abroad (mainly in Britain and Germany), and this partially explains the paradox of aristocratic and politically conservative writers fostering new approaches to literature. Mme de Staël, as a liberal exile under Napoleon, was an exception. Travel had broadened intellectual horizons and had opened up the European cultural hegemony of France to other worlds and other sensibilities. From England the influence of Lord Byron’s poetry and of the Byronic legend was particularly strong. Byron provided a model of poetic sensibility, cynicism, and despair, and his death in the Greek War of Independence reinforced the image of the noble and generous but doomed Romantic hero. Italy and Spain, too, exercised an influence, though, with the exception of Dante, it was not their literature that attracted so much as the models for violent emotion and exotic fantasy that these countries offered: French writing suffered a proliferation of gypsies, bandits, poisonings, and revenge tales. Colin Smethurst Jennifer Birkett The poetry of the Romantics

The new climate was especially evident in poetry. The salon of Charles Nodier became one of the first of the literary groups known as the cénacles (“clubs”); later groups were to centre on Charles Augustin Sainte-Beuve, who is remembered chiefly as a literary critic. The outstanding poets of the period were surrounded by a host of minor talents, and the way was opened for a variety of new voices, from the melancholic lyricism of Marceline Desbordes-Valmore, giving frustrated desire a distinctive feminine expression (and bringing politics into poetry, writing ardent socialist polemic), to the frenetic extravagance of Petrus Borel. For a time, about 1830, there was a marked possibility that French Romantic poetry might veer toward radical politics and the socialism of utopian writers such as Henri de Saint-Simon rather than in the direction of l’art pour l’art, or art for art’s sake. The popularity of the songs of Pierre-Jean de Béranger is a reminder of the existence of another strand, political and satiric, that is entwined with the intimate lyricism and aesthetic preoccupations of Romantic verse. Robin Caron Buss Jennifer Birkett Lamartine

Alphonse de Lamartine made an enormous impact as a poet with his Méditations poétiques (1820; Poetical Meditations). Using a restricted Neoclassical vocabulary and remaining unadventurous in versification, he nevertheless succeeded in creating through the musicality of his verse and his vaporous landscapes a sense of great longings unfulfilled. This soft-centred elegiac tone is tempered by occasional deep despair and Byronic revolt. The Harmonies poétiques et religieuses (1830; “Poetic and Religious Harmonies”; Eng. trans. in A Biographical Sketch), with their religious emotion, reinforce the quest for serenity, which remains threatened by unease and disquiet. Jocelyn (1836; Eng. trans. Jocelyn) and La Chute d’un ange (1838; “The Fall of an Angel”) are intermittently successful attempts at epic. An undercurrent in Lamartine’s poetry is the preoccupation with politics; during the 1848 revolution he took a leading role in the provisional government. The early poetry of Hugo

It was also in the 1820s that the powerful and versatile genius of Victor Hugo emerged. In his first poems he was a supporter of the monarchy and the church. Conservative Roman Catholic legitimism is a common strand in the poetic generation of 1820, and the debt to Chateaubriand’s The Genius of Christianity is evident. These early poems lack the mellifluous quality of Lamartine’s Poetical Meditations, but by the time of the Odes et ballades (1826) there are already hints of the Hugoesque mixture: intimate poetry, speaking of family relationships and problems of the ego, a prophetic and visionary tone, and an eagerness to explore a wide range of poetic techniques. Hugo called his Les Orientales (1829; “Eastern Poems”) a useless book of pure poetry. It can be linked with Théophile Gautier’s l’art pour l’art movement, concentrating on the exotic and the visual, combined with verbal and formal inventiveness. Hugo published four further important collections in the 1830s, in which poetry of nature, love, and family life is interwoven with a solitary, hesitant, but never quite despairing exploration of poetic consciousness. The poetry moves from the personal to the visionary and the prophetic, prefiguring in the lyric mode the epic sweep of much of his later work.

Victor Hugo.© Photos.com/Jupiterimages Vigny

In contrast to Hugo’s scope, the poetry of Alfred-Victor, comte de Vigny, was more limited and controlled. In common with Hugo and many other Romantic poets, however, he proposed the poet as prophet and seer. For Vigny the poet is essentially a dignified, moralizing philosopher, using the symbol less as a vehicle for emotion than as an intense expression of his thought. Broadly pessimistic in tone, emphasizing suffering and noble stoicism, his work focuses on figures of victimhood and sacrifice, with the poet-philosopher as quintessential victim. His Les Destinées (1864; “The Fates”), composed between 1838 and his death in 1863, exemplifies the high spiritual aspiration that represents one aspect of the Romantic ideal. The control and concentration of expression is in contrast to the verbal flood of much Romantic writing. Musset

The young, brilliantly gifted Alfred de Musset quickly established his reputation with his Contes d’Espagne et d’Italie (1830; “Tales of Spain and Italy”). His exuberant sense of humour led him to use extravagant Romantic effects and at the same time treat them ironically. Later, a trajectory from dandyism through debauchery to a sense of emptiness and futility, sustained only intermittently by the linking of suffering with love, resulted in a radical dislocation of the sense of self. The Nuits (“Nights”) poems (“La Nuit de mai,” “La Nuit de décembre,” “La Nuit d’août,” “La Nuit d’octobre,” 1835–37) express the purifying power of suffering in verse of sustained sincerity, purged of all the early showiness. Nerval

For a long while Gérard de Nerval was seen as the translator of German literature (notably Goethe’s Faust) and as a charming minor Romantic. Later critics have seen as his real contribution to poetry the 12 sonnets of Les Chimères (The Chimeras), composed between about 1844 and 1854, and the prose poems added to the spiritual odyssey Aurélia (1853–54; Eng. trans. Aurelia). The dense symbolic allusiveness of these latter works is the poetic transcription of an anguished, mystical quest that draws on the most diverse religious myths and all manner of literary, historical, occult, and esoteric knowledge. They represent one of the peaks of achievement of that side of the Romantic Movement that sought in the mystical a key to the spiritual reintegration of the divided postrevolutionary self. His formal experiments with the prose poem and his use of symbol link up with the poetry of Charles Baudelaire and Stéphane Mallarmé. Romantic theatre

Some critics have been tempted to call Romantic theatre in France a failure. Few plays from that time remain in the active repertory, though the theatre was perceived throughout the period to be the dominant literary form. Quarrels about the theatre, often physically engaging audiences, provided some of the most celebrated battles of Romanticism against Classicism. Hugo

The first performance of Victor Hugo’s Hernani (1830; Eng. trans. Hernani) was one such battle, and Romanticism won an important symbolic victory. Hernani followed Stendhal’s call in the pamphlets Racine et Shakespeare (1823, 1825) for theatre that would appeal to a contemporary public and Hugo’s own major theoretical statement, in the preface to his play Cromwell (1827; Eng. trans. Cromwell). In the preface, Hugo called for a drama of action—which he saw as appropriate to modern man, the battleground of matter and spirit—that could transcend Classical categories and mix the sublime and the grotesque. Hernani also benefited from the production in Paris of several Shakespearean and historical dramas—in particular, a sustained and triumphal season in 1827 by an English troupe playing Shakespeare.

Hernani drew on popular melodrama for its effects, exploited the historical and geographic local colour of an imagined 16th-century Spain, and had a tragic hero with whom young Romantics eagerly identified. These elements are fused in Hugo’s lyric poetry to produce a dramatic spectacle close to that of Romantic opera. Ruy Blas (1838; Eng. trans. Ruy Blas), in a similar vein, mixes poetry, comedy, and tragedy with strong antithetical effects to provide the mingling of dramatic genres that the preface to Cromwell had declared the essence of Romantic drama. The failure of Hugo’s Les Burgraves (1843; “The Commanders”), an overinflated epic melodrama, is commonly seen as the beginning of the end of Romantic theatre. Vigny

Whereas Hugo’s verse dramas tended to the lyrical and the spectacular, Vigny’s most famous play, Chatterton (1835; Eng. trans. Chatterton), in its concentrated simplicity, has many analogies with Classical theatre. It is, however, a bourgeois drama of the sort called for by Diderot, focusing on the suicide of the young poet Thomas Chatterton as a symbolic figure of poetic idealism misunderstood and rejected by a materialistic society—a typical Romantic estrangement. Musset

Alfred de Musset did not have public performance primarily in mind when writing most of his plays, and yet, ironically, he is the one playwright of this period whose works have continued to be regularly performed. In the 1830s he wrote a series of short comedies and proverbes—almost charades—in which lighthearted fantasy and the delicate hesitations of young love, rather in the manner of Marivaux, are contrasted with ironic pieces expressing underlying disillusionment. The larger-scale Lorenzaccio (1834; Eng. trans. Lorenzaccio) is the one indisputable masterpiece of Romantic theatre. A drama set in Renaissance Florence but with clear links to the disillusionment of post-1830 France is combined with a brilliant psychological study of a once pure but now debauched hero almost paralyzed by doubt. The world of wasted youth and lost illusions and the powerlessness of men to overthrow corruption are evoked in a prose that at times resembles lyric poetry. The showy historical colour and the bluster typical of Romantic melodrama are replaced here by a real feeling for the movement of individuals and crowds of which real history is made and a deep sense of tragic poetry that stand comparison with Shakespeare. The novel from Constant to Balzac

The novel was the most rapidly developing literary form in postrevolutionary France, its enormous range allowing authors great flexibility in examining the changing relationships of the individual to society. The Romantic undergrowth encouraged the flourishing of such subspecies as the Gothic novel and the terrifying or the fantastic tale—the latter influenced in many cases by the translation from German of the works of E.T.A. Hoffmann—works that, when they are not simply ridiculous, seem to be straining to provide a fictional equivalent for the subconscious or an intuition of the mystical.

Benjamin Constant’s Adolphe (1816; Eng. trans. Adolphe), presented as a fictional autobiography, belongs to an important strand in the tradition of the French novel—namely, the novel of concentrated psychological analysis of an individual—which runs from the 17th century to the present day. In that tradition, Adolphe has about it a Classical intensity and simplicity of line. However, in its moral ambiguity, the hesitations of the hero and his confessions of weakness, lies its modernity, responding to the contemporary sense of moral sickness. In spite of the difference of style, there is a clear link with the themes of Chateaubriand’s René and Étienne Pivert de Senancour’s Oberman (1804; Eng. trans. Obermann). The historical novel

The acute consciousness of a changed world after the Revolution and hence of difference between historical periods led novelists to a new interest in re-creating the specificity of the past or, more accurately, reconstituting it in the light of their own present preoccupations, with a distinct preference for the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. Until about 1820 the Middle Ages had generally been regarded as a period of barbarism between Classical antiquity and the neoclassical 17th and 18th centuries. Chateaubriand’s lyrical evocation of Gothic ruins—the relics of the age of religious faith—and young royalist writers’ attraction to a certain vision of feudalism provided a different evaluation of the period. The vogue for historical novels was at its strongest in the 1820s and was given impetus by the immense influence of the French translations of Sir Walter Scott (though Madame de Genlis claimed strenuously that her own historical novels had established the vogue long before). The best example of the picturesque historical novel is Hugo’s Notre-Dame de Paris (1831; The Hunchback of Notre Dame). In it Hugo re-created an atmosphere of vivid, colourful, and intense 15th-century life, associating with it a plea for the preservation of Gothic architecture as the bearer, before the coming of the book, of the cultural heritage and sensibilities of the nation.

A deeper reading of Scott’s novels is implicit in some of Honoré de Balzac’s works. Balzac’s writing not only evoked the surface or the atmosphere of a precise period but also examined the processes of historical, social, and political transformation. Scott’s studies of the aftereffects of the Jacobite rising can be paralleled by Balzac’s analysis of the Breton counterrevolution in Les Chouans (1829; “The Screech Owls,” a name given to any of a number of bands of peasants [see Chouan]). The historical novel ultimately became the staple of the popular novel, as in Les Trois Mousquetaires (1844; The Three Musketeers) by Alexandre Dumas père. Stendhal

The works of Stendhal (Henri Beyle), deeply concerned with the nature of individuality, the claims of the self, and the search for happiness, represent an effort to define an aesthetic for prose fiction and to establish a distinctive, personal voice. His autobiographical sketches, such as his Vie de Henri Brulard (The Life of Henry Brulard) and Souvenirs d’égotisme (published posthumously in 1890 and 1892, respectively; Memoirs of Egotism), give a fascinating insight into a highly critical intelligence trying to organize his experience into a rational philosophy while remaining aware that the claims of emotion will often undermine whatever system he creates. In many ways Stendhal is an 18th-century rationalist with a 19th-century sensibility.

He came to the novel form relatively late in life. Le Rouge et le noir (1830; The Red and the Black) and La Chartreuse de Parme (1839; The Charterhouse of Parma) are his finest works. Both present a young would-be Napoleonic hero grappling with the decidedly nonheroic social and political environment inherited by the post-Napoleonic generation. The Red and the Black, a masterpiece of ironic realism both in its characterization and its language, focuses on France in the late 1820s. The Charterhouse of Parma, both love story and political satire, situated in Stendhal’s beloved Italy (where he lived for much of his adult life), often reflects a vision of the Italy of the Renaissance as much as that of the 19th century. His work had a quicksilver style, capable of embracing in rapid succession different emotions, ideas, and points of view and creating a sense of immediacy and spontaneity. He had a genius for precise and witty understatement, combined with an ironic vision that was simultaneously cynical and tender. All these qualities, along with his capacity for placing his floundering, aspiring heroes, with a few brushstrokes, in a multilayered evocation of the world in which they must struggle to survive, make of him one of the most individual, humane, and perpetually contemporary of novelists. Sand

George Sand (Amandine-Aurore-Lucile Dudevant) was a dominant figure in the literary life of the 19th century, and her work, much-published and much-serialized throughout Europe, was of major importance in the spread of feminist consciousness. For a long while after her death, her literary reputation rested on works such as La Mare au diable (1846; The Enchanted Lake) and La Petite Fadette (1849; Little Fadette), sentimental stories of country life tinged with realistic elements, of little artistic value. More interesting are the works modeling the subordinate position of women in the 19th-century family, such as Indiana (1832; Eng. trans. Indiana), in which a wife struggles for independence, or novels creating new images of heroic femininity, such as Lélia (1833 and 1839; Eng. trans. Lelia), whose heroine, beautiful, powerful, and tormented, founds a community to educate a new generation of independent women. Sand’s novel Mauprat (1837; Eng. trans. Mauprat) is immensely readable, with its lyrical alliance of woman, peasant, and reformed aristocracy effecting a bloodless transformation of the world by love. From the later 1830s, influenced by the socialists Félicité de Lamennais, the former abbé, and Pierre Leroux, she developed an interest in humanitarian socialism, an idealism tinged with mysticism, reflected in works such as Spiridion (1839), Le Compagnon du tour de France (1840; The Journeyman Joiner; or, The Companion of the Tour of France), and Consuelo (1842; Eng. trans. Consuelo). She is an excellent example of the sentimental socialists involved in the Revolution of 1848—her record rather marred by her reluctance to associate herself closely with the rising groups of women engaged in their own struggle for civil and political rights. A different perspective on contemporary feminism emerges in the vigorous and outspoken travel writings and journal of the socialist and feminist activist Flora Tristan, notable for Promenades dans Londres (1840; The London Journal of Flora Tristan) and Le Tour de France: journal inédit (written 1844, published 1973; “The Tour of France: Unpublished Journal”). Nodier, Mérimée, and the conte

Charles Nodier and Prosper Mérimée both exploited the short story and the novella. Nodier specialized in the conte fantastique (“fantastic tale”) to explore dream worlds or various forms of madness, as in La Fée aux miettes (1832; “The Crumb Fairy”), suggesting the importance of the role of the unconscious in human beliefs and conduct. Mérimée also used inexplicable phenomena, as in La Vénus d’Ille (1837; “The Venus of Ille”), to hint at repressed aspects of the psyche or the irrational power of passion. More commonly, combining a Classical analytic style with Romantic themes, he directed a cool, ironic look at violent emotions. Short stories such as Mateo Falcone (1829) and Carmen (1845; Eng. trans. Carmen) are peaks of this art. Balzac

Honoré de Balzac is best known for his Comédie humaine (“The Human Comedy”), the general title of a vast series of more than 90 novels and short stories published between 1829 and 1847. In these works he concentrated mainly on an examination of French society from the Revolution of 1789 to the eve of the Revolution of 1848, organically linking realistic observation and visionary intuition while at the same time seeking to analyze the underlying principles of this new world. He ranged back and forth, often within the same novel, from the philosophical to the social, the economic, and the legal; from Paris to the provinces; and from the summit of society to the petite bourgeoisie, studying the destructive power of what he called thought or passion or vital energy. By using techniques such as the recurrence of characters in several novels, Balzac gave a temporal density and dynamism to his works. The frustrated ambitions of his young heroes (Rastignac in Le Père Goriot [1835; Old Goriot]; Lucien de Rubempré, failed writer turned journalist, in Illusions perdues [1837–43; Lost Illusions]) and the subjection of women, particularly in marriage, are used as eloquent markers of the moral impasse into which bourgeois liberalism led the French Revolution. Most presciently, he emphasized the paradox of money—its dissolving power and its dynamic force—and of the every-man-for-himself individualism unleashed by the Revolution, at once condemning and celebrating the raw energies of a nascent capitalism. Vautrin, the master criminal whose disguises carry him across the frontiers of Europe, and Madame de Beauséant, the doyenne of old aristocracy, are the two faces of the powers that dominate this world, gatekeepers of the two futures offered to its young inheritors. 19th-century thought Literary criticism and journalism

The passionate, even virulent, political journalism of the Revolutionary period soon slowed to a trickle under Napoleon. Literary debate interwoven with political considerations was renewed after 1815, and a shifting spectrum of royalist Romantics and Neoclassical liberals moved toward a liberal-Romantic consensus about 1830. The young critic Charles Augustin Sainte-Beuve, himself the author of poems, was an advocate of Romanticism about 1830, but he progressively detached himself from it as he elaborated his biographical critical method. Criticism in the major literary reviews tended to be from a modified Neoclassical viewpoint throughout the 1830s and even the 1840s, the Romantics replying in inflammatory prefaces attached to their own works. The surge in newspaper circulation after 1836 tended to create a more “popular” market for serialized novels with strong melodramatic effects, as in Eugène Sue’s Mystères de Paris (1842–43; The Mysteries of Paris). Historical writing

Early 19th-century historians were committed to historical erudition, but their works often seem closer to the world of literature. Augustin Thierry’s narratives present the histories of England and France in terms of ethnicity (Normans against Saxons and Franks against Gallo-Romans). This is essentially a poetic concept close to that of Sir Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe. Similarly, the early volumes of Jules Michelet’s great history of France (1833–44) are constructed in terms of a poetic idea of intuitive sympathy with the subject, one that would make it possible to resurrect the essence of a past period as encapsulated in the symbolic figures of the historian’s imagination. Alexis de Tocqueville represents a turning away from Romantic historiography in his great analytic studies of social principles in De la démocratie en Amérique (1835–40; Democracy in America) and L’Ancien Régime et la Révolution (1856; The Old Regime and the Revolution). The intellectual climate before 1848

The counterrevolutionary era of the early 19th century saw a renewal of interest in religion, ranging from the sentimental religiosity of Chateaubriand to the traditionalist and antidemocratic theology of Louis-Gabriel-Ambroise, vicomte de Bonald, and Joseph de Maistre, but 18th-century sensualism continued and was developed by the Idéologues. Claude-Henri de Rouvroy, comte de Saint-Simon, and his followers tried to evolve a synthesis, which proved unstable, between socialistic scientific analysis, particularly of economics, and Christian belief. Félicité de Lamennais, a Roman Catholic priest, moved toward a Christian socialism that ultimately estranged him from the church. The whole first half of the century is marked by attempts to reconcile religious faith, and the hierarchies it supported, with the legacy of the Enlightenment that increasingly governed society and its structures: rationalist thought and the principles of democracy. Renan, Taine, and positivism

After the failure of what was seen as the vague idealism of the 1848 revolution, a consciously scientific spirit, directed toward observed fact, came to dominate the study of social and intellectual life. Auguste Comte’s Cours de philosophie positive (1830–42; The Positive Philosophy of Auguste Comte) fathered this new school of thought, called positivism, which became almost a new religion. Ernest Renan adapted this scientific approach to the study of religion itself, most notably in his Vie de Jésus (1863; Life of Jesus), which placed Jesus in historical, not theological, perspective. Hippolyte Taine’s continuation of positivist analysis, which emphasized the importance of biological science, produced a form of biological determinism to explain human conduct. His explanation of how writers are made, by the triple force of “race,” “milieu,” and “moment,” had a crucial impact on, for example, the Naturalist literary theories of Émile Zola. Colin Smethurst Jennifer Birkett From 1850 to 1900

Literature in the second half of the 19th century continued a natural expansion of trends already established in the first half. Intellectuals and artists remained acutely aware of the same essential problems. They continued to use the language of universalism, addressing themselves to the nature of man, his relationship with the universe, the guarantees of morality, the pursuit of beauty, and the duties of the artist. But the insights gained since the middle of the Enlightenment into the importance of historical and social specificity—which was, for the most idealistic of the Romantics, the mark of modernity—continued to restructure underlying attitudes.

As writers became progressively alienated from the official culture of the Second Empire (1852–70), the forms of their revolt became more and more disparate. While the principles of positivism were easily assimilated to the materialist pragmatism of developing capitalist society, even many rationalist thinkers were drawn to forms of idealism that placed faith in progress through science. The antirationalist and antiutilitarian writers diverged into various types of mysticism and aesthetic formalism. Even before the watershed of the Commune, in 1871, there was writing that acknowledged the situation of the repressed elements of the entrepreneurial world, workers and women, and sought to represent their search for different forms of social organization. By 1891, when the Vatican issued the encyclical Rerum Novarum (“New Things”) on the need for social justice in a modern world, the voice of the masses was already beginning to find literary expression. New directions in poetry

The greatest changes occurred in poetry; the second half of the 19th century is often treated as a period of reaction against Romanticism. The important exception to this rule is Victor Hugo, nearly all of whose major poetry was published after 1850. The three collections Les Châtiments (1853; “Chastisements”), Les Contemplations (1856; “Contemplations”), and La Légende des siècles (1859, 1877, 1883; “The Legend of the Centuries”) are linked by their epic quality. Different as they are in content, intention, and tone, each is loosely structured to create an overall unity. Les Châtiments, written from exile in the Channel Islands and published clandestinely, is a hymn of hate against the mediocrity, callousness, and greed of Louis-Napoléon (Napoleon III) and the society of the Second Empire, a deluge of brilliantly comic and cutting satire, caricature, and irony, interspersed with outbursts of compassion for the poor and oppressed. The poems are arranged so as to emphasize the darkness of the present and the light of the future, as Hugo proclaims his optimistic belief in the eventual triumph of peace, liberty, and social justice. In contrast to this political saga, Les Contemplations embodies Hugo’s philosophical attitudes. It presents the poet as prophet and representative of humanity, penetrating the mysteries of creation and recounting the metaphysical truths perceived. La Légende des siècles reveals the same urge to prophesy. The poems are a series of historical and mythological narratives, borrowing some of the scientific spirit that informed Charles-Marie-René Leconte de Lisle’s work but with none of the same attention to preliminary scholarly research. Together they form not only an intensely personal and imaginative account of the origins and development of French culture and society but a key text for students of the representation of the European cultural tradition. After the three epic cycles, Hugo returned to writing short lyrics on personal themes, although he never abandoned his role as didactic poet, as the collections he churned out in the 1880s testify. Gautier and l’art pour l’art

Hugo apart, the movement to new perspectives on poetry—stressing form over social engagement—was incontrovertible. Turning his back on his own earlier attempts to treat grand themes in the grand manner, Théophile Gautier sought a new direction for lyric poetry by linking idealism with aesthetics. He thus became an advocate of l’art pour l’art, or “art for art’s sake”—a belief that art need serve no extrinsic purpose. From the first edition of Émaux et camées (1852; “Enamels and Cameos”) to the posthumously published Derniers vers (1872; “Last Verse”), he devoted himself to a form of literary miniature painting, attempting to make something aesthetically valid out of subjects for the most part deliberately chosen for their triviality. The fashion for linking poetry with the plastic arts had grown up during the 1840s. Gautier simply developed the implications of this trend to the ultimate, concentrating on the language of shape, colour, and texture and limiting form almost exclusively to the very restrictive octosyllabic quatrain. Even themes that in his prose fiction suggest a genuine spiritual unrest, such as the fluid nature of identity or the destructive power of love, become the occasion for virtuoso ornamental elaboration. The best of these poems are transpositions from one art form to another, particularly those based on music. Leconte de Lisle and Parnassianism

Gautier’s cult of form is also to be met in the work of Théodore de Banville. But the reaction against the expression of personal emotion in rambling rhetorical verse was not confined to the formalism of the l’art pour l’art poets. Charles-Marie-René Leconte de Lisle, who came to be labeled the founder of Parnassianism, took a different approach in his Poèmes antiques (1852; “Antique Poems”), Poèmes barbares (1862; “Barbarous Poems”), and Poèmes tragiques (1884; “Tragic Poems”). Although his theoretical pronouncements on the supremacy of beauty suggest affinities with Gautier, Leconte de Lisle was far from believing that the subject matter of poetry was of no significance. He wanted his poetry to transmute knowledge into a higher form of truth, and he believed in the necessity of systematic research before composition. The highly material surface of his poems is used to disguise a profound nihilism. For Leconte de Lisle the history of mankind presents a long, slow decline from the golden age of antiquity, leading inevitably toward the cosmic annihilation that post-Darwinian biologists saw as the natural end of evolution. The stories recounted from European and Eastern mythology and the portraits of exotic animals and landscapes, though superficially scientific in their blending of scholarly documentation and objective narrative manner, all distill the same sense of revolt against a destiny that binds mankind to expiate crimes it is fated to commit. Leconte de Lisle’s manner and matter were taken up with enthusiasm by younger contemporaries. But only Les Trophées (The Trophies), the exquisitely miniaturist sonnets of José Maria de Heredia, written over a quarter of a century but not published until 1893, are still read. Baudelaire

Gautier, Hugo, and Leconte de Lisle were the three contemporary French poets for whom Charles Baudelaire felt the greatest admiration, although he had no time for formalism, didacticism, or the cult of antiquity. Antithetical in all things, Baudelaire was torn both by the desire to express an urgent sense of personal and collective anguish (the dedicatory poem opening Les Fleurs du mal [The Flowers of Evil] famously addresses the “hypocrite lecteur—mon semblable—mon frère” [“hypocrite reader—my likeness—my brother”]) and an aesthetic conviction that the effectiveness of art depends on precision and control. It is as misguided to look for consistency in Baudelaire’s critical works (such as L’Art romantique and Curiosités esthétiques, both published posthumously in 1868) as it is in his poetry, since his ideas evolved constantly and in some cases radically throughout his most creative period (1845–64). To two basic ideas, however, he remained constant: that it is the responsibility of the artist, the representative of humanity, to create meaning—signifying symbols—out of the raw material of life; and that the material world, like the artist himself, is irredeemably corrupt, possessed by forces of inertia or dissolution. The first of these explains the importance that he assigns to intuition, imagination, synesthesia, and the thrilling necessity for the artist to plunge himself into the world about him. The second led him to a poetics of frustration and revolt: the artist could rise above material corruption only through the creative act, but the creative act could not occur without the stimulus of a reality that would always be recalcitrant. Whether the Catholic images and doctrines—the language of his age and class—in which he formulated his poems are to be taken literally or whether they are best viewed as the discourse he chose to grapple with in formulating the material and historical specificities of modern life, Baudelaire was a poet deeply concerned with the relationship between humanity, morality, and art. He located morality for the artist (pictured, as in Hugo, as the prophet and representative of his generation) in his effort to see and communicate to his contemporaries the truth about themselves. The artist must bring clarity of vision into a world he saw as given over to the fogs and miasmas of hypocrisy, fudging, slothful conformism, and vicious self-seeking. He was genuinely distressed by the official condemnation of the first edition of Les Fleurs du mal (1857) on a charge of obscenity provoked by its supposed erotic realism.

The tensions within Baudelaire are depicted at their height in the second edition of Les Fleurs du mal (1861). The collection is loosely structured to present a “self” who struggles to transcend the limitations of the material world. The struggle is presented in a series of experiences that start with the poet himself, move out into the ugly—and yet, he finds, thrilling—urban environment of contemporary Paris, and gradually uncover the black depths of deformation and decay within the men and women who inhabit this modern landscape of masses and markets. In the last analysis, at the end of the poetic journey, death stands revealed as the matter and the form of the whole social and poetic endeavour, and the final thrill is the sadomasochistic tearing of the veil on his own and society’s bankruptcy. The stylistic antitheses mirror the content. Within individual poems Baudelaire shifts between the rhetorical, the impressionist, the abstract, and the intensely physical, concrete instance. He balances banality and originality, the prosaic and the melodic, to emphasize the interdependence of opposites, the chaos of forms and experience that he sees as the ground of the human condition.

In the last years of his life, Baudelaire tried to extend the literary means at his disposal by experimenting with prose poetry. The range of themes in the posthumously edited Petits Poèmes en prose (1868; “Short Poems in Prose”) is similar to that of Les Fleurs du mal, though the balance is different: urban landscapes, the ambivalent relationship of artist and crowd, and the degradations of urban poverty are given more space than is love. The relative freedom of the prose form gave scope for the shifts of tone and the innovative turns of syntax that, in Walter Benjamin’s insight, enabled Baudelaire to write for himself and his contemporaries their appropriate image, the man of the urban crowd: the juxtaposition of the ironic and the lyrical, the interweaving of anecdote, narrative, and reflection, the imaginative shock of the unexpected vision, the rhythms of pleasure and terror caught in the movement and turn of the phrase (in Benjamin’s essay “On Some Motifs in Baudelaire,” 1939). Realism in the novel Diversity among the Realists

The label Realism came to be applied to literature by way of painting as a result of the controversy surrounding the work of Gustave Courbet in the early 1850s. Courbet’s realism consisted in the emotionally neutral presentation of a slice of life chosen for its ordinariness rather than for any intrinsic beauty. Literary realism, however, was a much less easily definable concept. Hence the loose use of the term in the late 1850s, when it was applied to works as various as Gustave Flaubert’s Madame Bovary (1857), Baudelaire’s Les Fleurs du mal, and the social dramas of Alexandre Dumas fils. Even the members of the so-called Realist school were not entirely in agreement. Edmond Duranty, cofounder of the monthly journal Réalisme (1856), supported the view that novels should be written in a plain style about the ordinary lives of middle- or working-class people, but he insisted that the Realists’ main aim should be to serve a social purpose. Jules-François-Félix Husson (known as Champfleury), an art critic and novelist, stressed the need for careful research and documentation and rejected any element of didactic intention. The practice of those labeled Realists was even more diverse than their theory. The writers who most fully realized Champfleury’s ideal of a documentary presentation of the day-to-day, Jules Goncourt" class="md-crosslink">Edmond and Jules Goncourt, were also the most concerned with that aesthetic perfection of style that Duranty and Champfleury rejected in practice as well as in principle. In the Goncourts’ six jointly written novels that appeared in the 1860s, and in four further novels written by Edmond Goncourt after his brother’s death, plot is reduced to a minimum and the interest of the novel is divided equally between stylistic bravura and the minutely documented portrayal of a milieu or a psychological state—the upbringing of a middle-class girl in Renée Mauperin (1864; Eng. trans. Renée Mauperin) or the degenerating lifestyle of a female servant in Germinie Lacerteux (1864; Eng. trans. Germinie Lacerteux). Flaubert

It is easy to see why Gustave Flaubert was so firm in dissociating himself from such writers as Champfleury and Duranty, given that his own work undermined all sense of stability in perceptions and values by emphasizing the idea that any version of reality is relative to the person who perceives it. Furthermore, Flaubert rejected the idea that there was any merit in attempting to transpose a “slice of life” onto the page in “everyday language.” For him, only art could give meaning to the raw material provided by the external world; only through its reworking by the artist could language be lifted above the utilitarian emptiness of everyday use and forced to inscribe objectively the perceptions of the author, and characters, that create a world.

Flaubert’s juvenilia show the writer’s struggle to control his own instinctive idealism and to find a way of reconciling his belief in the primacy of facts with his rejection of the pettiness of contemporary materialism. His fascination with escapism and Romantic excess was to reappear in Salammbô (1863; Eng. trans. Salammbo) and La Tentation de Saint-Antoine (1874; The Temptation of Saint Anthony), in which he portrays exotic subjects in a heightened lyrical fashion. However, his major novels—Madame Bovary (1857; Eng. trans. Madame Bovary) and L’Éducation sentimentale (1869; Sentimental Education)—fuse his poetic gifts with discourses closer to everyday experience to evoke the thoughts and feelings of trivial lives frittered away in hopeless attempts to transcend the banality of the modern world. Emma Bovary, trapped in the unrelieved dullness of provincial landscape and domesticity, destroys herself by attempting to base her life on the ideas of passion and happiness she has gathered from popular romance. In her efforts to make the world around her fit her preconceived images, Emma—at best a dreamer, at worst a social climber—is an easy victim for the exploitative men who come her way, and she is inexorably drawn onward to financial ruin and, eventually, suicide. Emma’s own mediocrity is part and parcel of the provincial society in which she lives, and her illusory view is paralleled by the various illusions entertained by all the major characters. Most of these, however, being men, have more scope to pursue their dreams, or else they are happy to confine desire within the limits of bourgeois values and convention—as, for example, the apothecary Homais, the master of the idées reçues (“received ideas”) that Flaubert so loathed (and would later satirize in his unfinished novel, Bouvard et Pécuchet [published posthumously in 1881; Eng. trans. Bouvard and Pécuchet]). Sentimental Education extends the study to cover the entire “generation of 1848,” showing how all emotional, artistic, and social ideals are corroded by contact with reality. Its central character, Frédéric Moreau, is a passive version of Emma, and the ruling motif is one of prostitution—the sale of love, talent, and principle.

The key to both Madame Bovary and Sentimental Education is the brilliance of a style that manages to mold its contours to the personality, ambitions, and limits of each character it evokes. Syntactic rhythms and images are drawn from each character’s own experience and point of perception, as well as from the common stock of discourses to which their historical situation gives them access. Over the whole, Flaubert casts his own authorial presence, unobtrusive but visible, drily ironic, and sharply analytic. His Trois contes (1877; Three Tales) is a stylistic tour de force, evoking the possibilities and limits of three lives, each lived at a distinct and significant moment of historical transition, and telling the tale of each life in the language, artistic forms, and perspectives each moment offers. Drama

The society of the Second Empire, and indeed that of the early decades of the Third Republic, did not like to see itself too accurately portrayed on the stage; yet at the same time, in reaction against the escapism and nonconformity of Romantic drama, its members wanted the stage to reflect contemporary values and preoccupations. Hence the predominance from 1850 to 1890 of social drama on the one hand and light comedy, farce, and operetta on the other. Social drama, denied the use of political issues by censorship, confined itself to the tension between new money and old social position, the morality of financial speculation, and the threat to family life posed by extramarital sexual relationships—all themes touched upon previously in light comedy (in, for example, the plays of Eugène Scribe). The settings and character types were related to the audience’s milieu; hence the plays were considered to be realistic at the time, although their sentimentality, black-and-white morality, and melodramatic turns of plot make them seem highly artificial in modern terms. The major writers of social drama were Dumas fils and Émile Augier. Dumas fils is best remembered for his romanticization of the courtesan in La Dame aux camélias (1848; The Lady with the Camellias), the novel and play on which the libretto of Giuseppe Verdi’s La Traviata was based, but the moralizing Les Idées de Mme Aubray (1867), with its plea for the social redemption of repentant fallen women, is more typical of his major works. Augier’s morality was more solidly conservative than was Dumas’s, as can be seen from one of his best-known plays, Le Mariage d’Olympe (1855; “The Marriage of Olympia”), which proposes that what makes a woman into a prostitute in the first place is an innate propensity to vice. On the other hand, Augier’s treatment of the venality of the press and the corruption of financiers in Les Effrontés (1861; “The Shameless Ones”) is as trenchant as comparable portraits in the Naturalist novelists.

Light comedy and farce similarly relied upon a thin layer of contemporary social relevance, with marriage, the ménage à trois, and the pretensions of the lower middle class as the main subjects. In farce in particular, social criticism passed from being an end to a means, and the return to sanity at the end of the plays confirmed the audience’s assumption that the world would ultimately always conform to expected and accepted standards. The classic examples of the genre are the plays of Eugène-Marin Labiche, notably Un Chapeau de paille d’Italie (1851; The Italian Straw Hat).

When their taste ventured into something more literary, Second Empire audiences were obliged to look to the fantastical comedies of Alfred de Musset, written 30 years earlier but not staged until the 1850s and ’60s. In light comedy proper and costume drama, the leading figure of the age was George Bernard Shaw’s bugbear, Victorien Sardou. But the most successful genre of all was undoubtedly operetta, especially the absurd comedies of the collaborators Henri Meilhac and Ludovic Halévy, whose work was set to music by Jacques Offenbach. La Belle Hélène (1864; Fair Helen), in which a frivolous pastiche of Classical legend is spiced by an acute satire on the manners, morals, and values of the court of Napoleon III, was the nearest thing to political satire that the French stage could boast for 20 years.

The Franco-German War and the consequent collapse of the empire had little perceptible effect on mainline theatre, though Offenbach lost favour because of his German associations. Attempts by other writers (Flaubert, the Goncourts, Zola) to establish a more genuinely realistic form of theatre failed, partly because public taste and theatrical commercialism made experiment nearly impossible and partly because the plays written were theatrically incompetent. The only effective Naturalist dramatist was Henry-François Becque.

That Becque owed his success to André Antoine, the founder and director of the Théâtre Libre (1887–96), is symptomatic of the way in which literary theatre in the last decades of the century was largely dependent for its revival on small-scale directorial experimentation. Antoine, who aimed at creating a unity between the staging (decor and acting style) of a play and its content, in the interest of total realism, introduced Paris to the drama of Henrik Ibsen and August Strindberg. From 1891 Paul Fort, founder of the Théâtre d’Art, and his successor, Aurélien Lugné-Poë, who restyled the company as the Théâtre de l’Oeuvre, applied Antoine’s principles to the creation of antinaturalistic theatre. It was these little experimental companies that principally staged Symbolist plays and began to explore the spectacular resources of the stage, including puppet theatre and shadow plays, as well as the theatre’s capacity to create a new antirealist drama focused on ideas, fantasy, and dream. Most productions were of minor work (by, for example, Auguste, comte de Villiers de l’Isle-Adam, and Rachilde [Marguerite Eymery]); even the Belgian Maurice Maeterlinck, whose influence made itself felt throughout Europe, won only small, select audiences for such plays as Pelléas et Mélisande (1892; Eng. trans. Pelleas and Melisande), Monna Vanna (1902; Eng. trans. Monna Vanna), and the celebrated children’s play L’Oiseau bleu (1908; The Blue Bird). The significance of such theatrical innovation was felt more widely in the following century. Alfred Jarry’s Ubu roi (King Ubu), a vicious lampoon on the violence of despotic rule, has been said to foreshadow Surrealism and the Theatre of the Absurd. The play opened at the Théâtre de l’Oeuvre on December 11, 1896, played to pandemonium and near-riot, and closed the following night. Naturalism

The argument for the existence of a distinctive Naturalist school of writing depends on the joint publication, in 1880, of Les Soirées de Médan, a volume of short stories by Émile Zola, Guy de Maupassant, Joris-Karl Huysmans, Henry Céard, Léon Hennique, and Paul Alexis. The Naturalists purported to take a more scientifically analytic approach to the presentation of reality than had their predecessors, treating dissection as a prerequisite for description. Hence Zola’s attachment to the term naturalisme, borrowed from Hippolyte Taine, the positivist philosopher who claimed for literary criticism the status of a branch of psychology. It is difficult to find a coherent statement of the Naturalist theoretical position. Zola’s work notes are fragmentary, and his public statements about the novel are all distorted by their polemical purpose—particularly the essay “Le Roman expérimental” (1880; “The Experimental Novel”), in which he developed a parallel between the methods of the novelist and those of the experimental scientist. An examination of the views held in common by Zola, Maupassant (in, for example, “Le Roman,” the introductory text to his novel Pierre et Jean [1888; Pierre and Jean]), and Huysmans indicates that the basis of Naturalism can best be defined as the analytic study of a given milieu, the demonstration of a deterministic relation between milieu and characters, the application of a (more or less) mechanistic theory of psychology, and the rejection of any sort of idealism. However, like Flaubert, the Naturalists did not see reality as capable of any simple objective transcription. Zola and Maupassant accepted as part of literary truth the transposition of reality through the temperament of the individual writer and the role played by form in the construction of the real. Zola

Émile Zola’s Naturalism depends on the extensive documentation that he undertook before writing each novel. This extensiveness is emphasized by the subtitle of his 20-novel cycle Les Rougon-Macquart: histoire naturelle et sociale d’une famille sous le second Empire (“The Rougon-Macquart: Natural and Social History of a Family Under the Second Empire”). The linking of so many novels through a single family and the emphasis on the deterministic effects of heredity and environment confirm the scientific purpose. Zola’s canvas is broader than Flaubert’s or even Balzac’s: he handles subjects as diverse as a miners’ strike in Germinal (1885; Eng. trans. Germinal), working-class alcoholism in L’Assommoir (1877; Eng. trans. The Drunkard or L’Assommoir), the sexual decadence of the upper classes in La Curée (1872; The Kill) and Nana (1880; Eng. trans. Nana), and the ferocious attachment of the peasantry to their land in La Terre (1887; Earth). But there are countless examples of manipulation of facts, particularly in the chronology of the novels, which show that for Zola documentary accuracy was not paramount. Indeed, his work notes reveal that he saw the scientific principles underlying the novels as a literary device to hold them together and thus strengthen the personal vision of reality that they contained. The sense of period and family unity is soon submerged, as Zola becomes both poet and moralist in his portrayal of contemporary values. All the major novels are dominated by symbolically anthropomorphized forces that control and destroy both individual and mass. Thus the mine in Germinal is represented as a voracious beast devouring those who work in it. This tendency to symbolism, which for Zola is a mode of both analysis and commentary, can be seen in an even more extreme form in the reinterpretation of the Genesis story in La Faute de l’abbé Mouret (1875; The Sin of Father Mouret). As the cycle progresses, the sense of a doomed society rushing toward the apocalypse grows, to be confirmed in Zola’s penultimate novel, on the Franco-German War, La Débâcle (1892; The Debacle).

The trilogy Les Trois Villes (1894–98; “The Three Cities”) and the unfinished tetralogy Les Quatres Évangiles (1899–1903; “The Four Gospels”), which followed Les Rougon-Macquart, are unreadably didactic, laying bare the obsessions with scientific progress and socialist humanitarianism, and the hostility toward the philosophy and politics of Roman Catholicism, which had been present in a concealed form in the earlier novels. Zola’s contribution to French life after Les Rougon-Macquart lay more in his spirited intervention in the Dreyfus Affair, with his combative open letter, “J’accuse,” of January 13, 1898, taking up the cause of the Jewish army officer unjustly convicted of treason. Maupassant

Of the other Naturalists, only Guy de Maupassant, a protégé of Flaubert, is still widely read. His Naturalism, as evidenced in “Le Roman” (1887; “The Novel”) by his declaration that his intention was to “write the history of the heart, soul and mind in their normal state,” involves the use of significant detail to indicate the neuroses and vicious desires masked by everyday appearances. Many of his short stories, whether set in Normandy or Paris, rely on sharply reductive, satiric techniques directed against his favourite targets—women, the middle classes, the Prussians—and designed to bring out hypocrisy and dishonesty as the central forces in human life (as in “Boule de suif” [1880; “Butterball” in Butterball]). His tales of mystery and imagination (for example, “Le Horla” [1886–87]) bring sharp psychological insight to the evocation of the supernatural. There is a shift in manner and matter from Une Vie (1883; A Woman’s Life), with its echoes of Madame Bovary, through the detached but destructive portrait of the worlds of journalism and finance in Bel-Ami (1885; Eng. trans. Bel-Ami), to the powerful evocation of the crippling effects of jealousy in Pierre et Jean (1888; Pierre and Jean). The reaction against reason

In the last decades of the century, particularly from 1880 onward, the opposition intensified between those creative writers who grounded their thinking in the material world and those who rejected physical experience as meaningless without reference to some spiritual dimension or intellectual ideal. Whereas Baudelaire and Flaubert incorporated elements of both attitudes into their writings, other poets and novelists who followed them tended to take one or the other line to an extreme. The turn of the century saw the rise of a variety of disparate movements: Naturalism, Decadence, Symbolism, and the Roman Catholic revival. The Decadents

The basis of Decadence—bitter regret for the loss of a world of moral and political absolutes, and middle-class fears of supersession in a society where the power of the masses (as workers, voters, purchasers, and consumers) is slowly but inexorably on the increase—is well illustrated both in Joris-Karl Huysmans’s novel À rebours (1884; Against Nature or Against the Grain) and the Culte du moi (“Cult of the Ego”) trilogy (1888–91) by Maurice Barrès. It derives from the same determinist philosophy as Naturalism and has much in common aesthetically with Impressionism in that it focuses on subjectively perceived moments of physical experience, held to have no significance beyond themselves. It is also a form of late Romanticism, looking for inspiration to the strand of Baudelaire that treats of revolt, neurosis, the cult of cruelty, and extreme sensation, cast into novel and highly wrought forms. Originally associated primarily with poetry (generally of poor quality), it found its best stroke in prose, in the track of Baudelaire’s admirer and fellow dandy, Jules Barbey d’Aurevilly, celebrated for his novels and tales of blasphemy and sadism. Huysmans’s Là-bas (1891; “Down There”; Eng. trans. Là-Bas: A Journey into the Self) combined a heavy-footed study of Satanism in modern-day Paris with a documentary investigation of the exploits of the medieval Bluebeard, Gilles de Rais. As Huysmans changed direction yet again, toward a Roman Catholicism characterized by a mixture of right-wing political prejudice, superstition, and antiquarian interest in symbols and doctrine, other writers emerged who were more subtle and experimental in both content and form. The novels of Octave Mirbeau (Le Jardin des supplices [1899; The Torture Garden]) and Jean Lorrain (Monsieur de Phocas [1901; Eng. trans. Monsieur de Phocas]), with their lyrical evocations of the bizarre contradictions of bourgeois fantasy, evoking formations of homosexual as well as heterosexual desire, have also a sharp satiric edge; they criticize their own posturing, and they highlight the unjust class privilege on which it depends. Though Rachilde is sometimes considered to belong to the Symbolist movement—mostly for her connections with its journal, the Mercure de France, edited by her husband—her novels are best understood as productions of the Decadent ethos: for example, Monsieur Vénus (1884; Eng. trans. Monsieur Venus), reversing gender roles in the power play of sexual exploitation, or La Marquise de Sade (1887), with its vampiric heroine.

The aristocratic hero of Huysmans’s À rebours included on his shelves the poetry of Paul Verlaine, Jules Laforgue, the comte de Lautréamont (pseudonym of Isidore Ducasse, whose poem Les Chants de Maldoror [1868–69; Maldoror] influenced the Surrealists), and Stéphane Mallarmé. Verlaine and Laforgue remain linked in critical memory with the Decadent movement.

Much of Verlaine’s early poetry imitated the work of Baudelaire and the Parnassians in the Fêtes galantes (1869; “Parties of Pleasure”) and in his major collection, Romances sans paroles (1874; “Songs Without Words”). In his famous manifesto poem, “L’Art poétique” (“The Art of Poetry”), written in 1874 and collected in Jadis et Naguère (1885; “Yesteryear and Yesterday”) he created the blend of musicality, physical atmospherics, and sense of psychological distortion that constitute his greatest poetic achievement. In so doing, he used lines with an odd number of syllables (vers impair), ambiguous syntax, and unusual collocations of abstract and concrete concepts in a way that radically advanced the technical range of French verse. In his work two impressions predominate: that only the self is important and that the function of poetry is to preserve moments of extreme sensation and unique impression. These features, together with his experiments in dissolving form, were seized on by the younger generation of poets in the 1880s and developed in the review Le Décadent, founded in 1886, whose title adopted a label coined by hostile critics. The poetic movement found its best exponent in Jules Laforgue, who brought together a subjectivism and pessimism fed by his studies in contemporary German philosophy and a genius for harnessing effects of poetic contrast. His first two published collections, Les Complaintes (1885; “Lamentations”) and L’Imitation de Notre-Dame la Lune (1886; “Imitation of Our Lady of the Moon”), are a series of variations on the Decadent themes of the flight from life, woman, and ennui, each explored through a host of recurring images (the wind, Sundays, moonlight, and the tragicomic figure Pierrot [Pedrolino in Italian] from the commedia dell’arte). Laforgue’s fluid verse form, shaped by rhythmic patterns and assonance, is the first important example of free verse in French poetry. The Symbolists

The distinction between Decadence and Symbolism is slight and, in poetry at least, is frequently as much one of allegiances to different networks as one of differences of thematic content or formal practices. At its simplest and most reductive, the opposition is between the Decadents’ perception that the material world, and the galling limits of the present, is all there is and the Symbolists’ concept of the meaningful universe of signifying forms and ideal, absolute meanings that it is the artist’s task to evoke, or suggest, using the tokens of the material world: images, which can be linked by the poetic imagination into meaningful symbolizations. The narrowness of the distinction is well illustrated by the case of Arthur Rimbaud. Rimbaud wrote all his poetry before the age of 21, beginning in 1869 at the age of 15, out of a deep frustration with an existence of marginalization and repression. His poetic creed is contained in two letters of May 13 and 15, 1871, in which he prescribes for the poet the need to explore his own desires and sensations, break free of conventional perceptions and rationalist categories, and constitute himself as a visionary. The fiercely ironic view of contemporary society that emerges from his early poems reveals in him an element of the political revolutionary; he supported the Commune, the failed workers’ insurrection of May 1871. The poem “Le Bateau ivre” (“The Drunken Boat”) evokes the poet’s fantasy journey from the bounds of conventional subjectivity and common sense through a sequence of increasingly surreal decors, ending in the sea of ecstasy in which all fixed references are gone, the categories of all sense experience blur, and poetry and the poet are caught up together in boundless metamorphosis. The cycle of fragmentary prose poems, Une Saison en enfer (1873; A Season in Hell, published together with Illuminations [1974]), reworks his imprisonment, his cultural bondage, and his frustrating struggles to create a form of poetry that could transform his captivity. The aesthetic revolution is taken still further in Illuminations (written during the period 1871–75 and published posthumously in 1886): snatches of poetry and prose, outbursts of destruction, revolt, elation, liberation, and frustration—glimpses into the tumult of revolt and despair that for him is the only honest expression of the modern unconscious.

Stéphane Mallarmé brought to poetry a very different temperament and intellectual background. An intellectual and spiritual crisis in 1866–68 led to a loss of religious faith and a loss of faith in the absolute relation of words to reality: the poet must acknowledge his inability not only to write a poem that could communicate the truth of its object but also to communicate his own response to the object. In Mallarmé’s hands, the writing of poetry progressively became a matter of finding ways to release words from their conventional task of communicating functional meanings and of finding instead syntactic patterns and rhythms that could bring images into new constellations and allow assonance and alliteration to suggest new connections—to model, in short, the creative movement of poetic language.

As early as L’Après-midi d’un faune (1876; “The Afternoon of a Faun”; Eng. trans. L’Après-midi d’un faune; later interpreted musically by Claude Debussy), he concentrated on multiplicity of meaning: the poem is simultaneously the dream evocation of the faun’s erotic desires and a meditation upon the creative impulse at an abstract level. His later poems are studies in the possibilities of language, in which, as in music, recurrent images and antithetical patterns reverberate together. Un Coup de dés jamais n’abolira le hasard (1897; Dice Thrown Never Will Annul Chance), Mallarmé’s formal tour de force, co-opts typography to the presentation of proliferating meanings. The material world may be a desperate chaos of significations, ruled by chance, but human authorship can still be asserted within it, by creating constellations of forms, one of which is the form of chance itself, the constantly changing hazard of inspiration.

Symbolism derived its name from an article by Jean Moréas, who produced the first manifesto of the movement in 1886. It made its way in Europe through the journal and publishing house of the Mercure de France, cofounded by Alfred Vallette and Remy de Gourmont. Gourmont was a critic, essayist, poet, novelist, and short-story writer. Among his works in various genres are Sixtine, roman de la vie cérébrale (1890; Very Woman (Sixtine): A Cerebral Novel), Histoires magiques (1894; “Magical Tales”), and Le Problème du style (1902; “The Problem of Style”). Gourmont had a major influence both on the founding of the Symbolist movement in France and, subsequently, on Anglophone modernism. Symbolism continued to mark the 1880s and ’90s, producing charming poems, characterized by musicality, myth, mysticism, and melancholia, but no further major poets. Among those whose works have survived in anthologies are Henri de Régnier and Francis Viélé-Griffin and the Belgian poets Georges Rodenbach and Émile Verhaeren. The novel later in the century

Neither Decadence (with the exception of Huysmans’s Against Nature and Mirbeau’s The Torture Garden) nor Symbolism generated novels of lasting significance. Within the new vogue for the short story, fostered by the demands of the popular press, there was a recrudescence of the conte fantastique, which found its foremost exponent in Villiers de L’Isle-Adam (Contes cruels [1883]; Cruel Tales). Rachilde, Jean Lorrain (pseudonym of Paul Duval), and Mirbeau all contributed to this genre. But the major trends in the novel were connected with the revival of Roman Catholicism and the growth of nationalism in the aftermath of the Franco-German War. The religious spirit was sometimes aesthetic, as in Huysmans’s La Cathédrale (1898; The Cathedral), sometimes dogmatic and visionary, as in Léon Bloy’s Le Désespéré (1886; “The Desperate Man”) and La Femme pauvre (1897; The Woman Who Was Poor). But the combination of Roman Catholic doctrine and right-wing politics in the novels of Paul Bourget, beginning with Le Disciple (1889), gives the clearest image of the spirit of the times. The antidemocratic, antirepublican views of Bourget were similar to those found in Maurice Barrès and other nationalist writers. Barrès moved from decadent self-absorption to become the advocate for an extreme form of historical determinism, which saw the individual as part of a collective inherited unconscious defined by “race.” His trilogy Le Roman de l’énergie nationale (“The Book of National Energy”), particularly Les Déracinés (1897; “The Rootless” or “Men Without Roots”), is an important document for an understanding of the attitudes of the French right during the Dreyfus Affair and between the world wars.

The only novelist of note who stood outside all these trends and yet was a typical offspring of the age that produced them, achieving the double distinction of winning the Nobel Prize for Literature for 1921 and being put on the Index, was Anatole France (pen name of Jacques-Anatole-François Thibault). France made his initial reputation as a literary critic and author of psychological novels, but he rapidly became the personification of the pessimism fashionable after Germany’s victory over France in 1870, an attitude typically expressed in the detachedly ironic exposure of human weakness in La Rôtisserie de la Reine Pédauque (1893; At the Sign of the Reine Pédauque). But in Monsieur Bergeret à Paris (1901; Monsieur Bergeret in Paris), France’s commitment to the pro-Dreyfus faction in the Dreyfus Affair introduced both a more bitter note to his satire and an express commitment to humanitarian ideals. Like many other Dreyfusards, he was to be disillusioned by the aftermath of the Affair, a response typified by his extended satire of French society through the ages in L’Île des Pingouins (1908; Penguin Island) and his condemnation of fanaticism in his novel on the French Revolution, Les Dieux ont soif (1912; The Gods Are Athirst). For Anglophone readers right up to the end of World War II, he spoke for that Voltairean liberal humanism, reason, and justice of which France became the symbol in a Europe twice overrun by German imperial ambitions. Christopher Robinson Jennifer Birkett From 1900 to 1940 The legacy of the 19th century