Fontenelle’S Art of Dialogue 9780231882354

Table of contents :
PREFACE
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1. INTRODUCTION
CHAPTER 2. THE DIALECTIC: THE SPIRIT OF CONTRADICTION
CHAPTER 3. FONTENELLE AND THE PLATONIC DIALOGUE: IRONY
CHAPTER 4. SATIRE AND COMIC CHARACTERIZATION
CHAPTER 5. SECONDARY DEVICES
CHAPTER 6. EVALUATIONS AND COMPARISONS
CHAPTER 7. CONCLUSION
NOTES
BIBLIOGRAPHY

Citation preview

FONTENELLE'S ART OF DIALOGUE

FONTENELLE'S ART OF DIALOGUE John W. Qosentini

KING'S CROWN PRESS COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY · NEW YORK ·

COPYRIGHT

1952

KING'S

BY

JOHN

CROWN

W .

COSENTINI

PRESS

is an imprint established by Columbia University Press for the purpose of making certain scholarly material available at minimum cost. T o w a r d that end, the publishers have used standardized formats incorporating every reasonable economy that does not interfere with legibility. T h e author has assumed complete responsibility for editorial style and for proofreading.

P U B L I S H E D IN GREAT B R I T A I N , CANADA, AND INDIA BY

GEOFFREY

CUMBERLEGE,

LONDON, MANUFACTURED

IN

OXFORD U N I V E R S I T Y

TORONTO, THE

AND

PRESS

BOMBAY

U N I T E D STATES

OF

AMERICA

To my mother, in memory

PREFACE PRESENT STUDY came into being as the result of a suggestion made by Professor Norman L. Torrey of Columbia University, to the effect that the dialogues of the writers of the Enlightenment and of their precursors merited scholarly investigation from the point of view of form. T h e analysis of Fontenelle's dialogues was well worth the trouble, for it proves that their author was a respectable man of letters, if not a great one, and not simply a man of ideas, or merely (as some will have it) the propagandist of novel ideologies. Our thesis has its limitations, inasmuch as it concerns itself primarily with Fontenelle's technique of the dialogue. The content of the Dialogues of the Dead, nevertheless, had to be considered since it is hardly possible (nor indeed is it advisable) to divorce content from form. Fontenelle's ideas have been discussed, and they have been treated sympathetically in order to better understand and appreciate the form. The writer of the present work does not necessarily accept or subscribe to all of them. THE

He wishes to acknowledge his great debt to Professor Torrey, for providing him with the initial idea, but above all for his patient and tactful guidance throughout the length of the writing of this dissertation. He is also much indebted to Professor Otis E. Fellows for his painstaking and detailed criticism which helped to whip the study into its final shape. After them thanks are due to Professors Chiappe, Clifford, and Kristeller for their valuable suggestions made at a "soutenance de thèse." T h e author is grateful also to his friends and colleagues, Professors Ernest G. Theroux and Joseph C. Keenan, for reading the manuscript and correcting various infelicities of style. He is, lastly, in debt to Mrs. Gerard F. Ebert, his

viii

PREFACE

sister, for patiently typing the different versions of the manuscript until the final one was achieved; and to his wife for her invaluable assistance in proofreading these pages. T o all of them the author expresses his gratitude. J. W . C. Queens, N.Y. January, 1952

CONTENTS Ι.

2.

INTRODUCTION

THE

DIALECTIC:

THE SPIRIT OF

T H E STATE OF

INDETERMINATION

THE

DOUBT

M O O D OF

ARGUING THE

ON

B O T H SIDES O F T H E

CONSISTENCY

OF

CONTRADICTION

QUESTION

NATURE

PESSIMISM PERSONAL

MERIT

T H E U N R E A L I T Y OF H U M A N ON'

PLEASURES

MADNESS

T H E P A S S I O N S ARE N E C E S S A R Y O N T H E N E C E S S I T Y OF I L L U S I O N S A N D ON

DECEPTIONS

VANITY

WHY BE

T H E C A U S E S O F GREAT H I S T O R I C A L E V E N T S O U G H T

TO

CONCEALED

THE LAUGHINC

PHILOSOPHER

AND T H E WEEPING

PHILOSO-

PHER THE SYSTEMATIZING

PHILOSOPHER

A P O I N T OF PERFECTION THE

BEYOND ONE'S

REACH

OBSCURANTIST

PRIDE, A N D T H E LESSON

IN

HUMILITY

CONCLUSION

3.

FONTENELLE THE

AND THE

INCONCLUSIVENESS

A LESSON IN

METHOD

AFFINITIES DIALOGUE

AND

DRAMA

PLATONIC OF

DIALOGUE:

PLATo's

SOCRATIC

IRONY DIALOGUES;

CONTENTS

Eiron AND alazon

65

SOCRATIC IRONY

66

COSMIC IRONY

71

S A T I R E AND C O M I C CHARACTERIZATION

78

T H E SATIRE OF T H E GREAT M A N ; BURLESQUE

78

COMEDY-DIALOGUES AND CHARACTER DELINEATION

91

SECONDARY D E V I C E S

104

HADES ENDOWED WITH A MORAL, INTELLECTUAL, AND SOCIAL L I F E

IO4

TURNS OF SPEECH AND PHRASES W H I C H PREVENT THE DEBATE FROM FLAGGING

IO6

THE DRAMATIC MOVEMENT OF THE DIALOGUE INTENSIFIED

IO9

ANTITHESIS

110

T H E ANECDOTE

II4

WIT

119

T H E DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE EMPEROR HADRIAN AND MARGARET OF AUSTRIA

I27

EVALUATIONS AND COMPARISONS

The Judgment of Pluto, logues

136

CRITICAL EPILOGUE OF THE

Dia136

CRITICISMS

145

T H E FORTUNE OF THE THE

Avertissement

Dialogues of the Dead ΤΟ THE THIRD

EDITION:

147 CONTRAST,

THE BASIC DEVICE THE DIALOGUES

153

AND THE QUARREL OF T H E ANCIENTS AND

MODERNS

154

THE PROBLEM OF I N F L U E N C E S ; PLATO

159

THE SALON AND PRECIOSITY

160

CLASSICISM

161

LUCIAN THE LIBERTINS ORIGINALITY

161 AND LA MOTHE LE VAYER'S DIALOGUES OF FONTENELLE

163 170

CONTENTS T H E DIALOGUES OF F E N E L O N T H E DIALOCUES OF

VAUVENARGUES

F O N T E N E L L E W A S I N HIS PROPER E L E M E N T W H E N H E ESS A Y E D T H E DIALOGUE

7.

CONCLUSION

NOTES BIBLIOGRAPHY

CHAPTER

I

INTRODUCTION I N A RECENT Dialogue in Limbo George Santayana imagines a conversation in Hades between Socrates, Alcibiades, and another interlocutor whom he refers to as the Stranger. The theme of their discourse, announced at the very beginning of the dialogue by the Stranger, is that in some respects it was a misfortune for Alcibiades and the Greeks to have been handsome. T h e argument is heated and extremely involved. Socrates speaks:

. . . Then it seems to follow that the more a man loves life, and consequently hates death, the sadder and on the whole the more evil he must think life, for leading to such a great evil. Yet if life in this way has become an evil on the whole, like a beautiful but faithless mistress, death that removes that agonizing and vain life would have turned out to be a good, and a circumspect lover of life ought, on the whole, to love death also. The Stranger.—Yes, he ought to and often does. Such is the vortex of dialectic. Socrates.—Would you say, then, on the same principle, that if the corruption that may follow upon beauty can make beauty an evil possession on the whole, then corruption itself, which puts an end to that possession, has become, in so far, a good? The Stranger.—The vortex of dialectic seems to have swept me round to that position; but it is absurd. . . ,x A little later in the dialogue we find Socrates employing a curious device. T o show that he is arguing with himself, that he is asking the questions and answering them, he addresses his question to an imaginary interlocutor, then walks over to the position occupied by his nonexistent opponent, turns around

2

INTRODUCTION

and directs an answer to the spot he has just left. H e refers to the one half of himself as Socrates, and to the other half as O Socrates. H e plays this game for awhile. T h e n he is rebuked by Alcibiades who accuses him of wearing two masks and observes that this is the only time Socrates has been honest because he has frankly revealed his method. T o this Socrates replies that his method is good and useful, for he has to prod people with questions in order to make them think, and moreover he needs this intellectual combat to drive his own ignorance out of his soul. T h e Stranger concludes the dialogue: he remarks that dialectic is futile, for it tells us nothing about reality. " O n the contrary the order of nature is disguised or reversed by dialectic." It is like the parallels and meridians that geographers cast over a map. These lines are good to tell us positions and distances, but they tell us nothing about the nature of the lands which they cover like a net. Santayana has given us here a glimpse into the essence and function of that great literary genre, the Dialogue. At the same time he has depicted the labyrinth of Daedalus through which reason marches in its attempt to reach the truth. T h e purpose of my enquiry will be to study the vortex of dialectic, or the spirit of contradiction as I shall call it, in the Dialogues of the Dead of Fontenelle. I will endeavor to show how that spirit stems from the temperament of the author and is related to his philosophy of life. It will be demonstrated that since Fontenelle is wisely aware of the limitations of reason, his dialectic has its utility. T h e different forms that the spirit of contradiction assumes throughout his dialogues will be the subject of analysis and classification. These forms are the mechanisms that set the dialogue in motion. T h e y can be listed as follows: lack of formal conclusion, but concomitantly, implications and overtones which give the message of the author; use of contrasting characters, each with a distinct personality, espousing opposite points of view, from which there follows necessarily a clash of ideas; use of antithesis, paradox, and wit; inclusion in the dia-

INTRODUCTION

3

logue of the piquant detail and telling anecdote; employment of the devices of burlesque and irony : of the latter, t w o kinds can be distinguished—Socratic irony and "cosmic" irony. A l l these mechanisms are the literary devices of satire, and the fact that Fontenelle uses t h e m — a n d uses them well—proves that he was an artist and not the frigid intellectual, pure and simple, that past scholarship made h i m out to be. Lastly, our analysis of the dialogues will m a k e it quite clear that Fontenelle was in the main a serious thinker and not merely a dilettante given over completely to frivolity. T h i s point need not be labored since Carré has very well cleared Fontenelle of that charge. 2 The Dialogues of the Dead appeared early in the career of Fontenelle, in 1683,3 when he was but twenty-six. Nevertheless, one cannot hurriedly dismiss this w o r k , w h i c h is indeed as important for the comprehension of the author as the w o r k s of his maturity. A s a thinker, Fontenelle did not undergo evolution in the usual meaning of the w o r d . H e did not change radically and p r o f o u n d l y — a fact all the more remarkable w h e n one considers the length of his life—for his ideas, his beliefs, his inclinations, his outlook upon life were the same in his youth and in his old age. T h e l o n g span of that existence did not witness any creative evolution, except in the sense that he brought out later more firmly, more strongly and more clearly, w h a t he had already been saying. W e can speak of h i m developing, but not changing. 4 The Dialogues of the Dead is, therefore, a precious document. Reading it w e get to k n o w something about the author's temperament, about his ideas, about w h a t he thought of the universe, what protective armor he suggests one should wear against the malice of fate and of man. T h e whole Fontenelle already stands revealed in this y o u t h f u l w o r k , w h i c h has been called the central text for the understanding of his conception of man. Let no one be deceived by the manner of the author: a serious purpose is hidden beneath the intellectual fireworks displayed so brilliantly in these dialogues. 5 T h e y are Fontenelle's

4

INTRODUCTION

first important work and the starting point of any scholarly consideration of the author.® The value of these dialogues justifies, therefore, an analysis of their form. If this analysis is successful, it may throw some added light upon the mind and character of that fascinating and enigmatic personality that was Fontenelle. T h e work consists of thirty-six dialogues. It is divided into two parts, each part into three sections, each of which contains six dialogues. The three sections of both parts are titled respectively: Dialogues of the Ancient Dead, Dialogues of the Ancient with the Modern Dead, Dialogues of the Modern Dead. A dedicatory epistle to Lucían precedes and a Judgment of Pluto on both parts follows.7 The fortune of Fontenelle has been a curious one; it may be summed up thus: the importance of the position that he occupies in the history of ideas has been grudgingly admitted; and the general and over-all reaction to him, as man and writer, has been consistently unfavorable. Carré observes that Fontenelle was an enigma to his contemporaries.8 One can add that he has been, as well, an enigma to his critics. T h e fact would seem to be that Fontenelle was and has been misunderstood: the complexity of his nature has militated against entire justice being done to him. The conventional attitude toward the author of the Dialogues of the Dead has been that he was a précieux and a pedant, an elegant trifler, a dilettante all his life, of whom the most that can be said is that he popularized the ideas of others. This legend had its inception with the satirical and only halftrue portrait painted by La Bruyère. His strictures against Fontenelle are a résumé of all the critical shafts aimed at Fontenelle by later writers, with the exception of the accusation that he was a mere popularizer. Later critics of Fontenelle expanded and developed the adverse ideas found in the portrait; they, so to speak, were to play variations on the theme first sounded by La Bruyère.

INTRODUCTION

5

As cagne is a stone carver, Hégion is a smelter, Aeschine is a fuller, and Cydias is a wit, that's his trade. H e has his shingle, his shop, his orders, and his apprentices who work under him. H e couldn't possibly give you in a month's time the stanzas he promised you, otherwise he will break his word to Dosithée who has hired him to make an elegy. An idyll is on the loom; it is for Crantor who urges him to hurry and who has given him the hope of a substantial compensation. Prose, verse, what do you want? H e is as good in one as in the other. Ask him for letters of condolence or of regret over an absence! He will take the job. Here they are, already finished, and now come into his shop. Take your pick! [He gets himself invited into well-to-do-homes] as an unusual person possessing the gift of exquisite discourse. And there while the musician sings and the lute player plucks his lute . . . Cydias, after he has coughed, arranged his ruffles, raised his hand and spread out his fingers, gravely ladles out his quintessential ideas and sophistical arguments . . . he opens his mouth only to contradict you. "It seems to me," he says graciously, "that it is the very opposite of what you are saying." Or: "I couldn't possibly be of your opinion." Or indeed: "That used to be my obsession as it is now yours, but. . . . There are three things," he adds, "which we must consider . . . ," and he adds a fourth. A conversationalist without taste, who no sooner puts his foot in a gathering than he seeks out a group of women into whose graces he can worm himself, where he can adorn himself with his wit or his philosophy, and circulate his rare conceptions. For whether he speaks or he writes, let him not be suspected of being interested in the true or the false, the reasonable or the ridiculous. His sole intention is to avoid agreement with others or to be of the same opinion as someone else. And thus in a gathering he waits until each one has explained himself on the subject under deliberation, or often on one which he himself has brought up, so he can say dogmatically things that are entirely novel, but which to him are definite and unanswerable. Cydias thinks he is the equal of Lucian and of Seneca, thinks he is superior to Plato, to Vergil and to Theocritus. . . . Having similar tastes and interests as those people who despise Homer, he calmly waits for the time when men will be enlightened

6

INTRODUCTION

enough to prefer the modern poets, in which case he puts himself at the head of the latter and he knows to whom he assigns the second place. In a word he is a composite of pedant and précieux, made to be admired by the bourgeoisie and the provincials, in whom nevertheless one observes nothing great outside of the opinion he has of himself.9 T h e malicious references to the literary activities and to the tastes and temperament of Cydias, the wit, could not help but sting because they were true. Nevertheless the portrait is not complete, for there is another side to Fontenelle which L a Bruyère ignores, either deliberately or more probably because he is temperamentally incapable of recognizing it. Fontenelle's spirit of contradiction is not a frivolous dialectic, but a method; " U n like those people who, agreeing on essentials and aware of the oneness of reason and truth, tear the words out of each other's mouths in order to arrive at a common understanding, he opens his mouth only to contradict, etc. etc." 1 0 L a Bruyère is one of those who hold and abide by definite principles, to whom truth and reason are absolutes, and who therefore can arrive at positive solutions. As a believer in absolutes he naturally has no sympathy for the relativist Fontenelle, and it is this clash of temperaments that partially falsifies his brilliant portrait of his younger contemporary. Furthermore, the elements of anger and personal pique in L a Bruyère must have helped to make the portrait onesided. H e was involved in a long quarrel with Fontenelle and his friends Perrault, T h o m a s Corneille, and Donneau de Visé (editor of the Mercure), over both the Ancients and Moderns, and his ( L a Bruyère's) candidacy for the French Academy. Somewhat earlier than the Cydias portrait, L a Bruyère had already written a sketch wherein he referred to certain modern authors who had attained fame, thanks to the lessons learned from the Ancients and talented Moderns, and who nevertheless displayed black ingratitude toward their teachers. 1 1 In addition, La Bruyère satirized Fontenelle and his friends under the collective name of les Τhéobaldes}2 and at times referred to them

INTRODUCTION

7

sneeringly as "the authors of the Gazette" or "the gazetteers." Servois, La Bruyère's commentator, is of the opinion that the single Théobalde in the chapter " D e la Société et de la Conversation" is Fontenelle, 14 and he discovers a sarcastic allusion to him in La Bruyère's reception speech before the French Academy, June 15, 1693.' 5 Then came the Cydias (1694) and the legend received its final and definite form. 13

T h e young author of the Dialogues (Fontenelle was thirtythree when the Cydias appeared) recognized himself in it immediately, and his dislike for La Bruyère dated from that moment. Father Trublet, nephew, biographer, and apologist of Fontenelle, informs us that his famous uncle was cruelly hurt by the satirical portrait. T h o u g h writing many years after the event, Trublet comes to the defense of Fontenelle when he observes : "It has nevertheless been stated that he enjoyed talking philosophy to pretty women. Yes! provided they were intelligent." 18 Fontenelle, he says, did not deserve the irony of La Bruyère; the latter had nothing to fear from him because Fontenelle had such a mild and easygoing nature. Nevertheless the Cydias had had its effect. Much later J. B. Rousseau was to write his epigram about the old Norman shepherd who for thirty years had passed as the model of wits, who could teach one how to treat in gallant fashion great subjects "en style de ruelle," who in spite of his graying hairs was much sought after by the ladies, who in short was "le pédant le plus joli du monde." 1 7 This is the Cydias of La Bruyère redone. Voltaire repeats these accusations of pedantry, preciosity, facility in expression, and mediocrity and lack of originality in ideas. It will be recalled that the smaller of the two gigantic space travelers in Micromégas is the Secretary of the Academy of Saturn. Micromégas from the star Sirius, in his journey from world to world, pauses on the planet Saturn. " H e formed a close friendship with the Secretary of the Academy of Saturn, a man of great wit, who in truth had not invented a thing, but who gave a very good account of the inventions of others, and who

8

INTRODUCTION

was fairly good at doing trivial verses and stupendous calculations." 1 8 In this description one easily recognizes the perpetual Secretary of the Academy of Sciences. Voltaire also parodies the précieux manner of Fontenelle, in particular as it marks the Entretiens sur la pluralité des mondes. T h e Sirian and the Saturnian carry on the following conversation : " 'One must admit,' said Micromégas, 'that nature is varied indeed.' 'Yes,' said the Saturnian, 'nature is like a flower-bed whose flowers . . .' 'Oh!' said the other, 'forget your flower-bed.' 'It is,' continued the Secretary, 'like a gathering of blonds and brunettes whose finery . . .' 'What do I care about your brunettes?' said the other. 'It is then like a picture-gallery whose qualities . . .' 'No!' said the traveler, 'look here! Nature is like nature! Why must you make comparisons?' 'To please you,' answered the Secretary." 1 9 The two interplanetary voyagers, in their wanderings through space, chance upon that insignificant speck of dust that is the earth. In the Baltic sea they pick up a ship, and bringing it up close to study it, they finally become aware of the infinitesimal creatures it carries. They are surprised at the activity of the mites. "The Saturnian, passing from the extreme of scepticism to the extreme of credulity, thought he saw them busy propagating. 'Ah, ah!' he exclaimed, 'I've caught nature in the act.' But the appearances tricked him, a thing that happens all too often, whether the microscope is used or not." 2 0 If the contemporary reader had still any doubt as to the identity of the Saturnian, Voltaire's use of the phrase about catching nature in the act would have dispelled any lingering hesitations, for that felicitous and amusing expression, as everyone knew, had been Fontenelle's and he had employed it when on one occasion he gave an account of certain facts of natural history. 21 And yet, in this passage the satire of Voltaire is hardly fair, because Fontenelle was the last person in the world to j ump from one extreme to the other. T o be sure Voltaire did not write his philosophical novelette to criticize Fontenelle. He aims his heavy artillery at other targets, but throughout the entire story

INTRODUCTION

9

he snipes at him. The general impression given is that Voltaire could not take Fontenelle seriously. Compared to the Sirian, the Secretary of the Academy of Saturn cuts a rather poor figure. He turns too quickly to rationalization, to be a true philosopher. In only one passage, the Saturnian makes a better showing. The two travelers observe with puzzled wonderment the frenzied activities of the ship's passengers. " Ί dare no longer either to affirm or to deny,' said the dwarf [the Saturnian], Ί no longer have any opinion; we must try to examine these insects, afterwards we will reason.' " 2 2 Here for once we have the true Fontenelle, the precursor of the Enlightenment, a thinker who after all had much in common with Voltaire himself. And it may well be that Voltaire had in mind Fontenelle's History of Oracles and the tale of the gold tooth, with its concluding admonition of consulting the goldsmith first and writing books afterwards. Yet Voltaire helped to perpetuate the legend of Cydias. There are times when we get the impression that he wants to be fair; nevertheless even then he does not fail to insinuate a certain dosage of denigration. His article on Fontenelle, included in Le Catalogue des écrivains français du siècle de Louis XIV, is in a general way objective and its tone is in the main laudatory. After having praised his man for his universality, his talents, his erudition, his success in disseminating knowledge, he concludes that Fontenelle, without contradiction, "was superior to all those savants who have not possessed the gift of invention." 2 3 That is to say, Fontenelle was a fine fellow, but he was not original; he stands at the head of his class, but that class is not the first class. Fontenelle did have the gift of invention, at least in the Dialogues of the Dead, which work Voltaire condemned with extraordinary severity. It is true that Voltaire, in his dictionary article "Philosophe," comes to the defense of the memory of Fontenelle, accused of atheism before Louis X I V by the Jesuit Le Tellier, because of his History of Oracles.24 But here, after all, he is defending a member of the party, not the individual, Fontenelle. Voltaire's

IO

INTRODUCTION

dislike of the man must have been so obvious to his contemporaries that Trublet is compelled to devote a whole section of his Mémoires to the problem. 2 * Yes, Voltaire has often jested at the expense of Fontenelle, says Father Trublet, but we must not take this too seriously. A s Father D u Bos remarked, the Frenchman does not necessarily despise what he laughs at, and M . de Voltaire is more of a Frenchman than the next man. M . de Voltaire has often praised Fontenelle. It is true he has qualified this praise with many reservations, but this makes his praise all the more sincere. Poor Trublet is caught in a dilemma. He wants to defend the memory of his dead uncle, but at the same time he fears the illustrious Voltaire, very much alive and very active. T o w a r d the end of the nineteenth century, scholarship modified somewhat this early and contemporary reaction to Fontenelle. Sainte-Beuve was the precursor of this new trend. T h e famous critic, while deploring the Cydias portrait and chastizing L a Bruyère for telling the truth but not the whole truth, suggests the theory of the two Fontenelles: the perfumed wit, and the serious student and historian of science—and the evolution of the second from the first, with something of the manner of the first being retained in the second.2® This theory was to be developed and amplified by Faguet and Maigron. Faguet, 2 7 repeating the strictures of earlier writers, depicts him as a polished and witty trifler, a mediocrity with no true vocation, a man of acute intelligence but no artistic sensibility, the possessor of an insatiable curiosity but lacking in originality. Such was the situation until 1697, at which date having entered the Academy of Sciences and having become its perpetual secretary, Fontenelle became serious. Science had become the fashion; Fontenelle hitched his wagon to the refulgent star of Science. T o o mediocre to carve out his own way, but sufficiently intelligent to see in what direction the world was moving, he became a propagator of the new ideas, to which he brought the same lack of sincerity and genuine enthusiasm with which he had

INTRODUCTION

II

previously treated pastoral poetry. Fontenelle, therefore, in a sense had evolved, he had found his vocation, which was to popularize the ideas of others. Faguet's summation of his attitude toward Fontenelle and indeed the whole eighteenth century is well known : "The eighteenth century begins with a man who was very intelligent and who was not in the slightest degree an artist. It is the very mark of that man, and it will be for a long time the mark of that period." Laborde-Milaà 2 8 found that Fontenelle had revealed and popularized three great ideas which have helped the progress of science: everything in nature is ruled by law; all the sciences touch and overlap one another, being actually different branches of only one science; and, finally, this science is nothing more than the coordination of all natural phenomena by mathematical relationships. Therefore Fontenelle's function in the history of thought was to change Cartesianism into positivism. Like Sainte-Beuve, Maigron pictures the two Fontenelles, the frivolous dilettante and the serious intellectual: and he adds, even as Sainte-Beuve and Faguet had done, that the second is the more important one, the authentic precursor of Voltaire and Diderot. Fontenelle evolved, but even more, he helped his period to evolve with him. He was one of the principal workers of the transformation that leads from the seventeenth to the eighteenth century, from the age of faith, authority, and tradition to the age of unbelief, independence, and free examination. Fontenelle is very important in the history of ideas, a good deal less so in the history of literature. 29 No one will quarrel with many of the articles of Maigron's thesis. Nevertheless the general impression still remains that Fontenelle was a mediocre artist, if one at all, and that he was never anything more than a popularizer of the science and philosophy of his day, that is to say the science and philosophy of others. Now Carré disagrees radically with the conventional attitude toward Fontenelle, whether it be the contemporary reaction of La Bruyère and Voltaire, or the modification of it by more recent

12

INTRODUCTION

writers. H e shows that the Dialogues of the Dead and the Conversations on the Plurality of Worlds date from 1683 and 1686 respectively : hence Fontenelle was already serious because these early documents contain some of his most fundamental ideas. H e was at the same time and throughout his long life both a serious thinker and a précieux. H i s temperament was such that he could swing from one mood to the other. A f t e r the serious Dialogues of the Dead (which, however, bear the marks of preciosity) came the Lettres galantes du Chevalier d'Her . . . ; after the Pluralities, the Pastorals. Fontenelle was at one and the same time intellectual, serious, scholarly, interested in the sciences, and a précieux, a bel esprit, a galant. His literary output, in its very diversity, presents an astonishing homogeneity. 30 There never were two Fontenelles, there is only one, but that Fontenelle, as he emerges from the pen of Carré, is an extremely complex personality. Father Trublet had already observed that it was not necessary to dismember Fontenelle in order to praise him (or to criticize him, we may add), because the latter did not dismember himself when he wrote; in the man and his work there exists an indissoluble marriage of the most varied and contrasting qualities: gay badinage and profound philosophy, witty sallies and serious moral analysis, the graces of the imagination and the effects of reflection. 31 T h e failure to realize this complexity has resulted in misunderstanding. Furthermore Fontenelle was not simply a popularizer of the radical ideas of his day, the transformer of Cartesianism into positivism, nor a pedant of vile tastes, a shriveled and egotistical pessimist, nor merely the propagandist of Cartesian physics, of the Cartesian critique of tradition and authority, of the work of the Academy of Sciences, but a philosopher worthy of the name, an original thinker; because he had a broad and general conception of man, of nature, and of God, and from these conceptions he distilled a wisdom which was his protective armor against life's fell blows. 3 2 Carré increases our esteem for Fontenelle by

INTRODUCTION

IS

showing that what he thought and wrote is worthy of the serious reader's consideration. The literary form to which Fontenelle has added lustre by the creation of his Dialogues of the Dead is a species of the genus Dialogue. The former grew out of the latter and was a development along more restricted lines. Both have their origins in classical antiquity. Hirzel 3 3 has written the history and made a study of the Dialogue in general; he has treated the Dialogue of ancient times in great detail and with amazing thoroughness, the Dialogue of modern times in lesser detail; nevertheless the conclusions he often arrives at in regard to the latter are extremely useful and pertinent. H e advances, moreover, an extremely plausible theory to explain why the Dialogue was in vogue during certain periods of world history. Egilsrud has investigated the Dialogue of the Dead in the literatures of France, Germany, and England. Though it is impossible to find oneself in agreement with everything that he has to say about Fontenelle, one can certainly accept his general thesis, which is based on Hirzel's theory. Both works are indispensable to the student of these literary types, no matter how much he may disagree with the authors on particulars. "The Dialogue, as an independent work of literature is . . . strictly speaking a discussion in the form of a conversation." 34 This is Hirzel's definition and it covers succinctly the essential notes of the genre. The Dialogue is a literary form that is independent of other literary forms, that has an existence and life of its own outside of any larger context. It has something in common with other literary genres that employ conversation, as for example, with the drama; however in the latter the conversation is obviously subservient to and part of the dramatic action; it cannot stand by itself. It is true that today we talk loosely of the dialogue of a play, of a novel, of a story. The Dialogue (the capital letter is advisable) is something quite different and must not

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INTRODUCTION

be confused with the conversation found in the literary types just mentioned, where it is always part of a larger whole. Moreover the conversation of the Dialogue is of a restricted and very definite kind : it must be serious in intention, though not necessarily in tone—the ultimate purpose of a Dialogue being fundamentally a serious one; lastly (and this is the core of the Dialogue's essence) the conversation must involve a debate over ideas. 35 It is important to seize the concept of the Dialogue as a discussion in the form of a conversation, because this tells us why the Dialogue has flowered during certain periods of world history. The Dialogue has been employed by great minds from Plato, Cicero, Lucian, to Galileo, Voltaire, Diderot, and Santayana. It has appeared in great quantities ". . . during the revolutionary periods of world history both as a sign and as a mode of expression of their spiritual strife." Hirzel singles out principally three such periods: the age of the Sophists and of Plato in classical Greece, the period of the Renaissance and Reformation, and that of the Enlightenment in modern Europe. 36 Egilsrud, accepting Hirzel's thesis and applying it to the Dialogue of the Dead, 37 points out two other such historical moments which were fertile in the production of the Dialogue because the conditions were ripe for it, viz., the age of the Antonines when Lucian wrote, and the sunset years of the reign of Louis X I V which were the prelude to the age of the Enlightenment, and during which Fontenelle composed his Dialogues of the Dead. These periods were all characterized by the inroads of skepticism and by the dissolution of old dogmas. Historians like to describe them as transitional, for they witness the breaking down of accepted beliefs and the birth and rise of new faiths. Tradition is under constant attack from novel ideologies. These are the epochs when ideas are in flux, when humanity has neither quite rejected the prevailing scheme of things nor yet embraced the new which clamors for recognition. Such times of controversy, of intellectual turmoil, of moral strife, when ideas are being

INTRODUCTION

IS

weighed in the balance of the critical spirit, favor the growth of the Dialogue, because there is a logical relationship between the nature and essence of the Dialogue and the mood and spirit of the age. 3 8 F o r all practical purposes Lucian can be said to have created the Dialogue of the Dead, even though it is possible to discover in the literature of Greece and Rome, prior to him, evidences of some of the features that are characteristic of it. T h e r e can be no question that the stream of influence has flowed from his happy invention. 3 8 Lucian "utilized the contributions of both Plato and Aristophanes but developed them in his own w a y — that is, with a strong sense of the folly and brevity of men's lives and also with an appreciation of the humor in the situation of their all being forced to die." A few of his shades possess " a sound sense of human values." But the great majority are "hopelessly u n r e g e n e r a t e . " 4 0 Egilsrud, indeed, is of the opinion that Lucian saved the Dialogue. Brought to a high point of perfection by Plato, it had declined after his time together with the civilization that had given it birth. T h e Dialogue had lost "l'indispensable ferment du conflit," and with Aristotle it had become an instrument of study and pedantry. T h e rhetoricians of Alexandria and R o m e used it to express abstract philosophical ideas or as a tool for school exercises. As the period of the Antonines waned, Greco-Roman civilization was passing the high m o m e n t of its maturity. T h e ages of faith of the classical world had long since come to an end. In everyday life, the external observance of the rites of an established State religion, attended by internal indifference toward that religion, was the accepted practice. Skepticism and cynicism, rebellion against old beliefs and the desire for change, were prevalent a m o n g the intellectuals of the Empire. Under such conditions it was natural for parody and satire to flower, and Lucian reflects this spirit. Shrewd, sophisticated, and satirical, an Asiatic G r e e k and citizen of the universal R o m a n Empire, he has small respect for the dogmas and traditions of classical Greece. H e is an honest

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INTRODUCTION

skeptic who employs the weapon of his caustic wit to unmask hypocritical frauds and to puncture the inflated balloon of their vanity. Before writing his Dialogues of the Dead his compositions had often consisted of prose narratives which contained dialogue. Finally, in the Dialogues of the Dead he produced pure Dialogue, without the admixture of any prose narrative whatsoever. In several of the previous works he had already utilized the characteristic features of the Dialogue of the Dead : the shades of the famous dead are the dramatis personae and the action takes place in a world other than that of the living. T h u s by combining these features with the Dialogue, as Plato and Cicero for example had done it, Lucían created a new genre.*1 T h a t Lucían was extremely popular during the Renaissance needs no demonstration. T h e men of that period discovered in him not only a brilliant genius but a kindred soul. 42 Nevertheless although the Renaissance wrote much Dialogue, it was after the Platonic and Ciceronian, rather than the Lucianic model. Not until the closing decades of the seventeenth century did the genre come definitely back to life and bring forth a numerous progeny. T h e man who was responsible for this fortunate turn in the history of the form was Fontenelle. Thereafter the stream of influence flowed directly or indirectly f r o m the successful example he had set. France had the honor of reviving the form in modern times, and the dialogues of this type written by Frenchmen from Fontenelle to the Revolution were greater in number than the imitations of English and German writers, and generally superior in quality. 4 3 Egilsrud draws an attractive parallel between the age of the satirist of Samosata and that of the perpetual secretary of the Academy of Science. Both were periods of intellectual ferment and political turmoil, during which the minds of men were in travail. "And when the spirit is restless, man must needs speak. In the second as in the seventeenth century, conversation became one of the chief instruments for the expression of ideas. T h e power which the dialogue possesses of reflecting conversa-

INTRODUCTION

17

tion and discussion, its dramatic and intellectual qualities, the facility with which it permits the asking of contradictory questions, made of it during these two epochs an ideal weapon." 4 4 Egilsrud has certainly an important point here, although his parallel needs some correction. It can be shown for example that the period from the accession of Nerva to the death of Marcus Aurelius was a golden age of peace and political stability. One can also show that although Louis X I V after 1685 suffered many military disasters abroad and was threatened with bankruptcy at home, he nevertheless kept as firm a grip as ever upon the helm of State and preserved his authority and dignity to the very end. 4 5 Moreover, the radicalism of the end of the seventeenth century was under the surface rather than overt. W e must go well into the eighteenth century for the breaking of the storm. T h e manner of Fontenelle in his dialogues mirrors to a remarkable degree this incipient and restrained radicalism; outwardly he conforms, yet his silences are often more significant than his spoken words. With these considerations in mind, one may develop the parallel. T h e Roman Empire presented during the reign of Marcus Aurelius a majestic and imposing façade. In spite of the barbarians on the frontier who were beginning to stir again and a rebellion at home quickly put down, it seemed as if it would endure forever. Nevertheless, that colossal edifice must have been riddled with inner decay because dangerous fissures began to appear during the ensuing century, that terrible third century which was to usher in the final and irrevocable dissolution of the Empire and Greco-Roman civilization. Lucian's dialogues, appearing as they do in the second century, with their questioning spirit and mordant skepticism, may be the symptoms of that decay and the harbingers of that final collapse. Similarly, the monarchy of Louis X I V appeared solid and eternal in 1683, but the dialogues of Fontenelle are published, and the scholar reads in them a discreet and subde warning that things are not what they seem to be in the France of the Sun-King. It would be ab-

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INTRODUCTION

surd to continue the parallel any further, because Lucian's dialogues, if they are symptomatic, prophesy the irretrievable downfall of a civilization that was incurably ill, whereas Fontenelle's dialogues, which reflect the spiritual crisis being experienced by the European mind of his day, are prophetic of the decline of one world outlook, but at the same time of the birth of another from the ashes of the old. The many and complex forces that in time undermined the authority and prestige of Church and State, and of the Classical school, were at work, and they contributed in bringing about the rebirth of the Dialogue of the Dead. 48 What these forces were, who were the men, what were the doctrines will be considered in detail and in the proper places as the analysis of Fontenelle's dialogues progresses. It is then that the different tenets and articles of Fontenelle's philosophy will be taken up and their application to his dialogues will be shown. T h e important thing now is to set down certain necessary generalizations. W e must set the picture straight before we can study it. T h e temptation always exists in an investigation of this sort to claim too much for one's subject. It would be absurd to pronounce Fontenelle's Dialogues of the Dead a great masterpiece of French literature. But it is undoubtedly a minor masterpiece of that literature: it is a work both delightful and instructive, which, within its limits, is profound; it reflects the spirit of the times in an admirable fashion; lastly, it is unquestionably a work of art, past scholarly criticism notwithstanding. This claim can be upheld. Fontenelle (some may say) utilizes a literary genre which is after all a minor one. 47 The question of major and minor genres is debatable—and it is a useless one to argue. If, however, the Dialogue of the Dead is a minor literary form, it can at least be said of Fontenelle that he came through with flying colors when he essayed it. Indeed in spite of the number of dialogues turned out after the Lucianic model, it is possible to point to only three entirely successful attempts—those of Lucian himself, Fontenelle's, and Santayana's Dialogues in Limbo.

INTRODUCTION

19

Fénelon, Vauvenargues, Lord Lyttlcton, Walter Savage Landor (Imaginary Conversations), all deserve honorable mention, and in more recent times H. D. Traill (New Lucían) and C. E. S. Wood (Heavenly Discourse). Why the form has not produced more than three masterpieces, I can only answer with Professor Boyce that I do not know. 48 The Dialogue of the Dead, nevertheless, is an excellent barometer to ascertain the state of the ideological weather and therein lies its utility to scholarship. We must always bear in mind, of course, that it is not the only barometer. Its parent, the Dialogue, for example, was certainly used more often before the appearance of Fontenelle's work, and it was employed far more brilliantly thereafter. The two greatest exponents of the Dialogue in the eighteenth century are Voltaire and Diderot. The latter is unquestionably the master of the form in the French language. Yet he never tried his hand at the Lucianic type. Voltaire, who produced a plethora of dialogues, turned out very few Dialogues of the Dead. Before Fontenelle, nothing of any importance had been done in France with the genre. In 1631 Paul Hay de Chastelet published Les Entretiens des Champs-Elysées. This was an inferior work, but it indicated that the conditions necessary for the birth of the form in France were already present. Later Boileau wrote his only Dialogue of the Dead, Les Héros de roman (published in 1713). This was read privately in the salons and Fontenelle may well have been present at one of the readings. Its tardy publication, however, limited its influence upon the form : the dialogues of Fontenelle and Fénelon had already appeared. In this witty dialogue Boileau satirizes the manner and style of the heroes of the précieux novel.*9 His choice of the genre was excellent for his purposes: he is able to put into the mouth of his heroes the absurd speech he wants to criticize; the gods Rhadamanthus, Pluto, and Mercury, as the defenders of common sense, oppose the tendencies to be satirized.50 Boileau, along with his solid bourgeois temperament, possessed the qualities of proportion and balance. In such intellectual natures satire

20

INTRODUCTION

and the taste for parody arc innate: ". . . the intellect studies and passes judgment, and when it is offended, it avenges itself through caricature and laughter." 5 1 And Egilsrud points out that certain types of mind gravitate toward the form and that there are intellectual and psychological affinities between these minds, ancient and modern. 82 So it was with Lucian, Boileau, and Fontenelle, all in their different ways, satirists and critics of the human comedy. If before the time of Fontenelle the Dialogue of the Dead afforded few and relatively unimportant examples, the parent genre, the Dialogue, was comparatively rich and varied. Descartes and Guez de Balzac employed it. 53 Father Lamy wrote his Entretiens sur les sciences, taking Cicero as his model, and, like Cicero torn between different philosophical theories, attempted to find an equilibrium between the new ideas and tradition. Lamy is filled with spiritual unrest, Hirzel tells us, and so are Descartes and Malebranche. "It is this same unrest . . . which in the case of these men, also, seeks a way out by means of the Dialogue." 5 4 Hirzel cites an opinion of Condorcet from the latter's Eloge de Pascal to the effect that the style of the Dialogue is to be found in the Lettres provinciales. He himself observes that Saint-Evremond in his satire, La Conversation du Maréchal d'Hoquincourt avec le Père Canaye, fought "with the weapon of the Dialogue." Father Daniel answered the thesis of Pascal in his Entretiens de Cléandre et d'Eudoxe sur les Lettres au provincial; Father Bouhours made use of the same genre to attack Pascal and defend the Jesuits. 55 Father Bouhours observes how proper the Dialogue is for throwing light upon the most obscure questions, ". . . and that the people who converse in it can easily express the pro and con on all kinds of subjects . . . ," which explains why one chooses the Dialogue in order to treat of intellectual matters/'6 Hirzel indeed sees the Dialogue standing at this moment at the head of a whole spiritual movement. He sees it becoming in addition the pathfinder

INTRODUCTION

21

for the course of the French skeptical mind, while being at the same time a natural effect of the newly resurgent spirit of uncertainty and doubt. François de La Mothe Le Vayer took from antiquity both its pyrrhonism and its dialogue form, and through his Dialogues faits à l'imitation des anciens par Orasius Tubero, he more than anyone else propelled the French mind along the paths of skepticism. Bayle in his posthumous Entretiens de Maxime et de Thémiste follows in the footsteps of Le Vayer, taking from him not only ideas but a method. 57 From this Introduction, certain general conclusions can be drawn. These will be applied and tested in the following chapters as the analysis of Fontenelle's dialogues progresses. The Dialogue is a literary form that reflects to perfection the intellectual maneuverings (perhaps even meanderings) of the human mind in its efforts to reach the elusive truth. Its vortex of dialectic, its spirit of contradiction, its characteristic pro and con is nothing more than the play of the mind with itself to attain some solution of the problem it faces. The mind presents to itself opposing ideas that it is entertaining and lets them clash, in the hope that by the process of elimination something positive will emerge from this intellectual battle. The hope is more often dashed than not, for dialectic frequently leads to an impasse and the rational faculty has its limitations. The essential features of the Dialogue are derived from and are based upon the nature of conversation. In real life two or more people converse; they argue, they dispute. In the Dialogue two or more characters converse and argue, but actually the author of the Dialogue is conversing and arguing with himself. The characters of the Dialogue are carrying and discussing the ideas that disturb the author. In periods characterized by instability, men whose minds are filled with spiritual unrest employ the Dialogue as a means and a method of resolving that unrest. It makes no difference that the effort may be futile. Both unrest and effort are noble attributes of thinking man. When therefore Santayana's Socra-

22

INTRODUCTION

tes observes that he must prod people with questions to make them think and that he needs the same intellectual combat to drive his own ignorance out of his soul, he is paying a splendid tribute to the Dialogue and to rational man from whose nature the Dialogue ultimately springs.

CHAPTER

Ζ

THE DIALECTIC: THE SPIRIT OF CONTRADICTION "Philosophe" in the Encyclopédie defines the philosopher as a man who strives after the truth, who takes as true that which is true, as false that which is false, as possible that which is possible. He does more than that, and it is this which raises the philosopher to a high estate: if he has no grounds for passing judgment, he knows how to keep himself in a state of indétermination. He is not so enamored of a system that he is incapable of feeling the full force of the objections to it. 1 Fontenelle is such a philosopher, and the characteristic, the quality of being indeterminate, of suspending judgment, if reason is unable to come to definite incontrovertible conclusions, the technique of presenting the two sides of a question, even if those two sides are opposed and thus cancel each other, in short, the spirit of contradiction, both as a quality of mind and a method of expression, is to be found in the Dialogues of the Dead. T H E ARTICLE

In the dialogue "Sur la délicatesse," 2 Fontenelle imagines a conversation between Milo of Crotona and Smindyrides of Sybaris. The two shades rebuke one another for their manner of living on earth. Milo is criticized for his boast of carrying an ox on his shoulders, and Smindyrides is chided for his softness. The latter makes an apology for the refined in life, especially for the refinements of the mind. Delicacy is the product of the good qualities of the mind and heart. One strives to achieve this exquisite refinement, but, alas, one pays a price for it : ". . . refinement decreases the totality of our pleasures and we certainly do not have too many." Men are to be pitied, admits ruefully Smindyrides the Sybarite: "Their natural condition provides them with few pleasant experiences, and their reason teaches

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DIALECTIC: THE SPIRIT OF CONTRADICTION

them to enjoy f e w e r . " Beyond question Fontenelle reserves his admiration for the intellectual Sybarite. H e is one himself and despises the rough and crude citizen of Crotona. At the same time he knows full well that by refinement and overrefinement he will reach an impasse. A n analysis of this dialogue will reveal why this impasse is reached and the m a n n e r in which Fontenelle leads to it. Obviously Smindyrides and Milo are opponents. W h a t perhaps is not so obvious is the fact that the former is arguing with himself as well. Against Milo he defends reason, that is to say, the faculty that can enable m a n to rise above brute nature. B u t against himself, as it were, he reveals the limitations of reason and even its pitfalls. 3 Fontenelle is very shrewd. Possessing a true picture of reality, 4 he is nobody's dupe—not even his own.® Here, as elsewhere, he puts to use the great but terrible instrument of analysis, a corrosive acid that eats into everything, and whose introduction helped to pave the way that leads from the spirit of the seventeenth to that of the eighteenth century.® But though Fontenelle uses the instrument of rational analysis and bequeaths it to his successors, unlike so many of them he has no illusions about it. 7 Smindyrides wants to rise above the brute nature in which Milo of Crotona wallows, and reason is the means he employs to attain that end. T h e same reason, alas, points out to h i m that in transcending nature he has lost the enjoyment of the pleasures that nature affords mankind—pleasures that are real whereas those of the intellect are illusory. 8 H e n c e the tinge of bemused melancholy that characterizes a temperament like Fontenelle's, and this is one of the prevalent moods of his dialogues. In addition we find Fontenelle employing the faculty of reason to analyze and criticize the faculty of reason, and this explains the split in his personality. FontenelleSmindyrides is pitted against Fontenelle-Smindyrides as well as against Milo, a psychological division that accounts for the paradoxes, the contradictions, the inconclusive endings, the impression of uncertainty, the touch of sadness, with which these

DIALECTIC: T H E SPIRIT OF CONTRADICTION

25

dialogues abound. In " S u r la délicatesse" Fontenelle sounds one of his most fundamental themes. T h e r e is in Smindyrides something of the nature of H a m l e t or of the Proustian hero, when he illustrates his state of mind by the examples of the lover who is never sure of the love of his mistress, and of the conqueror who secretly suspects that he conquered by chance rather than by his genius. T h e pale cast of thought prevents Smindyrides from reaching certainty. In the dialogues that follow, Fontenelle plays variations on the same theme. H e sounds it very early in his work as if he wanted to show the reader from the very beginning why he makes use of a certain method and even point out the dangers of the mental attitude (committed though he is to it) that accounts for his method. H e begins his work in the minor key of doubt. T h e mood of doubt is well illustrated in the dialogue entitled " S u r la bizarrerie des fortunes." 9 H e r e two lovely ladies of antiquity, Athenais and Icasia, review the story of their lives when they were in the world of the living. T h e beauty of Icasia nearly made her the wife of an emperor. But an untimely display of wit frightened the emperor who, alarmed at the thought of having a witty wife, rejected her and chose another. O n the other hand, because of her great wit and philosophical talents, Athenais became the wife of Theodosius the Y o u n g e r . " T h u s spins fortune's wheel. W i t alone made you an Empress, whereas with me the mere show of wit prevented me from being one." Chance rules the world. T h i s theme is further illustrated by the story of the painter and the grapes. T h e artist painted the grapes so realistically that the birds pecked at them. F o r this he received praise, but he was criticized for painting the bearer of the grapes so unrealistically that the birds were not frightened when they approached to peck at the supposed grapes. T h e criticism was just. Nevertheless if the painter had not devoted his skill to the grapes rather than to the bearer, the birds would not have been deceived by that masterpiece of realism. " E v e r y t h i n g is uncertain. It seems that fortune deliberately gives the opposite success

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DIALECTIC: THE SPIRIT OF CONTRADICTION

to the very same things, in order to laugh continually at human reason, which is not allowed to have any fool-proof criterion." If, then, Fontenelle, does not always come to a definite conclusion, if his dialogues lead at times to an intellectual cul-de-sac, if the method he employs in handling his dialogue is a method that exemplifies the spirit of contradiction, all that is so because life itself does not have "any fool-proof criterion." A dialogue in which Fontenelle is clearly arguing on both sides of the question is entitled: "S'il a été bien établi que les hommes attaquent et que les femmes se défendent." 10 In this one Sappho is pitted against Laura. Both women were passionate lovers, with this difference : Sappho courted her lovers, Laura was courted by hers. Laura confesses that she is somewhat shocked by the boldness and frankness of Sappho. It is proper for a woman to defend herself against the advances of a man. But Sappho retorts that such is the case only because men will it to be so. It is easier to attack than to defend. Laura finds, however, that being on the defensive has its advantages. The woman yields only when she is ready to yield. Sappho does not find much comfort in that idea. For, when a man besieges a lady he is following his inclinations, but when a woman resists she is not much inclined to resist. Laura nevertheless believes that much pleasure will be gained by putting off the moment of surrender. The lover will esteem his lady because of her struggles. Sappho reminds Laura that a woman will suffer in resisting those sweet assaults. A man observes with pleasure the success of his advances, but a woman observes with dismay the success of her resistance. Nor will the lover be grateful to the lady when she has yielded, as Laura thinks. He will be happy because he has triumphed. Up to this point Sappho seems to have had the better of the argument. Laura asks her whether she intends to reverse the order of things. Would she have woman aggressive and man passive? Sappho replies that she would not, and she suggests that the problem be approached by the two sexes in an equal and similar manner: let them love one another according

DIALECTIC: T H E SPIRIT OF CONTRADICTION

27

to the dictates of their hearts, neither attacking nor defending! Laura points out that such a procedure would ruin everything. T h e perfection of love is attained by building up to a climax. Premature surrender will m a k e love insipid. Sappho then suggests that, as love is a combat, man should be the passive agent and woman the active, since woman is more inclined to love. Laura retorts that her suggestion is an impossible one. A m a n would either yield immediately or not at all. T h e passive agent in love should resist for a time but finally yield. W o m a n ' s nature fits her for that role. Let us not try to reform and change things. T h e y are best as they are now. Clearly Fontenelle in this dialogue presents arguments for both sides. It is true that he comes to a kind of conclusion : we should not tamper with nature's laws, we should not attempt to change that which cannot be changed. Such a conclusion, though, is a rather negative one, a conservative one, even an obvious one. T h e reader is not invited to embrace a new scheme of things. H e is presented with the negative admonition, not to change nature; to many this would hardly be a conclusion. T h e trait of arguing on both sides of the question must have been deeply ingrained in Fontenelle's nature, for it was already evident in his student days. T r u b l e t tells us that his uncle often debated the most subtle questions of metaphysics with the Jesuit Father T o u r n e m i n e and that Fontenelle "drew up the objections and sometimes provided the answers that Father T o u r n e mine, in spite of his great zeal, had been unable to discover." 1 1 It may be remarked that the method of making a statement, objecting to it, and finding an answer to the objection, is a characteristic of the scholastic dialectic prevalent in all Catholic educational institutions. Fontenelle's innate spirit of contradiction must have received encouragement and polish from his training. O n e can say as much for many of the "philosophes" of the succeeding century. It is, therefore, a kind of irony that the weapons partially forged in Catholic institutions were later turned against Catholicism. T h e dialogue just analyzed reveals a conservative

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Fontenelle, one that wc find in the majority of the dialogues. Called a precursor of the eighteenth century, he nevertheless preserves many of the characteristics of the seventeenth century. For example, there is in this particular dialogue a great deal of preciosity. T h e author is here a bel esprit, a frequenter of the salons of his day, arguing on a point of love in the manner of the Carte de Tendre school of writers. His "métaphysique amoureuse" is reminiscent of Mlle de Scudéry, of the Grand Cyrus, and of l'Astrée.12 The justly celebrated dialogue between Socrates and Montaigne, one of the most successful in the collection of thirty-six dialogues, is often included in anthologies, for it shows the author at his best. The dialogue epitomizes the thinking of Fontenelle on the important problems of human nature and progress. Because he considers the latter theme, he necessarily touches upon the question of the respective merits of the Ancients and Moderns, which makes this dialogue a part of the famous Quarrel. There are, however, not many such dialogues in the collection. Like the men of the Enlightenment, Fontenelle believed in progress, but with reservations. He confesses pessimistically that man's march on the road to a better life is pathetically and discouragingly slow. Carré has described him aptly as a pessimist who believed in progress, 13 and Rigault says, rather wittily, that Fontenelle occupies a place between Nestor and Condorcet. 14 He is neither like the first an idolator of the mos maiorum, nor like the second an enthusiast who opens up to humanity the prospects of a glorious future soon to be realized. Fontenelle does not belong to the sect of those who claimed him as a precursor. l j His doctrine is colored by an optimistic vision of an extremely remote future, and a pessimistic realization of the existing situation. The latter coloring predominates by far in the Dialogues of the Dead. In the dialogue "Si les anciens ont eu plus de vertus que nous," 1 8 Socrates and Montaigne disillusion each other on the relative merits of the Ancients and Moderns. By the manner in

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29

which Fontenelle manipulates this dialogue neither side comes out with the honors of victory. It is true that he lowers the A n cients in the estimation of the reader, but he does not raise up the Moderns. Socrates points out to Montaigne, his admirer, that antiquity was not an era of honesty and righteousness, or of great vigorous and masculine types, but rather a period of evil and stupidity, that the Moderns venerate the Ancients because distance and time surround antiquity with a romantic glow. O n e has a nostalgic feeling toward them because " o n e has a grudge against one's age and antiquity gets the best of the bargain. O n e puts the Ancients on a pedestal in order to lower one's contemporaries." T h e illusion is entertained in all periods of history that one's ancestors are always better than their posterity, but looking at things objectively " . . . it's always the same story." Fontenelle adds a dash of piquancy to the dialogue by having Montaigne, the Modern, defend antiquity, and by having Socrates, the Ancient, indulge in the hope that the Moderns have learned from the mistakes of the Ancients. Montaigne waxes eloquent; yet Socrates, with his leading questions which seem to be innocent on the surface but which are nevertheless shrewdly weighted, demolishes all of his opponent's arguments, until finally the F r e n c h m a n partly in irritation, partly in amusement, exclaims: "Socrates, I was well aware that you had an original m a n n e r of reasoning and of cleverly catching those with w h o m you dealt in arguments whose conclusion they did not foresee, that you led them where it pleased you; and that is what you called being the midwife of their thoughts and compelling them to be delivered. I admit I've been brought to bed with a proposition which is the very opposite of the one with which I began. Nevertheless I couldn't possibly give up yet." B u t M o n taigne is unable to prevail, try as hard as he will. Socrates, in turn, has no better luck with his side of the case. T h e G r e e k wishes to be informed about modern times. Surely the Moderns must have profited from the mistakes of the Ancients, they must have corrected the evils of antiquity, the world today must be a

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better place than it was in his time. M o n t a i g n e answers sadly in the negative. T h e world has changed, but it is not a better place. T h e r e has been no true progress. M e n arc like the birds who are caught in the nets that have caught other birds of the same species before t h e m : they never learn f r o m experience. " M a n kind throughout the ages has had the same inclinations, over which reason has no control. T h u s everywhere where there are men, there is stupidity, and the same kind of stupidity." S o the two thinkers reveal the bitter truth to each other. Socrates concludes the dialogue. T h e externals change, but the heart of man never, "and the whole of m a n is to be found in his heart." M a n ' s nature is always the same. " O n e is ignorant during one age, but the fashion of being learned may c o m e ; one is selfish, but the fashion of being unselfish will never come at all." F r o m time to time nature does produce some good and reasonable men, but they are too few to m a k e a difference, to m a k e " a fashion of virtue and righteousness." T h e distribution of such great men, throughout the ages, is the same, and if there is any inequality in that distribution, it is imperceptible. " T h e general order of nature displays always a rather consistent appearance." 1 7 T h i s dialogue is an excellent illustration of the spirit of contradiction used as a method. A r g u m e n t s are presented for both sides, but in the end no side emerges the victor, because it is against the nature of things: man is imperfect, his m u c h vaunted reason is limited in its efficacy, he is the slave of folly. Fontenelle's method, then, is not a superficial nor an arbitrary one. It is based upon a philosophic conviction: man is a strange amalgam of reason and the passions; the first, in spite of its uselessness exerts a powerful c h a r m ; the second, in spite of their anarchy, can play a beneficent role. 1 8 Folly and stupidity, the subliminal force of passion and the feebleness of reason, such is the whole of m a n . 1 8 T h e s e two elements of man's nature are engaged in constant warfare. Furthermore, reason is its own worst enemy. H e n c e the confusions and contradictions in the

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heart of man; hence the spirit of contradiction in Fontenelle. If it be true, as it has been claimed, that this is one of the dialogues with which Fontenelle makes a contribution to the Quarrel of the Ancients and Moderns, certainly neither side can take comfort from it. Here, Fontenelle hardly seems to believe in progress, and it is such dialogues that make Carré speak of the "vues pénétrantes et calmement désolées des Dialogues des Morts." 2 0 And we can understand Professor Boyce's description of Fontenelle's work: "These elegantly simple conversations . . . offered a fare of pervasive skepticism and wit that surpasses Lucian's in breadth of disillusion. . . . " 2 1 Another reason for the presence of contradiction may be the fact that our author was writing these dialogues during a period of transition, 22 when contradictions are particularly rife. This dialogue likewise reveals another facet of the personality of Fontenelle. He is a moralist and a psychologist who is interested in probing into the heart of man. 23 These characteristics would stamp him as a man of the seventeenth century. It is not surprising: as a transitional figure he shows the marks of the two ages of which he is one of the links. Strikingly pessimistic, too, is the dialogue between Erasistratus and Harvey. 24 Harvey boasts of the superiority of modern medicine over that of the Ancients. T h e Greek physician admits that superiority, but doubts whether the superior knowledge and discoveries of the Moderns are of much use. In spite of all that, people still die. Of what avail, then, is all that vaunted superiority? Harvey replies that man has not had time to perfect his knowledge and his discoveries in order to benefit humanity. Give man sufficient time and great results will follow. But Erasistratus is still doubtful. W e have, he remarks, a certain sum of useful knowledge to which we scarcely add. That sum of useful knowledge is a gift of nature. Things that are not of prime necessity are discovered from time to time. It is true that man always strives to learn, that he is always avid for knowledge. But that is only in the long run a pleasant pastime.

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T h e discovery of the circulation of the blood is not more useful than the discovery of a new star. In spite of all one's efforts, nature triumphs in the end. W e die. In this dialogue Fontenelle is hardly a partisan of the Moderns. Furthermore he considers psychology to be more important than physical science. And in this attitude again there is much of the seventeenth century. Fontenelle has Erasistratus admit that the Moderns are better anatomists and scientists than the Ancients, nevertheless they are not necessarily better doctors. The doctors of antiquity likewise were able to heal their patients. He cites the case of Prince Antiochus. T h e royal patient was ill because he strove to conceal a violent passion for his stepmother Queen Stratonice. Now, Erasistratus, without knowing a thing about the circulation of the blood, was able to cure his patient because he understood the human heart. T h e implication is obvious. T h e dialogue between Charles V and Erasmus 2 5 is a perfect example of the spirit of contradiction technique. This dialogue is a debate between the Emperor and the humanist on the theme of personal merit, a theme very popular with writers of the time. La Rochefoucauld had considered it in his Maximes. La Bruyère was to dedicate a whole chapter of his Caractères to it, under the title of " D u mérite personnel." Later Vauvenargues was to treat the same question in his Dialogues of the Dead, but his reaction to it was to be diametrically opposed to that of Fontenelle. Erasmus points out to an amazed Charles V that all his glory is based on a flimsy and insecure foundation. "All that greatness was nothing but the sum result of a number of fortuitous occurrences." The dishonesty of Ferdinand, the discovery of Columbus, the diplomatic errors of Louis X I in reference to Burgundy, the impotence of his grand-uncle Henry and the evil reputation of his wife, all played a part in making Charles V a ruler of so many lands. 20 "That indeed is a frail structure which is built upon so many elements depending on chance." Charles V has no right to glory, because his glory has no connection with

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personal merit. For true personal merit is based on one's intelligence, on one's knowledge. Intelligence and erudition are not "gifts of fortune, like rank or wealth." It is now the Emperor's turn to tear down the reasoning of Erasmus. Is not erudition, like wealth, another case of succession, of inheritance? Erasmus is, after all, the heir of the Ancients. The humanist disagrees. "Knowledge is not an inheritance that is handed down, it is an entirely new acquisition that one undertakes to make." This acquisition is a laborious process. In that case, replies the Emperor, knowledge like power and wealth has to be acquired. There is no difference. Erasmus, somewhat baffled by the logic of his imperial interlocutor, suggests that the question of knowledge be dropped, and that the argument limit itself to the question of intelligence. Surely chance plays no part in the case of one's intelligence. Charles the Fifth calmly answers that it does. Genius is the result of "a certain kind of brain structure"; it is " . . . a mere matter of the arrangement of the nerve fibers." One is a genius or an imbecile because of chance. "Then is everything chance?" asks the crestfallen Erasmus. Yes, answers the Emperor, if we give that name to something we do not understand. There would be no vanity if we analyzed things in a thorough fashion. Thus the reasonings of the two shades are mutually destructive. The reader is left in the shadow of doubt. Merit is based on chance, and chance is a name given to an unknown quantity. No definite conclusion can be reached, except the negative warning against vanity. Merit based on material glory resulting from a succession of fortuitous, historical, and social causes is false. Merit based on intellectual ability resulting from a neurophysiological shaping-up of the brain is likewise false. Chance accounts for either in the final analysis. From the Dialogues of the Dead to the little treatise De la liberté, written in his old age, Fontenelle held to the view that a close relationship exists between the condition of our nervous organism and the activity of our mental faculties. 27 Entirely illustrative of this attitude is

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Fontenelle's way of describing the w o r k of the anatomists Vieussens, father a n d son. T h e s e scientists believed in the existence of a "centre ovale." F o r Vieussens fils this oval center took the place of the pineal g l a n d of Descartes, as the seat of the functions of the m i n d . L e t this o r g a n be impaired a n d the w o r k of the m i n d becomes abnormal. T h e r e will always be present therefore in the activity of the intellect a mechanical and materialistic factor. A n d Fontenelle r e m a r k s wittily, " Y o u will hardly find a head so sound as not to have some little duct in its oval center completely c l o g g e d . " 2 8 Fontenelle's suggestions on the nature of genius are part of a general m o v e m e n t that finally culminates with Diderot. W h a t Fontenelle had merely hinted at became fully developed and systematized with his successor and disciple, the critic D u Bos, w h o observed that the genius of artists and poets was to be f o u n d " . . . in a felicitous a r r a n g e m e n t of the o r g a n s of the brain, in the excellent formation of each one of its organs, as well as in the quality of the blood. . . ." Professor D i e c k m a n n criticizes this method of e x p l a i n i n g genius, this " v a g u e pseudoscientific naturalism which believes that scientific conceptions used in a merely descriptive way are already explanations." 2 0 Nevertheless t h o u g h Fontenelle's science may be at fault, the purpose of this particular dialogue gives it its validity. It suggests an attitude t o w a r d life that w a s to be generally accepted and it suggests an historical method that Voltaire was to m a k e his o w n and develop. Voltaire got away from the traditional type of history which consisted in a recital of battles and dynastic successions. W h a t he did was to write history which took into consideration the primary causes of events and g a v e a cultural synthesis of a nation and a period. H e was to stress the importance of trifling causes which give birth to great events. T h i s last idea Fontenelle implies in the dialogue just concluded. Voltaire, though he objected to the general idea and the mood of the dialogue, nevertheless was to adopt its historical theory. 3 0 Moreover Fontenelle's a d m o n i t i o n against vanity is a g o o d illustra-

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tion of the curious type of humility that will characterize so many writers of the eighteenth century. It derives perhaps from Montaigne's " Q u e sais-je?" 3 1 T h e r e are few things we can be sure of, Fontenelle seems to say, and after h i m the eighteenth century. Therefore, it is unreasonable to be boastful and vainglorious; therefore it is useless, if not harmful, to be dogmatic. Fontenelle's technique of the dialogue is determined by his philosophy of life. Definite conclusions are out of the question because life does not present us with certainties. W e journey along on shifting sands. O u r pleasures, even, are not particularly substantial. T h i s is brought out in an interesting dialogue between Elizabeth of E n g l a n d and the D u k e of A l e n ç o n . 3 2 T h e D u k e had been one of Elizabeth's many suitors. H e had been disappointed like the rest of them. H e confesses to her that he cannot understand the reasons why she had engaged in so many matrimonial projects and had never carried out any of them. N o r can he understand her insistence upon her virginity, " t h e most dubious of all your qualities." Elizabeth then explains her puzzling actions. " H e r e is the true secret of my conduct: I found nothing more delightful than to draw up plans, m a k e preparations, and then not carry them out. W h a t you want the most diminishes in value as soon as you get it, and things do not cross the boundary between imagination and reality, without there being some loss." But the D u k e desires certitude. Elizabeth's reasoning does not satisfy him. H e wants of life something more than chimeras, else he cannot enjoy it. A l l his life he planned to be a king, but never succeeded. T h e r e was no pleasure in that. Elizabeth, however, points out to h i m that chimeras and illusions are the very stuff of existence, and that these can be enjoyed. All her life she planned to get married. S h e never did, but she derived pleasure from her schemes that never materialized. "Pleasures are not sufficiently solid to permit penetration, all one can do is to skim over them." Play around the border line, and you will derive enjoyment. Plunge into the thing itself, tear the veil that conceals the illusion, and you will be disappointed, for

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life is a chimera. Here again we have Fontenelle, the psychologist, the student of the human heart, and at the same time the wit and hedonist, the man of the dying seventeenth century. Especially witty and cynical is the dialogue that follows. 33 T h e subject is human folly and madness. The speakers are William of Cabestan, the Provençal poet, and Albert Frederick of Brandenburg. The poet and the prince have one thing in common: during their lifetime they both became mad. William relates that his poetical reputation brought misfortune upon him. H e became enamored of a lady, and his verses made her illustrious. Fearful lest some day he write verses to another woman, and to assure herself of the fidelity of the poet's Muse, she gave him an accursed potion that made him mad, and stopped him from writing verse. T h e German remarks that poets must have been rare in his day to be so prized as to be poisoned : that would not have happened during his own age. Albert Frederick then goes on to show that his way of becoming mad was most reasonable. He was about to wed Mary Eleanor of Clèves. During the festivities preceding the marriage, he made such judicious reflections on the state of matrimony that he lost his reason. T h e German prince admits that later he had intervals of sanity. Cabestan's reaction is curious. Albert Frederick was in that case unfortunate, but he was more unfortunate, for he completely recovered from his madness. There are two categories of madmen in this world, he continues. In the smaller category are to be found those who have intervals of madness and sanity, that is to say, those who are dubbed mad by the majority. In the larger category are to be found the great majority of mankind who in their own way are mad and indeed are never cured. They are the people who consider themselves to be perfectly sane, but who never really know themselves. Their actions show them to be mad : their desire for immortality, for false glory, for power. Yet such people claim they have common sense. T h e prince expresses the fear that Cabestan though a ghost is still mad. Whereupon the Provençal poet retorts that that is the point he is

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making. One always considers the other fellow to be mad. Few have "la vraie sagesse," but all have "l'opinion de la sagesse." 3 4 In another dialogue 3 5 Fontenelle points out that the passions are a necessary life force. Herostratus confesses to Demetrius of Phalerum that he had a "desire out of all proportion" to have people talk about him. Vanity compelled the architect to build the great temple to Diana at Ephesus. Vanity led Herostratus to burn this great temple to insure the immortality of his name. Another man would have burned down the entire town. Indeed, in his own way he was moderate. Vanity has a legitimate right over all the works of man. A father leaves as many children as he can to perpetuate his name. A conqueror kills as many men as he can for the same reasons. Demetrius notes that Herostratus is taking the side of the destroyers. Is there not a nobler way than that to perpetuate one's name? Herostratus does not know if there is, but he knows that the destroyers are necessary. T h e earth is like a great tablet upon which each man wishes to write his name. There comes a time when the slate is filled. Then the slate is wiped clean so that those who follow will be able to write their names. T h e world is always in flux. All get their chance. "It is the passions that do and undo everything. If reason held sway over the earth, nothing would ever happen there." Pilots and captains need the winds to make their ship go, even though sometimes the wind may harm them. What they fear above all is a tranquil sea. "With men, passions are the winds that are necessary to get things started, although they are often the cause of storms." 3 8 Fontenelle's defense of the passions places him in that intellectual current already present in Rabelais, which comes down through Molière and the libertins of the seventeenth century, is systematized by Bayle, and triumphs with Voltaire and Diderot. All of these men in one way or another strove to rehabilitate the passions and even to give them a place of honor. Fontenelle, to be sure, merely claims that they are necessary.37 It will remain for Diderot to ennoble them. Man's passions, his follies, the ir-

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rational side of his nature, Fontenelle held, are in the long run more important than his reason, for they are the vital elements in his life; it is they that make things go, that are creative; nature has decreed this state of things in order to make men act : therefore, in this sense, the passions are good, generally speaking. 3 8 Man cannot find certainty in anything. His future is vague and deceptive. His schemes never work out in the manner in which he wants them to work out. T h e very yearnings and wishes of his heart are subject to deception and illusion. Indeed one is deceived as often as one needs to be deceived. T h a t is the burden of the dialogue whose two speakers are Callirrhoe and P a u l i n a 3 9 — a dialogue (like the one between Sappho and L a u r a ) that reveals a précieux and gallant Fontenelle who delves in witty and ironic fashion into the psychology of love, like his precursors of the Carte de Tendre school. Paulina claims that a woman is in danger when she is the object of a passionate love, for her lover will devise the most complicated and ingenious schemes to attain his goal. She herself was beloved by Mundus. She resisted him for a long time, but he finally conquered by a strategem. Paulina was a worshiper of the god Anubis. Told by a priestess that she was desired by Anubis, she ecstatically yielded to him, only to discover later that the god was Mundus. H o w could she have resisted? W o m e n have been known to yield to gods disguised as men and animals. W h a t could have been more natural than for her to yield to a man disguised as a god. It is now the turn of Callirrhoe to relate the story of her own deception. She was about to be married and according to the custom of the country went to the river Scamander to offer up her virginity. Imagine the surprise of everyone and her own joy, when the god came out of his reeds and accepted that virginity. All were delighted at the signal honor bestowed upon one of their own, perhaps even the lady's fiancé. Later, however, to her great amazement, she met the god walking about the town. He was in reality an Athenian captain whose fleet had anchored in the Scamander. T h e two

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w o m e n had b e e n deceived because they wished to be deceived. " I f o n e did not help oneself in g e t t i n g deceived, o n e w o u l d scarcely taste a n y pleasures." It is g o o d therefore to deceive oneself. 4 0 T o o serious reflection kills one's pleasures. D e c e p t i o n enters likewise in the m a t t e r of fidelity between lovers. " T h e heart is the source of all the errors that are necessary to u s ; its supply is i n e x h a u s t i b l e . " If a w o m a n wishes to believe her lover is a g o d , he is a god for h e r ; if she wishes to believe he is faithful, he is faithful for her. L e t us therefore cherish our illusions and d e c e p t i o n s : they m a k e for our happiness, fleeting and shortlived t h o u g h it be. T h e e m o t i o n o f love, like all o t h e r h u m a n emotions, is constructed upon the shifting sands o f uncertainty and doubt. O n e can never be sure either o f its p e r m a n e n c y or depth. S o m a n y o t h e r e l e m e n t s e n t e r into it that it b e c o m e s vitiated. I n the dialogue that f o l l o w s , 4 1 F o n t e n e l l e considers the effect o f vanity and indiscretion upon love. H e r e we discover the shade o f K i n g C a n d a u l e s b e r a t i n g the shade of his friend G y g e s . C a n d a u l e s believes that, after all, it was not necessary for G y g e s to b r i n g about his death. G y g e s retorts that he could not have done otherwise. F o r the K i n g , proud o f the c h a r m s of his wife and vain because o f his good fortune, revealed the hidden beauties o f his w i f e to his friend G y g e s . T h e Q u e e n , aware of this, sent for G y g e s a n d told h i m either to kill h i m s e l f or kill her h u s b a n d and then m a r r y her. H e r h o n o r was at s t a k e ; a m a n o t h e r t h a n her h u s b a n d had seen her n a k e d n e s s . A n d yet, she could have been silent a n d n o o n e w o u l d have been the wiser. T h e t r u t h o f the m a t t e r w a s that she was tired o f K i n g C a n d a u l e s and w a n t e d to get rid of h i m . H e , poor G y g e s , had no choice. C a n d a u l e s rem a r k s wryly that probably G y g e s h a d m o r e taste for his wife, than she, his w i f e had a distaste for h i m , the K i n g . A t any rate he was w r o n g to trust h i m . B u t G y g e s persists in placing all t h e b l a m e o n C a n d a u l e s . T h e latter was vain. V a n i t y m a d e h i m indiscreet. O n e can be i m p r u d e n t over a mistress, but not over a wife. O n e c a n n o t treat t h e m a r r i a g e state the way he did. C a n -

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daules, however, continues to defend his curious action. It is impossible to be silent when one is happy. T o be perfectly happy one wants witnesses. Consider the episode of the Persian k i n g led in triumph before the emperor, and spoiling the latter's triumph by singing gaily and mockingly: "Nonsense, nonsense, and like everything else, nonsense!" Whereupon Gyges inquires whether his friend the K i n g would have loved his wife less if he, Gyges, had uttered these words when he beheld the charms of the Queen. Candaules, then, confesses that his vanity would have been hurt. T h e possession of a beautiful wife is flattering and makes discretion a difficult virtue. But, concludes Gyges, one ought not to be vain in love. Nature has destined the union of man and woman. T h e choice of a wife is no indication of merit. T h i s thought ought to make lovers discreet. Even as the passion of love, about which men m a k e much ado, is built on nothing substantial, in the same way the great events that are the delight of the historians originate from the most trivial and childish causes. Helen of T r o y and Fulvia of R o m e bring out this idea in another dialogue. 4 2 Fulvia, desiring to avenge the affront put upon her by her husband M a r k Antony who had fallen in love with a notorious actress, offered to become the mistress of Augustus, her husband's political rival. But Augustus was finicky in his choice of mistresses and rejected her advances on the grounds that she was neither sufficiently young nor beautiful. Whereupon she threatened to start a civil war between the two men if Augustus persisted in his refusal. Since he remained adamant, the civil war broke out. Such is the story of Fulvia. Helen of T r o y then muses that it is a curious thing that the world's two greatest wars were caused by women, although the first was caused by a woman whose husband loved her and wanted her back, and the second by a woman whose husband was unfaithful and didn't want her. T h e first was caused by a beautiful woman, the second by an ugly woman. Consider, too, the ridiculous and comical aspects of the T r o j a n

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W a r . T h e T r o j a n s could have put an end to it by yielding Helen, but they were divided on that issue, and even Priam, w h o m H o m e r says was wise as a god, could not make up his mind. A t least the ridiculous side of the T r o j a n W a r was apparent, but in the case of the R o m a n Civil W a r that side has remained concealed. " A n d that is the way things go with mankind. O n the surface you see noble actions, but their hidden motives are as a rule quite ridiculous. It is important for the honor of the most glorious events that their causes be concealed." T h e next dialogue 4 3 is extremely pessimistic in tone. T w o philosophers are contrasted: Parmeniscus and Theocritus of Chios. T h e latter when he was in the realm of the living was given over to laughter and mockery. Parmeniscus, on the contrary, was grave and serious. T h e world's evil prevented h i m from laughing. Desiring to cure his pessimism he consulted the oracle of Delphi, who as usual answered ambiguously and told h i m to return to the maternal fold. A chance voyage to Delos proved the oracle's wisdom and cured him of his sadness. In one of the temples of Apollo he beheld a crudely made wooden image of Latona, mother of Apollo. H e burst out into laughter. H i s bad humor had prevented him from laughing over men's ridiculousness, because he expected men to be ridiculous, but that the mother of a god should be ridiculous was something he did not expect. H u m a n remedies were insufficient. H e needed divine remedies. A n d yet, answers Theocritus, the joy and gaiety you envied so much, ruined the Tyrinthians who, unable to take anything seriously, brought their commonwealth to a sorry pass. In order to be serious they ought to have descended into the cave of Trophonius, even as Parmeniscus had done. T h e latter, then, explains that the cave of Trophonius is nothing more than the art of reflection. H a d the Tyrinthians done as Parmeniscus, they too would have ceased laughing. Reason makes us sad. N a ture did not intend to have us think. Nature wants us to live, " . . . and living consists of not knowing what you're doing

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most of the time." T h i n k i n g makes us discover the futility of l i f e : having become wise we no longer want to act and N a t u r e disapproves of that. 4 4 It has been pointed out innumerable times that one of the distinguishing characteristics of the eighteenth century is an unbounded faith in the efficacy of h u m a n reason as the instrument by means of which man could solve the problems he was f a c i n g . T h e r e were f e w complete skeptics. Most of the thinkers of that age had strong beliefs: a belief in the power of reason, for one thing. Fontenelle, precursor of the eighteenth century in so many ways, differs f r o m the thinkers w h o followed him by his totally negative attitude toward reason. 4 5 T h e dialogues reflect that transitional period ( 1 6 8 5 - 1 7 1 5 ) when the old beliefs were dead or at least dying, and men had not yet accepted a new faith. Hence, the pessimistic and negative tone of so many of the dialogues, hence the cynicism, the spirit of contradiction that w e find in them. Henee, too, the d a z z l i n g paradoxes and antitheses that abound. Parmeniscus was sad until he saw the ridiculous god. E v e n the gods are ridiculous. Parmeniscus was brought to a sorry impasse by his seriousness, the Tyrinthians almost ruined their commonwealth by their frivolity, and T h e ocritus of Chios lost his life because of an untimely jest at the expense of his blind king. Fontenelle does not indulge in paradox and antithesis merely because he is a bel esprit and wants to amuse the fair ladies w h o grace the salon he frequents. H e does so to give his reader a certain impression: nothing is certain in life and in the w o r l d ; all is f l u x ; chance rules all; the very same causes may have different effects; the most tremendous events may result from the most ridiculous and fortuitous causes. Such is the burden of the dialogue between Helen of T r o y and F u l v i a of R o m e — a dialogue that reveals the fundamental vulgarity of history. M a n kind is vain on the subject of its wisdom, and that is a great illusion, says the dialogue between W i l l i a m of Cabestan and Albert Frederick of Brandenburg. T h a t the foundations of love

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are just as illusory is the argument of the dialogue between K i n g C a n d a u l e s and Gyges. Nevertheless, the passions are necessary, vanity can be beneficial (the dialogue between Herostratus and Demetrius of P h a l e r u m ) , and self-deception in love fruitful (the dialogue between Callirrhoe and P a u l i n a ) , because they m a k e for action and happiness, whereas reflection that tears the veil a w a y from our supposed wisdom, from vanity, love, history, makes for sterility and hence unhappiness (Parmeniscus and Theocritus of Chios). These are so many echoes of the d i l e m m a of Smindyrides, the thinker who prizes the beauty of reason, but whose very reason saps the foundations of all h u m a n activity, including its own validity. For nature meant that we should act, not think. Smindyrides is the key to the dialogues. W h e n Fontenelle created this character, he was depicting himself. Therefore his use of contrasts, his spirit of contradiction, his paradoxes, are all part of a method, of a dialectic determined by the author's view of the universe. In another dialogue 4,i we find Scarron pointing out to Seneca that he is a better and truer Stoic than many a philosopher w h o has proudly given himself that name. Unlike these philosophers Scarron w a s poor and crippled. But despite his afflictions, he jested; he was merry and g a y ; and he wrote works that had those attractive qualities. In these writings he showed that there is a close relationship between the ridiculous and the sublime, that everything is a matter of perspective, that judgments are relative. In short he was a philosopher, although he did not care to employ the conventional philosophical mold into which to pour his philosophy. Instead of composing orthodox treatises showing that disease and poverty ought not to lessen one's gaiety, Scarron demonstrated through his comical verses and his burlesque that in spite of poverty and disease he was g a y . Seneca speculated, but Scarron practiced. W h e n Seneca protests that such wisdom is the product of temperament, rather than reason, Scarron agrees and further avers that such is the best wisdom. T o Seneca, a wisdom derived from nature does not

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have the merit of a wisdom attained by dint of reasoning, but to Scarron, the idea of merit is a purely artificial one. Nature and the rights of nature are mightier than reason, and men are so aware of this that they hold reason in little esteem. In demolishing the pretentions of Seneca in this d i a l o g u e , Scarron demolishes the pretentions of all those philosophers w h o w o u l d build systems. It is w r o n g to construct an ingeniously logical and rational philosophical structure, and then attempt to m a k e life fit into this arbitrary f r a m e w o r k . Fontenelle is against the esprit de système, and through the m o u t h of Scarron he attacks the systematizers. 4 7 Later Voltaire will level the same accusation against that type of philosopher. Descartes, he w i l l say, was great in his method and in his mathematics, but inferior in his philosophy, because he had the esprit de système,48 Life is too big, too rich, too varied and complex to be explained by an arbitrary and artificial philosophical card index. L i f e should be lived, not explained, and philosophy should be built upon the facts of experience. T h e r e lies true w i s d o m . A n d so Fontenelle a i m s his corrosively skeptical dialectic at this u n n a t u r a l and d a n g e r o u s attitude, then accepted. It is not a frivolous dialectic, for it is meant to destroy that w h i c h is h a r m f u l , and as such it m a y have ultimately a positive value. One w o u l d be w r o n g , indeed, to conclude that because Fontenelle is against the systematizers, his philosophy is purely negative, that it consists of a mass of obiter dicta w i t h neither r h y m e nor reason. Carré is well aware of this fact w h e n he observes: " T h e system, for a system is discoverable, w a s the very i m a g e of h i m in w h o m it had its b e i n g : u n y i e l d i n g yet pliant, possessing well-defined joints yet capable of v a r y i n g and subtle degrees of application. E v e r y t h i n g held together . . . , but everything too, w a s in suspension before an intellect which j u d g e d itself, and remained free in regard to itself. [Fontenelle indeed made a definite contribution to p h i l o s o p h y ] : . . . the set of interlocking ideas which covered the ensemble of theoretical and practical interests . . . , combined w i t h the art of

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playing with his own convictions, was original. . . ." Fontenelle has a philosophical message (it is better perhaps to use the expression "philosophical message" than "system") and he 49

has a method, as his dialogues show. N o w even as the humble Scarron has damaged the position of the lordly Seneca, in the same way Anacreon dethrones Aristotle in the dialogue subtitled " S u r la philosophie." 5 0 Aristotle is unable to understand why Anacreon, a maker of popular songs, merits the name of "wise" and dares to put himself on a par with the philosopher. Anacreon insists that the " s a g e " is greater than the "philosopher," that he had been given that title because he sang, drank, and made love, because, unlike Aristotle, he had not spent his nights splitting philosophical hairs. W h e n Aristotle accuses Anacreon of having taken the easy way out, the latter retorts: " . . . let me tell you, it is more difficult to drink and to sing as I sang and drank than to philosophize as you did. T o sing and drink as I, you would have had to free your soul from violent desires, no longer yearn for what does not depend on you, made up your mind to take things always as they come; in short, you've got to arrange beforehand ever so many little matters, and although there isn't much dialectics in such things, it's not so easy to attain those ends." But being a philosopher in the manner of Aristotle was an easy matter. H e did not check his passions, he swam with the tide, and as a courtier of Alexander the Great he received a comfortable income. In brief his kind of philosophy led to a very unphilosophical kind of an existence. Aristotle answers that he has been maligned, that man's glory resides in the fact that he possesses reason with which he studies the universe, and he implies he has done so. Anacreon, accepting the greatness of reason and admitting that philosophy can be a fine thing, nevertheless claims that philosophy has been confounded with the physical sciences such as astronomy and physics. Philosophy should concern itself with man. O n e of his songs is more philosophical than many a treatise so labeled. In that case, answers Aristotle, you like ethics.

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You will be interested to know that I have written books on that subject. On the contrary, retorts Anacreon, what you have accomplished is to construct a system. "It is not a question of methodically defining the passions, as you are supposed to have done, but of conquering them." M e n like to have their evil passions described, but not cured, like the people who are paid for attacking the existence of wealth. 5 1 T h i s striking dialogue, with its contrasting characters and its clash of ideas, stresses the essential h u m a n i s m of Fontenelle. H e is interested in man as experience reveals him to be. H e will not go on a journey into the empyrean with the systematizers and the seekers after absolutes. Indeed it is they, he would seem to say, w h o by befuddling men's minds and setting up arbitrary imperatives increase the evil which is the lot of the sad race of man. It is against them that his satire is leveled, and a device of that satire is his spirit of contradiction, his use of clashing contrasts, his skeptical dialectic, derived from his temperament. And yet there are some dialogues that reveal another facet of our author's temperament; dialogues that show that Fontenelle was not a skeptic in the usual meaning of that much abused word. T h e r e are times when his conclusions are definitely positive. Such a dialogue is the one between Artemisia and Raymond Lull, ; ' 2 on the perfection toward which men aspire. Curiously enough even in this one, the author employs the spirit of contradiction as a method. H e does this in order to oppose dramatically the two contradictory aspects of the case, even though here the positive side will emerge victorious. Lull shows Artemisia how they resemble one another. T h e world a l w a y s believed that he had discovered the philosophical stone and so knew the secret of transmuting base metals into gold. T h e world also believed and admired the wifely fidelity of Artemisia who had drunk the ashes of her dead husband, Mausolus, and built him a magnificent tomb. T h e world had been deceived: there was no philosophical stone and Artemisia had not been faithful to the memory of her husband. Shortly

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after his death she had fallen in love again. T h e Queen, surprised and disturbed by the fact that her unsavory past is known, admits the truth of the remarks to Lull, but adds that, though they both received honors they did not merit, the world deserved to be deceived because it wanted to be deceived. Lull continues the parallel between the Queen and himself. Both looked for the impossible: " . . . you the secret of being faithful to your husband, and I that of changing metals into gold. . . . I think that marital fidelity is like the philosopher's stone." U p to this point the argument has been negative and destructive. Oddly enough, it is Lull himself who having up to now shown human nature in a bad light proceeds to show the other side of the medal. After this destructive criticism come the constructive arguments. Undoubtedly Fontenelle's intention was constructive all the while, but he chose rather to present his case in this dramatic fashion, balancing one set of ideas against the opposing set. T h e reader is hardly aware of the transition from one point of view to the other, all of which speaks well for the author's sense of the classical "art that conceals art." T h u s immediately after Lull has expressed his doubts on the existence of conjugal fidelity and the philosopher's stone, the exasperated Artemisia retorts that skeptical though he was on the subject of women, he nevertheless continued to look for the philosopher's stone. Lull admits he did, he confesses he pursued a chimera, but he adds that it is good to pursue chimeras, for in so doing man discovers many things that he was not looking for. T h e pursuit of the impossible in the field of knowledge is beneficial, for along the way one gains incidentally much useful information. Chemistry has its philosophical stone, geometry its squaring of the circle, astronomy its longitudes, mechanics its perpetual motion: it is impossible to find these things, but it will prove very useful to look for them. Morality, too, has its chimeras: unselfishness and perfect friendship. O n e never attains them, but in trying to attain them one develops other virtues and accomplishes many good deeds worthy of praise. In all

4

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t h i n g s m e n should propose to themselves " a point o f perfection b e y o n d their very r e a c h . " S u c h a n ideal will spur t h e m on to action. I f the t r u t h w e r e obvious no o n e w o u l d l o o k for i t . 5 3 I n this way the tone of the e n d i n g of this d i a l o g u e is in m a r k e d contrast with the tone o f the first h a l f . B y the use o f this dialectical m e t h o d , F o n t e n e l l e is able to drive h o m e his point in a m o r e c o n v i n c i n g and m e a n i n g f u l m a n n e r t h a n h e w o u l d have b e e n able to, had he used, let us say, the essay f o r m w i t h its expository t e c h n i q u e . F o r here the t w o sides o f t h e question are presented in d r a m a t i c conflict. B y m e a n s of this m e t h o d , F o n t e n e l l e b r i n g s out vividly the t w o m a i n points o f his c a s e : a m a n is foolish if he be c r e d u l o u s ; a m a n nevertheless o u g h t to believe in an ideal if he wishes to a c c o m p l i s h a n y t h i n g . F o n t e nelle's conclusion is positive but in a m i l d and m o d e r a t e fashion, in k e e p i n g w i t h his t e m p e r a m e n t . I n the dialogue " S u r la c o m é d i e , "

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the a u t h o r c o n f r o n t s

Paracelsus and M o l i è r e . T h e c o m i c p l a y w r i g h t is full o f a d m i r a tion for Paracelsus, because of the latter's studies and k n o w l e d g e o f the spirits a n d the inhabitants of the e l e m e n t s . I f Paracelsus k n o w s that subject, h o w far better he must k n o w t h e simpler and m o r e obvious o n e o f m a n , of m a n ' s heart and soul and their activities. Paracelsus denies that he has any k n o w l e d g e w o r t h m e n t i o n i n g c o n c e r n i n g m e n , or that he cares to h a v e

such

k n o w l e d g e . W h a t intrigues h i m is the mysterious. T h e study of m a n is b e n e a t h h i m . M o l i è r e is shocked. P a r a c e l s u s has n o r i g h t to explore the mysterious w h e n by his o w n a d m i s s i o n he k n o w s next to n o t h i n g about his o w n k i n d ! I n his search for "silly m y s t e r i e s " he ignores w h a t stands before h i m . W h e n P a r a celsus asks h i m w h a t was his calling and by w h a t

authority

he dares criticize h i m , M o l i è r e retorts: " Y o u have studied t h e properties of the elemental-spirits, and I have studied t h e follies o f m e n . " H e w r o t e comedies, he satirized the foibles o f m a n . H e m a d e m e n laugh at themselves. " I n order to l a u g h at the t h i n g s o f the world, you've got to be in some w a y outside of t h e m , and c o m e d y draws you out o f t h e m . " M a n sees h i m s e l f

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objectively. It is true that men will commit the same follies again. Nevertheless, " . . . it's quite something to have poked fun at oneself; nature has given us in that respect a marvelous facility, in order to prevent us from duping ourselves." A sense of humor makes us capable of self-criticism. A part of us is always m o c k i n g another part. "Couldn't you say that man is made up of related parts?" Paracelsus is not impressed by Molière's dissertation on the nature of the comic Muse. H e is of the opinion that his own subject is loftier and hence possesses greater merit. Molière parries this remark by asserting that he will outlive Paracelsus in the memory of man : " H e who wishes to create for posterity, should create fools." In this dialogue Paracelsus is the obscurantist who loses himself in a maze of intricate and subtle trivialities. Molière on the other hand is the philosopher to whom both reason and experience have shown that the proper study of mankind is m a n . Here Fontenelle is a humanist and a classicist who is interested in analyzing the heart of man—universal man—in order to reach in the end certain universal truths concerning human nature. Man is a fool, but he has the faculty of laughing at his folly. A n d the dialogue, as Fontenelle writes it, is indeed a miniature comedy. 5 " A fine example of Fontenelle's technique is to be found in the dialogue: " Q u ' o n ne se dégoûtera point de chercher la vérité quoique sans succès." 0 8 T h e third false Demetrius, pretender to the throne of the Czars, and the philosopher Descartes converse in the Elysian Fields. T h e pseudo-Demetrius cannot help but contrast his own troubled life with the calm and contemplative life of Descartes. T h e philosopher blames the pretender himself for his misfortunes. Demetrius had no business coveting the throne of Moscow and, in order to achieve that end, attempting to impersonate the real prince, a ruse tried twice before and which had brought its perpetrators to a miserable death. A third attempt could scarcely have deceived the Muscovites, stupid as Demetrius claims them to be. Furthermore they could not have

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been so easily deceived i n a s m u c h as m a n y o f t h e m w e r e w o n t to e x c l a i m m o c k i n g l y : " W h a t , still m o r e D e m e t r i u s e s ? " T o be sure h e c l a i m s that t h e n a m e o f D e m e t r i u s was beloved and people ran after h i m . ( " Y o u k n o w w h a t t h e m o b i s ! " ) N e v e r theless the miserable e n d of the first t w o i m p o s t o r s o u g h t to have discouraged h i m . B u t t h e p s e u d o - D e m e t r i u s was not disc o u r a g e d . I n d e e d he was e n c o u r a g e d . W h o w o u l d suppose that a third person w o u l d dare i m p e r s o n a t e t h e real p r i n c e ?

Des-

cartes retorts that even had h e b e e n the first, he o u g h t to have f u r n i s h e d h i m s e l f w i t h g o o d proofs o f his supposed r a n k before m a k i n g t h e a t t e m p t . D e s c a r t e s belabors the u n f o r t u n a t e fellow w i t h the lordly pride of the professional p h i l o s o p h e r w h o , feeli n g he is free f r o m the w e a k n e s s e s that beset the m a j o r i t y o f m a n k i n d , views poor h u m a n i t y w i t h scorn f r o m the heights of his ivory t o w e r . B u t the p s e u d o - D e m e t r i u s has his revenge. In characteristic F o n t e n e l l e f a s h i o n , h e p r o c e e d s to t u r n the tables on Descartes. D e s c a r t e s believed he had discovered the riddle o f the universe, that his system was true a n d m a d e all p r e c e d i n g ones outm o d e d a n d useless, that h e n c e f o r t h he w o u l d be the chief in the field of t h o u g h t . G r a n t i n g his sincerity a n d t h e faith he had in his o w n proofs, did he forget that he had b e e n preceded not by three philosophers but by a t h o u s a n d , all o f w h o m m a d e the same c l a i m s as h e ? People c o u l d say w i t h g r e a t e r justice : " W h a t , still m o r e p h i l o s o p h e r s ? " D e s c a r t e s , r e f u t e d point by

point,

yields. P h i l o s o p h e r s , he a d m i t s , dupe m a n k i n d a n d themselves. T h e philosopher is like a child p l a y i n g at b l i n d m a n ' s b u f f : with eyes b a n d a g e d , he gropes about in the d a r k o f his ignorance and his l i m i t a t i o n s ; s o m e t i m e s , but rarely, he m a y accidentally grasp the t r u t h , but he will not b e a w a r e o f the fact, and truth will elude his f u m b l i n g fingers. M a n is avid for the truth and will always strive to attain it even t h o u g h h e will always fail. M a n is m o r e eager in his pursuit o f truth t h a n w e r e the Muscovites in their pursuit of the f a m e o f D e m e t r i u s . H e will not be disc o u r a g e d . " I t is always a pleasant hope, t h o u g h a deceptive o n e . "

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Once again we seem to hear the dominant chord of so many of these dialogues. Though in a sense there is no conclusion, one nevertheless is implied and it comes to us in the form of a lesson. Descartes has been taught humility. He has been shown the folly of pride and dogmatism. He has been shown that the only true philosopher is the "ignorant philosopher." A similar lesson is suggested in the dialogue that follows: "Comment les grandes choses se font." 37 The dialogue is witty and cynical. The two interlocutors, the Duchess of Valentinois and Anne Boleyn, compare their relations with the royalty of their day. They discuss the merits and the successes of their actions. They even, with the honesty and frankness that sometimes characterizes the interlocutors in the Dialogue of the Dead, destroy some of the legends that have grown up around the true facts of history. T o the Duchess of Valentinois the greatest difficulty that arises in the relationship between man and woman is to be beloved as long as one wishes. Anne Boleyn remarks that the Duchess in that case can boast of having had extraordinary success, for though a grandmother she continued to be beloved by her royal master. What was the secret? T h e Duchess confesses frankly that there was no secret, that great things are done without one's knowing how, that she does not know how or why she was successful. If you asked Caesar how he conquered the world, he could not tell you. T h e accomplishments of the Duchess and of Caesar were equally glorious and were founded, so people will erroneously suppose, upon marvelous plans and infallible secrets. Once again Fontenelle plays one of his favorite leitmotifs: the theme of chance as the master of life's happenings. Chance rules the universe. One may make plans and devise schemes. In the end it is chance, or fate, that determines the success or failure of one's endeavors. It is, therefore, idle, futile, and stupid to boast about the success of one's actions. The only intelligent and philosophic attitude is one of humility. Not only individuals, but nations and races should adopt the

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same spirit of humility. T h i s is brought out, once again by implication, in the last of all the dialogues: "Quelle est la difference des peuples barbares et des polis." 5 8 Hernando Cortez boastfully proclaims to Montezuma the superiority of European civilization over that of the Indians. H e accuses the Indians of being superstitious barbarians. H e defends the Greeks and the R o m a n s as the teachers of contemporary European nations, who derive all their sciences and arts from these same Ancients. F o r each of the arguments of Cortez, Montezuma has a counterargument. It is true that the Indians were superstitious when they took the invading Spaniards for gods. Nevertheless the benighted Indians had never seen a galleon or a cannon. O n the other hand the much vaunted Athenians welcomed the tyranny of Pisistratus as a result of the ruse he adopted of having a woman accomplice masquerade as the goddess Minerva. T h e y were therefore more superstitious and greater dupes than the Indians, for they should have been able to tell the difference between a goddess and a woman. T h e s e same Greeks believed in oracles, the Romans decided their foreign and domestic policies according to the appetites of their sacred chickens. A n d so the ridiculous story goes on. T h e r e is not one bit of nonsense attributed to the Indians that cannot be matched by some European superstition. T h e Indians, moreover, got along very well without any knowledge of the arts and sciences of the Ancients. Indeed they had their own arts and sciences which they developed to a marvelous degree. T h u s in the end Cortez had been unable to prove the superiority of the Europeans over the Indians. T h e Europeans have their civilization, the Indians theirs.'' 9 T h e merits or demerits of each respective civilization are not absolute, but relative. Cortez makes a last attempt to win his argument. T h i s final attempt renders him utterly ridiculous. Blandly and naively he argues that good morals reign in Europe. T h e r e is no force or violence. Power is moderated by justice. W a r s are waged only

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for just causes. T h e Spaniards invaded Mexico only after they had proved to themselves that Mexico belonged to them. Montezuma's only reply to these arguments is the ironical one that undoubtedly the Spaniards treated the Indian barbarians better than thcv deserved. T h e European man can be called civilized, continues M o n t e z u m a , only if one considers his externals, his conventions. In his heart he is still a barbarian. H i s boasted reason does not govern him. It protests that it does, and that protestation satisfies him. Indeed he pays only lip service to Reason. " Y o u have gotten into the habit of acknowledging her and then despising her." T h e unhappy Cortez, baffled at every turn by the insistent and vigorous logic of his Indian opponent, claims that at least the European is in a better position to follow reason, since he recognizes it. Montezuma yields to h i m on that score and concludes with devastating irony that in that case the Indians, had they been able, had as much right to conquer the Spaniards as the latter to conquer the former. T h i s is one of the dialogues that reveals the Fontenelle who belittled the Ancients, who pulled them from the lofty pedestal where they had been placed by the humanists of the sixteenth century and the classicists of the seventeenth century. Y e t he does not destroy the authority of the Ancients for its own sake. H e seems to have a more important objective in mind. H e is belittling his own age and his own civilization. H e is pointing out the relative merits of his own times. By the end of the seventeenth century European man had become aware of the existence of civilizations other than his o w n . A n important "travel" literature 8 0 was in the making. T h e unity and exclusiveness of the great classic age of Louis X I V were slowly being undermined by this flux of new ideas engendered by new contacts. W h e n Fontenelle, through the mouth of the ironical Montezuma, criticizes the policy of the Spaniards in regard to the Indians, he is satirizing the imperialistic foreign policy of his master, Louis X I V . O n c e again we find an important lesson

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implied in this dialogue, a lesson in humility. Frenchmen have little right to be smug, to boast of the exclusiveness of their civilization. Given such a critical and destructive intellectual temper, its proper method of expression will be the technique which has been named the spirit of contradiction, a technique which indeed has classical antecedents. T h e dialogue, as a dramatic conversation, is the form in which this spirit can best find expression. Fontenelle is ever conscious of this spirit and of this technique. T h e Entretiens sur la pluralité des mondes are not dialogues strictly speaking. T h e y are rather a series of expository essays in which Fontenelle speaks in the first person, with the beautiful Marchioness interrupting from time to time, in order that Fontenelle may carry on his exposition more completely and in different directions. Yet here, too, we find that critical attitude which insists on considering both sides of the question, even though the one may contradict the other. At the beginning of the "Troisième Soir" Fontenelle tells the Marchioness that the moon, 6 1 which he had argued, on the night before, to be an inhabited world according to all appearances, might not be inhabited after all. Something has occurred to him which makes him doubt that hypothesis. T h e Marchioness becomes alarmed. She had grown to like the idea of an inhabited moon, and indeed she had become persuaded of the fact. Now Fontenelle has taken the opposite point of view. T h e philosopher answers his companion's objections in this fashion: " Y o u are too hasty . . . you must let only half of your mind accept matters of this nature, and keep the other half free, where the very opposite may be admitted, if there be need to do so." Fontenelle then goes on to show her that the sun does not draw from the moon vapors and exhalations as it does from the earth. T h e r e are no cloud formations over the moon, hence no water is formed there. T h i s lack of water, of the process of evapora-

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tion, makes it difficult to admit the existence of h u m a n life on the moon. T h e globe does not seem to have the elements that maintain life. T h e Marchioness interrupts our philosopher. H e had spoken of the existence of mighty seas on the moon. "It's only a guess, I answered." W h a t may seem like a body of water, may only be a large depression. T h e poor Marchioness is disconsolate. She regrets abandoning the inhabitants of the moon. Is that necessary? " N o t entirely, Madame, I went on; we will not take sides either for them or against them." But the Marchioness has a strong desire for certainty. She wants to be assured either one way or the other, especially the way that argues for the existence of the inhabitants of the moon. T h e gallant Fontenelle replies: "In that case I shall not leave the moon empty . . . let us repopulate it to please you." H e reasons then that the moon may well have an atmosphere, in spite of the fact that no clouds are seen over it. This atmosphere, however, is undoubtedly more tenuous and more rarefied than that of the earth. In short it is not like that of our planet. Therefore the vegetation of the moon is not like the earth's, nor can the inhabitants of the moon be like those of the earth. H e posits this hypothesis, but admits he does not k n o w what this vegetation is like, or the nature of the moon's inhabitants. " ' T h a t is to say,' the Marchioness said to me, 'that all you know is that everything is right without knowing how: that's a great deal of ignorance based on very little knowledge; but we've got to get along with that.' " N o w some may argue that all of this is nothing but witty and gallant persiflage. It is a good deal more than that. T h e age demanded that kind of expression. This was the period of salons, of grand ladies, of brilliant conversation, of laces and ruffles, of graces and minuets. Fontenelle used the mode of expression that was proper to that society. After all he intended to reach it, and reach it he did. T h e book was extremely popular. T h e important thing to stress is that he was fundamentally serious; his purpose was to popularize the Copernican view of the universe.

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The late Professor De Ruggiero, defending the method of Voltaire, warns the reader more than once ". . . that his frivolity is part of his method of war, it does not pertain to the war itself, which is serious and grave. . . ." 6 2 Again some may object that Fontenelle is arguing in a somewhat a priori fashion. He does mention certain facts, and he argues from these facts. But has he verified them ? Fontenelle uses the data available in his day. Today we know infinitely more. But Fontenelle's method of procedure is still valid. He proceeds by hypotheses. Characteristic of the man, for example, is the beginning of the treatise on the vortices of Descartes: "I posit the existence of the universal plenum." c 3 In this technical work, meant for the specialist, Fontenelle starts off with an hypothesis; similarly, he theorizes in the Entretiens, meant for popular consumption, where the seriousness of the substance is concealed by the gaiety of the manner. This is not to deny that many of the cherished hypotheses of Fontenelle have not since been proven untenable and have been dispatched to the Limbo of discarded theories; nevertheless he did employ the scientific method. Science still must proceed by hypotheses. Fontenelle has adduced many arguments to prove the existence of human life on the moon. The Marchioness is jubilant, for the idea pleases her. Avid for certainty she would like to accept the theory as a dogma, because her mind and her heart are only comfortable and happy if they are presented with systems. There are many such Marchionesses. But Fontenelle has not the same temperament. After all, what he has set forth is only a theory, and there are other possible and plausible theories. The intelligent person will not give his adherence strictly to one. Some people indeed are possessed of an incurable yearning for "certitudes simplistes," but others realize it is a good thing to maintain "une inquietude intellectuelle, indispensable à notre bonne hygiène spirituelle." 04 Like his own Smindyrides, Fontenelle will deliberately nurture a division in his mind. One half of his mind will entertain one theory, the other half will con-

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sider the contrary theory. In the Dialogues of the Dead we find in different degrees the " t w o halves" of Fontenelle's mind manifested. If one of these halves is fixed along a certain line of reasoning, a certain idea or theory, the other half, the "free half" will intervene and present the "opposite." H e says of his hypothetical lunar dwellers, " . . . we will not take sides either for them or against them." In different degrees that is the impression one receives after a reading of the dialogues: one is never quite persuaded to accept one point of view and reject the other. Generally, one wavers between the opposing points of view: each has something to recommend it, each is worthy of consideration. W e are surrounded and we are part of a world of phenomena, Fontenelle would seem to be saying to us. W e , as limited creatures, can never be quite sure of the validity, the reality of these phenomena. "It's only a g u e s s " says Fontenelle to the disconsolate Marchioness. Therefore the sage will not devise systems, nor will he enunciate d o g m a s . H e will do the best he can, and be consoled with the little he knows. " W e ' v e got to get along with that," ruefully admits the same Marchioness. Fontenelle will not be like Seneca, Aristotle, Descartes, and Paracelsus, the dogmatists. H e will join the company of the honest skeptics like Scarron and Anacreon, and he will always remember that "doubt is the beginning of w i s d o m and perhaps its e n d . " e e There is in all this a kind of humility, not Christian humility which is a transcendent virtue, but a quality of one's intellectual nature which readily admits the limitations of that nature, and which is reminiscent of the Socratic f o r m u l a : the only thing I know is that I know nothing. T h i s intellectual humility is to be found in a curious way in many of the great figures of the eighteenth century. Voltaire shows it in the Poème sur le désastre de Lisbonne β β when he considers different answers to explain the problem of Evil. These answers are contradictory. H e comes to no definite conclusion. Yet it illustrates the spirit of contradiction in Voltaire and the

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reasons for it. Diderot manifests it in his Entretien entre d'Alembert et Diderot 6 7 when, for example, having developed his materialistic hypothesis he readily admits to D'Alembert that every problem has its pro and con, but that, nevertheless, one must come to some decision, one must accept the most probable solution. Diderot believes he can make that claim for his own hypothesis. T h e particular importance of Fontenelle's dialogues, then, lies not so much in the fact that they in some respects illustrate the part he played in the Quarrel of the Ancients and Moderns, but in that he antedated in them the great figures of the eighteenth century by a temperament which will be their temperament and by a technique which will be their technique.

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FONTENELLE AND THE PLATONIC DIALOGUE: IRONY on the philosophy of Plato, 1 Professor Koyré points out that the dialogues of Plato's youth and maturity (usually called Socratic because that philosopher is one of the speakers) do not in general have a positive and definite conclusion. T h i s characteristic, disconcerting to some and criticized by others, is one of the virtues of the Platonic dialogue; indeed it is part of its very nature and structure. F o r Plato's Socrates does not enunciate dogma, he does not promulgate a doctrine. H e does, to be sure, have a philosophical message, implicit in the dialogues, but it is up to the reader by right thinking, by an effort on his part, to draw out that message. Socrates inculcates a lesson in method. H i s dialectic elicits reflection from the other interlocutors of the dialogue and from the reader as well. If these same interlocutors think wrongly, if their premises are false, if the definitions of the terms used are erroneous, if they have a mistaken conception of the essence of the problem under discussion, then the conclusion will be negative or paradoxical. Socrates reveals the inanity and the error of their logic, and the reader, if he but make the necessary effort, will understand the method of the philosopher and the correctness of his views. T h e destructive dialectic of Socrates is a catharsis by means of which, purged of one's errors and prejudices, one moves toward a closer approximation of the truth. I N A R E C E N T STUDY

T w o fundamental ideas compose the thesis of Professor Koyré —ideas that flow one from the other: first, that Plato's philosophical preoccupations are methodological rather than doctrinal; secondly, that because of them Plato, the artist, had perforce to choose the Dialogue as his vehicle of expression, rather

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than, say, the expository essay. F o r the dialogue, as Plato writes it, is a kind of dramatic composition. A dramatic work necessarily supposes an audience before whom it is played. It is not a pure spectacle and the person who watches it unfold cannot, or ought not, be a mere passive spectator. H e should instead try to understand the author's intentions, grasp the meaning of his play, and in a sense become part of the dramatic action. T h e greater the play, the more dramatic it is, the greater and the more intense will be the participation of the audience. Similarly the reader of the Platonic dialogue should collaborate with the intentions of the author, because with the eye of his mind he is watching a dramatic action unfold. It follows that the Platonic dialogue does have a conclusion, not a formal one to be sure, but one which the intelligent reader will draw out through his own active mental striving. 2 Other students of Plato have likewise noted these features of the Platonic dialogue. T h u s Professor Cooper, in his essay "Platonic Strife," 3 characterizes the Platonic dialogue as a mental battle, where ideas clash and are at stake. Errors and prejudices are sloughed off, ideas are exchanged, new ones begotten, one moves toward the truth. W i s d o m is not the reward of the mentally sluggish; it is the prize of him who fights. " T h e Platonic dialogue . . . is a mental fight. As related to poetry, it is dramatic, but it is not drama." T h e dialogue of Plato is a living organism, growing, developing, changing, moving from untruth to half-truth, from half-truth to truth, from a lower to a higher approximation of reality. T h e r e is strife in the Platonic dialogue because there is strife in life. T h e dialogue is a method of teaching wisdom, a means of compelling us to rise to great and noble heights. Professor Fite is not an admirer of Plato and he attacks the confusion and contradiction he finds in the latter's dialogues. 4 Neither does he seem to be favorably disposed toward the eighteenth century. Nevertheless, for us it is important that he notes the affinity between the methods of Plato and the litera-

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ture of that century when he says, "Thus far the arguments [employed in the Laws and in the Timaeus to show that the starry heavens are the revelation of mind, soul, and God], pro and con, are only those now familiar to us in eighteenth-century literature." 5 Jowett, too, is aware of "Plato's habit of indirectly hinting at his opinion and gradually arriving at it, instead of distinctly stating it when formed . . . ," and of the negative conclusion of many of the dialogues.0 He remarks that the dialogues show "the design of compelling the reader, by their peculiar form, to the independent origination of thoughts" and that Plato presupposes the reader is capable "by his own active participation" of drawing out the meaning of the dialogue.7 T o Plato, he tells us, thought was "a conversation of the soul with itself; . . . the logical element is therefore essentially dialogical." 8 There is therefore both a logical and psychological relationship between the thought of Plato and his method of expression. An artist was needed to produce such a philosophy.9 Dr. Merrill points out that the Platonic dialogue sprang naturally and spontaneously from life itself, that it is "a conflict of thought with thought." She agrees with Fénelon, who described this conflict as a kind of combat of which the reader is both spectator and judge. 10 The Platonic dialogue, she tells us, "stands close to the narrative and dramatic types of literature, but is distinguished from both by dealing with the thoughts, rather than the acts, of men." How is it that Plato does not present his ideas in the form of essays or treatises? Why does he use the Dialogue? He does so because he "realized that thought, with personality added to it, is a greater thing than thought alone." 1 1 He was aware of the appeal of the dialogue form because "the many-sidedness of abstract truth needs the interpretation that concrete personality can give it." 1 2 In sum, Dr. Merrill stresses the dramatic element in the Dialogue: the clash of characters espousing opposing ideas. In an essay on Plato, the late Paul Elmer More points up the

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vital quality of the dialogue form as used by Plato. H e observes that Platonism correctly understood "is not a dogmatic statement of the truth, but a continuous approximation thereto, which, for us as we are constituted, is more veracious than truth; it is not a metaphysic, but a discipline, an αναγωγή." 13 A writer on the dialogue form, Father Sforza Pallavicino of the Society of Jesus, who sees the Dialogue as an ideal tool for instilling ideas in the mind of the reader, defends that genre against its detractors. One of several accusations leveled against it is that of obscurity; the Dialogue tends to be obscure because of the many arguments and ideas advanced. T h e reader finds himself at a loss and is unable to make up his mind as to what side to take. T h i s is not a defect, says the writer, for it is of the very essence of the Dialogue to present many opinions to the reader, and it will be up to him, as the final judge, to choose between the stronger and the weaker arguments. Such seems to have been the intention of Plato and Cicero; the purpose of the Dialogue is to arouse in the reader "the curiosity and the eagerness of speculating in subtle fashion." 1 4 In short the Dialogue is a lesson in method. T h e Platonic dialogue is, therefore, a mental exercise; it makes for reflection; its goal is the acquisition of wisdom. O n a more modest scale Fontcnelle's dialogue likewise compels one to think; its end, too, is wisdom; and its spirit of contradiction fulfills the same function as the dialectic of Plato in the lattcr's dialogue. And just as Plato's dialogues are large and ambitious philosophical dramas, similarly Fontenellc's are brief and sparkling philosophical comedics. In both cases the reader, in the felicitous expression of Fénelon, is spectator and judge. T h e parallel illustrations that follow will point this up and justify the rather lengthy excursus just completed on the nature of the Platonic dialogue. In the Meno , : > the problem is : Can virtue (άρετη) be taught ? If not, how does one acquire it? T h e answer of Socrates is, in effect, that he does not know what is meant by virtue and in the

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process of the debate proves that neither does his adversary, Meno—who at the beginning of the dialogue was so certain of the meaning of virtue (why everybody knows what virtue is!) that he spoke glibly of teaching or acquiring it. Socrates thus proves the fundamental ignorance of Meno. H e does more than that: he suggests to the intelligent reader of the dialogue the fundamental insincerity of Meno. Adventurer, soldier of fortune, charming and argumentative man about town, rhetorician, disciple of the Sophist Gorgias, Meno is not at all interested in virtue. W h a t he seeks is easy success, the possession and enjoyment of all the "good things" of life, and therefore to him the teaching of virtue amounts to the acquisition of a technique which will give him all those "good things." Anytos, the wealthy middle-class Athenian and, as such, the avowed enemy of the Sophists, agrees with their disciple. T o the reader who has followed the intricacies of the Platonic dialectic, Socrates implies that virtue can be taught because it is a form of knowledge, but that it cannot be taught to people like Meno. T h e dialogue does not formulate a conclusion, inasmuch as the question asked at the beginning goes unanswered. O f Socrates' two interlocutors, Meno is left numb and dumbfounded and Anytos stews in a furious rage because he believes Socrates has defamed the State of Athens and its leaders. Nevertheless the implications of the dialogue are positive and the reader has benefited by the efïort he has made to draw them out. These two characteristics—the one negative: lack of formal conclusion; and the other positive: the implications and overtones of the dialogue—are also to be found in the Protagoras, the Theaetetus, and the Gorgias,16 And they are of the very nature of Fontenelle's dialogues, as our analysis has shown. One can, for example, draw a parallel mutatis mutandis between Plato's Meno and Fontenelle's dialogue between Descartes and the third false Demetrius. 1 7 W i t h overbearing smugness Descartes berates the unhappy Demetrius for his attempt to seize the throne of Moscow. Descartes is certain that he stands

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on solid ground. Now even as Socrates brings out the ignorance of Meno, Demetrius humbles the pride of Descartes. Socrates shows Meno to be insincere, and all the Sophists with him. Demetrius shows Descartes to be a fraud, and all the dogmatizing philosophers with him. Socrates, that is, Plato, implies a lesson in true philosophy; Demetrius, that is, Fontenelle, implies a lesson in humility. In both dialogues there seems to be no apparent conclusion. These remarks on the structure of the Platonic and Fontenellian dialogue lead to a consideration of another element common to both and allied to the dramatic nature of that structure: irony and delineation of character. T h e relationship between the philosophical dialogue and the drama, in particular the comedy, has been noted many times. Koyré, Cooper, Merrill, as we have seen, emphasize the dramatic nature of the Platonic dialogue. Hirzel makes a similar observation. 18 Dr. Goldschmidt mentions it. 1 9 Koyré remarks that Plato's dialogues can be acted on the stage, as, indeed they have been. 20 He points out that the Protagoras with its comical touches and character drawing is a veritable comedy, amusing as a farce of Aristophanes. 21 Gassner characterizes the three Socratic dialogues, the Trial and Apology of Socrates, the Crito, the Phaedo, as a "trilogy describing the martyrdom of a just man in an unjust world . . . ," and he reports a number of modern attempts to stage them. 2 2 Hirzel, too, mentions the fact that Plato's dialogues have been put on the stage in ancient and modern times. 23 Chapman observes: " T h e Art of Dialogue is but a miniature form of the Art of Drama." 2 4 Worcester sees the close alliance between the dialogue and the comedy. He remarks: " T h e dialogue is semi-dramatic. The speakers are sharply differentiated. Their points of view may be conflicting, or erroneous. The dialogue is thus closely related to the Mime." 2 5 There is a difference, however, between the two genres which

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must be noted. T h e dramatic conflict in a play, be it tragedy or comedy, is due to strife within the character himself, or between two characters, two opposing temperaments, or between a character and a situation, or a combination of all these factors. In the Dialogue, strife is engendered primarily by the clash of opposing ideas. T h e other dramatic elements are there, but, generally, one becomes conscious of them by implication. Which is to say that when we read a dialogue, what strikes us immediately is the clash of ideas, but that when we see a play we are made aware of the presence of conflicting wills and temperaments, and through these we may perceive a conflict of ideas. T h e art of the Dialogue is a difficult one. The dialogist can use words only. 26 It is through words, through the play of conversation that he makes us see the play of characters, of temperaments, and of emotions. He cannot depend on stage settings, physical action, and living actors. The warning of Professor Cooper is well taken: " T h e dialogue . . . is dramatic, not drama. Drama—a tragedy like Hamlet—presents a physical as well as a mental contest. . . . But the dialogue is essentially a mental fight about ideas." 27 Hirzel, too, sounds the same note of warning, yet admits that it is sometimes difficult to draw the line between the two genres.28 Now Greek comedy, we are told, used to employ three principal character types: the buffoon, who made fun for others; the eiron or ironical man, who made fun for himself; the alazon, the boaster and impostor, who was the butt of the fun. 29 Professor Thompson, in a recent study on irony in the drama, notes that the theory is that in the Old Comedy the eiron "the seeming simpleton, comes into conflict with the latter, the boaster, and gets the better of him." This latter type is the original of the m ties gloriosus, "the character who plays so frequent a role down through Latin comedy and commedia dell'arte." 3 0 T h e Socratic dialogue, related to the Mime, takes from it as its principal character, the eiron. Socrates is such a character, for ". . . the dialectical method of Socrates is that of a supersubtle

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eiron who feigns ignorance and draws out his interlocutors by disingenuous questions." 3 1 Thus in the Meno Socrates plies his adversary, who becomes more and more confused, with questions that are so many traps. Protesting his ignorance and his good faith all the while, Socrates reveals the ignorance of Meno, and transfixes him with many a well-aimed ironic barb. Socrates is something of a dissembler. There is in his method a good deal of duplicity, 32 and those who dislike it accuse Plato of intellectual dishonesty, of lacking seriousness and even of being a lover of quibbling. 3 3 In his defense it is pointed out that if Socrates pokes fun at his adversaries, if they are the butt of his irony, Plato does not mock his reader. 34 Irony is but a device of the dialogue. 3 '' Indeed the reader will enjoy it, because "the ironist appeals to an aristocracy of brains and the percipients of irony always feel themselves to be members of a small, select, secret society headed by the author." 3 0 At any rate whether Plato was right or wrong, honest or dishonest, does not concern us. What is of interest to us is the fact that irony is present in Fontenelle's dialogues, and indeed the Socratic eiron is a not infrequent character in them. T h e dialogue captioned "Qu'il y a quelque chose dans la vanité qui peut être bon" 3 7 deals, like others we have met in the course of our analysis, with a point of love. It is argued that love in the harem can hardly be love, because there it happens by command 3 S (compare the dialogue between Agnes Sorel and Roxelana) ; the debate receives an ironic twist. T h e two interlocutors of the dialogue are Solyman the Magnificent and Giulia Gonzaga. Giulia argues that she would hardly have fitted in the seraglio of the great Sultan. True, the latter's pursuit had given her the best moments of her life. She was flattered. She gloried in her beauty, and Solyman's passion increased her reputation for beauty. It delighted her that she was so ardently desired, and it was even more delightful to know that she was so difficult to get. But the summit of her happiness was attained by the thought that she was wanting to the happiness of the happy

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Solyman. So speaks Giulia, and through her words there appears to the reader the portrait of a spoiled and willful woman—and what is most extraordinary, Giulia, though dead, is still vain. T h e gallant Sultan stands by and listens to her chatter. S h e continues. With a shake of her charming head, she sighs that she could hardly have been happy in the Sultan's seraglio. T h a t sort of household contains so many attractive women, a good number of whom arc of necessity useless. Moreover, it is so difficult to love royalty, who insist on being loved by c o m m a n d . She would not have been happy, and because of that, her royal lover could not have been happy. T h i s is the opening that Solyman has been waiting for, and he takes advantage of it. H e confesses he does not follow her line of reasoning. A s long as he would have been satisfied, it would not have mattered whether she was happy or not. Giulia, shocked by this oriental argument, retorts that happiness is only possible when it is shared. Solyman, asking to be pardoned for his lack of delicacy—after all, he is a T u r k ! — t h i n k s his point is well taken. Why, a moment before she had reviewed the vanity of her past life on earth. She had in a sense condemned it. Isn't she still vain? "Isn't it a kind of unbearable egotism to hold that you make me happy only on the condition that I make you happy too ? " N o w , a sultan is more modest : he derives pleasure from many women without troubling himself as to whether he gives any in return, for ". . . this refinement you hold in such high esteem is nothing more than a kind of coin you proudly pay yourself. . . ." T h a t is to say, the oriental is frankly egotistical, the westerner conceals his egotism beneath the veil of his so-called delicacy—and that veil is woven from the stuff of man's vanity. Whereupon Giulia blurts out unthinkingly, ". . . in such a case I hold that vanity is necessary!" A n d Solyman-Socrates parries quickly, " Y o u were so critical of it just a little while a g o ? " — a s he pulls the r u g from under her. Befuddled and annoyed, Giulia, still fighting for her point of view, answers that she criticizes the one she was talking about,

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but not the one he was referring to. Where shall we draw the line? queries Solyman. Giulia, now completely confused, concludes that sometimes vanity is good, sometimes bad—a lame and meaningless reply. It may be that sometimes vanity is good. But that is not the point of the dialogue. Its force is to be found in the criticism of Giulia's character and the true meaning of love. She was vain all along, but it took the insidious dialectic of Solyman, the Socratic eiron, to make her admit it; and in his parenthetical remarks (Forgive me for my lack of delicacy: after all I am a Turk; a sultan is more modest!) one seems to hear that dry inner laughter 3 9 which is the characteristic of irony, and see that wry smile which is its visible sign. 40 In one other way, too, the magnificent Solyman is like the hero of the Socratic dialogues: toward his beautiful adversary, he is ever playful, gallant, and full of admiration, like Socrates toward Meno, Alcibiades and the other handsome lads whom he would instruct in true philosophy; with this difference, to be sure, that SolymanFontenelle is definitely heterosexual. Fite, in an attempt to characterize Plato's art, is reminded of a remark by Sorel, the French syndicalist . . . to the effect that French philosophy has been mainly philosophy adapted to the atmosphere of the court and the salon, to serve as a subject for polite discussion between witty abbés and clever duchesses. T r u e or not of French philosophy, this seems to me certainly to fit the style of the philosophy of Plato. His dialogues are staged for the most part in what may be called the Athenian salon. They have, so to speak, a Frenchified eighteenth-century setting. His duchesses are beautiful boys or elegant young men; and Socrates is the witty abbé. And the conversation is profuse with an exchange of compliments, with fanciful "euphuistic" metaphor . . . , and with "playfulness" long drawn out. . . . It is this adornment, this atmosphere of elegance, leisure, and polite manners, this interchange of pleasant fancy, sly humor, and ironic "playfulness" . . . rather than any superlative craftsmanship, that is mainly responsible for the legend of Plato's consummate art. 4 1

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Whether Fite is fair or not toward his subject, he has given us here a partial description of the manner of Fontenelle. By the procedure analyzed in the preceding dialogue, Fontenelle strips the pseudo-idealistic covering from that thing called human love, shows us what it really is, and thus comes to a truer picture of human nature—as it is, not as we wish it to be. The four dialogues: "Sur la philosophie," "Si la sagesse qui vient de la raison est plus sûre que celle qui vient du tempérament," "Sur la comédie," "Qu'on ne se dégoûtera point de chercher la vérité quoique sans succès" 4 2 ought to be considered together because not only does each have a character who is a Socratic eiron, but the other interlocutor is always a reputable philosopher who bears a dangerous resemblance to the alazon of Greek comedy. In the last, the third pseudo-Demetrius is the eiron, and the haughty Descartes, very much like the alazon of Greek comedy, is the victim of the former. 43 Demetrius begins by envying the calm and contemplative life of Descartes as contrasted with his own troubled life, and when Descartes tells him it was his own fault and proceeds to show him why, Demetrius gets his chance for rebuttal, with devastating effect. In this respect the dialogue between Anacreon and Aristotle is very similar. The situation is piquant : here is the frolicsome Anacreon getting the best of the solemn Aristotle. The spirit of contradiction is manifested not only in the unorthodox ideas, but in the choice of contrasting characters. Of course Anacreon is the ironical one, and Aristotle is the butt of that irony. The fact that his pride heads him for a fall, makes him the gloriosus of this little comedy. Because he falls from his lofty eminence, the element of burlesque 4 4 characterizes the dialogue. Entirely like it, is the one between Seneca and Scarron. Scarron, the writer of burlesque and of the comical, the gay wit and irreverent jester, overthrows the serious and lordly Seneca, the professional philosopher. He leads him on to make damaging admissions. Scarron claims he is more of a Stoic than Chrysip-

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pus, Zeno, or Seneca. These philosophers were wealthy, or at least comfortable, or at any rate healthy. But Scarron was poor and crippled. In spite oí his afflictions, he endured and insulted his evils and sufferings by his jests and gaiety. Seneca who does not yet know the identity of the ghost to whom he is talking is delighted at having met a paragon of Stoic virtue and by the fact that the teachings of past Stoics have not been in vain. He asks for his name for he desires to present him to the other Stoics. The reader, who is well aware of the identity of the paragon of Stoic virtue, cannot help but be amused by this scene illuminated by flashes of ironic lightning. T h e amazement of poor Seneca is great when he is told the name of his interlocutor. The latter was no philosopher! T h e members of that noble profession do not waste time writing burlesque and comic verse. Scarron comes to the defense of the Comic Muse. " T h e ridiculous can be discovered in all things. . . ." T h e boundaries of the sublime and the ridiculous touch. Everything is relative and a matter of perspective. T h e same man may be an emperor to one, a beggar to another. In the realization of these facts of life lies the grandeur of satire and comedy, for thanks to their cathartic nature, we are purged of our smugness and complacency, we are made to think. Seneca is all for people thinking, but replies rather weakly that Scarron's method of expression is not orthodox. T o which Scarron retorts devastatingly that it is because his method is unorthodox that it is efficacious. He practiced, Seneca speculated. His wisdom was derived from his temperament, not from reason like Seneca's—and that is the best wisdom. Once again we have contrasting characters in keeping with the paradoxical ideas, once again we have an eiron and an alazon. Burlesque enters when Seneca totters from his pedestal. In this dialogue, too, Fontenelle gives us an inkling into his esthetics, and the reasons for his method of expression: if the spirit of contradiction, if paradox and antithesis, if irony abound in his dialogues, they do so because they abound in life. And

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they are the devices that Fontenelle uses to shock his readers out of their prejudices and fixed ideas. In the Meno, that character observes to Socrates that his arguments have had upon him the effect of a shock, administered, as it were, by the flat torpedo fish. 45 Fontenelle, like Plato, wants to awaken his readers from their mental sluggishness. The methods are similar; their purpose is to invite one to a deeper and more thorough reflection upon the problems of life. In the third dialogue of this group of four, the one between Paracelsus and Molière, we are presented with a more complete analysis of comedy, satire, human nature, and their interrelation, as was seen in the previous chapter. Here Paracelsus, the obscurantist, is demolished by the ironical Molière. Again we have antithetical characters: the proud intellectual Paracelsus, and the modest writer of comedies Molière, who is quite willing to write for fools. Again we have the spirit of contradiction, burlesque, and irony: the mighty are humbled, and the lowly are raised. Deposuit de sede superóos. In this dialogue as well as in the others of this group, and indeed in so many more, a lesson in humility is implied. And there is, too, a lesson in self-criticism. Moliere is a brother of Scarron, of Anacreon, and of Demetrius. They play the role of the eiron in the dialogues of Fontenelle, the role reserved for Socrates in the dialogues of Plato, just as Descartes, Aristotle, Seneca, and Paracelsus play the role reserved for the Sophists in the dialogues of the Greek. Here one is compelled to make an interesting reflection: though there is an affinity in methods on the part of both, there is a profound difference in ideas. Fontenelle, the relativist, demolishes the pretentions of the absolutists, the professional philosophers; Plato, the seeker after absolutes, destroys the position of the Sophists who were the relativists of his day. 46 Fontenelle's preoccupation in humbling entrenched wisdom is definitely related to another one of his interests, which may be termed "the satire of the Great Man," 4 7 and which will be considered later. Another form of irony used by Fontenelle is very much like

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the "cosmic irony" described by Worcester in his delightful and indispensable b o o k . 4 8 F o r the production of Socratic irony, the encounter between the one who has superior knowledge and the one who has "vulgar" knowledge is necessary. S u c h an ironist is a "sphinx with a secret." H e is the one w h o knows, though he may deliberately assume the innocent pose of knowing nothing. H i s opponent, on the other hand, is certain of his point of view, but in the end stands exposed in all his ignorance. T h i s revelation provides amusement not only to the ironist but to his audience, the aristocratic few who k n o w the secret of his method. F o r the production of cosmic irony, however, the ironist needs no opponent whose ignorance he will u n m a s k . H e turns the cruel weapon of satire upon himself. "Cosmic irony is the satire of frustration, uttered by men who believe that however high man's aspirations and calculations may reach, there is always a still higher, unattainable level of knowledge, in the light of which those aspirations and calculations must become stultified and abortive. Action loses all value in the light of this superknowledge. . . . " 4 9 It is a "dry inner laughter" like all irony, but in this case it is definitely at the expense of oneself. T h e tragic enters here, even as the comical is a characteristic of Socratic irony. T h e cosmic ironist annihilates his own point of view. T h i s form of irony is to be found in the dialogue between Milo and Smindyrides, 5 0 and in all the dialogues which treat of the ineffectualness of human reason. W e have seen Smindyrides praise the refined and the intellectual, and we have seen h i m criticize the life of the natural man in the person of Milo. T h e n — a n d it is here that irony enters—he mercilessly destroys his own point of view: he shows the limitations and even the dangers of human reason. T h e total implication of the dialogue seems to be that in the long run the natural man, Milo, is better off than the philosopher, Smindyrides, and the over-all mood is one of frustration. T h a t implication is suggested again and again, as for example in the dialogue between Lucretia and

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Barbara Blomberg where it is brought out that actions based on glory are more efficacious than those motivated by duty, because glory is derived from the imagination whereas duty is the offspring of man's puny reason; and in the dialogue between Mary Stuart and David Riccio, 52 where it is shown that happiness due to one's natural constitution is genuine, whereas the happiness conjured up by man's reason is as fraudulent as a medical nostrum. The Smindyrides motif appears again in the dialogue, "Sur les préjugés." 5 3 Strato of Tyre and Raphael of Urbino discourse in the Elysian Fields. The former relates his singular history. The slaves of Tyre had revolted and had slain their masters. Strato's life had been saved by a devoted slave whom he had treated well. The slaves, then, decide to elect a king. They hit upon a curious method : he who first sees the rising sun will be chosen king. Strato's slave, advised by his master not to look toward the east like the rest of his fellows, but to keep his eyes fixed west upon a lofty tower, is the first to see the rays of the sun as they strike that tower. All marvel at the genius of the slave, considered at first mad, because he had gone against the accepted belief. When he reveals that he had but followed the advice of his former master, Strato is acclaimed king of Tyre. Raphael is not at all impressed by the story. He admits that what Strato did was clever, but scarcely commendable in the eyes of the world. Strato retorts quickly that it was, because he had taught his slave what all philosophers have been saying ever since, that in order to discover the truth, "you've got to turn your back on the mob and that accepted ideas are the very foundation of true ideas, provided you understand them in an opposite sense." 51

Strato has presented his case; he has pleaded for the efficacy of reason, for man's critical judgment; he is a brother of Scarron, of Anacreon, of Demetrius in the war against prejudice, accepted opinions, and vulgar knowledge. In another dialogue he would have been an eiron. But here the sphinx loses his secret

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and the bankruptcy of his position is revealed. Fontenelle has given us one side of his thought, his intellectual honesty compels him to give us the other. O n c e again we see the spirit of contradiction at w o r k . Raphael expresses the other half of his thought.^ 4 A s his reactions indicated, Raphael was in no way impressed by the contention of Strato. N o w he answers with greater fullness. It's all very well for philosophers to attack accepted opinions and prejudices, than which " . . . nevertheless nothing could be more necessary or useful." T h e s e are his principles even though he came to grief in the matter of Michel Angelo's Bacchus which he, affected by the esthetic prejudices of his day, declared to be an antique because it was beautiful. But Strato persists that as regards h u m a n conduct reason is sure. Hardly, answers Raphael; a man dies and his friends weep for h i m ; they ought to laugh instead because he has departed from this wretched world; they weep, however, because it is the custom of the country. Strato, though weakening, breaks another lance for his point of view: there are, after all, certain "clear ideas" that transcend everyday prejudices. Raphael agrees, but adds that they are few in number and that man needs his prejudices in order to go on living. Still clinging desperately to his position, Strato makes the damaging claim that in such a case it would be better to suspend one's judgment, in short, to doubt. But Raphael observes shrewdly that "such a situation is an unendurable condition for the h u m a n mind. It is always in motion, it must go. N o t everyone knows how to doubt; one needs enlightenment to succeed at it and strength to keep oneself in that attitude. F u r t h e r m o r e doubt produces no action and with men there must be action." Fontenelle is one of the rare philosophers who possesses the necessary " e n l i g h t e n m e n t " and "strength" to be a doubter, yet he has no illusions about the effects of doubt. Uncertainty leads to inaction and "with men there must be action." A n d when Strato, worn down by the persistent arguments of his opponent and nearing the point of disillusionment because of them, demands rashly, like the de-

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spairing dogmatist that he is, that if there is no way out of the dilemma, if one must make a choice between retaining all or none of our prejudices, he is for getting "rid of all our prejudices" (dogmatists always go to one extreme or other) Raphael remarks "that reason will expel from our mind all those ancient opinions and will put nothing in their place. It will cause a kind of emptiness. And who can endure that?" This is where man's prejudices come to his rescue. " T h e prejudices are the supplement of reason. Everything that is wanting on one side, will be found on the other." Those who have an unalloyed faith in human reason will not find this dialogue comforting, so undogmatic is it in its implications. Fontenelle's honesty compels him to view the whole of man in all his irrationality and contradictions, and it is the realization of these irreconcilable complications that make for cosmic irony. The facts of life are sad. The courageous thing to do is to accept them, and one may imagine the answer Fontenelle would give to someone who might complain of the sad truths with which the philosopher had presented him. No doubt he would say, as he did to his Marchioness: "Those are the facts, that is the situation, il faut s'en consoler!" In passing, one may note the liveliness of the debate from the beginning to the end of the dialogue. This is characteristic of most of them, and can be explained by Fontenelle's preoccupation with both sides of the question, by his spirit of contradiction. Plato maintained that philosophy is a dialogue of the soul with the soul; and Professor Cooper, as we have seen, regards "mental strife" as a characteristic of the dialogue. This, then, is a genre that is proper to the temperament of Fontenelle. In the same mood are the dialogues already analyzed, "Que les passions sont nécessaires" and "Que la raison est triste, et même peut être inutile." 5 5 T h e burden of the first is that the imperatives set up by reason to govern mankind are impotent, and that it is the passions, vanity, the desire for glory and immortality, that make for action, though in doing so they some-

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times cause storms. Hence they are necessary and legitimate. "If reason ruled the earth, nothing would happen." Herostratus defends this point of view. H e is accused by Demetrius of siding with the destroyers. Nevertheless it is Herostratus who has the best of the argument. Virtue does not emerge victorious. T h e very choice of anecdotes is ironical, and the comparisons that are made are cynical. Three hundred and sixty statues were raised in Athens in honor of Demetrius when for a brief time he ruled that city. But as soon as he was overthrown, the statues were pulled down and broken. Herostratus, who burned the temple of Diana of Ephesus to insure the immortality of his name, envies the breaker of statues. A father leaving as many children as he can to perpetuate his name is compared blandly to a conqueror who kills as many men as he can for precisely the same reasons. T h e earth is compared to a great tablet upon which all wish to write their names. T h e time comes when the slate is filled. It then becomes necessary to wipe it clean so those who come after may have their chance. T h e paradoxes and antitheses adumbrate the mood of melancholy. T h e feeling of frustration is even stronger in the last dialogue of this group, the one between Parmeniscus and Theocritus of Chios, the weeping and the laughing philosophers. Their points of view are antithetical and so are their humors, but at the end of the debate both philosophers meet in the same impasse: the utter incomprehensibility of human destiny and the futility of reason. Fontenelle heightens the idea of the mystery of h u m a n life and nature by his choice of amusing and ironical anecdotes and antithetical expressions. Both philosophers finally agree that reason makes one sad, for nature did not intend to have man think; nature wants us to live, and living consists of not knowing what one does most of the time. Reflection makes us discover the futility of life. Having unveiled that secret of nature we no longer wish to act. Nature disapproves, for to act is to live. Hence the philosopher is punished for his temerity. " T h e dead planets are perhaps those on which criticism has killed the

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ruses of nature, and sometimes I imagine that, if everyone arrived at our philosophy, the world would stop." 5 0 W h e n one considers the irony of this group of dialogues and contrasts it with that of the preceding group, he discovers that these dialogues with their respective ironies are descriptive of the dichotomy that is characteristic of Fontenelle's temperam e n t : the former, though negative in method, are positive in implication; the latter are negative both in method and in meaning. Reason, the critical faculty, destroys the shams that infest the world of m a n ; and, then, reason turns around and destroys itself. It would be wrong to consider one group of dialogues with its characteristic tendency as typical of our philosopher, to the exclusion of the other. Only both together give us a complete picture of Fontenelle, and they indicate his intellectual honesty and courage. As has already been suggested, Smindyrides hovers over the whole set of dialogues. "Irony is a form of criticism, and all irony is satirical, though not all satire is ironical. Skepticism and pessimism and melancholy are the ironist's portion, and he is content to have it so." 5 T

CHAPTER

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SATIRE AND COMIC CHARACTERIZATION DIALOGUES that deal with "the satire of the Great M a n " employ as one of the speakers a variant of the eiron charactertype. W r i t e r s who have treated the subject have aimed their satirical blasts against conquerors, statesmen, heroes, in short those to w h o m m a n k i n d has erected monuments and whose names are written large upon the pages of history. Satirists from antiquity, through the Renaissance and to the eighteenth century, 1 using such devices as invective, mock encomium, parody, burlesque and irony, have ripped the mask from the faces of those great persons and have revealed them for what they were: murderers, vainglorious egotists and knaves who have been the cause of countless tears shed by their deluded victims. Lucian, Erasmus, Saint T h o m a s More, and Rabelais did it before Fontenelle, and later Voltaire. T h e subject has connections, undoubtedly, with that of personal merit, a topic much debated in Fontenelle's time.

THE

In the dialogue "Quels caractères font le plus de bruit" 2 we are present at a conversation between Alexander, the conqueror from Macedón, and Phryne, the courtesan from Athens. Phryne relates the curious ambition she had had of wishing to rebuild the walls of T h e b e s , the same walls Alexander had destroyed, and of doing it at her own expense, provided an inscription be put up c o m m e m o r a t i n g her action. Alexander answers wittily: " Y o u must then have been very much afraid lest the ages to come should k n o w nothing of the profession you had pursued." N o t at all stung by the barb concealed in that remark, Phryne answers calmly that it is characteristic of great people to leave behind them great monuments. She cites the case of Rhodope

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w h o had a pyramid built from the proceeds of prostitution. W e are indeed informed that the ghosts of certain F r e n c h ladies, resident in Hades, had wept with chagrin because modern prostitutes no longer grossed amounts sufficient to rival the accomplishment of Rhodope. N o w Phryne wanted to surpass the action of R h o d o p e : she wanted to show her contemporaries that she was greater than Alexander. H e destroyed, she would rebuild. T h e Alexanders always destroy, and it is the Phrynes with their love and their charm who always rebuild. T h e y both agree that if they were to return to the world of the living, they would repeat the pattern of their previous existence. But they are unable to agree as to whose existence was or would be the better one. T h e two shades continue to disagree, each one showing a lively partiality for his and her point of view. A s usual Fontenelle's ghosts have all the passions of the living, and this is what makes them dramatically convincing and interesting to the reader. Alexander and Phryne are proud: they are not hesitant in extolling their prowess in their respective fields. T h u s Phryne upholds the rights of beauty. T h e fear of the conqueror Philip was not sufficient to stop the activity of Demosthenes. But the dazzling nudity of another Phryne changed the mind of a jury about to convict her. A beautiful w o m a n is greater than an illustrious conqueror. H i s glory is due in part to his soldiers and to chance, whereas the conquests of an attractive woman are due only to herself. "Believe me, the situation of being a pretty woman is a pretty o n e . " Alexander admits suavely that she took full advantage of the situation. T h r o u g h her words, the fundamental vanity of Phryne stands revealed; and in the polite sarcasms of Alexander that vanity stands condemned. It speaks well for the art of Fontenelle that with such simple means and within the modest frame of a little dialogue, he is able to suggest so much. In this he reveals his classicism. At the end of the dialogue though neither contestant has converted the other, they agree on one p o i n t : they both abused their talents. P h r y n e

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abused the gift of beauty, and Alexander his gifts as statesman and general. Alexander lacked moderation and possessed no reasonable plan in life. He kept on yearning for new worlds to conquer and never reached a point of satiety, ". . . dashing forward all the time without knowing where. . . ." Yet had he been moderate, temperate, and reasonable, his name would not be now on the lips of men. And had Phryne not been an immoderately successful prostitute, history would be silent today about her. Fame is not the reward of the virtuous. In this dialogue Fontenelle does not particularly direct his satire against Phryne. T o be sure she is delineated as proud and vain and immoderate. For these things she receives mild condemnation throughout the dialogue, but that condemnation is more than offset by the paradoxical justification of the conclusion. It is rather Alexander who is satirized. Alexander the Great is pulled down from his pedestal and put on the same level with Phryne the prostitute. It is a stroke of impudent though subtle burlesque to compare the two. The general and the hetaira are both conquerors, though in different fields. Indeed Phryne makes a somewhat better showing because her achievements cannot be attributed to fortuitous causes and there is something constructive about them. Thus with tongue in cheek Fontenelle cynically surveys the high position that the typical conqueror occupies in the minds of men, and finds no better comparison for it than to link it with the calling of the courtesan. T h e method used is one of subtle innuendo, of silent mockery, of sly burlesque. W e are reminded somewhat of Rabelais's vision of Epistemon where Alexander the Great is described as ". . . mending and patching on clouts upon old breeches and stockings, and thus got a very poor living"; 3 and of the fate the same author metes out to King Anarchus after his discomfiture by Pantagruel and his friends, in which that symbol of militarism becomes ". . . as pretty a crier of green sauce as ever was seen in the country of Utopia." 4 There is of

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course this very important difference: Rabelais's satire produces hearty, gusty, uproarious laughter; Fontenelle's produces only a smile, and one that is inward rather than expressed. For the period in which he wrote, Fontenelle's method was not only natural, but even advisable. It is extremely possible that his portrait of Alexander the Great is a veiled allusion to Louis the Great. Indeed the dialogues contain more than one satirical reference to the Sun-King. Now, even as in our own times Mussolini took Augustus, founder of the Empire, as his model, similarly Louis X I V had taken Alexander as the type of the youthful world conqueror whom he would emulate. The official art of the time recognized and accepted the parallel. Le Brun did his Battles of Alexander and the Gobelin factory proceeded to make tapestries from the cartoons of the artist. 5 For many Frenchmen, therefore, Alexander's life and exploits could very well have evoked those of their king, once time had permitted the parallel ideas to take root. It may be that Fontenelle availed himself of this situation and made the most of it. Thus, in toppling a great man of antiquity, he was damaging one nearer home, a procedure that can be ascribed with justice to a precursor of Voltaire. In common with the author of Candide and with the Enlightenment, Fontenelle reveals in this dialogue his preference for beauty and the refinements of civilization, and his contempt for militarism. The character sketch that Fontenelle gives us of Alexander "dashing forward all the time, without knowing where, capturing town after town, without knowing why, scheming continuously without ever considering the end," must surely remind the reader of that dramatic scene, painted by Alfred de Vigny, where Napoleon, in his private interview with the old Pope, reveals the secret springs of his actions. "Car, en vérité . . . je m'ennuie énormément.—Je ne chasserais pas trois jours à Fontainebleau sans périr de langueur. —Moi, il faut que j'aille et que je fasse aller. Si je sais où, je veux être pendu, par exemple." 6 We have here the psychology of the

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world conqueror from Alexander to Hitler and Stalin. Fontenelle understood it well, and he is on the side of Phryne. F o r all her faults, she is the eiron of his dialogue. T o this same group belongs the dialogue " S u r les louanges" 7 wherein Augustus, the great Emperor, confronts Pietro Aretino, the notorious literary blackmailer, and in the argument that ensues the blackmailer gets the best of the Emperor. Moreover it is pointed out that the supposedly intelligent Augustus was duped in his dealings with his panegyrists, whereas Aretino, stigmatized by history for his particular calling, did possess in his own fashion a sense of honor. T h e juxtaposition of two such antithetical characters and the reversal of values ensuing from the debate produces the irony of the dialogue. T h i s is further increased by the use of flashes of wit and paradoxical remarks. T h e dialogue is a satire on the literary practice of praising the ruling prince; it is rather obvious that Fontenelle had in mind Louis X I V and his court. Aretino begins by justifying his profession of literary blackmailer of the great. Few princes are fit subjects for panegyric, but all are fit for satire. In addition Aretino's nature was not of the sort "sufficiently impudent to ladle out praise." H e had his own kind of virtue, modesty, and honor. His profession was informed by ethics and principles. T h e rulers of Europe being all at war, he found it more profitable to blackmail all rather than to praise one at the expense of the rest. Aretino despises writers of panegyrics: they are either insincere or the dupes of their own words. Vergil certainly had " c h e e k " when he gave out that Augustus, his patron, might marry a daughter of Thetis, or find an "appartement" in the Zodiac. Augustus rushes to the rescue of the poets, writers of panegyrics. After all he is defending his own way of life, with its conventions and practices—and one of these is the periodical incensing of the ruler. Augustus remarks that one must not take panegyrics literally, and that it is probable that the man who is their recipient actually believes he deserves them. Such are the cfTects of vanity.

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T o which Aretino answers that when Augustus had been cruel his court praised him for that quality, when he had been clement that side of his character was lauded. Which side would he want him to extol? Undiscouraged, Augustus continues the debate, characterized as is Fontenelle's custom, by a lively give and take from beginning to end. Augustus retorts that it is natural for the great to be praised, and if they are at times praised for opposite qualities, it is because the great possess more than one kind of merit. It is a curious kind of argument. T h e imperial ghost would seem to be implying that cruelty is meritorious. T h e fact is that his intellectual armor is coming to pieces beneath the insistent blows of the logic of his opponent, and consequently he does not any longer know exactly what he is saying. All of which is a neat bit of character delineation. Aretino parries that after all such flattery is insincere and only posterity is in a position to judge fairly. At this, Augustus in a triumphant voice exclaims that at last they agree; he has admitted something favorable to his point of view. Posterity does consider Augustus to be the model ruler. Thinking he has won his argument, he observes with ingenuous fatuity that he has even a complaint to make on that score: ". . . for posterity has gotten into such a habit of considering me as the model of rulers, that usually one praises the latter by comparing them to me and often the comparison does not do me justice." There stands the alazon, condemning himself out of his own mouth. "Be consoled," retorts Aretino, with cruel but subtle irony, "for you will no longer have to complain about that!" T h e paragon of monarchs is now Louis X I V ; all princes look up to him, and will do so henceforth, as the model of rulers, and the greatest praise these rulers receive and will receive, will be in the discovery of "some similarity between them and that great King." Whereupon Augustus, nettled by this unfortunate turn of events, blurts out unthinkingly, " . . . don't you think that those to whom is addressed such a far-fetched exaggeration will hear it with pleasure?" Probably they will, such being human

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vanity, replies Aretino. The same Augustus, who a while back was so energetic in making the apology for panegyrists, now utters the phrase "far-fetched exaggeration." The fact is that Aretino, the Socratic eiron, has brought Augustus to bed with a proposition the opposite of the one he started with. As the debate progresses, Augustus becomes increasingly ridiculous. Fontenelle is playing a sly g a m e : nothing is said directly to detract from the glory of his K i n g ; indeed he seems to be praising him. It is Aretino who concludes: only those panegyrics are sincere which are given for no ulterior motive. Vergil was sincere when he praised Cato, insincere when he praised Augustus, for he "got a salary from you." Thoroughly beaten Augustus exclaims that in such a case he threw his money away. Thus does another great man fall from his seat of honor, and before that fall went pride. And the unscrupulous Aretino is raised up. The spirit of contradiction takes on many forms. Behind the satire against Augustus and Vergil, his panegyrist, there is revealed discretely but clearly, the picture of Louis XIV and his courtiers. It was customary at that time to draw a parallel between the "age of Augustus" and the "age of Louis the Great." And so, once again, Fontenelle while seeming to battle with an Ancient shoots a Parthian arrow at his King. The next two dialogues to be considered are variations on the theme of the satire of the Great Man. In the preceding two, a world conqueror and a mighty emperor had been satirized. In the following: "S'il y a quelque chose dont on puisse tirer de la gloire," "Quelle est la différence des peuples barbares et des polis," 8 the pride of a great scholar is humbled by a politician, and the smugness and complacency of a European is smashed by the terrible irony of an Indian barbarian. Though the conclusion of the first of these dialogues is negative, as was shown in the preceding chapter, yet it is evident that Charles V bests Erasmus in argument. Erasmus stands before us proud and vain. If social classes existed in Hades, he would occupy a higher one than his imperial interlocutor, because he was a scholar and

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Charles was a mere politician. It is axiomatic that the man who employs the pen is greater than the man who wields the sword, at least for intelligent people. The glory of Charles is the net result of chance, his is due only to himself. Whereupon Charles goes on to show him that his reputation can be attributed as much to chance as his own. If things were thoroughly analyzed, there would be no vanity. Blinded by his pride, Erasmus had been incapable of self-criticism. Indeed he had made himself ridiculous. The dialectic of the Emperor draws out the truth from him, and his pride in intellectual superiority is deflated. The effect of the dialogue between Cortez and Montezuma is similar, as the reader will recall, although the types are different. Here Cortez is the alazon to the eirort of Montezuma. The Spanish conquistador is the symbol of the haughty and complacent European. As the heir of the Ancients and of the teachings of Christianity, he is the torchbearer of civilization and the upholder of morality. It is for a barbarian like Montezuma that people such as Cortez assume the white man's burden. The recipient of that honor then goes on to prove that the intelligence, culture, and morality of which the Western European boasts is nothing but a thin veneer, that the merits of European and barbarian are relative, not absolute, that the Indian barbarians would have been as justified in undertaking a war of conquest as the civilized Spaniards. As the lively argument continues Cortez becomes increasingly stupid, he makes one logical blunder after another, he becomes more and more enmeshed in the dialectical nets cast by his opponent. This is one of Fontenelle's most brilliant dialogues. It is particularly rich in irony. The satire of the Great Man receives a spirited twist in the dialogues "Si l'amour peut être spirituel" and "Sur les mystères des ouvrages d'Homère." 9 It consists in this: two illustrious representatives of that Antiquity so much admired by the men of the Renaissance and the neo-classicists of the seventeenth century deny the virtues ascribed to them. Two Ancients side with the Moderns in the famous Quarrel. In the first, Margaret of

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Scotland calls upon Plato to defend her. Impressed by the genius of Alain Chartier, she had kissed h i m on the lips—those lips that had uttered so many beautiful words. Beneath the ugly exterior she had divined the beauty that lay there concealed. But now her fellow shades are casting doubts upon her action: her motives, they hint, were not chaste. It will be noted in passing that the inhabitants of the Elysian Fields are given to gossiping like those who dwell above. S o Margaret calls upon the author of Platonic love to take her side. Imagine her a m a z e m e n t and chagrin when Plato remarks blandly that there is no such thing as Platonic love. H e goes on to explain that in his lifetime, having been a professional philosopher, he could not very well speak of love like an author of popular romances, and so he covered over the carnal passions of his heroes with the verbal jargon of the philosopher. But Margaret refuses to be convinced. S h e clutches at straws. S h e passes in review for Plato his own story of the winged beings who in their chariots explore the topmost reaches of the heavens where they are able to contemplate the essence of beauty; their subsequent fall upon this terrestrial globe; their yearnings for that lost beauty; their recollections of it when they behold a beautiful object; and their painful strivings to attain it once again. W h a t are the corporeal beauties of this world but mere suggestions of the spiritual and essential beauty of the other world? Plato had said all of these things. T h e philosopher admits as much, but he explains coolly that all he meant was that a physically beautiful person inspires passion. Beauty of mind excites admiration; of soul, esteem; of body, love. H i s verses to Archeanassa of Colophon were not Platonic but satirical. H i s passions were not metaphysical, as most people assume, but physical, as witness his verses to Agathis. Perhaps with unintentional wit Margaret blurts out that since his death Plato has become a libertine. Sadly she adds that in that case her kiss to the ugly poet was not philosophical but gallant. Plato comforts her with the assurance that she had been gallant but

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she amused herself at being philosophical. Margaret, however, has not given up yet. Is not the m i n d in some small way a cause of passion ? L o o k at those w o m e n who having no beauty at all, fall back upon the mind. ( T h i s would seem to suggest that, if these women had had beauty, they would not have been in the least concerned with the m i n d . ) T o which Plato answers that the mind or spirit may have something to do with the birth of passion, but the body or matter is its main staple. Nature has decreed that love be corporeal. A n d he brings the dialogue to a conclusion with the shrewd and pungent observation: If your love for the ugly poet had been purely Platonic, why did you bother to kiss h i m ? "Because the body has been destined to gather the fruits of the passion that the mind itself might have inspired." Here we have another dialogue which treats of a point of love. T h e Elysian Fields take on the aspect of a formal garden complete with a periwigged aristocrat and a c h a r m i n g Marchioness who, with witty banter and never-ending chatter, delve into the psychology of love. Underneath the bubbling froth of the conversation, however, is concealed a serious purpose. T h e world has certain fixed conceptions concerning the philosophy of Plato, Fontenelle would seem to say; centuries of ingenious interpretations and abstruse commentaries have erected over the original ideas of the philosopher that m o n u m e n t which goes by the name of Platonic doctrine. Most people assume I said such things, but I did not, says Fontenelle's Plato. T h a t teaching has received something like the status of an absolute accepted without question. N o w ever suspicious of accepted ideas, Fontenelle wants to shock those who entertain that dangerous attitude. T h i s is what he attacks rather than the historical Plato. Margaret of Scotland represents that attitude in this dialogue. O n e of the most amusing things in it, if not the most amusing, is the passionate insistence and concern with which Margaret defends Platonism against Plato. W i t h a kind of puckish humor, Fontenelle has Plato drag himself down from the lofty seat

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where the Margarets have enthroned h i m : the idealist turns out to have been a materialist all the time. Burlesque enters here because Plato is made to look undignified, and irony because an absolute is exploded. 1 0 It may be added that in the review of Platonism made by Margaret of Scotland, Fontenelle has summed up the essential core of that philosophy, at least as the world knows it. T o some that philosophy has been an intimation of sublime truth, to others it has been sublime nonsense. 1 1 In the dialogue between H o m e r and Aesop, Fontenelle through H o m e r contradicts the accepted point of view about H o m e r , and Aesop, the writer of fables, turns out to have been more serious and profound than the great epic poet. T h e devices of burlesque, irony and contrasting characters are employed to drive home this satire on a great man. A n d at the bottom of the satire is implied the criticism of an attitude : in this case the idolatry of an Ancient called H o m e r , as he has been interpreted by generation after generation of pedantic scholarship. T h e dialogue begins with an exchange of mutual compliments; H o m e r praises Aesop for the moral content and the style of his fables: he is a great artist because he knew how to conceal within the modest frame of little fables a world of moral instruction; Aesop in turn thanks H o m e r and expresses his gratitude because these compliments have come to him from a man who was a past master in the art of concealing hidden meanings in his works. Whereupon with great simplicity H o m e r denies that his art is in any way allegorical. Aesop, stunned, exclaims that all the learned are of that opinion. Indeed they claim that his poetry contains the sum of all knowledge: the secrets of theology, physics, astronomy, even of mathematics. In the same mood of honest candor H o m e r replies that he had never had such intentions. All he did was to tell a simple story. H o w can that be, exclaims Aesop. Y o u r gods act in such a ridiculously h u m a n fashion. H o w can one accept them unless one supposes that the poet had in mind an allegorical purpose. H o m e r ex-

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plains calmly that there will be no fear of their not being accepted because people are not interested in the truth. " T h e human mind and falsehood walk together hand in hand comfortably well." If one proposes to tell the truth, let him clothe that truth in the garments of a fable; as such it will be accepted. And if he tells a fable, it will be accepted without containing any truth. " T h u s the truth must needs borrow the garments of falsehood, in order to be welcomed by the human mind; but falsehood enters freely in its own dress, for the human mind is the place of its birth and its usual habitation, and truth is there a stranger." At any rate, H o m e r points out, no one thought his gods ridiculous. But Aesop becomes alarmed. People may imagine that his own animals actually did talk. There is no fear of that, says Homer reassuringly. " M e n want their gods to be as mad as they are, but they do not want their animals to be as wise." And with this thrust so cleverly and so compactly expressed against man's incurable anthropomorphism and eternal vanity, the dialogue ends. Somewhat reminiscent of the effect of the preceding two dialogues is the one between Socrates and Montaigne, 1 2 whose structure has already been analyzed. Here it is the Ancient who shatters the illusions the Modern has about antiquity. Y e t in that process, the modern period is in no way exalted, for, as it will be recalled, Montaigne shows Socrates that humanity has not progressed. T h e purpose of Fontenelle's dialectical method in this dialogue is not merely to destroy the attitude of idolatry toward the Ancients but above all to bring out the consistency of the order of nature : Voltaire was wrong to accuse Fontenelle of belittling the Ancients. It is the attitude toward them that he belittles. Indeed he does not hesitate to write a dialogue in which one interlocutor successfully defends antiquity against his opponent. T h e burden of the dialogue between Erasistratus and Harvey 1 3 is to show the consistency of human nature and the relative insufficiency of that science which the modern world boasts as its particular achievement. Its implied moral is a warn-

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i n g to m o d e r n man not to feel superior. T h e Greek physician proves to the modern doctor that when it was a question of grappling with essential and eternal problems such as the troubles of the human heart he was not inadequately prepared in spite of his lack of knowledge of anatomy, whereas before the mystery of death Harvey was just as helpless as he in spite of his newly acquired knowledge. Basically Fontenelle's method is an effort to come as closely as possible to the truth of things, to arrive at a juster concept of reality, to stress the relativity of all values and the dangers of all forms of dogmatism, ancient or modern. H e compels the reader to reflect. H e shocks him out of his complacency through the satirical devices of contradiction, antithetical characters, burlesque and irony. As Worcester observes: " A clash of ideas is implicit in the process of creating a scale of values at variance with the common standards of m a n k i n d and the function of burlesque and irony is to be found in . . . the artistic and social value of dislocating absolute standards and shocking men into an awareness of the relativity of things." 1 4 In this dialogue Harvey, the modern doctor, is the alazon, and Erasistratus, the ancient physician, is the eiron. Says the latter with graceful modesty " . . . we are much beholden to you for having done away with that old error"—the mistaken ideas antiquity had about the circulation of the blood. A n d Harvey answers with unction: " I should think so! Indeed one is all the more in debt to me because it was I who started people on the track to so many fine discoveries which today have been made in anatomy." H e r e is the braggart heading for a fall. And it comes. Erasistratus has related the story of the succcssful cure of Prince Antiochus. H i s opponent is not too much impressed. Very well, he did accomplish something in that affair! But, adds Harvey . . . I don't doubt for a moment that because you didn't know anything about the circulation of the blood, you were responsible for the death of countless people.

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Erasistratus: So, you consider your new discoveries very useful? Harvey: Of course! Erasistratus: Please answer then a trifling question I am about to ask you. W h y do we see trooping down here everyday as many dead as have ever come? Harvey: Oh, if they die, it's their own fault! It is no longer the doctor's fault! Erasistratus: But that circulation of the blood, those conduits, those canals, those reservoirs, all that cures nothing?

The alazon stands exposed, the garments of his pride stripped from his back. He had declared his opponent responsible for the death of his patients, but he himself disavows any such responsibility. It is a silly answer: Harvey does not know what he is saying; he is momentarily befuddled by the logic of his colleague. The latter has his sweet revenge when he throws Harvey's very words back at him. Harvey has been given a lesson in humility. Fontenelle has again successfully used the method of Socrates. These dialogues are indeed little comedies. One of the most delightful is "Sur l'immortalité du nom" l r ' between Berenice of Alexandria and Cosimo II de'Medici of Florence. T h e former ruler of Florence, with tears in his eyes, gives the Queen a most disconcerting piece of news which has just come to his attention. After having discovered the moons of Jupiter, the astronomer Galileo had named them the Stars of the Medici, in honor of his patron Cosimo. The latter has just found out that the name has been changed and that now one knows them simply as the Satellites of Jupiter. T h e world must surely be a wicked place to have envied his glory. Thus muses the disconsolate ghost. "No question about it!" replies Berenice, "Scarcely have I seen more remarkable effects of its malice!" Cosimo, either unimpressed or unconscious of the irony of her remark, observes that she can say what she will, she has no reason to complain. One still knows the Coma Berenices by that name. Her hair has been more fortunate than his stars. Berenice, amused by the childishness of her interlocutor, replies that if she could, she

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would give him her "celestial locks" to console him. But Cosimo cries out that all he wants is to enjoy the same fortune. Berenice makes another effort to assuage the frustration of the unhappy ghost. Suppose all the constellations of the universe bore her name, would she be any better off? She would still be dead. Men are strange creatures in their attempts to cheat death. Would it not be more graceful if one's name perished with one's body? Cosimo retorts quickly that that is an unnatural attitude. It is natural to cling to life. That is why one leaves behind statues, monuments, and tombs. Berenice points out to him the futility of that procedure. It is true that one hopes to cheat death by such means, but with time even the most solid monument perishes. In the end they are no guarantee of immortality. Ah, but not the stars! answers Cosimo. Yes, even the stars, parries Berenice. Stars, too, are bom, and so they die. They merely take longer. And she relates to him the amusing and ironical anecdote of the encounter in Hades between the shade of Constantine the Great and that of a barbarian monarch. T h e two famous dead boasted of the greatness of their capitals : Constantine spoke of the wonders and glory of his city of Constantinople, and the barbarian monarch of his city of Stamboul. Imagine the surprise and chagrin of Constantine when he discovered that they had both been talking of the selfsame city! I might just as well have left it with its original name of Byzantium, muses the sad but wiser Constantine. The dialogue ends with Cosimo somewhat resigned to the inevitable, but at the same time rather embittered: if our bodies must perish, then let our fame perish along with them for it is not made of better stuff. The theme of the dialogue is commonplace enough. It is a satire on the vanity of human wishes, a sermon on that bauble reputation. The satire is especially directed against those in high places who are most likely to pursue the phantom of glory and eternal fame. In its way this too is a satire on the Great Man. What makes the dialogue a good one, however, is the manner of the telling. The two interlocutors are contrasting characters,

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each having his own individuality, from which there follows a clash of ideas and temperaments. This causes dramatic tension and makes the dialogue interesting. Berenice is philosophical. She sees things clearly; she is capable of viewing life under the species of eternity. Perhaps she represents the author. But not entirely. For when Cosimo remarks that it is natural for man to want to survive in some way or other and unnatural for him to want the contrary, it is Fontenelle who speaks there. No doubt Berenice is more representative of the author, because she is the philosopher, whereas Cosimo is the "great" man against whom the satire is directed. Yet only the total impression of the dialogue gives the message of the author. 18 Cosimo is depicted as something of a petulant child. He frets, he is annoyed that his glory has been stolen from him. He envies the fortune of Berenice. His refusal to be consoled, to be resigned, to accept the facts is comical. He carries his petty humor almost to the very end. The specific weakness of Cosimo: his yearning after immortal fame, has nearly robbed him of his humanity. He has become something of an automaton. T o the repeated efforts of Berenice to console him, he wails, But my stars, give me my stars! This is reminiscent of Molière's, " E t Tartuffe?"—though naturally the tragi-comic intensity here is less pronounced than in Molière's great comedy. Orgon in the grip of his passion, Cosimo in the grip of his, have become like puppets. They have become less human, and therefore ridiculous and comical. Given such a character and such a situation, the result is laughter—in this case Fontenelle's special brand of inner laughter. 17 The rejoinders of Berenice (You may have my celestial locks; the world is indeed wicked; the stars perish too) set in motion the machinery that causes the puppet to dance to the amusement of the reader. For the Queen is the eiron to the alazon of Cosimo. It is the presence in the dialogue of this basic feature that prompts one to discover a parallel between it and the comedy of Molière, because the latter, as Professor Thomp-

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son shows, is a great master of eiron-alazon situations. 18 Both Berenice and Cosimo are alive and convincing. Not too much weight must be given to the contention that in the Dialogue of the Dead the interlocutors, because they inhabit the Elysian Fields, must be presented as beings who are free from the petty weaknesses that the flesh is heir to. 1 9 It is well that Fontenelle has taken his characters from living nature, that in the pages of his work one meets characters that are proud, vain, petulant, smug, small—and wise and intelligent, too—for only by such a technique will the attention of the living reader be captured and held. His characters have the roundness and fullness of life, as Shaftesbury will soon prescribe for the genreand not the flatness of intellectual abstractions. All the features found and analyzed in the preceding dialogue are present in the one entitled "Comparaison de l'ambition et de l'amour." 2 1 Only the theme is different. Anne of Brittany places the lofty sentiment of ambition above that of love. Mary of England defends the latter sentiment. T h e debate is lively and continuous. Neither side can be said to win it because the problem is impossible of solution. Man's nature is so complex and contradictory. On this point the two interlocutors agree, as they do on the irritating and baffling fact that man, the complex creature, desires the simple. And Mary ends the dialogue with the praise of the pastoral life, the state where all is simple and there are no questions to answer. Man has spoiled everything. These are melancholy ideas; yet Fontenelle, who after all is no out and out pessimist, knows how to lighten the gloom that might result from their impact. H e gives us the picture of two great ladies, each intensely and almost furiously attached to her own point of view. In crossing the river Styx, they did not leave behind them their human likes and dislikes. T h e reader is treated to the amorous history of the ladies and the author spares none of the racy details. Anne of Brittany began life as a duchess. She married Charles V I I I of France. Upon his death, she married his successor Louis X I I . Her life, she avers, was

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completely successful. On the contrary the career of Mary of E n g l a n d was entirely antithetical to hers. After the death of A n n e of Brittany, Louis X I I took as his second queen Mary of E n g l a n d . But Louis, excited by the possession of a young and beautiful wife, cut short his span of life. A n d then Mary, erstwhile Queen of France, married the D u k e of Suffolk. She had gone down in rank, A n n e had gone up. Mary, of course, defends her action : she was in love with the D u k e of Suffolk. A n d so the debate goes on. T o w a r d the end of the dialogue Mary, to show that even the ambitious great look upon love with favor, narrates the episode of Queen Elizabeth of England and the Dutch Embassy. O n e of the members of the ambassadorial suite, attracted by the physical charms of the Queen, made a remark which although in a sense was complimentary was nevertheless vulgar, if not indecent. T h e Queen commanded that the remark be translated into English. T h i s was done with great hesitation. Misgivings and fears turned to amazement and joy when Queen Elizabeth, flattered by the feeling that had caused the remark, rewarded its author. Yet, parries A n n e of Brittany, though Elizabeth was pleased that she could be the object of love, she refused to give up her throne for it. T h i s mildly indecent anecdote underlines the fundamental idea: man's baffling nature; and it intensifies the mood: irritating bemusement at man's complex and contradictory nature. It does more. It helps, by its very nature, to dispel the gloom that might otherwise ensue because of the melancholy truths brought out in the dialogue. T h e piquancy of the amorous history of the two ladies, the flashing dialectic they employ in the attempt to win their arguments fulfill the same function. It is as if Fontenelle were saying to us : this is all very sad, but let us not get depressed over it, let us retain our sense of humor. Fontenelle is not only a man of ideas; he has the talent of setting off his ideas. H e is not only a philosopher; he is an artist. It is interesting to see how he brings out the feline nature of

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the two disputants, especially that of Anne of Brittany, who seems to be more addicted to that female failing than her opponent and whose remarks are dipped in sarcasm and biting irony. Anne of Brittany: There is no doubt my death pleased you very much. Right away you crossed the sea, married Louis XII and seized the throne I had left empty. But you didn't enjoy it for long. Your very youth and beauty were my avengers, for these qualities made you so desirable in the eyes of the King and proved such an available consolation for my loss, that they hastened his end and prevented you from being a queen for long. Mary of England: It is true that all I got was a glimpse of royalty and it disappeared in a twinkling. Anne of Brittany: And after that you became the Duchess of Suffolk, didn't you? What a sweet come-down! As for me, thanks be to heaven, my destiny was different from yours. . . . Mary of England: Would you believe me, if I told you that I never envied you your good fortune? Anne of Brittany: No! I have too clear an idea what it is to be Duchess of Suffolk after having been Queen of France! And when Mary protests she loved the Duke of Suffolk, that she had no desire to be Queen of France, and indeed made haste to get back to England to assume the former title once she had been deprived of the latter by widowhood, Anne retorts cuttingly, "Did you really entertain such ignoble sentiments?" Here we have the portrait of two women who are adept at baring their claws and scratching each other. T h e reader cannot fail to note Anne's somewhat risqué observation on the matter of Mary's charms which "proved such an available consolation" to old Louis X I I , and her feline remark—"What a sweet come-down! As for me . . . my destiny was different from yours . . ."—and the equally feline answer of Mary, " . . . I never envied your fortune." These are ladies whom Fontenelle might have met in some of the salons of that day. T h e passage cited is a good illustration of Fontenelle's skill in arranging a

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lively debate and creating some very amusing characterization. Other dialogues show Fontenelle's ability in the delineation of character. In " S u r le pouvoir des f e m m e s " 2 2 we are presented with two vain and scheming women who with evident relish rehearse their love affairs and revel again in the power they wielded over their royal lovers. Agnes Sorel boasts that she was mainly responsible for the saving of F r a n c e : Joan of A r c animated the soldiers, but she animated the K i n g . Agnes Sorel speaks: " T h e King, by whom I was beloved, wanted to abandon his kingdom to the foreign usurpers and run away and hide in a mountainous country where I would not have been too eager to follow him. I thought up a ruse to turn his mind away from that plan." T h e reader will observe that the motives of Agnes were not patriotic, but purely selfish: she did not quite fancy the notion of living in exile in a bleak and rugged country; she wanted the pomp and circumstance of court life. T h e ruse was successful. T h e court astrologer "with whom I had a secret understanding" announced to the K i n g that Agnes Sorel "would inspire a great king with a long lasting passion. . . . W h e r e upon I said to Charles, 'My Lord, you will not then think it ill of me, if I go over to the court of England, for you no longer desire to be king and you have not loved me long enough to fulfil my destiny.' T h e fear he had of losing me stiffened him in his resolve to be king of France, and from that time on, he began to gain ground. Y o u see how much France owes to love and how in that kingdom one loves the ladies if for no other reason than that of gratitude." A n d she sums up her case by quoting a quatrain written in praise of her by Francis I : " N o b l e Agnes, since the cause was the saving of France, you deserve more honor than those who labor in the abbey, whether it be cloistered nun or saintly hermit." (Fontenelle's dead seemed to be generally well informed as to what has been done since their death in the field of history, science, art, and literature.) It is now the turn of Roxelana to present her story. T h i s dialogue can easily be divided into two sections : Agnes Sorel gives

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us her case, with questions and objections by Roxelana, and then Roxelana presents us her case, with questions and objections by Agnes Sorel. Roxelana says : "I am amazed at the vanity you derive from that trivial action. You had no difficulty whatsoever in wielding a tremendous power over the mind of your lover, you who were free and the mistress of yourself; but I, slave though I was, I was successful in enslaving the Sultan. You made Charles V I I a king almost in spite of himself, and I, I made Solyman my husband, in spite of the fact he already acted in that capacity." Though it was the custom for sultans not to have legitimate wives, "I had made up my mind to marry Solyman, even though I could not lead him into matrimony with the hope of a happiness that he had not yet tasted." And she narrates the ingenious ruse she employed, in concert with a theologian with whom she (likewise) had an understanding, to trick Solyman into marrying her. Roxelana, though dead, has not changed: the desire for amorous conquest is still there; for she concludes that if she were alive and had the necessary physical and mental requirements she would be capable of enslaving the world's greatest ruler. As she puts it: "Let me be brought back to life, let me be given the world's most imperious man, I shall do with him whatsoever I please, provided I have much intelligence, much beauty and a little affection." Another allusion to Louis X I V — a n d in this case, to the power of the royal mistresses as well. It is against such female adventurers that Fontenclle directs his satire. H e unmasks them: he uncovers the secret springs of their actions. H e suggests that such power could be dangerous, for it enslaves the rulers of mighty nations. T h e two adventurers of this dialogue are egotistical creatures who vie with one another in shamelessness. Roxelana upbraids Agnes for being vain about her "trivial" accomplishment; she brags she has surpassed her. Roxelana gives the prerequisite qualities for the conquest of the male: "much intelligence, much beauty and a little affection." This is a shrewd observation on

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the part of Fontenelle, expressed with epigrammatic brevity and incisiveness. T h e adventuress must keep a cool head to plan her campaign; too much emotion m i g h t addle her wits and wreck her plans. T h r o u g h such remarks Fontenelle lays bare the souls of the two interlocutors of this dialogue. H e puts into their mouths the sentences and words that are proper to their character. Every time we meet such types in these dialogues we find the same sly obscenity, always mild and restrained. T h e dash of flippancy, of gay mockery, of insouciant impudence which Fontenelle adds to the substance of this dialogue helps to m a k e it palatable. H e is never salacious for its own sake; it is a device for his satire. In the dialogue " S u r l'inquiétude qu'on a pour l'avenir" 2 3 we meet Joan I of Naples, a bored and capricious w o m a n , who asks her former court astrologer, A n s e l m , for a trifling prediction, and when the latter informs her that he cannot oblige her because there are no stars in Hades and being dead she has no future, retorts with evident annoyance that she finds having no future extremely boring. T o the frank revelations that Anselm makes about his calling, Joan remarks in amazement that after all he did predict she would marry four times. T h e former astrologer answers shrewdly and wittily that he consulted the stars less than he did her inclinations. T o prove the futility of astrology, Anselm narrates the anecdote of a fellow astrologer who predicted correctly, in spite of his erroneous astronomical computations, and who, had those computations been correct, would have predicted the exact opposite. Nevertheless the profession will continue to be a good one because man will always entertain hope in the future: it is " m a n ' s great will o' the wisp." Anselm finds fault with Joan and m a n k i n d in general for putting so much faith in the future. T h e y hanker so much after what is to come that they forget to enjoy the present m o m e n t ; and once the future has become the present, they find it no better than the vanished past. T h u s life slips through their hands. A n d Anselm relates a second anecdote: this one about the man

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who sat down by the spring but refused to drink its water because he hoped it would improve with the passage of time. H e "waited with such patience that the spring finally dried up and he never drank at all." But Joan has some very reasonable arguments to ofïset those of Anselm. S h e admits the future will not differ from the present, " b u t it is good to imagine that it will." S h e admits she was like the man who sat by the spring, " a n d I suppose that of all the dead who are down here, there isn't a single one through whose hands life slipped, before he could m a k e use of it in the manner he wanted. But what does it matter, I hold in high regard the pleasure of peering into the future, of hoping, of fearing even, and of having a future to face. A thinker, like you, would be like us dead folk, for w h o m the present and the future are perfectly alike, and that thinker consequently would be as bored as I a m . " Anselm concludes the dialogue when he muses sadly but with ironic humor that if Joan is right, man's destiny is an amusing one. " H e is born to yearn for everything and to enjoy nothing, to plod onwards always and never get anywhere." W h o is right? Is it Anselm, the philosopher, who has reasoned away all his illusions? O r is it Joan who wants to retain life's illusions and mirages because they make life endurable ? " A thinker like you," warns Joan, "would be like us dead f o l k . " Another variation on the Smindyrides motif, this dialogue, like all those belonging to that class, ends in a dilemma. It seems to be a development of the paradox: the unwisdom of wisdom. O n e of its interesting features is its change of tonality. It starts off gaily and banteringly. In a wheedling manner Joan begs for " a trifling prediction." W h e n Anselm confesses his inability to do so because of the lack of stars and a heaven, Joan replies she will give h i m " a dispensation from following the rules so closely." Once again we are in a salon with its chatter and playfulness. But as the dialogue progresses the tone becomes increasingly serious as Anselm drives home his sad truths, and the ending, as we have seen, is quite solemn.

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ΙΟΙ

In " S u r la liberté," 2 4 a dialogue between Brutus and Faustina, the wicked Empress holds her own against the virtuous Republican. T h e r e is a certain amount of naïveté as well as pride in the statement of Brutus that there are not many men like him. Good! says Faustina with great brutality. T h e Empress is depicted as a veritable fury, proud and full of venom. She inveighs against the institution of m a t r i m o n y : it is a means of enslaving women. She is a R o m a n and has R o m a n sentiments on freedom, she tells Brutus. She regrets the negative reaction of Marcus Aurelius toward her infidelities. She rages: W i t h a n indifferent eye he l o o k e d u p o n all t h e infidelities I c o m m i t t e d a g a i n s t h i m : h e refused to a c c o r d m e t h e h o n o r of b e i n g j e a l o u s ; h e took a w a y f r o m m e t h e pleasure o f d e c e i v i n g h i m . T h i s t h r e w m e into such a violent r a g e t h a t , at times, I w a s seized w i t h t h e d e s i r e to be an h o n e s t w o m a n . N e v e r t h e l e s s I a l w a y s o v e r c a m e t h a t w e a k n e s s . A n d after m y d e a t h , did not M a r c u s A u r e l i u s d o m e t h e displeasure o f b u i l d i n g m e t e m p l e s , o f g i v i n g m e priests, of establishing religious rites in h o n o r of t h e d e p a r t e d

Faustina?

Isn't this e n o u g h to m a k e y o u c r y o u t w i t h a n g e r ? T o g i v e m e a m a g n i f i c e n t apotheosis! T o p u t m e u p as a g o d d e s s ! Brutus: N o w , I know, I k n o w nothing about w o m e n !

T h e primary cause of Faustina's hysterical tantrum is the hurt that her vanity has received: ". . . he refused to accord me the honor of being jealous. . . ." Fontenelle, the admirer of L a Rochefoucauld, knows that pride, vanity, egotism are mankind's besetting sins and, once again, he gives us a successful characterization of those qualities. T h i s dialogue is unique: in it Fontenelle raises his voice; his customary restraint and urbanity take on something of the savage intensity of Lucian. A n d yet even here he softens what may be too excessive, too exaggerated in its tone by a scattered use of witticisms: such as the remark of Brutus quoted above, which seems to be a precious take-ofï on the Socratic formula, All I know, is that I k n o w nothing. T h i s dialogue is one of Fontenelle's most cynical, and he is generally cynical when it comes to the subject of woman

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and love. It is a reaction to the age-old tradition of courtly love, stemming from the Middle Ages, combined and confused with the idea of Platonic love of the Neo-platonists of the Renaissance, and reincarnated again by the précieux of the seventeenth century. Love and woman had been put on a pedestal. Fontenelle gleefully knocks down the pedestal. Romantic love had become an absolute; Fontenelle proceeds to deflate it. And again, it may be the natural reaction of the confirmed bachelor —and, at that, a young one when he was writing the dialogues —who with a cynical eye surveys the amusing spectacle of the marital difficulties of his friends. As Faguet remarks: "With the utmost equanimity, he casts harsh words at the institution of matrimony: 'Though married, Monsieur de Montmort continued his simple and secluded existence, all the more so, because by a rare bit of good luck, marriage increased the pleasures of his home life.' " 2 5 In the dialogue "Si l'on peut être heureux par la raison" 2 6 we are confronted in the person of David Riccio with another disconsolate ghost, who complains of his untimely death and expresses his dissatisfaction at the honors paid him by Mary Stuart. These things had not made him happy. He would have preferred to seek happiness in himself. T o this Mary Stuart rejoins that she can see that he must have been corrupted by the jargon and chimeras propounded by the philosophers whom he had met in the underworld. T h e dialogue between the Duchess of Valentinois and Anne Boleyn 2 7 gives us the portrait of two unprincipled hussies who surpass Agnes Sorel and Roxelana in shamelessness. It is replete with indelicate details and, like the dialogue between Helen and Fulvia, demonstrates the fundamental vulgarity of history. In this way does Fontenelle depict the human comedy. One must not pay too much attention to the alleged convention of the Dialogue of the Dead. He has given us living characters, not pale abstractions. Fontenelle wisely limits himself. He keeps in mind the Horatian maxim of letting his shoulders bear a burden they can carry. Yet

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within the narrow scope and modest frame of his little dialogues he has amassed many delightful treasures. T h u s far our analysis of the Dialogues has dealt with such matters as general structure, the uses of burlesque and irony, the different forms of irony employed, the dramatic (and generally the comic) nature of these dialogues, the author's ability at character delineation. But there are also a number of secondary or accessory devices which form part of Fontenelle's art of dialogue writing. First, he gives a moral, intellectual, and social atmosphere to his Hades: he brings out the emotional reactions of his ghosts to certain situations; he tells us of their activities in the Elysian Fields; he depicts them enjoying and exchanging gossip. Secondly, he employs certain turns of speech that make for a lively debate and he touches up the movement of his dialogue in order to bring out its dramatic values all the more. Thirdly, he uses antitheses: these are to be found in the syntactical structure of his sentence and phrase, and in his ideas—indeed if his syntax has the feature of antithesis, that is so because antithesis is already a characteristic of his thought. Fourthly, he fills his dialogues with anecdotes. Lastly, he is lavish, perhaps overlavish, in his use of wit.

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SECONDARY DEVICES FONTENELLE gives to his H a d e s a moral, intellectual and social life: his characters are not intellectual abstractions arguing in a vacuum. T o be sure this life is more suggested than expressed, but it is there to anyone who reads the Dialogues with sympathy and understanding. T h u s , in the dialogue between Alexander and Phryne, the reader will recall the vain lamentations of the F r e n c h flirts who wept because they could not rival the feats of Rhodope. W e are told in the dialogue between D i d o and Stratonice 1 that V e r g i l has been reciting to Dido that section of the Aeneid that pertains to her. O n e spends one's time profitably in the Elysian Fields. In the dialogue between Anacreon and Aristotle, the latter complains he has been slandered by his fellow shades. T h e dead, too, have their amour-propre. Aesop confesses he is awfully ( " f u r i e u s e m e n t " ) scared that it will be supposed his animals really talked. Aesop speaks the language of the précieux. In the dialogue between Augustus and Pietro Aretino, we are informed that Charles V is a subject of conversation a m o n g the ghosts who live in Pluto's kingdom. Socrates registers a mild complaint when he tells Montaigne that he is snubbed by his fellow shades. Apparently scientific information is spread about in Hades because Cosimo tells Berenice that recently arrived astronomers have brought him up to date on the names of the moons of Jupiter, and Berenice in turn enlightens Cosimo on the mortality of the stars and constellations, something she had learned in conversation with the savants. In the same dialogue Constantine and the barbarian monarch, who, being dead, ought to k n o w better have been discovered in hot dispute on the merit of their respective capitals. N o t only scientific information, but scandalous stories, are

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exchanged in the underworld. M a r y of E n g l a n d observes to A n n e of Brittany that she has heard a story from the lips of Queen Elizabeth herself about that Queen and the Dutch E m bassy which she must tell her because it is so to the point. W i l liam of Cabestan reveals to Albert Frederick of Brandenburg that he has been comparing notes in H a d e s and has discovered he is the only resident who took his route to madness. T h e history of the H u n d r e d Years W a r and Joan of Arc is known in the underworld (the dialogue between A g n e s Sorel and Roxelana). Anselm offers to introduce Joan I of Naples to the ghost of a fellow astrologer who has a most interesting tale to relate. T h e r e is much intermingling, and much gossiping. Augustus had let the cat out of the bag when he mentioned to Helen that Fulvia had been in love with him and had pursued h i m in vain (Helen and F u l v i a ) . Fulvia admits it candidly and observes that in Hades "such a confession has no consequences." Social amenities and good manners prevail. Seneca offers to introduce Scarron to the other Stoics, after their meeting and an exchange of civilities. In this little episode Fontenelle mirrors the polished French society of his day. In the dialogue between Artemisia and Raymond Lull, we find that L u l l has been doing some detective work, investigating the unsavory past of Artemisia. In the dialogue between Apicius and Galileo, 2 the former expresses regret he was not born in the age of Galileo, who observes ironically that he, Apicius, ought to have no regrets whatsoever because he was born in an age that ministered to the nature he had. T h e two shades are well informed as to their respective activities when they lived a m o n g the quick. T h e impression is given that they had met and conversed prior to the beginning of the dialogue, or that at any rate they had been informed by others of what they had done when alive. T h e r e is excitement in Hades in the dialogue between Plato and Margaret of Scotland. W i t h pretty perturbation Margaret calls upon Plato to defend her: the cynical scandal-mongering of countless shades has

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cast doubt on the purity of her intentions. H a d e s must be full of gossip, like the salons of Fontenelle's day. T o the passionate concern of Margaret to have her action justified, Plato refusing to do so observes frankly that such carryings on are not necessary in H a d e s . T h e r e speaks the philosopher. Nevertheless one still gossips in the underworld, as one does in the world of the living. A n d exactly as a m o n g the living, categories and castes still exist by the river Styx. T h i s comes out in the dialogue between Strato and Raphael of Urbino where we are told that the wise f o r m an exclusive club. Fontenelle's H a d e s is not entirely a pure democracy. W e are told, in addition, that one still philosophizes there and that the philosophers side with Strato. They talk just like philosophers, observes Raphael, who does not belong to the club. Solyman expresses his regrets on meeting Giulia so tardily and so uselessly. Paracelsus, with the pride and smugness of the alazoti heading for a fall, tells Molière that he has m a d e his n a m e as f a m o u s as it is fine-sounding. D a v i d Riccio brings to the attention of Mary Stuart his refusal to be consoled on the manner of his death. H e r e is a dead m a n who is unconsolable. M o n t e z u m a has been passing his time studying classical history, which knowledge he uses most profitably against Cortez. Fontenelle has given us in his dialogues a varied and lively throng of spirits. H e did not look for his models in books; he found them a m o n g his contemporaries. T h e Elysian Fields of Fontenelle reflect the French society of his day with its polished manners and elegance, its rising interest in scientific knowledge, its salon chatter, its preciosity, its backbiting and scandal-mongering. T h e characters of the Dialogues of the Dead arc Frenchmen and Frenchwomen whom the author had met in real life. Fontenelle ( w e have said) makes use of certain turns of speech, certain phrases and sentences which carry on the debate and never let it subside. If for a moment it is in danger of flagging, out comes one of these turns of speech and the argument proceeds once again, or at least is shunted off in a different direc-

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tion. Thus after Phryne has related to Alexander the story of her namesake who won her lawsuit by revealing the charms of her body, the great Conqueror makes answer, "In spite of the fact that you have appealed to another Phryne to buttress your arguments, I don't think the side of Alexander is any the weaker. It would be a great pity, if . . ."—and the debate continues. The impatient outbursts of Milo over the arguments of Smindyrides are typical. T h e latter has just brought up the case of the lover who against all appearances to the contrary nevertheless is doubtful of the affections of his mistress. Has Milo ever seen such a lover? "No, I've never seen any. But suppose such were the case?" answers Milo in an angry tone. Smindyrides continues : Has he ever heard of the conqueror who though successful in war is gnawed by the cancer of doubt? Did luck play a part in his victory ? Why was he victorious when his plans were executed in bungling fashion? "No," roars Milo, "I've never heard of such a man. But once again, what are you driving at?" And so the argument goes on, never for a moment slackening in intensity. The phrase, What are you driving at? is a kind of key one with the charactcrs of Fontenelle. Not that he repeats those same words, but its spirit is present in all of them. A variation of that sentence occurs in the dialogue between Dido and Stratonice. Dido has been complaining to Stratonice of the fashion in which Vergil had treated her in his Aeneid. Stratonice agrees in part with Dido, yet she adds immediately, "But after all your Vergil may not have been entirely wrong. Perhaps he ferreted out some intrigue in your life that you hoped would not be known. W h o knows?" Had Stratonice agreed entirely, the dialogue would have ended then and there. She does not, and the debate continues. What are you driving at? Let us look into this! A more complete analysis is necessary! All these little touches give us an inkling into the nature of the mind of Fontenelle. Like another Proust, he too has his, "Précisez, mon cher!" In the dialogue between Augustus and Pietro Aretino, the

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Emperor having with great energy defended himself against Aretino, the latter observes, "I can see that it is useless to argue that praises ought not to be overdone; but how about those that are contradictory . . ."—and this starts the argument off on another track. In the dialogue between William of Cabestan and Albert Frederick of Brandenburg, the latter remarks, "You can argue all you want, you will never persuade me that there are madmen of other types than we two represent. All the rest of mankind is sane. . . ." This only serves William to direct the argument in another direction; it does not end it. When Anselm shows Joan that astrology is all humbug, the latter cries out, "I refuse to believe you!" —and the argument goes on. This occurs also in the dialogue between Herostratus and Demetrius of Phalerum, when Demetrius, still not convinced by the arguments of his opponent, exclaims, "Oh, the fine arguments! Are you allowed for the sake of enhancing your reputation to destroy the works of another?" Herostratus carries on. It is found, too, in the dialogue between Callirrhoe and Paulina, when the former says, "But even if you accept that argument, fidelity still exists . . ."—and she continues from that point. In the dialogue between Artemisia and Raymond Lull, the alchemist observes to his interlocutor that there was something else they had in common. T o which Artemisia makes answer: "Right now, I am quite satisfied that I am like you. But, continue!" He does. When Lull argues that life's illusions have their utility, Artemisia interrupts: "I repeat, I would be of the opinion that all these mirages be ignored and that one should strive to seek what is real." And the debate continues until Lull convinces Artemisia that it is good for men to deceive themselves. But this only happens at the end of the dialogue; throughout Artemisia holds her own vigorously. Even in a dialogue such as the one between Cortez and Montezuma, where Fontenelle is dead set against one of the interlocutors, Cortez defends himself with energy against the onslaughts of Montezuma. His arguments, to be sure, crumble little by little. In the end, the alazon stands

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exposed in all his stupidity. Yet even here, Fontenelle writes dialogue and not monologue. Fontenelle has other ways of touching up the movement of his dialogue in order to intensify its dramatic action. It is a fairly consistent practice with him to lift up the curtain on his little comedies when the action is already under way. T h e conversation has already started. Following the Horatian maxim he plunges the reader in medias res. Thus in the dialogue between Augustus and Pietro Aretino, when the curtain rises we find the blackmailer saying to the Emperor: "Yes, I was a wit in my time, and I made a rather considerable fortune at the expense of the ruling princes." That " O u i " with which the dialogue begins gives the reader the impression that the conversation has been going on for sometime. This captures his interest immediately, for preludes and introductions can easily be stumbling blocks that retard dramatic action. Fontenelle avoids them. This classical practice is somewhat reminiscent of Racine who begins his Andromaque, his Iphigenie and his Athalie with such a "Oui." 3 At the beginning of the dialogue between Elizabeth of England and the Duke of Alençon the Duke queries: "But why did you flatter me with the hope of marrying you, for so long a time, when in your innermost heart you had made up your mind to do nothing about i t ? " T h e "Mais" here fulfils the same purpose as the " O u i " of the previous dialogue. Obviously the debate had already started. This is equally true of the dialogue between Callirrhoe and Paulina. T h e latter begins: "As for me, I maintain that a woman is in mortal peril the moment she is loved passionately." What reader is not going to be curious to know something of the details of the dangers Paulina encountered? Fontenelle soon satisfies his curiosity. But first, clever artist that he is, he made him curious. In the dialogue between Parmeniscus and Theocritus of Chios the latter begins by saying: "Really! You could no longer laugh once you had gone down into the cave of Trophonius ?" And now the reader is avid to know what

no

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was wrong with poor Parmeniscus and what were the strange properties of that mysterious cave. The excitement and heat of the two interlocutors at the beginning of the dialogue between Brutus and Faustina shows that we have arrived in the middle of the quarrel. Brutus: "What is this Ρ Can it be that you derived pleasure in committing a thousand infidelities against the Emperor Marcus Aurelius . . . ," the most virtuous of husbands ? And Faustina : "And can it be that you assassinated Julius Caesar . . . ," the gentlest of rulers? The first words of Artemisia in her dialogue with Raymond Lull are: "This is something entirely new to me. You say there is a secret for changing metals into gold . . . ?" The conversation had already started. One more illustration: the dialogue between Lucretia and Barbara Blomberg. T h e latter cries out: "You won't believe me; nevertheless nothing is truer. The Emperor Charles V had an affair with the princess I've mentioned to you. . . ." Once again we interrupt a conversation. Moreover this lively opening makes us eager to learn the piquant details that follow. The tone is that of a grand lady of the ancien régime about to relate some gossip to her friend. In the light of the evidence presented in these preceding pages as well as in the other parts of this study, evidence which indicates the talent Fontenelle possessed for dramatic composition, it is difficult to understand the assertion of Professor Boyce when he writes: "The refinement and intellectuality of the dialogues [of Fontenelle] is so great, in fact, that drama is quite left out, and the speakers seem to address each other in the quiet of an aristocratic Parisian salon rather than in the democratic gloom of Hades." 4 The dialogues are dramatic and, moreover, they are not as quiet as that critic claims. The intellectual and the refined are not incompatible with the dramatic. As the reader is already well aware the Dialogues are filled with antitheses. Phryne ends her story about her namesake in this way: "Thus it was that the reputation of your military might [Philip's and Alexander's] was unable for many years

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to silence one orator [Demosthenes], but the charms of a beautiful woman corrupted in an instant the whole of an austere court." The antithesis of ideas in this passage (the idea that military power is inferior to a beautiful woman's power) is all the better brought out by the juxtaposition of these antithetical words and phrases. Toward the conclusion of the dialogue there is another contrast in ideas which is heightened by the way the two halves of the sentence are balanced one against the other, when Phryne observes to Alexander that she "overdid the role of the pretty woman; but you on your part overdid that of the great man." The function of the antitheses here is to provide the satirist with additional ammunition to shoot at his victim, Alexander. In the dialogue between Dido and Stratonice the former confesses with great candor: Vergil "recited his poem to me, here, and the whole section in which he makes me appear is undoubtedly divine, even though it borders on slander (à la médisance près). In it I am beautiful; I say some very magnificent things about my supposed passion; and if Vergil had been compelled to consider me in the Aeneid as an honest woman, the Aeneid would have lost a great deal by it." These amusing antitheses (the word "divin" contrasted with the phrase "à la médisance près," the piquant idea that had Dido been portrayed as a virtuous woman, the Aeneid would have lost by it) help to underline the essential problem of this dialogue which can be thus formulated : we talk much about that thing called woman's virtue, but what is it anyway? There is also an arresting antithesis in the dialogue between Anacreon and Aristotle when the former observes that philosophy is a fine thing indeed and one that could be very useful to mankind ". . . but because it would upset them if it were made part of their daily living and if it were to remain close by to regulate their passions, they have banished it to the heavens to set the planets in order and to measure their movements. . . ." The antithesis in this case is between the phrases "régler leurs passions" and "arranger les planètes" and the idea that men do

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not want philosophy to be a living force and so they m a k e it do everything but what it ought to do. Equally witty is the antithesis in the dialogue between H o m e r and Aesop when we are informed that Mars cries out " . . . like nine or ten thousand men, and does not act like a single one (for instead of cutting to pieces all the Greeks, he runs and complains of his wound to Jupit e r ) . . . ." Obviously this is an added satirical thrust at the party of the Ancients. T h e r e is a cynical antithesis in the dialogue between Athenais and Icasia. Athenais has been describing her educational upb r i n g i n g : how her father had filled her with erudition and philosophy and had then disinherited her, so sure was he (and so was she, for that matter!) that she could not fail to succeed in life since she possessed such a background. But now she has heard of Icasia's misadventure and alarmed she exclaims " . . . I can see now I was running a great risk and, not impossibly, I might have ended up with nothing, with philosophy alone as my portion." B y means of this clever antithesis ("sans aucun b i e n " against "la seule philosophie") Fontenelle punctures philosophy's pretentious balloon. T h e r e is also in this dialogue another antithesis which is achieved through the juxtaposition of a noun with its accompanying adjective; the noun suggests one idea while the adjective suggests the very opposite. Everything is uncertain, we are told. Success sometimes comes through the commission of "felicitous blunders" and "necessary mistakes." T h e dialogue between A n n e of Brittany and Mary of E n g l a n d is rich in antitheses. Nature, we are told, "invented love which is most pleasant and men invented ambition which is unnecessary." W e are informed that one "can be made happy by love several times, whereas one may not be made happy by ambition a single time. . . ." Moreover ambition is only for the few, whereas love's favors are for the majority. A final illustration from this dialogue: " A king who can depend on a hundred thousand swords, cannot depend on a single feminine heart: he cannot be sure whether one is doing for the kingly rank what

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one would have done for the simple man in another case." In the dialogue between Elizabeth of England and the Duke of Alençon, the Queen says to her opponent: "Throughout the length of your life, all you did was to prepare for royalty, even as I, throughout the length of my life, prepared for marriage." There is an antithesis both ironic and witty in the dialogue between Helen and Fulvia when the latter muses: "You caused the Trojan W a r by your beauty, and I, the war of Augustus and Antony by my ugliness." Once again Fontenelle writes a sentence whose two symmetrical halves balance and contrast with one another. In the dialogue between Seneca and Scarron, the Roman philosopher replies with mild and polite sarcasm to the arguments of the Frenchman: "I pity you because it has not been noticed that your playful poetry was written to lead people to such profound reflections." Here the irony is all the more heightened by juxtaposing the phrase "vers badins" against the phrase "réflexions si profondes." The antithesis in the dialogue between Apicius and Galileo is painfully ironical when the astronomer observes: "If all you want to do, is to enjoy things, you are not wanting in anything to enjoy them; but you are wanting in everything, if you want to understand them. Men need nothing and the scientists need everything." Here the substantive "rien" is played off against the substantive "tout" to emphasize the fundamental point of the dialogue, viz., the advantage the natural man has over the intellectual man. It is only proper that this antithesis should be grim because the dialogue in question belongs to the Smindyrides series. Such naturally is not the case with those antitheses found in the dialogues that are informed by Socratic irony. The antithesis in the dialogue between Plato and Margaret of Scotland when the latter says: "There are here countless shades who laugh at me and who maintain that such favors [the kiss she gave Alain Chartier] are only for wellshaped mouths and not for those that speak well . . ."—is amusing with something of a précieux cleverness about it. Equally

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funny is the antithesis pronounced by Margaret when flustered and disappointed she cries out: "But think that the kiss I gave my scholar was altogether philosophical and the one you gave your mistress wasn't that at all!" Plato had just turned the tables upon Margaret. T h e antitheses cited are such both from the point of view of idea and sentiment, and from the point of view of syntactical structure. The arrangement of the word, phrase, or sentence reflects the mental processes of the author. Other antitheses can be discovered that derive from the dramatic situations, from the ideological conflicts. Here there enters the element of paradox because the seemingly absurd is yet true in fact. Thus, in the dialogue between William of Cabestan and Albert Frederick of Brandenburg we are presented with the curious situation of the great poet whose greatness brought him misfortune. In the dialogue between Herostratus and Demetrius of Phalerum we are offered the grim comparison between the father who leaves as many children as he can to give his name immortality, and the conqueror who kills as many people as he can for exactly the same reason. In the dialogue between Parmeniscus and Theocritus of Chios we have a dramatic situation with characters possessing antithetical humors. Paradox enters when each expresses dissatisfaction with his own humor and desires that of the other. There is more paradox and ironical antithesis in the respective quests of Parmeniscus and the Tyrinthians to cure themselves of their humors. They go to Delphi but for different ends: Parmeniscus to get rid of his solemnity, and the Tyrinthians to get rid of their frivolity. Fontenelle's use of antithesis in situations, in characters, and in syntax is, obviously, another manifestation of his spirit of contradiction. French writers, however, from Corneille to Victor Hugo have used antithesis. Many an alexandrine consists of a symmetrically balanced antithesis, even as some of the phrases and sentences in the Dialogues of Fontenelle. The anecdote is a common device, employed more than

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5

twenty times in the thirty-six dialogues. It is a digression, but a digression with a point. Those instances that have been cited need not detain us; I shall list them only: The story of Philip of Macedón and his son Alexander versus Demosthenes, and the other Phryne versus the court of law (Alexander and Phryne) ; the tale of the painter who accomplished the remarkable trompel'œil with the bunch of grapes but not with the bearer of the grapes (Athenais and Icasia) ; the anecdote of Prince Antiochus' fatal passion for his stepmother Queen Stratonice (Erasistratus and Harvey) ; the story of the Coma Berenices, and the story of Constantine and the barbarian monarch (Cosimo de'Medici and Berenice) ; the anecdote of Queen Elizabeth and the bold Dutchman (Anne of Brittany and Mary of Scotland) ; the story of the astrologer who, because he made a felicitous blunder, predicted correctly, and the story of the man who, because he waited so long, never drank the spring water (Joan of Naples and Anselm) ; the narrative of the captured king of Persia who spoiled the emperor's triumph by being unappreciative of it (Candaules and Gyges) ; how Raphael came to grief in the matter of Michel Angelo's Bacchus (Strato and Raphael of Urbino) ; how Pisistratus employed a woman disguised as Minerva to seize control of Athens (Cortez and Montezuma). The other uses of the anecdote need a few words of comment. In the dialogue between Charles V and Erasmus, the scholar confidently relates the tale of "Cimon of Athens, who, having taken many Persian prisoners, put up for sale, their garments on one side and their persons stripped naked on the other; and since the garments were most magnificent, everyone hurried to purchase them; yet no one paid any attention to the men. . . . I believe that what happened to the Persians would happen to many other people, if one separated their personal merit from the merit that fortune has given them." This is the opportunity for which Charles, the Socratic eiron, has been waiting, because he inquires innocently what is personal merit. Erasmus fights a losing battle from this moment on, until Charles having shown

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that the gifts of the mind are as much the result of chance as the gifts of fortune, concludes by throwing the very words of Erasmus back at h i m : " I leave you to judge whether I have not stripped men better than you have; all you took from them were some advantages due to birth, but I have taken f r o m them those of the mind." O n e cannot sufficiently admire the art with which Fontenelle has woven this tale into his action and how he makes it serve the forward march of the dialogue. T h e r e is another tale to the point in the dialogue between Herostratus and Demetrius of Phalerum when the former tells h o w Alexander the Great built the town of Bucephalia to honor his horse Bucephalus and, when that celebrated animal died, his master had the same town razed to the ground to honor the memory of the departed steed. Alexander had as much right to destroy the town as he had to build it, observes Herostratus, who is on the side of the destroyers. T h e story of the tribulations of the Tyrinthians (Parmeniscus and Theocritus of Chios) is one of the sprightliest in the whole set of dialogues. T h i s nation, it will be recalled, had a humor that was the exact opposite of the one possessed by the unfortunate Parmeniscus: they were incapable of taking anything seriously. Theocritus relates the anecdote. Finally

they felt themselves

least as m u c h

as y o u

troubled

[Parmeniscus]

by this jesting

humor,

w e r e by your

melancholy

at

h u m o r , a n d they w e n t a n d c o n s u l t e d the o r a c l e of D e l p h i , as y o u did, but for q u i t e a different p u r p o s e : to wit, to e n q u i r e for m e t h o d s of becoming

a trifle serious. T h e

oracle

answered

that

if

they

w o u l d sacrifice a bull to N e p t u n e , w i t h o u t l a u g h i n g , it w o u l d be h e n c e f o r t h in their p o w e r t o be wiser. A sacrifice in itself is n o t s u c h an a m u s i n g a c t ; nevertheless to do this seriously, they m a d e elaborate

preparations:

they

agreed

not

to

have

young

people

p a r t i c i p a t e in it, but only old m e n , a n d not e v e n all kinds o f old m e n , b u t only those w h o b o r e t h e load of disease, o f m a n y debts or of n a g g i n g wives. W h e n all these selected personalities s t o o d o n t h e sea shore to sacrifice t h e v i c t i m , they, in spite of w i v e s ,

debts,

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sickness and old age, found it necessary to control themselves, lower their eyes to the ground, and bite their lips. But unhappily the presence of a child who had slipped in was discovered; they wanted to chasc him away, according to the established arrangement, and he cried out, "What! Are you afraid I am going to gulp clown your bull?" This foolish jest upset all their specious gravity; they broke out into laughter; the sacrifice was disturbed, and reason did not enlighten the Tyrinthians. This little tale, with its comparisons and contrasts between the lot of Parmcniscus and that of the Tyrinthians, with its antithetical witticisms at the expense of the efforts of the Tyrinthians, heightens the message of the dialogue: baffled bemusement over man's strange destiny; —and helps at the same time to mitigate some of the pessimism that might be caused by that message. T h e cosmic irony of the dialogue is attenuated by the humor of the story. At the very end of the dialogue between Seneca and Scarron, the inventor of burlesque, in order to sum up his case against the pretentions of reason, relates the story of the Neo-platonist who requested the reigning Roman emperor to grant him the rights to a little Calabrian town which was then in ruins and which the philosopher intended to rebuild, name it Platonopolis, and govern it according to the laws of the Republic of Plato. 5 "But the emperor refused to give it to the philosopher and had so little faith in the intellect of the divine Plato as not to give the former the governorship of a shanty. By that you can judge how reason has lost its credit." In the dialogue between Strato and Raphael of Urbino, the painter, to illustrate his point that all the prejudices ought to be retained (whether they be those of custom or of the mind), narrates parable-like an episode of Roman history. T h e Samnites had surrounded the entire Roman army in the Caudine Forks. They sent emissaries to an old and wise Samnite to inquire what they should do with their enemies who were now in their power. Kill them all! said the old man. This suggestion seemed too harsh to the Samnites.

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T h e y sent and inquired a second ü m e . Spare them all unconditionally! said the wise S a m n i t e . " T h e y followed neither one advice nor the other, and they came to a sorry pass. It is the same with the prejudices: either you should retain them all, or you should destroy them all absolutely. Otherwise all those you have rejected will put you in a state of suspecting all the opinions that remain to you. . . . you will be left with neither the enlightenment of truth nor the agreeableness of error." In the dialogue between Lucretia and Barbara Blomberg, when the argument has reached the point where Barbara upholds duty as a valid and genuine basis for the performance of heroic deeds, because duty is founded on reason, whereas glory (which Lucretia defends) is only an illusion born of the imagination, Lucretia, to show that glory is the more powerful agent and that reason is well aware it needs its assistance, relates the tale of Quintus Curtius and of the gulf that yawned in the F o r u m . Curtius, sacrificing himself for his country's weal, fully armed and on horseback, leaped into the abyss which closed over him. H e became a national hero. But, continues Lucretia " . . . if someone had said to him, 'It is your duty to cast yourself into that abyss, but you can be certain no one will ever talk about your deed,' I honestly fear Curtius would have backed up his horse. As for m e , I can't be sure I would have killed myself, if I had only my duty to consider. W h y kill myself? I might have concluded that my duty had not been outraged by the violence committed against m e ; at the most I might have concluded that tears would have satisfied it. But to give myself an undying name, I had to pierce my bosom, and I pierced it." T h e flippant witticism about Curtius backing up his horse produces a gaiety in keeping with the quasi-cynical tone of this dialogue in which two great ladies discuss virtue in general and feminine virtue in particular. O n the subject of sex Fontenelle seems to enjoy himself hugely. In the dialogue between Paracelsus and Molière, the great playwright confesses candidly that despite the fact the satirist

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and the writer of comedies ridicule the follies of mankind, men still continue to commit the same follies and play in life the same roles they saw satirized on the stage. Molière is so well aware of this that he has recently amused himself composing a fable on the subject. Varied activities occupy the shades in Fontenelle's Hades. Molière relates the fable to Paracelsus. "A young fledgling was flying with the clumsy grace characteristic of all those of his kind when they fly, and during this brief flight which only raised him a foot above the ground, he cast insults at the rest of the poultry yard. 'Unfortunate animals,' he kept saying, Ί see you beneath me and you do not know how to cleave the air in flight.' His sarcasms were brief, for the fledgling fell down that very instant." In the dialogue between Cortez and Montezuma, the Indian Emperor relates the anecdote of the Greeks who settled in Tuscany and in time adopted the customs and the ways of that country. Nevertheless they missed, or said they missed, the laws and customs of their ancestors; they regretted having become barbarians. On a fixed day they would all gather together to read those ancient laws. They would weep, and having wept, they would separate and each would go his way, and gaily would resume the way of life of the country they deemed barbarian. In the same way does western man regard Reason : he pays lip service to her, but never follows her dictates; he knows of her existence, but he secretly despises her. There are other anecdotes but enough have been presented to show that the anecdote plays a definite and important part in the dialogue of Fontenelle. The anecdote illustrates, provides additional ammunition, and helps the forward progress of the dialogue. A last auxiliary device is wit, which the Dialogues employ in profusion, some say altogether excessively. Fontenelle's wit is characterized by epigrammatic brevity, in some cases by an antithetical arrangement of the phrase or sentence and, in those moments when he is dealing with the relationship between man and woman, with love and sex, by cynicism. That his wit often

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finds its mode of expression in the epigram is no surprise, for wit and epigram go hand in hand, wit, indeed, being the very basis of the epigram. 6 In many instances Fontenelle's polished epigrams are shrewd observations on human nature. Much of his wit shows the influence of the salon and, in particular, the salon frequented by the précieux. Thus we have already seen Phryne saying to Alexander: "Believe me, being a pretty woman is a pretty situation." Fontenelle is not averse to playing with words. Like a good salonnier he indulges in conceits. Sappho observes to Laura that ". . . when men pursue us they are obeying the inclination to pursue us; but when we resist, we haven't much of an inclination to resist." She repeats the same idea a little later when she says that men are delighted when they behold their success with women, ". . . but as for us, we would be deeply chagrined over the success of our resistance." Candaules has just listened to Gyges justifying his action; he answers with a wry smile: "I greatly fear that you had a greater taste (goût) for her [his wife] than she had a distaste (dégoût) for me." More of the same adroit punning occurs in the dialogue between Parmeniscus and Theocritus of Chios, when the former, overjoyed at having been cured of his melancholy, exclaims that he would have erected a temple to Latona, "if I had been able to meet the expenses (faire la dépense)": to which Theocritus answers "that Apollo could have restored the faculty of laughter to you, without such a thing happening at the expense of his mother (aux dépens de sa mere)." When Cosimo envies the success of the Locf(s of Berenice (La Chevelure de Bérénice), the Queen of Alexandria comforts him with the idea that even the stars perish and "that in the long run I will not perhaps have a single hair (un cheveu) left in the heavens." But if Fontenelle adopts in some cases the manner of the précieux, if he puns, if he employs conceits, he does not embrace their ideas on love. He does not side with the Armandes and the Bclises. He views the tender passion and women with a cynical eye. When Dido reveals the true facts of her death to Stra-

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tonice, the latter observes that Vergil's account of those facts "could have dangerous consequences. W e would hardly have any more women ready to burn themselves out of conjugal fidelity, if after their death a poet is allowed the freedom of saying what he will about them." Gyges, commenting on the liberal though odd act of Candaules, queries ". . . what would people think of marriage if they judged it by what you did? They would imagine that nothing more delightful exists." Later Gyges, arguing that merit plays no great part in love, observes to Candaules: "Listen to me; dead though I am, I prefer to whisper this into your dead man's ear: one hasn't much right to be vain just because a woman loves you." This is an amusing dig at the whole Carte de Tendre School, at the advocates of the idea of love founded on esteem. Hence the witty and playful precautions of Fontenelle. He knows they will not like it. In the dialogue between Athenais and Icasia, he gibes cynically at female vanity. Icasia (it will be recalled) relates the story of the Byzantine emperor who, wanting to marry, decreed that all those women who believed they were endowed with sufficient beauty and charm to merit the throne, should gather in Constantinople upon an appointed day. "Lord, the crowd that swarmed toward the city!" T h e candidates are assembled and the beauty contest is on. The women study one another, and, says Icasia, "I noted with pleasure that my rivals glowered at me with envious and angry eyes." T h e Emperor appears and surveys the contestants. He pauses before Icasia and "he looked at me with the expression I had wanted him to have. . . Fontenelle does not say much but he suggests a good deal about Icasia's nature and the hopes and fears that must have filled her heart at that moment. Suggestiveness, compression, incisiveness are characteristics of his art, and these are epigrammatic traits. The same suggestiveness is discernible, though in this case with a mildly obscene touch, when Roxelana, whose knowledge of French history is a bit vague, says to Agnes Sorel : "So, you were that Maid! But how could you have been at the same time the

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mistress of the K i n g ? " There is a racy antithesis when Roxelana, having just been informed of the part played by Agnes Sorel and being still puzzled by the part played by Joan of Arc, remarks : "What did she do, after all ? Could history have made such an error to attribute to a young peasant woman, a maid, what properly belonged to a lady of the court, the mistress of the king?" Fontenelle seems to be enjoying himself when he relates the amorous complications that caused the Roman Civil War. Though Fulvia threatened Augustus with the possibility of a war between him and her unfaithful husband, "it was impossible for me to extract from him the slightest services." This becomes all the more mirth-provoking when we remember that according to the code of courtly love, accepted by the précieux, the lover owed service to his lady. Fontenelle turns against them their own language. T h e fun continues when Fulvia recites the poem that Augustus wrote against her. It ends thus: "Antony is unfaithful. Well, then, does it mean I must suffer for the faults of Antony? Must I serve Fulvia? Just because she wants it? With such a precedent, one would see a thousand dissatisfied wives beating a path to my door. 'Love me!' says she, 'or we fight!' But look, see how ugly she is! Blow, clarions of war, blow!" And so the glorious Civil War is on! Nevertheless Fontenelle does not go to extremes and he has Artemisia say to Raymond Lull (after the alchemist has made his comparison between the philosopher's stone and conjugal fidelity) : "There are people who have such an evil idea about women that they will say the philosopher's stone is not so incredible as to be included in such a comparison." The dialogue between Lucretia and Barbara Blomberg is replete with cynical witticisms. The Emperor Charles V has had an affair with a certain princess, a friend of Barbara. T h e latter to save the honor of her friend had made people believe that she was the mistress of the Emperor and that she was the mother of

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the child the princess h a d b o r n to h i m . Barbara h a d treated her o w n reputation w i t h indifference; that is her boast. Lucretia: By which you mean, that as a favor to the women who didn't possess much virtue, you relaxed yours a little. Barbara Blomberg: I had relaxed its externals only, lest they should consider me their accuser before the public, if they believed me to be more austere than themselves. Lucretia: In truth they were much obliged to you, and above all the princess who had been fortunate enough to have found a mother for her children. Was one all she gave you? Barbara Blomberg: Yes. Lucretia: I am surprised! She should have taken greater advantage of the conveniences she had, for you weren't worried at all about your reputation. T h i s passage is a good example of Fontenelle's astringent irony a n d sly wit. H e successfully b r i n g s out the malice in the character of Lucretia. Barbara has her revenge w h e n later she says to her interlocutor that people have cast doubts on the nobility of her suicide; ". . . they say you killed yourself a bit late; that your death w o u l d have been a t h o u s a n d times m o r e glorious if you had not waited until the last efforts of T a r q u í n ; b u t , that, apparently, you h a d n o intention of killing yourself frivolously (à la légère) a n d w i t h o u t k n o w i n g w h y . " Nevertheless, as w e have already seen, it is Barbara w h o is the alazon here. B u t of all the dialogues the o n e that hits the low in cynicism is the dialogue between the D u c h e s s of Valentinois a n d A n n e Boleyn. A n n e has boasted of the fact that she " h a d neither virtue, nor t h e reputation for virtue." A n d the D u c h e s s a n s w e r s : "I get t h e point, for I would have considered h a v i n g the reputation f o r virtue as actually possessing virtue itself." A little later t h e same speaker r e m a r k s blandly with Ciceronian p r e t e n t i o n that she could possibly speak about her infidelities to H e n r y II, "but I have no intention of p a u s i n g on that point." Fontenelle's e p i g r a m s a n d witticisms are sometimes s h r e w d

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observations on human nature. T h u s Candaules observes " . . . that no man makes a show of his felicity without inflicting upon others a kind of insult from which he derives satisfaction." Raphael, who has been relating the story of Michel Angelo's Bacchus, observes that "because I was constantly contradicted, I pushed the Bacchus back to the times of Polycletus and of Phidias." This is a very just observation on what occurs when we belabor a point close to our hearts. Barbara Blomberg asseverates that, if she were given the choice of returning to the world of the living on the condition that she be a perfect individual, she would not accept the bargain. "I know that by being so perfect, I would hurt too many people. I would always insist on having some shortcoming or some weakness for the consolation of those with whom I would have to live." Barbara knows that people resent perfection; she is aware that the vice of envy is at the bottom of this attitude and she fears the fate of Aristides surnamed the Just who was ostracized for possessing that quality. Fontenelle administers a mild slap at philosophy when he has Icasia say to Athenais: ". . . you knew philosophy, which is a great deal worse than having wit, and in spite of that, you became the wife of Theodosius the Younger." W e recall that Icasia failed to become empress because she made a show of wit, whereas Athenais, though knowing philosophy, became an empress. Fontenelle is amused at the uncertainty of things. In the dialogue between Apicius and Galileo, the Roman gourmet regrets he was not a contemporary of the great astronomer, for he would have gone to the ends of the earth to seek him out. Galileo is puzzled: of what use could he have been to the illustrious trencherman? "I was a poor scientist, accustomed to a frugal existence, my eyes always fixed on the stars and not particularly clever at sauces (en ragoût)." As one reads these lines, one proceeds unsuspectingly until one reaches the last phrase and in particular the last word. One hardly expected that conclusion, and yet it is apt because "sauces" characterizes Apicius and it contrasts with the phrase "my eyes al-

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ways fixed on the stars" which describes Galileo. T h e pleasant shock experienced causes laughter. In the dialogue between Paracelsus and Molière, the latter, in his concluding remarks, says to his opponent " . . . my comedies will last longer than your sublime works." T h e r e is wit in this juxtaposing the genial creations of Molière and the pretentious nonsense of Paracelsus. In the use of the adjective " s u b l i m e " there is a kind of retrospective irony inasmuch as Molière has been all along belittling the works of Paracelsus, which he had already labeled "silly mysteries." T h e s e same works Paracelsus had described as sublime. Molière is throwing Paracelsus' own words back at him, charged with irony. T h e tribulations of Riccio in the dialogue with Mary Stuart are entertaining. Mary is annoyed because Riccio is not grateful for the favors she had accorded him when he was alive. S h e says: Was it a trivial distinction to receive you everyday alone at my table? Believe me, Riccio, that kind of a favor did no wrong to your reputation. David Riccio: It did me no other wrong than that I had to die because I had received it too often. Alas, I was supping intimately with you, as usual, when I saw the King enter, accompanied by the individual who had been elected to be one of my murderers, because he was the ugliest Scotsman ever and because a long quartan fever from which he had just recovered had made him all the more frightful. I don't know whether he dealt me a few thrusts, but as far as I can remember, I died of the fright caused in me just by the sight of him. T h i s is certainly a flippant and cavalier way to treat the great dramatic moments of history. T h u s does Fontenelle dissipate the romantic aura with which history conventionally surrounds such events. L i k e the other devices of his satire, the purpose of Fontenelle's wit is to destroy: the manner is gay, but the intention is serious. It is possible to show an affinity between the epigrammatic wit of a Fontenelle, writer of the T r a n s i t i o n , and a W i l d e and a

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Shaw, those two fin de siècle English playwrights. In the French writer's dialogue between Dido and Stratonice, Stratonice notes "that in the matter of amorous relationships, one must not judge according to appearances, and that the relationships that possess the least, are often the truest"; the same speaker remarks that ". . . most women prefer one to speak somewhat lightly of their virtue than of their wit or beauty"; later she relates the anecdote of the painting that was done of her lying in the arms of a soldier: she forgave the painter because he made her beautiful, ". . . although the posture he gave me did not speak too well for my virtue . . ."; and when Dido still insists that virtue is a woman's first merit, Stratonice observes (in that masterpiece of cynical wit), ". . . the first question a man asks of a woman he does not know, is, 'Is she beautiful?' the second, 'Is she intelligent?' He rarely gets around to ask the third question." Compare them with these epigrams from Wilde's Lady Windemere's Fan : "Wicked women bother one. Good women bore one: That is the only difference between them"; and: "A man who moralizes is usually a hypocrite, and a woman who moralizes is invariably plain." 7 Or this one from Shaw's Man and Superman: "Is the devil to have all the passions as well as all the good tunes?" Gassner says of S h a w : "An inner gaiety, recalling the music of Mozart and the essays of the eighteenth century, has pervaded his spirit. He has played with ideas like a juggler. . . . " 8 He shows that it would be a grave error to accuse Wilde and Shaw of frivolity and insincerity. Their epigrammatic wit was only one of many devices they employed in their satire to shock their complacent contemporaries, to demolish the conventions of the period, to cleanse society of the shams and pretenses that ruled it. Like Fontenelle's, their dialectic is destructive; the criticism of Wilde and Shaw is aimed at the Victorian compromise, th.it of Fontenelle at the Classical compromise (to use the expression of Professor Gucrard). 9 Wilde and Shaw are rightly called artists. And yet, Fontenelle,

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employing a somewhat similar technique, has too often been denied the right to that enviable name. A work of art is a synthetic thing. Its general effect results from the combined and simultaneous effect of all its parts: separate the parts and the organism no longer exists. Dissect the rose, pluck its petals, expose its calix, stamens and pistils; you will learn much of its inner mechanism, but you will have destroyed its beauty: its color, shape, and perfume will have vanished and it is these qualities that make up the rose, at least for most of us, if not for the botanist. The literary critic labors under a curse. Anxious to have his reader enjoy the delight he has derived from his contact with a masterpiece, he proceeds to analyze, to dissect, to break up the work, thereby destroying the beauty and dispelling the perfume that made it a masterpiece, and so he defeats his own purpose. The unfortunate critic is hardly to blame : how else can he come to an understanding of a work of art except by analysis. Here is the dilemma of Smindyrides in the field of criticism. Perhaps there is a way out of this dilemma. W e may try to escape the curse by attempting a synthetic approach to one of the dialogues. The analysis of the different parts of the mechanism of the Fontenellian dialogue is complete : we possess that knowledge. Thus armed, it is now possible to study one of the dialogues in toto. I have selected for that purpose, and have up to now deliberately refrained from referring to it in any connection, the dialogue captioned, "Quelles morts sont les plus généreuses," between the Emperor Hadrian and Margaret of Austria. 10 It displays all the qualities of the Fontenellian dialogue to advantage: spirit of contradiction, overtones and implications which bear the message of the dialogue, characterization and irony, dramatic devices, anecdotes, antitheses, wit, lightness and gaiety. The three knocks are heard (at least in our imagination) and

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the curtain rises revealing Margaret of Austria. Almost immediately the E m p e r o r H a d r i a n comes running in, flustered and annoyed. " W h a t ' s wrong with y o u ? " says Margaret, " W h y so flushed and e x c i t e d ? " Hadrian reveals that he has just been involved in " a heated argument with Cato of Utica over the way we died." W h o s e last m o m e n t s were the more philosophical, Hadrian's or Cato's? Margaret playfully and slyly chides the E m p e r o r for having the boldness to call so famous a death as Cato's in question, and thus she seemingly constitutes herself the Stoic philosopher's advocate. H i s death, she avers, was indeed magnificent: Cato first took care of everything, provided for the safety of his friends, and only then slew himself, expiring with his country's freedom. T h u s he prevented Caesar from capturing him alive, who most certainly would have pardoned him, for Caesar was magnanimous. " N o t if you scrutinize that death closely!" retorts Hadrian unimpressed. H e then proceeds to draw up a procès-verbal against C a t o : one, Cato had long publicized his impending suicide; two, immediately preceding the moment of self-immolation he read several times Plato's dialogue on the immortality of the soul; three, his intentions put him into such a bad mood, that having gone to bed and not finding his sword underneath his pillow (for as one had divined what he wanted to do, it had been removed) he called one of his slaves to demand it and struck his face such a heavy blow with his fist that he broke his teeth, and it is a fact that when he drew back his fist, it was bleeding. Margaret of Austria: Such a wallop somewhat spoils that philosophical death, I must admit! Hadrian: You couldn't possibly imagine the uproar he made over the missing sword and how he accused his son and servants of wanting to deliver him to Caesar, bound hand and foot. In short he scolded them in such a fashion that they had to leave the room and let him commit suicide. Margaret admits the whole business could have been "less noisy" and that Cato could have quietly waited until the next

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day to commit suicide, but, she adds shrewdly, "it may be that he had gauged his determination so accurately that he could wait no longer, and perhaps he would not have killed himself if he had put it off for just one more day." H a d r i a n congratulates Margaret for having a "profound knowledge of heroic deaths." T h e argument, however, is far from ended. Margaret, still playing the part of the attorney for the defense, brings a certain fact to light. After Cato had recovered his sword and all had left the room, " h e fell asleep and snored. T h a t seems rather impressive, if t r u e ! " But Hadrian, failing to grasp the humorous irony of that remark, is aroused by it instead to further argument, which was precisely Margaret's intention. H e takes her observation at its face value and retorts angrily, " A n d do you believe it? - ' Cato had just quarreled with everybody; he had beaten one of his servants. " A f t e r that kind of exercise you don't sleep so easily." In addition the hand that had administered such an unphilosophical blow pained him so he could not sleep; unable to endure it, " h e had it bandaged by a doctor though he was on the point of c o m m i t t i n g suicide." H a d r i a n continues to pile up other arguments in the same vein of doubt: Cato entertained his friends with a dinner party that lasted long and late; he took a walk afterwards; then came the episode of the sword; after which he read the dialogue twice, and that dialogue is a long o n e ; " . . . consequently, if he slept, he scarcely slept at all. In truth, I fear he only made believe he was snoring to have the honor of it a m o n g those who were listening at the door of his r o o m . " Margaret congratulates H a d r i a n for the "brilliant case" he has drawn up against Cato. "Nevertheless," she adds, and here it is the other side of Fontenelle that makes itself heard, "that death still contains actually something very heroic." S h e continues with a remark that seems innocent enough, but which nevertheless is loaded with controversial dynamite. " B u t how can you [ H a d r i a n ] claim that yours was a better one? As far as I can remember, you died very tidily in your bed and in a m a n n e r that had nothing remarkable about

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it." Hadrian is stung by the malice of this statement; like a true alazon he rises to take the bait. A n d now the second part of the dialogue begins. In the first Cato had been exposed; it is now the turn of Hadrian to suffer a similar fate. In a fury the Emperor quotes at length his celebrated deathbed poem. Observe the difference between Cato and myself, says Hadrian: Cato treated death with great seriousness; I mocked her approach, hence my philosophy is superior to his. It is more difficult to face death "nonchalantly" when it comes unbidden, than to "brave" it "proudly" when you call it. Margaret's answer to all this is interesting: first she seems to make an admission in favor of Hadrian and then she neutralizes it by administering a neat thrust at the amour-propre of the Emperor. "Yes, I admit Cato's death was less beautiful than yours, but unfortunately I didn't know you had composed that little poem, in which is found all the beauty of your death." Hadrian is now in a complete rage. T h a t is the way of the world! Cato tears out his entrails: his action is "like a flash of light in history and there isn't a soul who is not dazzled by it." I, Hadrian, die quietly jesting at death's expense and nobody is impressed. H o w true, how true! says Margaret sympathetically. " Y e t I who talk to you, had a death which I claim was more beautiful and made an even lesser impression than yours. T o be sure it wasn't quite a death, but such as it is, it is above yours which is above Cato's." Hadrian was not expecting this and puzzled he asks Margaret to explain. She recites her doleful history with her tongue in her cheek. I was the daughter of an emperor, I was engaged to the son of a king and that prince after the death of his father, sent me back to mine, in spite of the solemn promise he had made to marry me. I then became engaged a second time, to the son of another king, and as I sailed over the sea to meet this groom, my ship was assailed by a furious tempest which clearly put my life in jeopardy. It was then that I composed my own epitaph: Here lies Maggie, the noble damsel, Who did two husbands wed, Yet still retains her maiden-head.

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It is true she survived the storm, "but that wasn't my fault." Assume for the sake of the argument she had perished, her death would have been most satisfactory. "Cato's courage ran to one extreme, yours to another; mine was natural. Cato was too affected, you were too playful, I was reasonable." Hadrian is hurt: so he is criticized for not fearing death enough. T o which Margaret replies with one of those profound insights into human nature that Fontenelle with a lavish hand scatters here and there throughout his dialogues: "It isn't true that one has no regret in dying. I'm sure that you strained as much to jest, as Cato, to tear out his entrails." Poor Hadrian's discomfiture at this point is complete. Urged on by Margaret in subtle fashion, he had stripped Cato of all his glory. Cato, he had shown, was a poseur; and now Margaret, employing a method similar to his, has shown that Hadrian, too, was a poseur. Margaret should have stopped here in her debate, but she continues playing up her coolness in the face of danger. She overdoes it with results rather unfortunate to herself in the end. T h e third part of the dialogue begins. Margaret is still speaking. Calm though death threatened, she was able to compose her epitaph. If her story had not had a happy ending, people would have disbelieved it or would have suspected her of braggadocio. In addition she is "a poor girl twice engaged who nevertheless has the questionable fortune of dying a maid: I note down my regret and that gives my story all the truthfulness it needs." As for Hadrian's poem, it consists of nothing more than pleasant sounding gibberish that tickles the ear. Margaret's poem on the other hand has a very clear meaning which satisfies one immediately, "which proves that nature speaks in it more than in yours." Hadrian's reply is maliciously witty; the Emperor begins to recover some of the territory he had lost. He remarks that he would never have believed "that the regret of dying with your virginity should have proved so glorious for you." Margaret, far from discouraged, breaks another lance in defense of her point of view. Hadrian can joke as

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much as he likes, she says; her proximity to death possessed another advantage over Hadrian's and Cato's. Both these gentlemen had played the philosopher during their whole life; they were now honor bound to face death bravely. Whereas in her case, had she quaked and shrieked, no one could have blamed her; she never claimed she was a philosopher. Despite that, "I remained calm enough to make my epitaph." Alas, she has overplayed her hand, for Hadrian replies, "Between us, wasn't the epitaph composed on dry land?" as he deftly topples her over. Margaret takes her fall good-naturedly, for she answers laughing, "Oh, such caviling is ill mannered! I didn't indulge in any, in reference to your poem!" Candidly admitting the truth about herself, she playfully delivers a final thrust at Hadrian, for her remark implies that even as she wrote her epitaph long after the episode of the shipwreck when she was safe and comfortable on terra firma, so did Hadrian write his poem long before his death when he enjoyed the health and the equanimity to play the philosopher. W e can all be philosophers as long as we are not experiencing one of those critical moments against which philosophy is supposed to be our shield and breastplate. Many pose at being philosophers, but the real philosophers are few in number. There are more frauds in the fraternity than you can suppose, says Fontenelle. That seems to be the message of the dialogue. T o be sure Hadrian concludes the dialogue with the enunciation of the classical doctrine of the golden mean. H e says, "I yield then gracefully and I admit that virtue is great indeed as long as it does not override the bounds of nature." Hadrian is talking like a gentleman when he says that he yields. No one has yielded and no one has won. Hadrian and Margaret have fenced so adroitly that they have finally knocked the foils out of each other's hands. The true message of the dialogue is to be gleaned from the implications and overtones that make themselves felt and heard as one reads it and not in the conventional ending.

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T o summarize, the lively and dramatic opening captures the reader's interest immediately. So does the fact that the characters are not bloodless, but have all the passions of the living. There is an ironic twist in this display of passion : Cato and Hadrian have been arguing on a point which has no longer any meaning in Hades (or for that matter would have no meaning in life viewed sub specie aeternitatis) ; later Hadrian and Margaret get into an argument on the same subject; but it is this that makes them living and convincing characters. These features the dialogue has in common with the others; in addition it has a richness and complexity proportionately greater. We are presented here with a triple unmasking inasmuch as there are three characters who are all three frauds in different degrees. Cato is a disgusting fraud, Hadrian is a pathetic fraud, and Margaret is a lovable one. It is true that Cato does not appear at all on the stage. Nevertheless he plays a part in the action, like Caesar's ghost after Act III of Shakespeare's tragedy, or like Tartuffe before Act III of Molière's comedy. Cato is in part responsible for Hadrian's state of mind when the latter makes his appearance before us, and the account that the Emperor gives of the last moments of the Stoic is the récit of the unseen action between the two when they argued together before the rise of the curtain. Fontenelle is the enemy of pretense and pose. Here is Cato who plays the Stoic philosopher. Against all the tenets of that school he goes into a rage and beats his slave; he whimpers from pain and summons a doctor to bandage his wounded hand. He strikes theatrical attitudes: he reads the dialogue on the immortality of the soul; he lectures his friends and relations; he wines and dines the company. He makes a show of his fortitude : he snores on the eve of his suicide, first making sure that people were listening on the other side of the door, like Tartuffe who smote his chest vigorously and vociferated resounding mea culpas as long as he had an audience. As Hadrian observes : he snored to have the honor of it among those who were listening; and Fontenelle makes a witty antithesis between "ronfler" and

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"honneur." Furthermore he might not have committed suicide if he had waited a day longer, and he knew it. Above all, the poseur must save face. In sum, Cato's end, long advertised by him, was a noisy grand opera. Cato is a disgusting and stuffy fellow, says Fontenelle, one of those frauds whose hypocritical shams are a danger to mankind. With the sincere and honest impatience of youth, Fontenelle knocks him from his pedestal. Though Cato is the recipient of the sharpest and crudest barbs of Fontenelle's satire, Hadrian is also a target of that satire. H e too had played the philosopher. He had strained as much to jest in the face of death as had Cato in braving death heroically. He had gone as much to one extreme as Cato had to the other. In his anxiety to seem superior to Cato, he cuts a ridiculous figure. His outbursts against the injustice of history make him a pathetic character. Margaret exposes the alazon. And yet Hadrian is not a reprehensible alazon like Cato because he is intelligent; in the end he admits his mistake and displays a sense of humor. One cannot dislike him as one dislikes and distrusts Cato, who is entirely without humor and who takes himself so seriously. That Hadrian is intelligent is shown by the way he turns the tables on Margaret. Margaret of Austria makes the best impression. She is shrewd in the way she puts her finger on the secret springs of human behavior, intelligent and witty in the way she directs the argument so Cato and Hadrian will be stripped of their glory. She possesses the saving grace of humor which she shows in the way she treats her own story. In the end she too plays the fool, but she candidly admits it. W e are all fools, says Fontenelle, though fools of different kinds and different potentialities. And that is the message of the dialogue : a warning against the dangers of pretense and hypocrisy; a revelation of the universal folly of mankind; a lesson in humility: it is futile and ridiculous to strike poses before the mystery of death. All this is expressed and suggested by a prose that is lucid and simple. On the surface there seems to be very little; beneath

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there is a wealth of ideas. T h e argument proceeds at a lively pace, never for a moment slackening or hesitating. There is no real formal conclusion; the end indeed is negative, yet the implications are positive. T h e dialogue is filled with Socratic irony and characterized by burlesque. There are two anecdotes (the story of Cato and the story of Margaret) ; there is antithesis; there is youthful flippancy in the way that old worthy, Cato, is treated; there is wit and gaiety throughout. T h e dialogue is a masterpiece, one of Fontenelle's best. Our pleasant journey among the Dialogues of the Dead is over. There still remain, nevertheless, some questions to answer, some problems to solve, some evaluations to be made. T h e analysis of the Dialogues shows that Fontenelle employs a definite and specific method. Is there any documentary evidence to substantiate this conclusion? Then there is the problem of influences. T o whom does Fontenelle owe a debt? Just how much and what is original? What is the validity of the criticisms leveled against the Dialogues? How does Fontenelle's work compare with the dialogues of other authors? It will be the task of the next chapter to offer some answers and some solutions to these questions and problems.

CHAPTER

6

EVALUATIONS AND COMPARISONS Fontenelle knew what he was doing, that he must have relished the success of his method, especially among the very kind of people whose smugness he wanted to disturb, is evident from a reading of the Judgment of Pluto. Father Trublet tells us that, though Fontenelle did not sign the work, its style soon betrayed him. 1 Under the cloak of anonymity he explains in a dedicatory letter 2 why he wrote the Judgment. A very severe criticism of the Dialogues was being circulated in manuscript form, which achieved nothing outside of casting insults at the author. This gives the anonymous writer (Fontenelle adopts the fiction of having someone else come to his defense) the idea of drawing up a criticism of the Dialogues which would be severe to the work, but fair to its author. Fontenelle will show his critics how the Dialogues are to be criticized.

THAT

Once again we are transported to the Elysian Fields. A copy of the first part of the Dialogues of the Dead has arrived there and has been read by its citizens. Whereupon confusion and bitter quarreling break out. T h e caste system of Hades is violated. T h e courtesans have invaded the section reserved for the heroes. T h e scholars treat their princely patrons with an unbecoming familiarity that is shockingly reminiscent of the treatment the noble lords meted out to them previously. Charles V has been seen walking behind Erasmus. Aretino who has been missing from his usual haunts is discovered in the company of Augustus. Pluto, finding Anacreon and Aristotle hot in dispute, pushes the former back into the section reserved for the poets and the latter into the place reserved for the philosophers. The distraught monarch beholds Homer and Aesop meeting, exchanging compliments and then insults. Hadrian and Margaret

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of Austria come from the ends of Hades to engage in fisticuffs. Many of the illustrious dead are angry with the author because of the cavalier fashion in which he has treated them. Aristotle expresses the opinion of the discontented when he observes that ". . . in the new dialogues, it is an infallible rule to find everything topsy-turvey." His personal complaint is that he is made to look like a fool by the disreputable Anacreon. Alexander objects to being criticized by the courtesan Phryne, and to being compared to her by the author who describes her as an "aimable conquérante." Erasmus feels that scholarship stands insulted in his person because a mere politician, Charles V, gets the best of him in argument. Pluto, realizing that something must be done to restore order and peace among his ghostly subjects and blaming the book for the prevailing anarchy, decides to bring it up on trial. He summons to his palace on an appointed day Lucian and the thirtysix interested parties (the interlocutors of the first eighteen dialogues) and invites as well all those who may have a complaint to make. Pluto is assisted by Aeacus and Rhadamanthus. Aeacus calls upon Lucian to defend Fontenelle's book because it was dedicated to him and he is its "hero." T h e satirist of Samosata refuses to do this, stating that a dedication does not put one under an obligation. T h e Stoic Chrysippus who is present remarks testily that he does not blame Lucian for refusing to be the attorney for the defense; after all Lucian invented the genre: he is responsible for his own sins and for those of his imitators. He concludes ironically that Lucian be punished for being repetitious : let him take the place of Sisyphus and roll the stone uphill for all eternity. Cato of Utica complains that Fontenelle has been unjust to him: he has had the gall to attempt to tear to pieces his well-established reputation. Cato proceeds to correct the errors of Fontenelle. H e did not do what the author makes him do in the Dialogues: he did not snore; he did not put off killing himself; true, he read the dialogue of Plato twice, but only because he was waiting for the report of his friends

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who were on high seas fleeing from Caesar, and once he received that news he slew himself. Cato voices a general complaint: "Where is the respect one owes to antiquity? By what right are its heroes to be degraded?" T o which Hadrian answers pointedly that Fontenelle has exercised the author's privilege: he has pulled down Cato and raised up Hadrian. But Alexander, Homer, Aristotle and Vergil, agree with Cato that antiquity has been maligned. At this juncture Lucian is observed attempting to steal away. N o wonder, remarks Alexander, he is responsible, he set the example; ". . . he taught his imitator to respect none of the things the world respects. Lucian attacks all that he knows to be greatest and noblest; the imitator follows suit." See what has happened to him: he has been a victim of the satire of both Lucian and Fontenelle. T o assuage the feelings of Alexander, who deplores the comparison between himself and Phryne, Pluto decrees that henceforth Phryne stick to her own profession. That lady curtseying low answers, "Très volontiers." Aristotle accuses the author of turning the "lycée" into a "cabaret." But Anacreon approves of the metamorphosis and says, "I have given orders to all the dear disciples I have in the other world to drink the health of the author, to declare war against all the peripatetics, and to strive with might and main until my new system of philosophy is accepted in the university." It is now the turn of Vergil to complain. He observes to Aretino that the praise he gave to Augustus and to Cato were both founded on suppositions: if emperors were rewarded by deification after death, then Augustus deserved such a reward; if there is a caste system in Hades, then Cato deserved to be placed at the head of his group. Whereupon Cato interrupts. Some of the most amusing touches in the Judgment are these interruptions of Cato. Like Bergson's Jack-in-the-box he pops in from time to time, shouting, I have been maligned! He wants to know why Fontenelle speaks well of him in the dialogue between Augustus and Aretino, but ill of him in the dialogue between Hadrian

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and Margaret of Austria. Diogenes rushes to the defense of poor Fontenelle. True, the author has contradicted himself, but he was imitating Lucian, and Lucían contradicts himself. Diogenes himself has been the victim of the contradictions of Lucian, yet he does not complain. Pluto, hearing this, thinks the time has come to issue another decree. "All writers of Dialogues of the Dead are forbidden ever to approve of anything or speak well of anyone, for fear of contradictions!" Homer, observing that the author does not treat him with the respect he deserves, that he is a hater of antiquity, wonders how he, Homer, got the great reputation he has if he did not merit it. In this he is seconded by many other famous Ancients. Pluto then decrees that the Ancients are to be always worthy of one's respect and that Lucian, "who was one of the first to rebel against them and all those who followed in his steps, should never be considered as Ancients, and should be everlasting victims of criticism, like wretched Moderns." The Duke of Alençon, chivalrously taking up the cudgels for Queen Elizabeth, notes that the author treats her very badly. But Elizabeth does not choose to defend herself; it is better, she says, to keep silent on certain things. " 'Oh,' said a précieuse recently dead, 'suspect Elizabeth of indecent acts! Can that be possible? . . . Elizabeth perhaps may have taken a few steps in Love-land; but surely she was careful not to take the last step.' 'How you are lacking in delicacy,' interrupted Smindyrides, who is hardly any better than a précieuse." A heated debate then breaks out between Smindyrides, Milo, and the outspoken Dutchman as to what the author said about Elizabeth's nature. Did she yearn for fancies or for the more solid pleasures of the body? Pluto puts an end to the dispute and decrees that hereafter the Duke of Alençon, Elizabeth, Smindyrides and the Dutchman never be found in the pages of the same book. But Pluto's troubles are far from over. At this moment Mercury arrives bearing a "Letter from the Living to the Dead." In it the living assert that they too are

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sufficiently witty and intelligent to handle the subtle themes found in the Dialogues, that one does not have to be dead to do so, that the women readers in particular are incensed : they, too, can be Didos, Stratonices, Sapphos, Lauras, Agnes Sorels and Roxelanas; at any rate they will take to heart the lessons on the matter of love learned in the Dialogues. Pluto who seems to be anxious to please everyone decrees that it is not necessary to be dead in order to speak intelligently and sensibly. Laura approves of the subtleties the author puts into her mouth and observes that the dialogue in which she plays a part gives the impression that, to decide the question as to who should attack and who should defend, it may be necessary to convene "the StatesGeneral of mankind." But Petrarch is both displeased and alarmed. That dialogue has been the ruination of Laura. She who had once been a reasonable person now wants to "make dissertations on everything." She has become a disputant; it is impossible to live with her. Furthermore Sappho is bad company for her. He approves of the stand she took against Sappho in the dialogue, but he fears that in the long run Sappho will corrupt Laura, and Laura will become an attacker instead of a defender. King Louis XII and the Duke of Suffolk agree with Petrarch. Anne of Brittany and Mary of England have, since reading the Dialogues, become "raisonneuses." By decree Pluto forbids that henceforth women be such obstinate dialecticians, for fear of the consequences. When Harvey complains that Charles V talks like a doctor without being one and that Erasistratus though a doctor does not act like one, Pluto decrees that Charles learn something about medicine if he wishes to talk about it and that Erasistratus, in spite of his cure of Prince Antiochus, respect the circulation of the blood. An argument arises between Montaigne and Socrates. Montaigne says, "I am brought to bed in the new dialogues, but I am brought to bed with such ease that I am ashamed of it." Socrates, however, is delighted with the part Fontenelle assigns to him; he approves of the technique the

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author makes him employ. Socrates admires his own cleverness: how he draws out his opponent, how he holds out a choice dialectical bait, makes Montaigne bite it and finally obliges him to admit a proposition which is the opposite of his original one. Indeed in Plato's dialogues, Socrates points out, he goes through a long process to refute his opponents, but in those of Fontenelle "I have more wit; I guess what I have got to refute." Fontenelle turns Socrates into something of a prophet, "but that is surely because of the familiar demon that I had in me." Pluto then passes judgment: Socrates is not to use his demon in disputes in order to guess the ideas of his opponent and Montaigne is not to be tripped up so easily. At this juncture Charon arrives with a copy of the second part of the Dialogues of the Dead which he had gotten from a shade who had just crossed the Styx. T h e copy is torn from the hands of Charon by the assembled dead who rush off to read it. But since the citizens of Elysium are anxious to find out immediately who plays a role in these new dialogues, they decide to call on someone to give a general reading of them. T h e person chosen is Stentor, he of the mighty lungs. (It is a delightful little touch to bring in Stentor at this moment, like that of employing Mercury, the divine messenger, as postman in delivering the letter of the living to the dead. The uses Fontenelle makes of classical mythology are both comical and apt—a thing that can easily be appreciated by anyone knowing something of that mythology. Certainly the public for whom Fontenelle wrote his work was well aware of it.) The reading begins. Both Herostratus and Demetrius of Phalerum are amazed at the outcome of the dialogue in which they are featured: the former thought it would go against him; the latter had entertained the opposite impression. The conclusion surprises both, but delights the first and disappoints the second. Paulina is embarrassed and is unable to explain her actions. But Callirrhoe makes a better showing before the assembly: they declare her to be "une bonne innocente." So does Candaules, because he displays no rancor.

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However, because he blackens the tender passion in the dialogue in which he appears, Gyges is severely criticized by those of the dead who when living had held love in high esteem. Queen Elizabeth declares that the author's idea of love as revealed in the dialogues is shot through with contradictions. She is for men keeping and cherishing their mirages. Gyges on the other hand does his best to destroy the mirage of love. Paulina paints such a picture of fidelity that no one can attain it, and then Gyges presents an idea of love so detestable that no one would lower himself to have it. T h e anger of H o m e r is great when he discovers that he is involved in the dialogue between Helen and Fulvia. Once again he is under attack. "Always jests at my expense!" he complains. H e corrects Fontenelle. H e never stated that his Priam commanded that everybody should go and sup. Priam said everybody should go home. All the dead side with H o m e r and Fulvia is compelled to recant. Both Parmeniscus and Theocritus of Chios, two rather obscure worthies, are surprised they are included in the dialogues. Parmeniscus is pleased in general with his part, but admits he does not understand what the author puts into his mouth, especially at the conclusion. " T h e y inquired of him what the reason might possibly be that had made the author affect this obscurity; and Parmeniscus answered: ' H e has put the dead in his dialogues to talk; and to talk is not to know most of the time what one says. W h e n we discover the relative lack of substance in what he ladles out to us, and with which he sometimes dazzles us, we bring out into the light the author's secret. Y o u become wise, and you admire him no more; you think, and you are no longer his dupe; this the author does not approve.' " Parmeniscus nevertheless concludes that he is going to do his best to penetrate into and understand the secret ideas of the author. At this moment a violent quarrel breaks out between Faustina and Roxelana. T h e Sultana is the feminist, fighting for the glory of w o m e n ; Faustina wants to destroy that glory. T h e

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Sultana accuses the Empress of being mad. Faustina's vicious harangue against men drives Marcus Aurelius from the assembly. All the women present get into the dispute. Some complain they were the victims of men, others boast they victimized the male. Had the author been present during the altercation, he would have found himself in the unhappy predicament of trying to reconcile Faustina and Roxelana (no easy task) or of taking sides, in which case he would have taken sides against himself no matter to which disputant he gave the victory. T h e battle ends when both Faustina and Roxelana are expelled from the assembly. Stentor bellows the names of Seneca and Scarron. T h e former, observing that one does not need much imagination to suppose how the dialogue in question will turn out, retires. T h e reading completed, Scarron expresses extreme pleasure. T h e author, he says, knows how to discern true merit; he himself never knew he was a philosopher. Lucilius defends his absent friend Seneca. He wonders why "this author always takes a stand against reason." All the flirts are delighted by the dialogue between Artemisia and Raymond Lull. They had no idea Artemisia was one of them and they conclude that if wives go wrong, the husbands are to blame. There is no surprise when the dialogue between Apicius and Galileo is read; everyone, by this time, cognizant of the principles of the author, knew that the senses were going to win out over reason. But everyone is astonished that Galileo should have so much wit; since the point of view of Apicius triumphs, the gourmet should have been the witty one. All the dead marvel at the Platonic erudition of Margaret of Scotland. But Plato's feelings are hurt. H e grumbles, " I am no longer in that dialogue the divine Plato, or at any rate I have become quite human." T h e blame is all yours, tartly observes Archeanassa of Colophon, why did you write epigrams ? T o this Plato rejoins that it is hardly fair to judge him by two little poems dashed of? in a day and ignore the huge tomes he wrote laboriously through the years. Raphael is amazed that he says

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very little about his o w n profession in the dialogue with Strato, and he confesses candidly that he does not understand w h a t the author m a k e s h i m say. At this point Pluto stops the reading of the dialogues and confiscates the book. H e takes this action at the request of m a n y modern dead, whose reputations, not being as firmly established by time as those of the Ancients, m i g h t be in jeopardy. Unfortunately, Stentor had already read the rest of the dialogues and unintentionally a n d little by little reveals the contents of the remaining ones. T h u s he tells Molière that in the dialogues he is a philosopher. H e informs Descartes that he does not talk of vortices but of blind-man's buff. M o n t e z u m a , discovering the role he plays, is so flattered that he goes out to argue ancient history with T h u c y d i d e s and L i v y . A n d thus, once again, despite the precautions of Pluto, arguments and quarrels break out a n e w . T h e ruler of Elysium k n o w s he can no longer put off passing definite j u d g m e n t on Fontenelle's dangerous w o r k . Fortunately for his schemes there arrives at this moment " A Request of the Dead who have no A x to grind." These ghostly critics, ignoring the pleas of the g r a m m a r i a n s who wanted to criticize the l a n g u a g e of the dialogues, have limited themselves to a consideration of the ideas of the author. H e , say the disinterested dead, sometimes violates common sense. It is not true that beautiful w o m e n belong to all climes but k i n g s and conquerors do not. T h e idea of beauty is relative—a Chinese w o m a n is not beautiful to a European—whereas the right of the strong is universally felt. T h e author claims that true praise is not the k i n d that is given to us but the kind that we give in spite of ourselves. T h i s is not always so. T h e Romans meant it w h e n they called T i t u s the delight of the h u m a n race, and people meant it too w h e n they called Attila the scourge of God. Ambition can easily be recognized as a product of the imagination. T h e author is here contrasting ambition and love. But so is love a creature of the imagination. The author does not prove the superiority of love over ambition. In what w a y did you

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lose your reason ? one of the author's characters asks of his interlocutor. "In a most reasonable way," replies the other. W e could forgive the bad jest, if the author did not repeat it again shortly after in the same dialogue, when he says, "I made such judicious reflexions that I lost my judgment." T h e frenetic are so mad, avers the author, that they call each other mad. Because one calls the other fellow mad is no indication that it must be so. Pluto accepts this general criticism and issues a verdict consisting of fourteen articles, of which some of the most diverting are: that Herostratus be reestablished in his bad reputation; that Scarron admit publicly that outside of the Dialogues he is in all things the inferior of Seneca; that Moliere talk no philosophy and Descartes talk no blind-man's buff; that Montezuma concern himself solely with Mexican history; that women refrain from profiting by the dangerous chemistry of Raymond Lull; that Candaules be more circumspect and Gyges have nobler ideas on love; that Plato be philosopher and not gallant; that the Duchess of Valentinois dispense with boasting of her age; that Theocritus of Chios be washed in Lethe to forget his bad puns, and that Parmeniscus and Raphael be given a year to explain what the author made them say. Pluto then orders the case closed forever until someone else is foolhardy enough to write another book of Dialogues of the Dead. Egilsrud contends that Fontenelle modifies the opinions, softens the more daring ideas entertained in the dialogues, by what he says in the Judgment.3 Carré, however, states that here Fontenelle is ironically judging his own dialogues and enjoying the uproar they had caused.4 Trublet's description and critical estimate of the work is also extremely just and to the point: "This clever fiction is at once a criticism of the Dialogues and an answer to the criticism that had been directed against it. T h e author condemns himself with great severity on several points and defends himself on others with much moderation and modesty. Sometimes too his acceptance of certain censures is only ironical." 5 Fontenelle has not abdicated, as Egilsrud will

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have it; he is still playing the same game. H e is still jesting, still indulging in ironic mockery, still with his Persian monarch singing the gay sad song whose refrain is "sottise, sottise, et toutes choses sottise!" H e depicts his dead in the Judgment as annoyed, resentful, quarreling. T h e reading of the dialogues has made them angry. T h e reaction of the dead represents that of the living, at least of those readers of Fontenelle whose sensibilities were jolted by his ideas and method. It is they who were in the Dialogues and continue to be in the Judgment the victims of the irony of Fontenelle. H e shocks or at least annoys them. H e will continue to do so for a long time. But—and this would seem to be the most exquisite triumph of the spirit of contradiction—like so many books that shock, the Dialogues of the Dead will retain its popularity for many years to come. T o sum up, then, Fontenelle's own criticism of his work, he sometimes makes statements that are far-fetched, that violate common sense; secondly, he is sometimes carried away by his own cleverness and overdoes the use of wit. A third defect may be added to this list: occasionally, but fortunately not too often, his reasoning becomes so involved that he falls into obscurity. T h e reader gets lost in an intellectual maze and though he is positive he sees the way out, he has difficulty reaching it. H e is compelled to decipher the meaning. T h i s is what occurs at the conclusion of the dialogue between Laura and Sappho. W e are familiar with Laura's argument, we have been so all along, but at the very end we experience difficulty in following it, although we know what she must surely mean. It is significant that this happens in a dialogue on a point of love. T h e defect of obscurity is to be found in such dialogues and not in those that deal with the impotence of reason. Raphael and Parmeniscus should have known what they were saying. Fontenelle is not serious when he accuses himself here of obscurity. This is a case where his criticism is merely ironical. H e is equally so when he accuses himself of being a hater of antiquity, of committing the heinous sin of self-contradiction, of allowing the losing interlocutor of a

EVALUATIONS AND COMPARISONS

dialogue to make as good a showing as he who is gaining the upperhand. Galileo was very witty even though Apicius and the senses triumphed. Actually this last is an excellent quality and not a defect: its presence marks the difference between dialogue and monologue. Professor Thompson observes of Shaw: "No matter how opposed to his author's convictions a character's views may be, Shaw puts into that character's mouth the ablest and most effective defense that he with his great forensic skill, can devise. Undershaft, the armament maker, is the wittiest, the wisest, and the most successful person in the play." β So it is with Fontenelle. T h e defects of the Dialogues of the Dead come down to this: occasional exaggeration—in a statement made, in an overdisplay of wit, in the process of reasoning. Exaggeration is a defect of youth; Fontenelle is sometimes, but not too often, intoxicated by his own cleverness. "Subtle always and occasionally profound," say two critics of French literature, "the book swarms with ideas thrown out with youthful abandon." 7 O n e can forgive him this sin of youth. What is most unusual and most commendable is the fact that Fontenelle knows it and says so. Not many writers of twenty-seven have given evidence of similar intelligence and modesty. T h e Dialogues of the Dead were the foundation of Fontenelle's great reputation. W h e n four years later he published his History of Oracles, he did not sign it with his name, but instead wrote underneath the title the phrase "by the author of the Dialogues of the Dead." Everyone knew immediately who had composed the anonymous work and Bayle commented on the significance of this and the honor which the Dialogues had brought to their author. 8 T h e success and the popularity of Fontenelle's work is proved by the history of successive printing of the many editions and by the wave of imitations that it started from the closing years of the seventeenth century, through the eighteenth century, to the Revolution. 9 T h e form perished with the collapse of the ancien régime. It was only

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proper that the spirit of Fontenelle should hover to the very end over the genre that he had almost created in France, for in the words of Rivarol, he was "le Secretaire éternel des morts." Paradoxically, the Dialogues of the Dead w h i c h enjoyed such an enduring success a m o n g the reading public of the Enlightenment and w h i c h had such an extensive influence, were accepted g r u d g i n g l y by m e n of letters of that age. T h u s Voltaire w a s plainly irritated by Fontenelle's dialogues, as one can see upon reading his " D i a l o g u e s en prose." 1 0 T h i s "book-review" of the Dialogues of the Dead is a curious and interesting document, compounded of one fourth praise and three fourths blame. S o m e of the remarks are extremely accurate and penetrating; on the other hand the strictures against the manner of F o n tenelle are p u z z l i n g since they come from a man w h o was himself a past master in the g a m e of pro and con, in the use of wit, paradox, burlesque, and irony. Voltaire apparently failed to grasp the point of Fontenelle's dialogues, and so he entertained any number of misconceptions about them. " T h e unfortunate t h i n g about this book," observes Voltaire, "is, that it was written solely to prove that one has w i t . " A n d he concludes that only the Horatian utile dulci gives perfection. T h i s characteristic denied to Fontenelle by Voltaire is attributed to h i m by T r u b l e t . 1 1 In a letter written (June 5, 1751 ) by Voltaire to Frederick II of Prussia, 1 2 w e find the same general criticism of the Dialogues of the Dead. T h e philosopher is sending to his royal patron a dialogue of the dead on Marcus Aurelius w h i c h he had just composed. H e tells Frederick that he has tried to write it in the manner of L u c i a n w h o always compels his reader to rcflect and thus tempts h i m to add to his (Lucian's) dialogues. H e does not want to be witty. Fontenelle's defect is that he always wants to be: one always sees him and never his characters; he makes them say the opposite of what they ought to say; he takes sides for and against; all he wants to do is to shine. It is true he succeeds, hut it seems to me that in the long run he tires you out, because you feel there is almost nothing true in all he offers you.

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You become aware of his charlatanism and he repels you. Fontenelle appears to me in this work to be the most pleasant sleight of hand artist I've ever seen. It's still something, and it amuses one.13 Voltaire's tone, however, is mildly laudatory when, in the article on Fontenelle which is included in his Catalogue of French Writers of the Age of Louis XIV, he remarks that according to the general observation (with which he seems to agree) Fontenelle's poetry and Dialogues of the Dead possess "the spirit of Voiture, but with greater breadth and more philosophy." 1 4 Fréron, Voltaire's enemy, was in perfect agreement with his great adversary when it was a question of judging Fontenelle's work. 15 La Harpe and Marmontel were on the whole unfavorable toward the Dialogues: they, too, were irritated by the wit and cleverness.16 T o be sure we have seen that Bayle thought highly of them. Remond de Saint-Mard, 17 an early imitator of Fontenelle, Father Bouhours, 18 Perrault, 18 and Trublet admired these much criticized yet popular discourses. Nevertheless in spite of some favorable comment, Egilsrud's contention is well taken that the preciosity of Fontenelle's dialogues proved a stumbling-block to many an eighteenth century critic and writer. 20 The reactions to the Dialogues by later critics are hardly more favorable. Egilsrud claims Fontenelle sacrificed sincerity to a manner. Jullien accuses him of intellectual dishonesty and verbal quibbling; he regrets also Fontenelle's use of contrasting characters. Maigron, on the other hand, deplores the complete lack of characterization: like Voltaire before him, he sees only one actor in the dialogues, Fontenelle himself. Rigault had already said as much. Fontenelle, Maigron observes, was incapable of true literary production because he was a philosopher and an intellectual rather than an artist and, therefore, only a purely intellectual creation could come from his pen; the Dialogues is such a work. 21 But we have already seen that Fontenelle is capable of char-

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acter delineation. Each interlocutor to a greater or lesser degree possesses a distinct personality. It is impossible to use the labels A and B, as Maigron suggests. Milo cannot be confused with Smindyrides, nor Erasmus with Charles V, nor Anacreon with Aristotle, to recall only a few. They do more than embody ideas. They appear in human flesh, bearing the qualities of their souls: boastful Milo and his ox, diffident Smindyrides and his bed of roses; Erasmus and Aristotle, proud and complacent like professional intellectuals; Anacreon, gay, wise, and modest. In painting his characters, Fontenelle has had recourse to history. That this practice was deliberate and conscious, we know from his own words, for he tells us in the dedicatory letter to his dialogues: " . . . I have made it my business to make the dead recognizable, at least in the case of those who are well known." However, if need be, he does not hesitate to change history, to modify the conventional character whom history has handed down. Thus his Plato loses his divinity, but becomes quite human. The dialogue between Laura and Sappho illustrates how shrewdly and how subtly Fontenelle employs history. Here are two ladies both with an amorous past arguing on a point of love. This might be cited as a case where one could apply the designation A and B. Yet it could hardly be done without spoiling the dialogue, because the two interlocutors not only defend opposite points of view, but there is a conformity between their characters and their respective points of view. Laura is entirely feminine, and so is her point of view, whereas Sappho is somewhat masculine, bold, in her attitude, a trait that fits in with her side of the argument. It would seem that Fontenelle had gone back to the historical or legendary Sappho who was bisexual. As to the contention that Fontenelle is in his characters, he is in them in exactly the same way as any writer or artist is mirrored in his creation; that fact is not a defect. Moreover, Fontenelle was not the intellectual icicle that Rigault, Faguet, and Maigron suppose him to be. Trublet's Mémoires paint a far more sympathetic portrait of Fontenelle.

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H e was not the demonstrative type, he was not an emotional man, but neither was he a gelid m u m m y . Both his temperament and the age in which he lived, with its decorum and restraint, made it impossible for him to act like a romantic hero. This does not mean he was incapable of the softer and more genial emotions of the heart: he was a faithful friend, generous to those about him, quick to encourage budding talent, 22 and sincere in his praises of his great contemporaries. For a time, he was even in love, as much as he could be in love, remarks Trublet parenthetically, 2 3 but like a true philosopher he never took the final and irrevocable step. 24 W h e n the accusation of frigidity is leveled against his character, Trublet breaks out indignantly, " H e was not cold at all. His character consisted of a gentle and playful liveliness. H e was not exuberant, but he was cheerful, and he was always that way. Never did a man have a more even temperament." 2 5 Madame de Forgeville remarked of Fontenelle that it was not easy to win his friendship, but that once it was won, it was easy to keep it. Trublet who cites this opinion observes in effect that his illustrious uncle did not wear his heart on his sleeve. 28 W h o does not know the episode of Fontenelle's visit to Father Malebranche at the latter's quarters? T h e pregnant dog of that obstinate Cartesian annoyed the philosopher with its playful gambols. Finally Malebranche gave her a sharp kick. T h e dog uttered a cry of pain and Fontenelle a cry of compassion. " W h a t is the matter with you?" said Malebranche coldly, "You know very well it has no feeling!" Later recalling the story Trublet remarked to Fontenelle that the episode painted to perfection the character and Cartesianism of Malebranche and Fontenelle's milk of h u m a n kindness as well. For even as from the dog's cry of pain Fontenelle concluded the animal had feeling, so he, T r u blet, concluded from Fontenelle's cry of compassion that Fontenelle had feeling. "Let people say what they will: animals have a soul and you too have a soul; the facts prove it." 27 T h e Mémoires are filled with proof of Fontenelle's humanity which, if it

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did not possess the heat of a volcano, was at least sympathetically temperate. Furthermore the intellectual and the artistic are not necessarily incompatible. Bergson's study on the nature of laughter is extremely useful in high-lighting Fontenelle's art of Dialogue. Laughter's function (and naturally comedy's, whose aim is to produce laughter) is to correct the automatisms which characterize a person in the grip of an obsession. T h e purpose of laughter, of comedy, of satire is a critical one. N o w , says Bergson, the comical appeals only to the intelligence. If you would have me laugh, see to it that you do not arouse my sympathy or my fear or my pity; in short do not stir my emotions, for then I cannot laugh. Instead treat the vice you would correct or castigate by employing the "artifices appropriés" in order to give my cool intelligence free play to laugh at and to criticize the vice depicted. If you move me, then you have written drama and not comedy. 2 8 Fontenelle's is a comic talent, naturally appealing to the intelligence. H e writes dialogue which is a kind of comedy, in which he uses the appropriate mechanisms to bring into play all our critical and intellectual apparatus, and the result in us is laughter. T h e incompatibility that some critics have seen in the concept of Fontenelle, the intellectual, and Fontenelle, the artist, occurs only because they restrict the term artist to the man who arouses our emotions. By this kind of thinking one would have to expel from the category of artists, not only Fontenelle, but also Molière and George Bernard S h a w . 2 9 W h e n Bergson remarks that the profoundly comical words are the naive words that lay a shortcoming bare, we think immediately of Cosimo's pathetic complaints. W h e n he observes that lack of self-criticism makes for stiffness, and hence :or comedy, we are reminded of all those dialogues where For.tenelle unmasks a fraud; we think of Descartes, of Aristo:le, Seneca, Cortez, Cato, all stripped of their pretensions because they were unable to see clearly into their souls. W h e n Bergson points out that the staple of comedy is the creation of general-

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I

53

ized universal types, the depiction of characters (as the French call them), we evoke the practice of Fontenelle in his comedydialogues when he places before us for the enjoyment of our critical faculties such types as the self-deluding philosopher, the proud intellectual, the boastful militarist, the vain monarch, the individual who makes an idol of Love, and so on. Lastly, when Bergson notes that the great defect which the writer of comedy will inevitably criticize, the vice which is made up of a combination of so many elements, the fault which issues from society and against which society nevertheless reacts, is the one of vanity, "cette forme supérieure du comique," whose specific remedy is laughter, and indeed vanity is the "défaut essentiellement risible," 3 0 we cannot but be reminded of the practice of Fontenelle, whose comedy-dialogues so often inculcate a lesson in humility. Another document which provides ample and definite evidence that Fontenelle was a conscious artist, that his method was deliberate and calculated, is the author's own Avertissement to the third edition of the Dialogues of the Dead.31 Encouraged by the success of the first part of the Dialogues, he has written a second part, he tells us, in which he has followed the same symmetrical arrangement as in the first. He has been very careful in the choice of his themes, of his historical anecdotes, of his dramatis personae, and in the matter of the diction of his dialogues. The first part had been criticized on this last point, and so he has striven to correct that defect as much as the extreme naturalness of the genre permitted. A few people had also called him to task for bringing together historical characters whose natures were at variance with one another; that is to say, his combinations had been too fantastic at times, as, for example, the combination of Augustus and Aretino. "I confess I have not remedied this; but I beg those who have made this criticism, to bear in mind that often the whole pleasure of a dialogue, if there be atay, consists in the strangeness of such a combination, that this provides the means of offering to the

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m i n d relationships of which perhaps it h a d not been aware, a n d which always in the e n d suggest a message. . . ." L u c i a n is the model for such a practice, a n d after all everybody encounters everybody else in the Elysian Fields. It is true that sometimes he has brought together similar types, "but even in this instance it was f o u n d necessary to produce an opposition between t h e m ; contrast is always the sine qua non, as the painters say." Fontenelle goes on to say that he has tried to be faithf u l to history; in the case of those characters, however, u p o n w h o m history has not placed a definite stamp, he has m a d e use of the author's privilege. W h e n some of his dramatis personae show they possess k n o w l e d g e they could not have h a d d u r i n g their lifetime, w e are to u n d e r s t a n d that this has happened because of the constant m i n g l i n g about that is characteristic of H a d e s . If his ghosts have changed their ideas since their death, they themselves i n f o r m the reader of that fact. Fontenelle is, therefore, aware of the necessity of p r o d u c i n g opposition, incongruity, contrast in his dialogue. T h e a b u n d a n t presence of these qualities is not accidental. It was natural that it should be so. T h e spirit of contradiction, springing f r o m his t e m p e r a m e n t , is the basic tenet of his philosophical outlook u p o n life; the general feature of contrast is the basic device of his esthetic practice in the Dialogues of the Dead, contrast b e i n g indeed the literary manifestation of that spirit of contradiction. A n d all the different facets of his Art of Dialogue have as their b i n d i n g a n d i n f o r m i n g element the quality of contrast. W e have seen it in his character delineation, in his Socratic irony a n d his cosmic irony, in his burlesque, in his anecdotes and in his wit. In all of these devices a n d features it is always employed as a means to achieve a desired end, which is satire. 3 2 Because of the misconceptions regarding Fontenelle's attitude toward the Ancients, it is important (otherwise this study will not be complete or t h o r o u g h ) to determine as clearly and as accurately as possible the extent to which the whole question of

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the Quarrel of the Ancients and Moderns looms in the Dialogues of the Dead. T h e unfortunate impression has been given by different writers, perhaps unwittingly, that the Dialogues are concerned primarily with that subject. 33 There is only one way of settling the issue, and that is to look at the record. What are the dialogues that in one way or another touch upon the Quarrel? And exactly to what extent? These dialogues are thirteen in number and range all the way from the dialogue between Homer and Aesop, where the stand taken against the Ancients is relatively strong, to the dialogue between Erasistratus and Harvey, where the Moderns are worsted. Somewhere in the center of our graph (though not necessarily the exact center) must be placed the dialogue between Socrates and Montaigne, in which neither side wins because neither side can win. Next to the dialogue between Homer and Aesop, we should place the one between Cortez and Montezuma, for here the emphasis, comparatively speaking, is against the Ancients, almost as much as it is in the first. There is irony when Aesop observes that scholarship succeeded in explaining the poetry of Homer allegorically; it is true that scholars experienced some difficulty in discovering the meaning of Homer, and that they frequently disagreed, "but aside from that, they agreed that you had known everything and had said everything to him who understood it well." Aesop is equally ironical when he reviews the ridiculous conduct of the Homeric deities. T h e father of poetry is rather disrespectfully treated. Nevertheless the principal point of the dialogue is the attack on man's anthropomorphistic tendencies, on his vanity and his gullibility. There is a satire against Antiquity when Montezuma relates how the supposedly intelligent Athenians were deceived, when he cites examples of the ignorance, stupidity, and superstitions of the Greeks and Romans, when he tells the story of the hypocritical pretenses of the Greeks who settled in Tuscany, when he criticizes the morals of the Europeans, the heirs of the Ancients. But the main point of the dialogue is the criticism of contemporary European civilization in general and the France of

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Louis X I V in particular. T h e dialogue between Socrates and Montaigne need not detain us; it has already been sufficiently analyzed. T h e remaining dialogues of this group of thirteen give out echoes, from time to time, of the famous controversy: Fontenelle, while occupied with the main theme of his dialogue, alludes lightly to the Quarrel. Thus in the dialogue between Helen and Fulvia the comical nature of the Trojan W a r and the Roman Civil War is revealed and so are the ridiculous actions of the participants of those wars: ". . . Priam, who, as Homer will have it, is the equal of the gods in wisdom . . . commands everybody to go and have dinner." In the dialogue between Dido and Stratonice there is some mild gibing at the expense of Vergil's "beau mystère" in matching Aeneas and Dido, though the two were separated by a span of three hundred years. In the dialogue between Augustus and Pietro Aretino the Roman practice of the deification of dead emperors is satirized. The erudition derived from the Ancients has assumed the sacred inviolability of private property, we are told in the dialogue between Charles V and Erasmus. In their debate, Galileo tells Apicius that one can talk of progress in the matter of intellectual knowledge, but not in the matter of the pleasures of the senses: he who yearns after the first may entertain the wish of living in the distant future to profit from the accumulated intellectual wealth of the ages, but he who wants to enjoy the delights of the senses need not dream at all—he is well off hie et nunc. Apicius agrees and concludes in effect that this only proves the superiority of the natural man over the intellectual, the victory of Milo over Smindyrides. This is the thesis of the dialogue; it cannot be cited as one of those in which Fontenelle attacks the Ancients, as Lanson seems to claim. 34 There is a reference to the Quarrel in the dialogue between Strato and Raphael of Urbino, when the latter tells the tale of the statue he had been asked to judge; it was ancient! he said, because it was beautiful. But this is only incidental. There may

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IS?

be another such allusion when Molière remarks to Paracelsus that only by the sound of his name he would take him for a Greek or a Latin. At the very end of the dialogue between Descartes and the pseudo-Demetrius, Descartes concludes that neither the Ancients nor the Moderns have been able to discover the truth, but that the Moderns at least have as much a right as the Ancients to the illusion that they can discover the truth. A mild dig! There may be a satire against Antiquity in the dialogue between Plato and Margaret of Scotland inasmuch as Plato is pushed off his pedestal. Nevertheless it is the attitude of Margaret that is being criticized. If Plato is satirized at all, he is satirized as systematizer, not as Ancient; he is like those two modern systematizers, Descartes and Paracelsus. But enough has been said about the implications of this dialogue, as well as those of the dialogue between Erasistratus and Harvey. W e can now arrive at a general conclusion. Thirteen dialogues out of thirty-six is not very much. In none of them is the Quarrel of paramount importance; it is always a lesser theme forming a portion of a larger whole. T h e most that can be said on the matter is that Fontenelle is the enemy of those who made idols of the Ancients, but not the enemy of the Ancients. 35 Trublet records an interesting conversation piece between himself and Fontenelle which is much to the point. They were discussing the difficulties Fontenelle had encountered in entering the French Academy and the enmity which Racine and Boileau bore toward him : as the nephew of the two Corneilles, Fontenelle suffered from original sin, and as an associate of Perrault, he suffered from a great actual sin ("un énorme péché actuel"). Of this last sin Fontenelle was still unrepentant. H a d not Boileau said that he was responsible for the corruption of D e La Motte who was otherwise a fine fellow? Fontenelle smiled (he never laughed but he smiled often and most naturally, observes his biographer) and said to Trublet : "I have never been as much a partisan of M. Perrault as certain people may have wished to make him believe; I never went as far as he.

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That is why Father Bignon said to me one day that I was the patriarch of a sect to which I did not belong." 36 The same writer reports an episode in the life of his uncle that shows the latter was, if the occasion warranted it, quite ready to praise the Ancients, that he was no fanatical hater of Antiquity, that his contemporaries misjudged his true sentiments. Fontenelle had written the Preface to the Marquis de l'Hôpital's Analyse des infiniments petits, and in this he had been lavish in his praise of the geometricians of ancient times and of Pascal. It was not generally known that he had written it. Rollin, the author of the Histoire ancienne, who wanted to add a note on mathematics at the end of his work, was delighted with both the contents and the tone of the Preface. From that moment Rollin, in conversing with his friends, repeatedly opposed the authority of the Marquis de l'Hôpital to that of Fontenelle, whom he, like so many other people, considered to be an out and out partisan of the Moderns. This was so often brought to the attention of Fontenelle that finally he requested that a meeting be arranged at which both he and Rollin would be present. Fontenelle steered the conversation around to the Preface and its contents. The debate, we can imagine, must have been lively. In the end, Fontenelle revealed he was the author of the Preface, to the discomfiture of Rollin, who apologized handsomely to him. 37 It may well be that, as far as the Dialogues of the Dead are concerned, the public of Fontenelle's time read into them a great deal more about the Quarrel than the author actually put there. Certainly the judgment of Pluto gives such an impression. Fontenelle is more emphatic in his references to it in the Judgment than he is in the Dialogues. This would seem to indicate that Fontenelle has had to take into account the reaction of his readers to that subject. It was only natural for his public to be more sensitive to the question than we—and thus to see it looming larger in the dialogues than we would—for that question was or was about to become a burning one. Now that the dust of the famous Quarrel has long since settled, we can view

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it and its relation to the Dialogues from the vantage point of time clearly and objectively, and we can pronounce safely that after all there is not very much of the Quarrel in the Dialogues of the Dead. Still another problem regarding Fontenelle's little masterpiece that needs clarification is the important one of influences. What writers, if any, and what forces, moral and esthetic, helped to mold the form of these dialogues? The affinity between Plato and Fontenelle, in the use of certain technical devices, has already been pointed out and demonstrated. Did Fontenelle deliberately imitate Plato? Fontenelle had obviously read Plato, and he had read him probably in the original Greek, for we are told that he was familiar with the masterpieces of Greece, Rome, Italy, and Spain in the original. 38 Voltaire indeed praised him for the breadth of his reading. 39 Fontenelle's practice in the Dialogues of the Dead shows he knew and understood the method of Socrates. The words he puts into the mouth of his own Socrates in the Judgment of Pluto is patent proof that he was conscious of that technique of dialogue writing which is associated with Plato. Socrates says to Montaigne, in the presence of Pluto, the associated justices and the assembled dead : I who read deep in your soul, and wanted to surprise you with an opinion entirely contrary to yours, which I had guessed, I say to you, "How delighted I am to hear that! I had always suspected that it [the world] had to get better and wiser than it was in my day"—for since that is not my own feeling on the matter, I can have no other intention than that of astounding you by seizing the position which was the exact opposite of the one where you had taken your own stand, and by so doing to begin tearing down your point of view. Wasn't it really very clever to know it even before you said it? The tone is flippant, as is the tone of the entire Judgment, but after all, does not this passage describe in nuce the method of

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Socrates, the eiron, w h o baits ironic traps for the unsuspecting alazon? Y e t Fontenelle's use of it is not necessarily slavish imitation. T h e same moral climate obtains in the Greece of the late classic period, and in the France of the declining years of Louis X I V , and after in the France of the Enlightenment. T h e method of Plato's Socrates was congenial to Fontenelle's temperament and to the times in which and for which he wrote. A n influence which is considerable upon the Dialogues of the Dead is that of the salon 4 0 and of preciosity—and the latter springs from and is associated with the salon. 41 Nevertheless, as we have already seen, Fontenelle reacts rather strongly against certain précieux ideas. All along the line he maintains a discreet independence. Moreover the preciosity of the closing decades of the century was not entirely identical with that which had flowered in France before 1660. It now manifested itself as le bel esprit,42 the kind of preciosity discernible in the Dialogues. Professor Bray remarks of the generation of 1730: " O n discute sur des sujets sérieux et même graves, mais avec élégance, et non sans frivolité. O n ne déteste pas de se donner au moins l'apparence de la futilité." 4 3 Such an attitude is already present in Fontenelle. H e stood, the same critic points out, on the threshold of the Rococo Age. 4 4 Indeed the aristocratic and worldly society of his time was growing weary of the classic dignity, the restraint and naturalness of the great writers of the seventeenth century. A s usual men loved conversation, but now they wanted "un badinage moitié sérieux, moitié frivole." Fontenelle took his place effortlessly in this milieu. H e became a favorite in the salons of the day, 45 and Trublet cites more than one illustration of Fontenelle's prowess as a salonnier.40 It has also been argued that there is a direct connection between the existence of a society that loves conversation and the flowering of the Dialogue. 4 7 Lanson has an interesting observation to make of Fénelon: "C'est un causeur: il use du privilège d'incohérence et de contradiction qu'on a toujours laissé à la conversation." 4S So it was with Fontenelle. All these multiple

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influences: the manner of the précieux school at the close of the century; the worldly and frivolous tone of an idle aristocracy; the penchant for conversation; the existence of the salon, the institution which was invented to satisfy the need for conversation and social intercourse; the wandering nature of conversation itself—all have left their imprint upon the Dialogues of the Dead. Another influence which has left its stamp upon Fontenelle's work is that of French classicism. Professor Peyre, in his study of the subject, contrasts the sobriety of means of the great classicists of the seventeenth century with the verbal luxuriance of the writers of the nineteenth century, and shows that the former were successful in evoking the qualities of mystery and "demonism" which characterizes all great art. Paraphrasing the celebrated remark of André Gide, he observes that ". . . ces honnêtes gens [the classicists of the seventeenth century] préfèrent suggérer le plus en disant le moins." 4 9 T o attribute the qualities of mystery and "demonism" to Fontenelle would indeed be ridiculous. The writer of the Dialogues and of the Eloges can hardly be put in the category of "genius," but he was undoubtedly a man of great talent, and some of the traits of that talent were the classical qualities of unobtrusive art, of epigrammatic brevity, of sober concision wedded to the ability of making these modest means suggest and imply more than appeared on the surface. Fontenelle lacks the dignity and nobility of classicism; nor does he have its "high-seriousness," to borrow the expression of Matthew Arnold. This does not mean he was not serious—he was, but in his own fashion. Fontenelle borrows the form from Lucian; apart from that, he is hardly indebted to him, in spite of the frequent appeals to the practice of the satirist of Samosata, found in the Judgment of Pluto and elsewhere. He is conscious of his independence, as his dedicatory epistle to Lucian would seem to indicate. Fontenelle begins by saying that it was a bold action on his part to adopt Lucian's form. Yet it would have been a bolder one if he

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had devised a "plan" of his own. At any rate the "dessein" of Lucian will insure the success of his own dialogues. Nevertheless he will not be a slavish imitator: he will not use Lucian's stock figures such as Charon and Cerberus, nor will he repeat his themes. They were indeed fine and he regrets that Lucian exhausted them. He will do something more important. "At least I have tried to imitate you in the purpose that you had set yourself. All your dialogues enclose their moral, and I have made all my dead moralize. . . ." And he concludes that the writer is indeed happy, who can capture the manner of Lucian. As for himself, he does not desire the glory of having successfully imitated Lucian. Rather he wants the glory of knowing he could not imitate a better model. It is a gallant letter. But at the same time, it reveals discreetly and politely Fontenelle's independent spirit. There is, however, one subject that both Fontenelle and Lucian have treated : the subject of militarism. Here at least a comparison is possible. The fourth of Lucian's Dialogues of the Dead describes the sad predicament of Charon : he cannot pay Hermes for services rendered because of bad times—as it happened, no great war or famine was ravaging the earth at that moment (the reign of the Antonines). In Dialogue XIX, Protesilaus, a victim of the Trojan War, assails Helen as the cause of his death. Aeacus shows it was not she, but Menelaus, the commander-in-chief, who was to blame. Menelaus shifts the responsibility upon Paris, Paris upon Eros. Aeacus, then, decides that Protesilaus has only himself to blame for preferring military glory to the young and beautiful wife he left behind. In the last resort the blame lies with the Fates. In Dialogue XXIX, Telemonian Ajax, though dead, is still angry with Ulysses for having won the arms of Achilles from him; the goddess Athene was against him. Dialogue XII shows Alexander and Hannibal claiming precedence over each other. Scipio assigns first place to Alexander, second to himself and third to Hannibal. In Dialogue XIII, Diogenes jeers at Alexander for

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his pretensions to divinity, for his vainglory and pride. He criticizes the Greeks for their servility toward him. He blames Aristotle, his teacher, and recommends that he drink the waters of Lethe which give forgetfulness. In Dialogue XIV, Philip ridicules his son, for his pretensions to divinity, and questions his military prowess. 50 Obviously Lucian is here more savage, more direct and intense than Fontenelle. He writes diatribe: his mockery and irony is bitter. He has "the ruthless candor and white passion of a Hebrew prophet." 5 1 Fontenelle, on the other hand, is quiet, reserved, sly, and subtle. Ever urbane, his satire is suggested rather than expressed. Occasionally one may come across what seems to be a direct borrowing from Lucian. Thus when ". . . in the literary corner the shade of Homer, more truthful than some, talks frankly of his own weaknesses as well as of the blunders of his critics," 52 one is reminded of Fontenelle's dialogue between Homer and Aesop. The story of Zeuxis and the trompe-l'oeil is probably from Lucian. It may well be that Lucian's twelfth Dialogue of the Dead with its satire of militarism inspired Fontenelle's dialogue between Alexander and Phryne. But beyond this, it is idle to look for influences, for Lucian's is the manner of invective; Fontenelle's of inner laughter. Undoubtedly the greatest single influence that helped to shape the philosophy of Fontenelle, at least directly, came from that group of men who lived and wrote during the reign of Louis XIII and the minority of his son, and who are generally referred to as libertins. Professor Pintard has shown how Fontenelle's philosophy, in many of its chief tenets, is related to that of the libertins and how the techniques of ideological warfare employed by him seem to derive from the practice of his erudite precursors. 53 François de La Mothe Le Vayer had become a member of this group shortly before publishing the two volumes of his first important work, the Nine Dialogues Composed after the Manner of the Ancients by Orasius Tubero, 1630-1631.54 The affinities that exist between him and Fontenelle are numer-

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ous. Both possessed a perverse impartiality, a quality of complete detachment w h i c h made them consider as of equal weight the two contradictory aspects of a question. 5 5 L i k e Fontenelle, L a Mothe L e V a y e r uses reason for purposes of combat while entertaining at the same time no faith at all in the efficacy of reason. H e too is aware h o w contradictory reason can be; he describes it as a double-edged blade that cuts on all sides, as a weathervane spinning in every direction, as a double-faced Janus. A n d L e V a y e r is so fearful of becoming dogmatic that he recommends his reader to doubt everything, including his very o w n doubts. 5 6 Finally, both men wrote dialogues. A comparison, therefore, is in order; for the question naturally arises: since Fontenelle and L e V a y e r have so many spiritual and ideological affinities, did Fontenelle learn anything from L e Vayer's technique of dialogue writing? H a v e the two writers the same A r t of Dialogue ? T h e answer is an unqualified no. T h e Dialogue sur le sujet de la divinité 5 7 (in some editions, . . . de la diversité des religions) 5 8 has in all eight speeches distributed between Orasius, the pseudonym of L a Mothe L e V a y e r , 5 9 and Orontes, w h o may be another libertin. In this dialogue L e V a y e r talks much of suspending one's judgment ("notre heureuse suspension d'esprit"), a quality also possessed by Fontenelle. W i t h the former, however, it is simply the expression of an attitude toward life, whereas with Fontenelle it is in addition a device of his dialogue. L e V a y e r expounds a doctrine; Fontenelle exhibits it at work. T h i s is evident when w e analyze the relative importance of the parts played by Orasius and Orontes. T h e argument of the dialogue on the diversity of religion is spoken entirely by Orasius (speeches III and V , 73 pages out of a total of 86). Orasius sets forth the philosophy of skepticism and shows the benefits that will follow if it be adopted. Orontes does very little and nothing of real significance: he asks a question (speech I I ) ; he thanks Orasius ( I V ) ; he adds some ammunition to the general argument when he relates the fable of Psyche and Eros ( V I ) ; he closes the dia-

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logue (VIII). There is actually no dispute: Orasius and Orontes are in perfect agreement, they are on the same side of the fence. Since there is only one line of argument, a clash of ideas and characters is impossible. In a sense Orasius is the only true character, for Orontes is one of those "obsequious Puppets" whose presence in a dialogue Shaftesbury was to deplore. Were we to cut out the pages spoken by Orontes, nothing essential would be lost. W e could hardly treat a dialogue of Fontenelle (or of Diderot) in the same manner without mutilating and destroying it. In his De la divinité, La Mothe Le Vayer has not written a dialogue at all; in reality he has composed a treatise (indeed Professor Pintard gives it just such a title), 6 0 an essay in which he exposes his skeptical philosophy, no different in form from his Petits traités en forme de lettres.

Le Dialogue intitulé Le Banquet sceptique entre Marcellus et Orasius, Diodatus, Divitiacus, Xénomanès et Eraste 01 treats of the relativity and diversity of the habits, customs and laws pertaining to food, drink, and love as these obtain throughout the world, ancient and modern, near and far. Although the speaking roles in this dialogue are well distributed, a good deal more so than was the case with the preceding one, the same general criticism can be applied to it. The theme is one, the line of argument proceeds pedantically and consistently in the same direction. It does not make much difference who speaks a particular discourse. The parts could be interchangeable; Xénomanès might have said what the author actually puts into the mouth of Divitiacus, and vice versa. The tune is the same, and Le Vayer's so-called dramatis personae take turns at playing it. In short here too we are confronted with a complete lack of characterization; this is mainly due to the absence of that intellectual combat which creates the true dialogue. Le Vayer names the speaker who discourses on love Eraste, from erasteia or eros. To connect him with the subject of his speech, he has had to fall back on a pedantic trick, the common practice with those who write expository dialogue. 62

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L e Vayer has been described as an ironist. He has all the different forms of irony from its verbal to its Socratic manifestations, maintains Tisserand. 63 Yet one may question whether there is any Socratic irony, in the true sense of the term, in the dialogues of Le Vayer. Orasius, for example, is often ironical, but certainly Orontes, his interlocutor, is not the butt of that irony. There is no quarrel between them. T h e irony of Orasius is probably directed against the dogmatists and the believers. It is done for the amusement of the friends of Le Vayer, who know the author's secret and will therefore relish his method. 64 Le Vayer momentarily lifts his mask and lets them behold his grimace. Only in this sense can we say he has Socratic irony. Now this is quite different from Fontenelle's procedure. Undoubtedly he too is criticizing some type in real life, but unlike L e Vayer he represents that type by a character, which makes dramatic compositions of his dialogues. T h e irony of La Mothe Le Vayer is mainly verbal. Orasius is being ironical when he remarks that the skeptical mind is a fruitful soil for "the graces infused from Heaven," when he protests frequently his loyalty to "our most Holy Religion," when he observes that the poor in spirit ("les pauvres d'entendement," the pun can hardly be translated) merit the kingdom of Heaven and that want of wit is the Christian's wealth, when he says that " W e wash our brows (nous nous lavons le front) with holy water upon entering church even as the pagans did with lustral water." Voltaire himself could not have done better. Now Fontenelle occasionally uses verbal irony, but he depends far more on wit as an accessory device of his satire. Furthermore Fontenelle avoids religious questions in his dialogues and thus it is impossible and impractical to look for similarities between the verbal irony of the two writers. T h e most important single rhetorical instrument of L a Mothe Le Vayer is enumeration; this device is to be found throughout his dialogues and indeed in all his works. 63 There is an excellent example of it in the dialogue De la divinité, when Orasius passes

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in review the religions and theologies of the world, both ancient and modern ( V ) , in order to show the relativity of such beliefs and the diversity of rites, so in the end he can conclude with the question: Out of this welter which system could one possibly choose? Le Vayer sets out to overwhelm the reader with his erudition and so he piles up evidence. He is a professor who has a thesis to prove. Though Fontenelle has read as much as Le Vayer, he does not make one conscious of the fact. The classical lore of the Dialogues of the Dead is not a mere embellishment; it fulfills a definite function, like the erudition of Le Vayer. But unlike Le Vayer's, it does not proceed with the ponderous tread of the elephant ready to crush all opposition. Fontenelle wears the garments of his learning lightly. Furthermore, Fontenelle puts into use the classical practice of selection: he chooses the right example or examples to drive home the point. He does not depend upon accumulation. He arranges his materials, he has form. To achieve his purpose he depends upon his dialectic, upon characterization, upon the devices of satire. Le Vayer depends mainly upon his data. The Dialogue sur l'opiniâtreté entre Ephestion et Cassander 66 is one that Fontenelle himself might have written, for it deals with the theme of man's stubbornness in clinging to his opinions instead of examining them dispassionately and rationally to see whether they have a foundation. Yet he would not have done it in the fashion of his precursor. Here too La Mothe Le Vayer puts the substance of his argument entirely in the mouth of one character, Ephestion, who indeed speaks some forty pages out of a total of fifty-four. Among much else, he describes at length to his companion the heated dispute he had with a certain grammarian named Cratès (Vaugelas) on a point of etymology, a dispute in which the latter displayed all the stubbornness and dogmatism of the specialist. Professor Pintard does not identify Ephestion, but one could make a reasonable guess and say that he is another disguise of Le Vayer. As for Cassander (supposed

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to be Gassendi), he plays a minor role, hardly more important than the part of Orontes. Cassander gets the dialogue under way, he prods it along, he puts Ephestion in the mood to continue by relating his three paradoxes. T h e most we can say for h i m is that he is somewhat more active than Orontes, for he speaks more often, but actually he contributes little to the progress of the dialogue and nothing to its burden. This is so true that Ephestion at the end observes to his interlocutor that he has told him nothing he did not already know and, if he has spoken, he has done this because he was asked. Cassander is only a pretext so that Ephestion can unfold the virtues of their beloved skeptical philosophy, he is not Ephestion's opponent. T h e r e is only one point of view and therefore only one true character, Ephestion, who represents it, Cassander being only a ghostly emanation of the former. And so there is no conflict, no dramatic tension. In this case too we are confronted not with a real dialogue, but with an expository essay. H a d Fontenelle been asked to rewrite this dialogue, he would have possibly retained the ideas but he would have changed the form radically. Cassander would no longer be in the new dialogue. Cratès, or some one of the same kidney, would take his place. T h e n a veritable debate could ensue for Cratès, the dogmatist, would be pitted against Ephestion, the skeptic. Then Socratic irony (true Socratic irony) could come into play, the sparks would fly, and we could see with our own eyes Ephestion, the doubting eiron, demolish one by one the pompous pretentions of Cratès, the obstinate alazon, until at last the poor wretch is unseated; after which Ephestion would sum up his point of view and bow out gracefully. T h e comedy would be over. T h e contrasting characters with their clashing philosophies would give dramatic life to the composition. Its irony would have telling import, instead of being an irony for the benefit of the friends of the author who know how to read between his lines. T h o u g h in the course of the dialogue Dc l'opiniâtreté Socrates is praised and admired for his tempera-

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ment and attitude toward life, Le Vayer proves by the manner in which he handles it that he has not the slightest inkling of the mechanics of the Socratic method. There is something else Fontenelle would bring out in our imaginary reconstruction of this dialogue. He would even have put a bit of himself in Crates, he would side a little with the dogmatist. For he would say in effect that a man who entertains absolutes, entertains illusions. Fontenelle with his shrewdness and greater depth would admit that since illusions are the very stuff of existence, Cratès would have scored a point there. Undoubtedly he would also have made other changes. He would have selected the essentials and discarded the superfluous, he would have shortened and lightened it, finally he would have concealed his erudition. T h e dialogues of La Mothe Le Vayer are not without literary merit. The Dialogue sur les asnes de ce temps 0 7 is saved by its spirit of parody and its Rabelaisian buffoonery. Indeed, together with an occasional bit of Voltairian irony, it is this gaulois humor that attracts our esthetic interest in Le Vayer's dialogues. Their language is often racy and full of sap: it is the French language before the classical period, reminding us of Montaigne and Rabelais. T h e pedantic enumerations of Le Vayer are similar in effect to the long-drawn-out genealogies and never ending descriptions of the curate of Meudon. The prose of both men smacks of Ciceronian latinity. Now all this is far removed from the polish and elegance, the simplicity and restraint of Fontenelle's dialogues. The essential difference between Le Vayer's humor and Fontenelle's wit can best be brought out by comparing a few examples all dealing with the same subject. Eraste in the Banquet sceptique observes that some men hold the possession of virginity in high esteem, but that others mock at it, considering it a nuisance, "as if, according to the comparison of Aristippus, it would be better to dwell in a house already lived in and go on board a vessel tried out beforehand. . . ." While enumerating the different settings for love making, Eraste cites the following

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illustration: ". . . Diogène plantoit son homme en public, et Cratès usoit de sa femme Hipparchia de mesme." 6 8 Such crude and bawdy humor, such smoking-car jesting, which nevertheless has a healthy Rabelaisian earthiness about it, contrasts strikingly with Fontenelle's subtle wit, made for the salon. Roxelana says to Agnes Sorel, "I made Solyman my husband, in spite of the fact that he already acted in that capacity." This kind of cleverness with its epigrammatic succinctness appeals to the intellect; more is suggested than appears on the surface; one smiles. Le Vayer's ribald salaciousness does not suggest; it says everything; one laughs. Le Vayer's first jest, quoted above, does contain a certain amount of cleverness, but it is too long drawn out, too clumsy, to be true wit. Only in rare cases does Le Vayer achieve the brevity of Fontenelle. Divitiacus is describing the variety to be found among the drinking habits of mankind: wine ruins some people; to others it is a boon, as for example with the father of Greek drama: "Aeschylus concocted tragedies between bouts with the bottle." 0 0 Fontenelle could have written this. It was not for nothing that Voltaire, in spite of his dislike of Fontenelle, recognized the superiority of Fontenelle's dialogues over those of Le Vayer. The latter, because he failed to understand the nature of the Dialogue, missed the opportunity of exploiting a genre which ought to be and has been congenial to the skeptical mind, or at least to the mind that is troubled by doubt. Le Vayer had the proper temperament for the writing of dialogue, but we must remember that he was after all a pioneer in the field. It takes time before a literary type can become acclimatizcd and, moreover, pioneers often go astray. Fontenelle was the first to realize the possibilities of the genre; he took the right path, and with his Dialogues of the Dead he inaugurated the great age of the Dialogue in French literature. He knew what he was doing when he employed the dialogue form. Le Vayer obviously did not. Perhaps nothing better brings out the independence of Fontenelle than the fact that though

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ideologically he had much in common with Le Vayer, and this precursor of his had even written dialogues, yet he did not imitate his manner. 70 T h e claim may be made that the example of Lucían saved him. This will only be true up to a certain point, for, as we have seen, Fontenelle was not very heavily indebted to Lucian. T h e evidence compels one to conclude that Fontenelle in his Dialogues, by and large, carved out his own way. Fontenelle's skill in handling the dialogue form can also be high-lighted by comparison with later authors, especially Fénelon and Vauvenargues. Any fair estimate of Fénelon's Dialogues of the Dead 7 1 must inevitably take into consideration the fact that they were composed for an educational end. This affords a partial explanation why the majority of them are defective as works of art. Fénelon already had had previous experience as an educator, when in 1689 he was made preceptor of the young D u k e of Burgundy, grandson of Louis X I V and second in line to the succession, at the suggestion of Mme de Maintenon and the Duke of Beauvilliers. Fénelon believed in and practiced a method of education generally described as "1 education attrayante." He held that the young student would more readily take to learning if one made the experience pleasant and enjoyable. This pedagogical philosophy when applied by Fénelon to the Duke of Burgundy met with considerable success. W e are told that the preceptor changed his young charge from a proud and impetuous prince who caused deep misgivings into an idealist who had acquired self-mastery. 72 Fénelon's Dialogues of the Dead, like the Fables and the Telemachus, belongs to the period of his preceptorship (16891699). Like them, it was written with one intention in mind: to help in moulding the character of the young prince. Here also the author puts his educational theories into practice. T h e royal pupil is presented with pictures, images, and examples; he is given case histories, some of which are good and some bad;

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he is shown why the first are good and the second bad ; and he is urged to take the first to heart and to avoid and reject the second. T h e young student must read; Fénelon puts into his hands a carefully prepared text. T h e dialogues were obviously not composed at one definite time. T h e lack of unity is only too evident. Rather as the occasion warranted it, Fénelon would write a dialogue or a series of dialogues to correct a fault he had discerned in his pupil or to provide him with edification along certain lines when he needed i t . 7 3 T h e very first dialogue sets the tone of the whole collection and illustrates the manner of the majority. Mercury has arrived late by the banks of the Styx and is being subjected to some pleasant joshing by Charon. T h e old boatman says to him, " H o w does it happen you come so late? D o men no longer die? D i d you forget the wings of your cap . . . ? Have you been having a fine time stealing? D i d Jupiter dispatch you to some distant place for a love a f f a i r ? " Mercury explains he was waiting for Prince Picrochole (the D u k e of Burgundy) to die, but that this was another false alarm. Every time the Prince is ill, be it ever so slightly, he thinks his last moment has comc. W h y , says Mercury, " I have seen him with a colic demanding that his insides be taken out. O n another occasion a nose bleed led him to believe that his soul was pouring out into his handkerchief." T h e young Prince "has the wrath and the tears of Achilles" but he may yet have the courage of that hero. H e is hot tempered and spoiled, he is quick at becoming angry and lazily slow in doing his duty, but everyday he improves. H e has many good qualities: he is interested in learning, he has taste for beautiful things, he is grateful to those who correct him. H e is under the guidance of Chiron and Phoenix (the D u k e of Beauvilliers and Fcnelon, respectively, according to Jullien). One can see in h i m the makings of a great ruler. Charon is not too pleased at the idea that the young Prince is improving and may become some day an ideal king. H e prefers wicked and warlike monarchs who keep his boat filled to capacity. Mercury views the

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future of the Prince optimistically : "Jupiter destines h i m to be for a long time the delight of m a n k i n d . " T h u s Fénelon gently chides and upbraids his charge, and urges him to be a man, and everyday a better man. H e holds out to him the hope of a successful future. T h i s is good pedag o g y : the intelligent teacher will not discourage his pupil. T h e composition has a certain amount of interest for the general reader, and this is due mainly to the presence in the dialogue of genial and pleasant humor, a not unrare and a truly ingratiating feature of Fénelon's dialogues. Nevertheless one can hardly call it a true dialogue. Mercury and Charon do not argue about anything; there is no dispute, no conflict of ideas, no clash of characters. T h e composition is rather an exhortation addressed to the D u k e by Fénelon. At times, however, he is almost successful in writing good dialogue. A n example of this is the dialogue between Socrates and Alcibiades. 7 4 T h e first half is excellent. Alcibiades is depicted as being still satisfied with himself, still pleased with the life he had led on earth. H e believes he still possesses the seductive personality which he had employed to the detriment of his fellow men. H e contrasts mockingly his own romantic life with the austere and unglamorous existence Socrates had led. Death has not reformed Alicibiades. Fontenelle himself could hardly have made him more convincing. Socrates, too, is an interesting character. H e answers his interlocutor argument for argument. It was far better, says the philosopher, to have died drinking the hemlock (Alcibiades had just turned up his nose in disdain) than to perish in the arms of a courtesan. " Y o u r sarcasm still stings," remarks Alcibiades. About halfway in the dialogue Socrates says to his former disciple, " Y o u have nothing to laugh about. Death has also made you as ugly and as snubbed-nose as I. Does anything remain of your pleasures?" T h i s elicits from Alcibiades a response which comes as something of a shock, for he suddenly steps out of the character he had possessed until then. " O h , it is

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true!" he cries out, "Nothing remains for riie but shame and remorse." At this point the dialogue breaks down (along with the character of Alcibiades); there is no more give and take: Alcibiades beats his breast and pleads for mercy, and Socrates denounces his interlocutor in stern and lofty tones. The composition began as a dialogue and ends as a sermon. Socrates will join the company of the wise and with them dwell in the abode of the blessed. He bids Alcibiades an eternal farewell and banishes him to the company of weaklings and evildoers. The pleadings and excuses of Alcibiades are in vain. He must now face the three judges. With the Lucianic isotimia as his point of departure, Fénelon introduces into the composition a strong Christian tone: the pagan Hades becomes the Christian hereafter with its judgment and rewards and punishment. And behind Socrates' sermon to the unhappy Alcibiades, we catch a glimpse of Fénelon, the priest and teacher, lecturing a thoroughly cowed little prince. Fénelon's mode of attack is direct. This sometimes takes the form of an impassioned harangue, as in the dialogue between Caesar and Cato. 75 The latter is the same worthy who is treated so badly in Fontenelle's dialogue. But here he is the hero, and Caesar is the butt of Fénelon's satire. The virtuous Republican in a powerful invective fulminates against the Dictator. Caesar was ambitious and he lusted for power; he was a tyrant and he met a tyrant's end. Cato hates Caesar for being a usurper and for the immorality of his life. Caesar was not like the selfless heroes of the Republic, he was not a Fabricius, a Fabius, a Marcellus, a Scipio. Caesar is all but overwhelmed by Cato's harangue. The latter relates the episode of Caesar refusing the crown and he adds sarcastically, "Well, then, do we not keep abreast of the times down here?" " T o o much so!" answers Caesar meekly, but with some wit. At the end of the dialogue the Dictator inquires how he could have relinquished absolute power once he had it. Cato of Utica replies, "Go and ask Sulla about that, and hold your peace! Con-

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suit that bloodthirsty monster; his example will m a k e you blush. Farewell! I fear lest the shade of Brutus be offended if it sees m e consorting with you." Abdication is the solution to the problem of tyranny: let the tyrant muster what remains in him of moral courage and let him perform the only decent act left for h i m to do. Fénelon's treatment of the problem of absolutism by means of invective contrasts with Fontenelle's treatment of it by means of irony and burlesque. H a d Fontenelle written this dialogue, he would not have weighed all the advantage in favor of one side, nor would he have had the favored character sternly order his unhappy interlocutor to hold his peace ( " T a i s - t o i ! " ) . Outwardly his two characters would have been evenly matched, but the one to be demolished would have suffered that fate through the more subtle device of irony. Fontenelle's attack would have been indirect and therefore all the more devastating because of the insidiousness of the method. T h e dialogue between Caligula and Nero 7 0 is another one which just misses perfection because of Fénelon's anxiety to drive home the point clearly and unequivocally. Clarity is a virtue, but didactic obviousness can be inimical to art. Caligula and N e r o are two monsters who vie with one another in recounting the story of their abominable actions, a situation we have already met in Fontenelle's dialogues and which is reminiscent of Lucian's twelfth dialogue where Alexander and H a n nibal claim precedence over each other, a dialogue which has been the model of all dialogues of the dead in which two famous ghosts claim respective superiority, whether it be in war or vice. Fénelon does justice to this situation throughout the first half of his dialogue. T h a t part even contains a certain amount of irony. N e r o proudly enumerates his crimes, to which Caligula replies sneeringly, " Y o u ' r e bragging," and goes on to relate his own. N e r o suddenly observes, " O h , by the way, I had forgotten one of the most beautiful chapters of my life: that was when I had my brother Britannicus killed." A n d so the gruesome boasting continues.

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T h u s far the dialogue is good; Fcnelon has written a little satirical comedy, whose two characters condemn themselves through the very words they utter; he has kept himself out of it; his characters speak for themselves. T h e n at the halfway mark the usual turnabout occurs. Both interlocutors begin to bemoan their evil lives and regret their lack of self-control. T h e y deserved their tragic end. W h e n one is master of the world, one goes mad. T h e dialogue has broken down, the lecture has beg u n ; Fénelon has stepped in and is pronouncing a warning against the dangers of absolutism. N o w Nero and Caligula must face the three inexorable judges. Fcnelon points out the moral: he wants the young prince to see it clearly. H e cannot leave it to h i m to draw it out. But it is precisely the latter method that would prove more rewarding to the mature reader, that would m a k e for reflection and intellectual stimulation. Fortunately there are a number of dialogues in which Fénelon successfully exploits the possibilities of the form in spite of his pedagogical preoccupations and his tendency to go straight to the point. S u c h is the dialogue between Ulysses and Grillus and the one between Louis X I and Cardinal Bessarion. 7 7 In the first, Fénelon presents two opposing points of view; he incarnates these in two contrasting characters; and he sustains to the very end of the dialogue the debate that ensues from this contrast of personalities and ideas. Fénelon is undoubtedly on the side of Ulysses because that character represents and defends the spiritual and cultural values he loves. H e could hardly be in sympathy with the point of view of Grillus, who defends materialism and the life of sensual sloth, who entertains no thoughts of God and human destiny; despite this, Fénelon secs to it that Grillus holds his own vigorously against Ulysses; he even allows Grillus to indicate to his opponent how the latter can beat him in the argument. In short Fénelon does not commit here the error of the dialogue-writing theologians castigated by Shaftesbury. Furthermore, there is greater objectivity in this dialogue: Fénelon keeps himself out of it, and if he makes his voice heard at all,

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it is at the end through the mouth of Grillus, a device which helps to drive home the message with greater force. T h e young prince has indeed a lesson to learn, but he derives it from the over-all effect and not merely from the didactic conclusion. In this dialogue at least, Fénelon not only instructs but pleases. H e is more successful here than elsewhere because he is more subtle, more dramatic, because he handles the dialogue with a greater awareness of the demands of the type. T h e second is also a fine dialogue, possessing two qualities not usually found in the dialogues of Fénelon: wit and brilliancy. The lesson to be learned is artistically suggested by the play of character against character, by the employment of comical touches, by the presence of irony, which is produced by the discrepancy existing between the words and the acts of the two interlocutors, as for example, when Louis states that complete democracy obtains in Hades and then acts as if he were still a living monarch. T h e King is depictcd as an evil man, proud and crafty, and an ill-mannered boor in the bargain. H e had no use for scholars when he was alive. "I couldn't stand such guys (je ne pus souffrir de tels a n i m a u x ) ! " angrily splutters Louis XI. But Bessarion is also criticized by Fénelon: in his own fashion the Cardinal too is puffed up with pride when he parades his learning like a vain pedant. H i s constant and untimely references to his beloved Greek authors make him ridiculous. Both characters are obsessed, the K i n g of France with the idea of his superlative political skulduggery and Bessarion with his erudition. Fontenelle himself could have composed this little comedy filled with satiric intentions. It is significant that in proportion as Fénelon approaches the Fontenellian technique he writes good dialogue. W e need not attribute this to deliberate imitation of Fontenelle on Fénelon's part. The explanation is more simple. W h e n Fénelon is successful, he is so because he does justice to the dramatic nature of the genre, and hence we cannot help observe certain similarities between the respective manner of the two authors.

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At his best Fénelon is capable of writing interesting comedydialogues, possessing well-drawn characters, sustained and lively debate, and objectivity. At his worst (and it must be admitted there is more of his worst than his best) Fénelon composes exhortations and preachments, he writes sermons, lectures, and expository essays 7 8 which he calls dialogues. Here it is his voice that we hear rather than the voice of his characters. T h e reasons for this failure are mainly three: the desultory way in which the dialogues were composed; the author's didactic preoccupations, which play havoc with the dramatic structure of the dialogue; lastly and most important, what we may call Fénelon's single-mindedness—sure of the truth, his mind progresses in a straight line toward it, his thought cannot leap from point to point, for to him the truth is not elusive. Fénelon's type of temperament is not in harmony with the nature of the dialogue form. Despite this, he does succeed in a number of instances. It is a triumph of the intelligence: Fénelon had studied and analyzed the genre79 and knew thoroughly the best models, such as Plato and Lucían. Fénelon does not like Lucían; he has no use for the latter's mocking spirit. 80 Nevertheless, unlike Fontenelle, he owes much to him. Fénelon practices a form of invective; his attack, like Lucian's, is direct whereas Fontenelle proceeds in an indirect fashion through irony of manner and burlesque. Fénelon employs some of Lucian's stock characters: Charon, Mercury, and Rhadamanthus; 8 1 Fontenelle never brings these characters into his dialogues, and, as we have already seen, the omission is deliberate. Fénelon borrows any number of situations from the satirist of Samosata. Fontenelle borrows very few, if any. Fénelon's dialogues repeat many characteristic Lucianic touches. 82 Lucian's practice in having two characters call upon a third to judge between them, a situation that occurs in his twelfth dialogue, is reflected in two of Fénelon's dialogues. 83 Thus, in the dialogue between Cato the Censor and Scipio Africanus, Rhadamanthus is required to act as judge. Here

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Fénelon captures something of the mocking wit and satiricàl animation of Lucian. The dialogue concludes in this manner: Rhadamanthus is nonplussed in judging Cato the Censor, because he must reward him for his many virtues, for his selfless interest in the welfare of the Republic, but yet he cannot overlook the vice of usury to which Cato was addicted in his old age. A usurer in the Elysian Fields would be a scandal. T h e associate justice of Hades finally hits upon this solution: he cannot let Cato enter, but he can place him at the gates of Elysium; there Cato can continue being censor as he had been in Rome, a task he will enjoy and which will be his reward; the dead on their way to the underworld will be compelled to pass before him, ". . . Roman citizens, great captains, barbarian kings, tyrants of all nations, all will have to bend their necks beneath the scourge of your ill-humor and your criticism. But watch out for Lucius Scipio [the brother of Scipio Africanus and the personal enemy of Cato], for I give him the duty of censuring you pitilessly in his turn. See, I give you money to lend to all the dead who may not have any in their mouths when they have to cross in Charon's boat. If you lend to anyone at a usurer's rate, Lucius will not fail to tell me about it, and I will punish you as the most infamous of thieves." There is a lesson in this dialogue—a lesson against meanness and avariciousness—but it is not taught, it is implied artistically. Lucian's manner was beneficial to Fénelon, for thanks to its influence, the artist in Fénelon sometimes won out over the pedagogue. Fénelon is most heavily in debt to Lucian when he borrows from him the idea of the complete equality that death confers upon all mankind. Death is the great leveler: its inevitability and its universality destroy the foundations of rank, wealth, power, pomp, of all those things in which humans pride themselves. T o the Lucianic idea of isotimia Fénelon gives a Christian twist, as we have seen. Now this idea of Lucian is by no means absent from the dialogues of Fontenelle, yet once the latter accepts it he passes on to his main concern which is to

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depict his dead as if they were still living and to satirize them for their h u m a n foibles. But Fénelon stresses and emphasizes the idea and never fails to b r i n g it to the attention of those of his dead w h o need reminding, exactly as Lucian had done. 84 T h u s Fénelon's Achilles, Xerxes, Justinian, Louis X I are shown by their respective interlocutors that the time of threats, of appealing to rank, is over. 8 5 Scipio observes to Hannibal that all that remains of their former selves is "a vain and fleeting shadow" and "a remembrance of our deeds which is like a dream. A n d behold! Hannibal and Scipio have no more disagreements!" Later in the dialogue, Scipio adds: ". . . death teaches the best lessons to disillusion one of all those things the world thinks marvelous." 86 W h e n Augustus humorously asks Cicero whether the great orator is about to launch into a Philippic against him, Cicero replies, " N o , I left my eloquence behind w h e n I crossed the waters of the Styx." 87 W h e n Alcibiades gives evidence of w a n t i n g to continue his intrigues in Hades, Charon points out to him that he is n o w in the abode of silence and rest. 88 T h e Greek painters no longer practice their art in Elysium because of the lack of light. 8 9 Horace cautions Vergil not to compose an eclogue for one no longer creates in the underworld. 9 0 N o w all this contrasts strikingly with Fontenelle's conception of Hades: for h i m the place buzzes with activity; the dead gossip, mingle, investigate the peccadillos of one another, indulge in backbiting, and keep themselves generally busy; they even create—Molière spends his time writing fables. Fontenelle does not pay too close attention to the convention initiated by Lucian. H e uses it and he passes on: he is more independent, whereas Fénelon paradoxically is closer to Lucían. 9 1 T h e eighteen Dialogues of the Dead of Vauvcnargucs were his last testament to posterity; published posthumously they were probably written at the end of his life, between 1745-1747, as internal evidence would seem to indicate. H e was influenced in the choice of vehicle for the expression of his ideas by the

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example of Fontenelle and of Fénelon, the latter of whom appears in three of his dialogues. T h e choice was not a happy one, for the form was not congenial to Vauvenargues's temperament. 9 2 This lack of harmony between the genre and the writer's temperament accounts for the failure of his dialogues as literary works. Now Vauvenargues, like Fontenelle in some of his dialogues, takes as his theme the subject of personal merit. But unlike Fontenelle, he affirms rather than denies; he is so positive as to be, in a sense, even dogmatic. Personal merit has real existence for him. It will be a source of comfort and inspiration to the unhappy genius who is misunderstood and rejected by his fellow men. Obviously a nature like Vauvenargues's excludes the spirit of contradiction. Fontenelle, we have seen, is shrewd, hesitant, mistrustful. His analytical mind is like a surgeon's scalpel, cutting through and laying bare man's most cherished illusions. What are illusions to Fontenelle are ideals to Vauvenargues. The latter is warm, enthusiastic, generous. The good, the true and the beautiful are realities for him, saddened though he has been by his inability to achieve his ambitions at court and by the refusal of those in power to recognize merit. 93 Vauvenargues is a believer in great men, and in the admiration due to those leaders of humanity by humanity. Hero worship is revealed repeatedly in his dialogues. Thus Alexander the Great is defended against the attacks of Boileau. Great souls will admit and admire the genius of a hero such as Alexander and they will make allowances for his failings. Only people who possess critical minds ("les esprits justes") and do not have lofty souls will misjudge the genius and hero, because they have not judged him with their hearts. 94 Bossuet is praised and his detractors are criticized; little men are unable to understand a great mind. 9 3 Through the mouth of Montaigne, Vauvenargues lists the great geniuses in the realm of statescraft; strong and masterful leaders appeal to him: Charles V, Louis X I I , Louis X I V , Cardinal Richelieu, Chancelor Oxenstiern, the Duke of

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Olivares, Sixtus V , and Queen E l i z a b e t h . 9 6 Brutus expresses his remorse for having allowed himself to be corrupted by Cato, to be carried away by the desire for glory, and thus slay his benefactor, the hero Caesar. 9 7 T h e dialogue between Racine and Bossuet rings with the praise of the genius; Vauvenargues pleads for mutual understanding a m o n g great minds: this will be a defense against the little minds who envy t h e m . 9 8 Belief in the hero, the genius, the great leader, the "grande âme," with its concomitant opposites, the ordinary individual, the man of mere talent, the follower, the "esprit juste," is necessarily based on the inference that these qualities which made their possessor unique, are a gift of the gods. T h u s Richelieu candidly admits that he envied the great Corneille because " . . . I was jealous of a glory in which fortune played no role." 9 9 Here we are presented with a merit not based on blind chance, which makes of it the contrary to Fontenelle's "tissu de hasards." A n d so Vauvenargues will not satirize the Great Man. Instead he will condemn the Little M a n . T h e third and fourth dialogues, 1 0 0 the central dialogues of the collection, wherein Vauvenargues sums up many of his most cherished beliefs and which are the richest in ideas, afford definitive evidence of such an indictment. H a v i n g been praised for his oratorical genius by Isocrates, Demosthenes unfolds to the latter the pitiable state of oratory during his own age. O f real orators there were very few. T r u e , many called themselves and were called orators, but to them their calling was a game of wits, having no serious purpose. T h e language of these insincere declaimers was clever and refined, but at the same time shallow and cold. A n d " . . . so they always left the minds of their audience with perfect freedom of choice and in the deepest indifference. I cried out to them with all my strength: he who is cold-blooded inflames not; he who doubts persuades not. . . ." T h e great orator does not fear to depict the truth in bold colors. Demosthenes goes on to describe in detail the nature of oratory. H e stresses the necessity of genius in the creation of the

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work of art. He points out the obligations of writers toward their readers for writers are "the shepherds of nations." Vauvenargues seems to be suggesting the theory of the mage or vates which was to enjoy such a vogue during the Romantic period. Demosthenes sums up the characteristics of the great orator, and it may be assumed that what the author has to say applies to every type of genius in all fields of creative endeavor. 101 T h e great orator should possess sincerity, power, and sublimity. He should guide humanity along the path of truth. His art should follow nature. Throughout the two dialogues Demosthenes holds the center of the stage. Indeed the second is hardly under way when Isocrates, admitting he had never subscribed to the philosophy of Demosthenes, avers that on the contrary he had always striven to dazzle and to astonish with his novelties and paradoxes. He degraded what his audience esteemed and praised what they scorned. He always defended the contrary of accepted opinions without worrying about the truth. He adds: ". . . above all I jested at the expense of those things that are treated seriously; men have been tricked by this affected disdain; they thought I was superior to the things I scorned. I established nothing, but I strove to destroy: this gave me a considerable following, for men are gluttons for novelties." Vauvenargues is here drawing up a procès-verbal of the spirit and manner of Fontenelle. He had him in mind when he composed the portrait of Isocrates. 102 He had praised Fontenelle for having excelled at depicting the limitations and the vanity of the human mind, for having warred against philosophical dogmatism, 103 but he could not forgive what to him seemed to be Fontenelle's frivolity. Vauvenargues makes Isocrates yield immediately to his opponent. The former frankly admits the error of his ways. He confesses he lacked lofty genius, sensitivity and feeling. This absence of feeling was fatal ". . . for, when one has a little wit, one attributes to oneself the right to judge everything." Once in the course of the dialogue Isocrates does object to a previous contention of Demosthenes. The latter had just

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pointed out that writers endowed with mere talent do not practice the lessons taught by the Ancients. But, observes Isocrates, of what use are the rules if he who has genius already has them in himself, which is also your contention. They are useful, answers Demosthenes, because even genius needs correction and exercise: the rules are a whetstone to sharpen genius. Vauvenargues has made Isocrates object so that he can, through the answer of Demosthenes, reconcile the esthetic antinomy afflicting h i m : from one side the pull of the old classicism, from the other the attraction of incipient romanticism. 1 0 4 T h e best education for the orator, continues Demosthenes, is to be found in social intercourse and relationships. Isocrates, who has not said very much throughout the dialogue except to admit he was wrong and Demosthenes was right, at this point relieves Demosthenes of the burden of carrying the ideas of Vauvenargues, by adding that although mingling with one's fellow men is good, the orator should from time to time seek solitude; there in the silence of his retreat his soul will be able to meditate and thus rise to sublime heights. Isocrates concludcs dismally that the great orator never will be popular, though his eloquence ennobles individuals and nations. Nevertheless the great man should persevere along the path of truth, even when little men deride his efforts. T r u t h is independent of the opinions and interests of men. T h u s Vauvenargues in these two dialogues seems to offer intimations of the romanticism that is to come. 1 "·' In the emphasis he places on the original genius as a hero possessing heavendescended gifts and qualities, as the highest type of humanity, he is helping Diderot prepare that revolution whereby the genius takes the place of the philosophe, even as the latter had taken the place of the honnête homme, as the highest ideal of mankind. 1 1 1 0 Like Diderot, 1 0 ' too, he stresses the strong emotions and the imagination. Vauvenargues is very different from Fontenclle, the esprit juste, the man with the critical temperament. H e has no intention of leaving his reader with liberty of

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choice a n d in a state of indifference. H e is a m a n of passion w i t h definite beliefs. H e is anxious to persuade his reader. T h e dialogue, as V a u v e n a r g u e s writes it, is characterized by lack of tension a n d an absence of dramatic conflict, because a clash of ideas is missing. O n e of the interlocutors expresses the point of view of the a u t h o r , the other has no well-defined function save the rather negative duty of acquiescing in one way or another. W e have already encountered the same tactic in the dialogues of Le Vayer and Fénelon. In some instances a battle seems i m m i n e n t . T w o spirits, w h o w h e n living embraced opposing philosophies of life, meet in H a d e s . T h e reader braces himself for the strife that m u s t surely ensue and which he will witness. But he will be disappointed. T h u s Plato rebukes Dionysius the T y r a n t for his principles, refuses to m a k e any a t t e m p t to convert h i m , f e a r i n g that he m a y be infected by the poison of the ideas of the terrible Sicilian, a n d goes his way. Dionysius, on his part, is not loath to leave because he has no love for Plato's maxims, which c o n d e m n h i m . 1 0 8 N o t h i n g has h a p p e n e d . T h e expected clash of ideas did not take place. S w o r d s were d r a w n , but never crossed. T h e dialogue is dull, flat, lacking in excitement. A l t h o u g h there are ideas in it, the d r a m a t i c tension that should be characteristic of the dialogue; its particular art, which places before the reader ideas in conflict, is here missing. V a u v e n a r g u e s o u g h t never to have used the dialogue as a vehicle for his ideas. F o r h i m the essay would have been m o r e suitable. In another dialogue we find Fénelon being criticized by Bossuet because the f o r m e r h a d w a n t e d to use compulsion in order to m a k e m e n h u m a n e a n d charitable. "You allowed yourself to be carried away by the systematizing spirit," says Bossuet to Fénelon. V a u v e n a r g u e s shares this idea with Fontenelle, w i t h Voltaire, with so m a n y others of his century. It is an interesting idea, but, as w i t h the other ideas present in this dialogue, it is not b r o u g h t out in t h e striking fashion it m i g h t have been. Fénelon, like Isocrates, admits w i t h c h a r m i n g candor his mis-

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take and surrenders to Bossuet. 1 0 9 N o w Fontenelle, as we have seen, sometimes writes dialogues wherein one character definitely defeats his opponent. At the end of their d i a l o g u e 1 1 0 Charles V has the better of Erasmus, but before that happens the reader has been treated to a lively dialectical display. T h e truth is more successfully driven home by Fontenelle's method than by the categorical manner of Vauvenargues. O n e can say as much for the dialogues between Pascal and Fénelon, Montaigne and Charron, the American Indian and the Portuguese. 1 1 1 T h e first two are particularly unsatisfactory from a literary point of view. T h e interlocutors are in complete agreement: though there are two speakers, there is only one set of ideas. In short what we are given here is a monologue rather than a dialogue: the two voices sing the same melody in unison. Montaigne is the obvious mouthpiece of Vauvenargues; he suffers in comparison with the Montaigne who debates with Socrates in Fontenelle's dialogue. 1 1 2 T h e third dialogue of this group is more interesting because it possesses a certain amount of excitcment; its two interlocutors argue with some spirit. Vauvenargues seems to have written it in answer to Fontenelle's dialogue between Montezuma and Cortez. 1 1 , 1 T h e dialogue is important because in it Vauvenargues considers the problem of the relative merits of civilized and primitive society. 1 1 4 Vauvenargues's representative of European civilization fares better than Fontenelle's. In the end, however, both the American Indian and the Portuguese agree that it is impossible for them to come to any conclusion because they belong to different civilizations. T h e outcome of this dialogue, then, \vould seem to be the same as that of Fontenelle's—cultural values are relative; but Fontenelle's dialogue is rich in implications and satiric interest. A more interesting group consists of the tenth, the fifteenth, the sixteenth, and the seventeenth. 1 1 0 An underlying idea permeates them all: the idea of the man of genius who merits recognition and success, but is refused these rewards by an indifferent and hostile society, Vauvenargues displays here the

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romantic side of his nature. In the fifteenth dialogue Brutus is the recipient of the intimate thoughts of a young R o m a n . T h e latter is Vauvenargues himself. Indeed he is always the hero of his dialogues, here perhaps more clearly than elsewhere. 11 ® T h e young R o m a n is Vauvenargues in somewhat the same way that H e r n a n i is Victor H u g o and R e n é is Chateaubriand. W a r r i o r and man of letters, the young R o m a n , like his idol Brutus, was ambitious and yearned for glory. 1 1 7 But the age in which he lived was not propitious to men of his noble stamp. A n d so, frustrated by fortune, deceived by his inexperience, and refusing to allow his lot to be determined by chance, the young R o m a n has committed suicide. Brutus is very sympathetic throughout the dialogue. H e assures his young friend that though he was a failure in the eyes of the world, he need not be one in his own, for m a n k i n d is wrong when it judges a person's conduct by worldly failure or success. T h e young R o m a n is the disappointed genius full of self-pity. T h e composition is interesting enough. Y e t what solicits the reader's attention here is the delineation of an attractive personality, the revelation of intimate thoughts and feelings. But these are subjective elements which ought to find little or no room in the Dialogue. Such subjectivity is proper to the essay. A n d that is what this dialogue turns out to b e : an essay wherein the author through the agency of one character paints his own portrait; the second character has no other function than to stand by and assist in laying on the colors. O f the eighteen dialogues, the most esthetically satisfying is the sixteenth. F o r once Vauvenargues writes a dialogue in which the two interlocutors are distinct, whose characters are diametrically opposed, whose philosophies clash. T h e reader knows on which side Vauvenargues stands, but here at last the opposition is alive. As a result, there is tension, excitement, and dramatic interest—an interest quite different from the purely autobiographical and subjective interest of the preceding dialogue. Vauvenargues draws a contrast between Senecio, Nero's favorite and purveyor of pleasures, the fawning sycophant, the

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slavish courtier, the opportunist who used persons and situations to advance himself, who treated men of merit in cavalier fashion, and Catiline, the defeated conspirator, who was noble, heroic, proud, independent, relying only on his genius and courage, the discerner of true merit, loved by his followers. Catiline, the failure, emerges as a greater personality than Senecio, the successful courtier, because, had it not been for the chance that N e r o was vicious and m a d , Senecio would have been an obscure man crushed by his own vices, whereas Catiline's glory was above chance, being inherent in his nature. T o the very end the two interlocutors carry on the bitter debate. T h e swords have been drawn and they have crossed. So here at least Vauvenargues writes a true dialogue, instead of a personal essay or monologue wearing the garments of a dialogue. T h i s is an important dialogue, as well as an esthetically pleasing one, for in it the philosopher sums up his thinking on the subject of merit, virtue and g l o r y . 1 1 8 Save for this lone exception Vauvenargues does not realize the formal possibilities of the Dialogue. T h e constant comparing of Fontenelle's dialogues with those of Plato, Lucían, L a Mothe L e Vayer, Fénelon, and Vauvenargues has not only helped to bring Fontenelle's art into sharper focus, it has also suggested a possible solution to the inevitable question that arises in an investigation of this sort: W h a t constitutes a good dialogue? T h e answer may now be briefly summarized thus: T h a t dialogue is a good one in which the author has known how to exploit the dramatic potentialities of the type. Such a recognition formula is sufficiently broad and elastic to cover all possible varieties of dialogue writing and still indicate succinctly the essence of the genre.110 T h e formula naturally is meant for the critic. As far as the intelligent and cultured reader is concerned, he will gauge the worth of a dialogue by the amount of interest it arouses in him. T h e literary student is more curious: he wants to k n o w why.

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For one may write Dialogue of the Living, Dialogue of the Dead, or Dialogue of the Living and the Dead ; each one of these species (and one may add to them or make different classifications) has its own individual characteristics and its particular attractions. One may have recourse to the Dialogue for different ends. La Mothe Le Vayer uses it in order to expound his skeptical philosophy; Fénelon's intentions are pedagogical; Vauvenargues's purpose is to justify himself and defend the hero. For Fontenelle, the Dialogue is a vehicle by means of which he offers the reader a criticism of life. One may or may not employ any number of artistic and satiric devices, such as invective, burlesque, irony, sarcasm, innuendo, wit, humor, and many more; the tone may be serious, or comical, or satirical. The conclusion of the dialogue may be positive, or negative and paradoxical; the latter ending has decided advantages inasmuch as a readymade answer is not forced upon the reader, who is instead compelled to reach his own conclusions by his own mental efforts. The characters of the dialogue may be taken from history or they may be invented or they may be the friends and contemporaries of the author (as in the case of Plato and Diderot) ; this last practice would appeal to most of us today for it adds an element of realism and intimacy to the composition. All these species, features, devices, and practices have their advantages and disadvantages, their typical charms and seductions. Still we have not touched the root of the problem. Fénelon's Ulysses and Grillus, for example, has no irony to speak of, and yet it is a very good dialogue. As we have seen, one must present ideas in conflict, either two ideas, or two sets of ideas. One must embody these ideas in distinct characters each having his own personality. The characters, as equally matched as possible, must defend their respective points of view in a lively manner with much give and take, and must sustain the debate to the very end, whether one of them is to be victorious or whether neither will come out the winner. Contrast and opposition are indispensable qualities.

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Conflicting ideas, clashing characters, animated conversation, these features are as essential to the Dialogue as they are to its related genre, the Drama. Fontenelle fulfilled the demands of the type and thus succeeded in writing good dialogue. His skeptical temperament served him well : it was natural for him to consider both sides of the question, and, alternatively and with equal force, to focus the piercing eyes of his mind upon different, and at times contradictory, facets of the elusive truth. His thought darts from facet to facet; his dialectic weaves in and out from one point of view to another; it was natural for him to play the game pro and con. And because it was natural, he was in his proper element when he essayed the Dialogue. The febrile movement of his skeptic's mind was in complete accord with the Dialogue's dramatic animation.

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CONCLUSION makes the claim that Fontenelle was an original writer, that he was not imitative, that perhaps of all famous French authors he was the one who borrowed the least from other authors whether ancient or modern. 1 Fantastic as this claim may seem at first glance, it is certainly borne out by our own analysis of the Dialogues of the Dead. At least one can safely state that this particular work of Fontenelle is original. Carre's authoritative study stresses the originality of Fontenelle as thinker. The French critic might, equally well, have maintained Fontenelle's originality as an artist. TRUBLET

When we take into consideration his success at characterization, his ability in realizing the dramatic possibilities of the Dialogue, the brilliant uses he makes of the devices of irony, of burlesque, of wit, antithesis, and paradox, of the piquant detail, of the ingratiating anecdote which is the sauce and condiment of the dish he sets before us, we can only conclude that Fontenelle deserves the name of artist. It is the use of such "wit mechanisms," or "artifices appropriés," as Bergson calls them, that differentiates satire from pure criticism—and satire is art. 2 Fontenelle is here more than a philosopher. He has a way of setting forth his ideas and arranging his materials. He has a definite and consistent style, that is to say, he has an art of dialogue writing. And this is why we can still read the Dialogues of the Dead with enjoyment today. Fontenelle borrows the convention of the Dialogue of the Dead from antiquity, but his treatment of it is largely his own. His technique springs from his temperament, his intellectual approach to life and nature, his experiences with man and the universe. His method is an effort to come to the closest approxi-

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mation of the truth possible, to attain a juster concept of reality, to impress one with the relativity of all values and the dangers of all forms of dogmatism, past and present. H e wants to shock the reader out of his complacency, and his dialectic is inimical to long-cherished ideas. H i s dialogue is a lesson in m e t h o d : the reader is compelled to m a k e a revision of the attitudes he has been unthinkingly entertaining toward fundamental problems. T h e spirit of contradiction which fills his dialogue and determines its form causes a turmoil in the m i n d of the reader, who is thereby forced to self-criticism. A l t h o u g h the dialogue generally has no formal conclusion, the reader can, if he but follow the dialectic of the author, draw from it the implications, capture the overtones, and seize the fleeting nuances of thought and feeling; and these are the soul of the dialogue rather than any formal conclusion. In the end, the reader may not have attained the elusive truth, but in the attempt he has rid himself of many errors and prejudices, and he is all the better for it. M a n is a part of the world of phenomena. H e is immersed and enmeshed in its welter. H e n c e he can never be sure of its validity or reality. All is relative and nothing is absolute. Therefore it is wrong and even dangerous to devise systems, for these divorce us from life and the facts of life. T h e sage will m a k e the best of the little he has and the little he knows. H u m i l i t y is his great virtue. It is a quality of his intellectual nature which candidly admits the limitations of that nature. H e will not be like the professional philosophers who dupe m a n k i n d and themselves. It is indeed honestly impossible to come to incontrovertible conclusions, because life does not present us with certainties. T h e whole universe is in eternal flux and chance rules everything. T h e same causes may bring about contrary effects. History's most tremendous events may be the result of the most trivial causes. T h e lofty position occupied by the great is so much sham and pretense. M a n k i n d is vain on the subject of its wisdom, yet it is only an illusion. Love is another illusion. So is the idolatry of the Ancients. T h i s is what Fontenelle seems to be saying to

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us. Therefore he adopts an attitude of doubt and levels his satire against all those w h o set u p absolutes, political, moral, or esthetic. In this war against the s y s t e m a t i z e « , reason or the critical faculty emerges triumphant. But lest reason be set up as the last dogma, Fontenelle turns against reason. M a n is proud of his reason, which he considers all p o w e r f u l a n d adequate in solving the great problems of life. But nature laughs at m a n , trips him up and shows h i m the impotence and limitations of reason. T h e sage k n o w s that it is best not to tamper with nature. H e r wisdom is superior to man's. She does not want m a n to think, she wants him to act, that is to live. O b e y i n g the dictates of nature makes for happiness. T h e passions, vanity and self-deception, chimeras and illusions are the very stuff of existence. They arc necessary for the enjoyment of life, for they m a k e for action. Reflection, which tears the veil a w a y from our illusions and rationalizes out of existence our vanities and passions, makes for sterility. W e no longer wish to act, that is to say to live. So nature has its revenge, and melancholy is the lot of the philosopher. Credulity is bad, yet the possession of an ideal is good, for in the pursuit of that ideal, m a n accomplishes m u c h that is good which otherwise he w o u l d never have done. If the truth were obvious, he would never look for it. Yet in his m a n i a for seeking it, he makes himself miserable. T h e nexus that binds together all the questions and problems entertained in these dialogues is the d i l e m m a of Smindyrides. T h e spirit of contradiction, expressing that d i l e m m a , takes on m a n y shapes: its u n d e r l y i n g and basic device is contrast. It appears in the inconclusive endings of the dialogues, with their implications and overtones. It is found in the use of contrasting characters, each one distinctly delineated; in the clash of ideas; in antithesis, paradox and w i t ; in the piquant detail and telling anecdote. A form of it is the Socratic irony which is directed against the dogmatists. W i t h it goes the use of burlesque which is aimed at the great m a n . Lastly there is cosmic irony which

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t h e a u t h o r levels at himself a n d those like h i m , f o r what is cosmic irony but the realization of t h e irreconcilable complexities of m a n ' s n a t u r e , of the fact that h u m a n destiny is an e n i g m a a n d reason is futile before it? T h e different f o r m s that Fontenelle's spirit of contradiction assumes are the artistic devices of his satire. Moreover, esthetically, as well as ideologically, Fontenelle is here revealed as a precursor. In his use of cosmic irony he antedates both Voltaire a n d S w i f t . Fontenelle, too, could be included in D r . Worcester's list of early writers w h o give one intimations of the k i n d of irony w h i c h has become the m a i n staple of satire today. 3 U n l i k e the m o d e r n ironist, however, Fontenelle does not p u s h his satire of f r u s t r a t i o n to the b r i n k of despair. Both the age in which he lived a n d his well-balanced character saved h i m f r o m the excesses of bleak pessimism. H e did not let the riddle of the universe depress h i m . " M . de Fontenelle combined cheerfulness a n d w i s d o m . H i s cheerfulness added to his pleasures a n d decreased the sorrows w h i c h his w i s d o m had been unable to ward off." 4 M o r e i m p o r t a n t is Fontenelle's employment of Socratic irony. H i s satire d e p e n d s chiefly u p o n this kind of irony, but calls u p o n h i g h burlesque as a secondary weapon. N o w Socratic irony was o n e of the most representative and interesting f o r m s of irony that flowered in the eighteenth cent u r y / ' Above all, the y o u n g Fontenelle, in his comedy-dialogues, holds the m i r r o r u p to his age. H i s Elysian Fields is a choice landscape peopled by an interesting a n d lively troop of ghosts. A n i m a t e d by the fire of their conversation, carried away by their a r g u m e n t s , they gesticulate, they m a k e their points, they thrust a n d parry. Some are gallant, others are cynical. S o m e are wise and tolerant, others proud and overbearing. S o m e are acutely intelligent, others are fools. As spirits w h o dwell in the land of the blessed they ought to be h a p p y . But Ils n'ont pas l'air de croire à leur b o n h e u r

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Γ95

An imperceptible feeling of melancholy permeates them all and casts a wan color over the whole scene. T h e background is shadowy and vague. T h e mood of Smindyrides, the pale cast of thought, suffuses everything. There is something in all this that is reminiscent of Watteau's melancholy landscapes filled with maskers from the French and Italian comedies, the stocktypes of humanity, or with gallants and ladies assuming the various poses called for by the tradition of the Carte de Tendre. In vain they strive to be gay and carefree; the sadness of their surroundings envelopes them. "Watteau is not the painter of Rococo society, but the visionary who solved its problem: that society was gay, he is melancholy. He is the genius who divines the hidden reality behind appearance, who at high noon already feels the sunset coming. He is a tragic figure, because he realizes that all this smiling world of fêtes galantes is merely the last flicker of a dying society, that the host who presides over this banquet is Death." 0 Without attributing to Fontenelle a genius comparable to that of his younger contemporary, without suggesting that he was in any way a visionary, we can safely say that he too in his Dialogues of the Dead was unconsciously giving expression to the fin de siècle mood of society during that transitional period which saw the sun set upon the age of Louis X I V , only to rise so magnificently upon the Enlightenment.

NOTES T o S I M P L I F Y matters (since there is no definite edition of the works of Fontenelle and the reader may have at hand any one of the many printings of the Dialogues), I have as a rule mentioned the dialogues in the body of the thesis only by their respective titles or captions and shall refer in these notes to their place in the work of Fontenelle by using a system of Roman numerals to indicate the part, initial letters of the titles to indicate the section, and arabic numerals to indicate the particular dialogue. Thus, I.MA.1,2,3,4,5,6 means: part one, the section called Dialogues des morts anciens, dialogue 1,2,3,4, e t c · ! I.MAM.1,2,3,4,5,6 means: part one, the section called Dialogues des morts anciens avec des modernes, dialogue 1, 2,3,4, E T C · ) I.MM.1,2,3,4,5,6 rneans: part one, the section called Dialogues des morts modernes, dialogue 1,2,3,4, etc.; similarly, for the dialogues of the second part: II.MA.1,2,3, etc.; II.MAM.1,2,3, etc.; II.MM. 1,2,3, e t c · French form of the names of the interlocutors of each dialogue will also be given the first time the dialogue is mentioned in the notes.

CHAPTER

I.

INTRODUCTION

1. George Santayana, " T h e Vortex of Dialectic," The Atlantic Monthly, May 1948, 51-58. 2. J.-R. Carré, La Philosophie de Fontenelle; ou, Le Sourire de la raison. 3. Ibid., p. 501. Johann S. Egilsrud, Le "Dialogue des morts" dans les littératures française, allemande et anglaise (1644-1789)·, see his "Table générale des 'Dialogues des morts' (arrangée chronologiquement et par pays)," p. 201. Gustave Lanson, Histoire de la littérature française, p. 598, footnote, and p. 633; Manuel bibliographique de la littérature française moderne, p. 525. Louis Maigron, Fontenelle, l'homme, l'œuvre, l'influence, p. 32. L'Abbé Tru-

198

Notes

INTRODUCTION

blet, Mémoires pour servir à l'histoire de la vie et des ouvrages de M. de Fontenelle, reprinted in the Œuvres de Fontenelle, ed. François Changuion, X I , 43 (Mercure, April, 1757); also, Dictionnaire de Moréri (ed. Paris, 1759), X I I , 8 ("Article sur Monsieur de Fontenelle"). Hereafter all references to Trublet's Mémoires will be to the Changuion reprint, Vols. X I and X I I . 4. Carré, Philosophie de Fontenelle, pp. 9-34: "Chapitre Unique de la Première Partie: L'absence d'évolution dans la pensée de Fontenelle et l'utilisation des textes de Fontenelle." 5. Ibid., p. 30. " E n 1683 il est déjà tout entier dans les Dialogues des morts"; p. 37; p. 39: " . . . pour être le bel esprit qu'il a été, il lui a d'abord fallu être un bon esprit." 6. Maigron, Fontenelle, p. 32. 7. See the Bibliography for a list of different printings of the Dialogues of the Dead. 8. Carré, Philosophie de Fontenelle, p. 684. 9. Jean de la Bruyère, Œuvres, ed. M. G . Servois, I, 241-243; No. 75 from the chapter " D e la Société et de la Conversation" of the Caracteres, appeared for the first time in the 8th ed., printed in 1694. The translation is mine. (Unless otherwise indicated, in this thesis all translations from a foreign language into English are mine.) "Ascagne est statuaire, Hégion fondeur, Aeschine foulon, et Cydias bel esprit, c'est sa profession. Il a une enseigne, un atelier, des ouvrages de commande, et des compagnons qui travaillent sous lui: il ne vous sauroit rendre de plus d'un mois les stances qu'il vous a promises, s'il ne manque de parole à Dosithée, qui l'a engagé à faire une élégie; une idylle est sur le métier, c'est pour Crantor, qui le presse, et qui lui laisse espérer un riche salaire. Prose, vers, que voulez-vous? Il réussit également en l'un et en l'autre. Demandez-lui des lettres de consolation, ou sur une absence, il les entreprendra; prenez-les toutes faites et entrez dans son magasin, il y a à choisir. [He gets himself invited into well-to-do homes] comme homme rare et d'une exquise conversation; et là, ainsi que le musicien chante et que le joueur de luth touche son luth . . . Cydias, après avoir toussé, relevé sa manchette, étendu la main et ouvert les doigts, débite gravement ses pensées quintessenciées et ses raisonnements sophistiqués . . . il n'ouvre la bouche que pour contredire: 'Il me semble,' dit-il gracieusement, 'que c'est tout le

Notes

INTRODUCTION

199

contraire de ce que vous dites;' ou: 'Je ne sautois être de votre opinion;' ou bien: 'C'a été autrefois mon entêtement comme il est le vôtre, mais. . . . Il y a trois choses/ ajoute-t-il, 'à considérer . . . ,' et il en ajoute une quatrième: fade discoureur, qui n'a pas mis plus tôt, le pied dans une assemblée qu'il cherche quelques femmes auprès de qui il puisse s'insinuer, se parer de son bel esprit ou de sa philosophie, et mettre en œuvre ses rares conceptions; car soit qu'il parle ou qu'il écrive, il ne doit pas être soupçonné d'avoir en vue ni le vrai ni le faux, ni le raisonnable ni le ridicule; il évite uniquement de donner dans le sens des autres, et d'être de l'avis de quelqu'un; aussi attend-il dans un cercle que chacun se soit expliqué sur le sujet qui s'est offert, ou souvent qu'il a amené luimême, pour dire dogmatiquement des choses toutes nouvelles, mais à son gré décisives et sans réplique. Cydias s'égale à Lucien et à Sénèque, se met au-dessus de Platon, de Virgile et de Théocrite. . . . Uni de goût et d'intérêt avec les contempteurs d'Homère, il attend paisiblement que les hommes détrompés lui préfèrent les poëtes modernes: il se met en ce cas à la tête de ces derniers, et il sait à qui il adjuge la seconde place. C'est en un mot un composé du pédant et du précieux, fait pour être admiré de la bourgeoisie et de la province, en qui néanmoins on n'aperçoit rien de grand que l'opinion qu'il a de lui-même." The italics are the author's. 10. Ibid.: "Différent de ceux qui convenant de principes, et connoissant la raison ou la vérité qui est une, s'arrachent la parole l'un à l'autre pour s'accorder sur leurs sentiments, il n'ouvre la bouche que pour contredire. . . ." 11. Ibid., p. 117, No. 15 from the chapter "Des Ouvrages de l'Esprit," the paragraphs beginning: "On se nourrit des anciens . . . ," and " U n auteur moderne . . ."; these alinéa first appeared in the 4th ed., 1689, that is, not long after the publication of the Dialogues des morts, 1683, the Discours sur la nature de I'Eclogue and the Digression, both of the year 1688; see the commentary of Servois who believes that the first alinéa refers to Fontenelle (p. 409), and that the second refers to any partisan of the Moderns (p. 410). 12. L a Bruyère, Œuvres, II, 433-434: commentary of Servois. 13. Trublet, Mémoires, X I , 269-270 (Mercure, April, 1758). 14. La Bruyère, Œuvres, II, 441, note 1.

Notes

200 15. L a B r u y è r e , Œuvres, 16. T r u b l e t , Mémoires,

INTRODUCTION

II, 465, note 3. X I , 222 ( M e r c u r e , October, 1 7 5 7 ) :

"On

a pourtant dit qu'il parlait volontiers de la philosophie aux jolies f e m m e s . O u i , p o u r v u qu'elles eussent de l'esprit. Il y en a de charmantes à q u i il n'aurait pas v o u l u essayer de faire concevoir les A n t i p o d e s , eussent-elles d û l ' a d m i r e r . " I have taken the liberty of m o d e r n i z i n g the spelling of T r u b l e t . See also the c o m m e n t a r y of Servois on the Cydias,

in L a Bruyère, I, 474-477.

17. T r u b l e t , Mémoires,

X I , 222-223, footnote {Mercure,

October,

1 7 5 7 ) . See also Servois, L a B r u y è r e , I, 474-477. 18. V o l t a i r e , Œuvres

completes,

ed. L . M o l a n d , X X I , 107-108:

" I l lia une étroite amitié avec le secrétaire de l ' A c a d é m i e de Saturne, h o m m e de b e a u c o u p d'esprit, q u i n'avait à la vérité rien inventé mais q u i rendait un fort bon compte des inventions des autres, et qui faisait passablement de petits vers et de grands calculs." 19. Ibid.,

p. 108: " ' I l f a u t avouer,' dit Micromégas, 'que la na-

ture est bien variée.' O u i , ' dit le Saturnien, 'la nature est c o m m e u n parterre dont les

fleurs.

. . .' ' A h ! ' dit l'autre, 'laissez là

votre

parterre.' 'Elle est,' reprit le secrétaire, ' c o m m e une assemblée de blondes et de brunes, dont les parures. . . .' ' E h ! qu'ai-je à faire de vos b r u n e s ? ' dit l'autre. 'Elle est donc c o m m e une galerie de peintures dont les traits. . . .' ' E h non!' dit le v o y a g e u r ; 'encore une fois, la nature est c o m m e la nature. P o u r q u o i lui chercher des comparaisons?' ' P o u r vous plaire,' repondit le secrétaire." 20. Ibid.,

p. 1 1 5 : " L e Saturnien, passant d'un excès de défiance

à un excès de crédulité, crut apercevoir qu'ils travaillaient à la propagation. ' A h ! ' disait-il, 'j'ai pris la nature sur le fait.' Mais il se trompait sur les apparences: ce qui n'arrive que trop, soit q u ' o n se serve ou non d u m i c r o s c o p e . " 21. Ibid., p. 115, note 2: c o m m e n t a r y of K e h l . T r u b l e t ,

Mémoires,

X I , 1 6 9 - 1 7 0 , a n d note p. 169 ( M e r c u r e , A u g u s t , 1 7 5 8 ) : Fontenelle employed the expression in his Eloge de M. de 22. Voltaire, Œuvres,

Tourneforl.

X X I , 116: "Je n'ose plus ni croire ni nier,

dit le nain; je n'ai plus d ' o p i n i o n ; il faut tâcher d'examiner ces insectes, nous raisonnerons après." For an account and an explanation of Voltaire's "tracasserie" w i t h Fontenelle, see Prof. W a d e ' s recent w o r k , Voltaire's ence, Myth,

Micromégas,

and Art, pp. 24-26, 32.

a Study

in the Fusion

of Sci-

Notes

INTRODUCTION

201

23. As cited in full with notes by Trublet, Mémoires, XI, 21-38 {Mercure, April, 1757)· The Catalogue is part of the Essai sur l'histoire générale et sur les mœurs et l'esprit des nations depuis Charlemagne jusqu'à nos jours, 7 vols., 1756. The seventh volume of the Geneva edition, in which the article first appeared, is dated 1757. See G. Bengesco, Voltaire, Bibliographie de ses œuvres, I, 327-332, and footnote, p. 332. 24. Voltaire, Dictionnaire philosophique, ed. Benda-Naves, II, 189. 25. Trublet, Mémoires, XI, 164-166 (Mercure, August, 1758). 26. C.-A. Sainte-Beuve, Causeries du lundi, 3d ed., III, 314—335. 27. Emile Faguet, Dix-huitième siècle, pp. 31-54: "Le XVIII e siècle commence par un homme qui a été très intelligent et qui n'a été artiste à aucun degré. C'est la marque même de cet homme, et ce sera longtemps la marque de cette époque." Some twenty years later Faguet was to praise the ideological content of the Dialogues, though he still refused to grant them any merit as to form. See his Fontenelle, textes choisis et commentés, introduction to ch. ii, pp. 45-47· 28. A. Laborde-Milaà, Fontenelle. 29. Maigron, Fontenelle, pp. 10-12. 30. See note 4, supra. 31. Trublet, Mémoires, XI, 74-75 {Mercure, June, 1757): ". . . il ne faut point décomposer M. de Fontenelle pour le louer, parce qu'il ne s'est point décomposé lui-même pour écrire: etc. . . ." The italics are Trublet's. 32. Carré, Philosophie de Fontenelle, pp. 4-5, et passim. 33. Rudolf Hirzel, Der Dialog, ein literarhistorischer Versuch, 2 vols. 34. Ibid., Part I, p. 7: "Der Dialog, als selbständiges Werk der Literatur, ist also streng genommen eine Erörterung in Gesprächsform." 35. Ibid., pp. 2-7. The concept ("Begriff") of the Dialogue. 36. Ibid., Part II, pp. 443-444: "Massenhaft ist der Dialog wohl nur drei Mal erschienen, alle drei Mal in revolutionären Perioden der Weltgeschichte als ein Zeichen und Mittel ihrer geistigen Kämpfe." 37. Egilsrud, Dialogue des morts, pp. 23-24, 30-31.

202

Notes

INTRODUCTION

38. See also Benjamin Boyce, " N e w s from H e l l , " PMLA, L V I I I (1943), 402-437. Boyce accepts the general thesis of Egilsrud (and of Hirzel, of course) and points out and investigates certain lacunae in Egilsrud's treatment of the Dialogue of the Dead in England. H e finds that Fontenelle's work was too polished and too refined to appeal to the rough tastes of the English and therefore its direct influence was limited (pp. 4 1 5 - 4 1 6 ) . ( F o r a view opposed to this conclusion, see the first chapter of Ida E . Stewart, "Fontenelle's Influence on English T h o u g h t in the 18th Century," unpublished Master's essay, Columbia, 1941, in which the author points up the ideological debt and cites many textual borrowings from the Dialogues of the Dead.) At the end of his article Boyce adds a list of Dialogues of the Dead in English, including translations, among which are those of Fontenelle's work. See pp. 431 fi., Nos. 84, 85, 86, 125. Missing from this list is the most recent complete translation: Fontenelle, Dialogues of the Dead, trans, by Phyllis Playter, Girard, Kansas, Haldeman-Julius Co., 1925. 39. Egilsrud, Dialogue des morts, pp. 15-18. 40. Boyce, " N e w s from Hell," PMLA, L V I I I (1943), 4°341. Egilsrud, Dialogue des morts, pp. 20-23. See also John Jay Chapman, Lucian, Plato and Grcc\ Morals, pp. 9-11, 23, 64-67, 80-99. 42. Boyce, " N e w s from Hell," PMLA, L V I I I (1943), 404; Chapman, Lucian, p. 14; Egilsrud, Dialogue des morís, pp. 24-25, 28-30. 43. Egilsrud, Dialogue des morts, pp. 13-14, 33. 44. Ibid., p. 24: " E t lorsque l'esprit s'agite, l'homme parle. La conversation au II e comme au X V I I ' ' siècle, devint un des principaux organes des idées et de la pensée. La faculté que possède le dialogue de refléter les conversations et les discussions, ses qualités dramatiques et intellectuelles, la facilité avec laquelle il permet de poser des questions contradictoires, en firent, aux deux époques, une arme idéale." 45. Albert Guérard, France, p. 144. 46. Egilsrud, Dialogue des morts, pp. 33-35. 47. Ibid., Avant Propos. I do not disagree with Egilsrud on what he has to say on the subject. My remarks arc not to be interpreted as a refutation.

Notes

DIALECTIC: T H E

S P I R I T OF

CONTRADICTION

203

48. Boyce, " N e w s from Hell," PMLA, L V I I I ( 1 9 4 3 ) , 407, 426427. 49. Egilsrud, Dialogue des morts, pp. 37-40. 50. Ibid., pp. 42-43. 51. Ibid., p. 42: " . . . l'intelligence contemple et juge et, lorsqu'elle est offensée, elle se venge par des caricatures et par le rire." 52. Ibid., p. 3 1 . 53. Hirzel, Der Dialog, Part II, p. 408. Descartes's dialogue, Recherche de la vérité par la lumière naturelle, is only a fragment, though an interesting one. See his Œuvres, ed. Adam and Tannery, χ . 495-5»454- Hirzel, Der Dialog, Part II, p. 409: " E s ist dieselbe Unruhe . . . die auch bei diesen einen Ausweg durch den Dialog suchte." 55. Ibid., p. 4 1 0 : " . . . mit der Waffe des Dialogs." 56. As cited by Hirzel, Der Dialog, Part II, p. 410, note 3, from the Avertissement of that writer's La manière de bien penser: ". . . et que les gens qui y parlent peuvent aisément dire le pour et le contre sur toutes sortes de sujets. . . ." 57. Ibid., p. 411.

CHAPTER

2. DIALECTIC:

THE SPIRIT

OF

CONTRADICTION

1. Diderot, Œuvres complètes, ed. Assézat-Tourneux, X V I , 274275; Herbert Dieckmann, Le Philosophe—Texts and Interpretation, p. 38. What Professor Dieckmann has to say about the philosophe, and about Fontenelle as philosophe-honnête-homme with his characteristic attitudes and reactions, could very well buttress the argument of this chapter, see pp. 68, 69, 87, 91, 92, 103. 2. I.MA.2. Milon, Smindiride. 3. J.-R. Carré, La Philosophie de Fontenelle, ch.vi, " L a portée de la raison," pp. 210-243. " L a raison humaine n'est pas seulement d'amplitude limitée; sa pénétration est également restreinte . . ." (p. 218). 4. L. Maigron, Fontenelle, p. 228. 5. Carré, Philosophie de Fontenelle, p. 565. 6. Maigron, Fontenelle, pp. 2 3 1 - 2 3 2 .

204

Notes

D I A L E C T I C : T H E S P I R I T OF CONTRADICTION

7. Carré, Philosophie de Fontenelle, pp. 566, 587. Cf. also Faguet, Dix-huitième siècle, "Étude sur Bayle," p. 6; and Denis Saurat, Modem French Literature, 1870-1940, p. 12: "The best of what lies behind anticlerical rationalism is found in Anatole France, whose skepticism saps rationalism as insidiously and deeply as it does official religion." Carré speaks of Fontenelle's ". . . sagesse, nuancée de tolérance et de bonté ironique . . ." (p. 65). These qualities are characteristic also of Anatole France. 8. Carré, Philosophie de Fontenelle, pp. 57, 65. 9. I.MA.6. Athénaïs, Icasie. 10. I.MAM.2. Sapho, Laure. 1 1 . Trublet, Mémoires, XI, 94-95 (Mercure, June, 1757; cited also by Carré, Philosophie de Fontenelle, p. 492): "M. de Fontenelle faisait les objections et fournissait quelquefois des réponses que le Père Tournemine, aidé de tout son zèle, n'aurait pu trouver." 12. Maigron, Fontenelle, pp. 219-220. 13. Carré, Philosophie de Fontenelle, pp. 565-587, in the chapter "Le Croyant pessimiste au progrès." 14. Hippolyte Rigault, Œuvres complètes, Vol. I, L'Histoire de la querelle des anciens et des modernes, pp. 136-137. 15. Carré, Philosophie de Fontenelle, pp. 53-54; J. S. Egilsrud, Le "Dialogue des morts," p. 55. 16. I.MAM.3. Socrate, Montaigne. 17. Cf. Carré, Philosophie de Fontenelle, pp. 573-574: "Fontenelle croit à l'immutabilité du coeur. . . ." See also Laborde-Milaà, Fontenelle, pp. 144-145. 18. Carré, Philosophie de Fontenelle, p. 37. 19. Ibid., p. 49. 20. Ibid., p. 566. 21. B. Boyce, "News from Hell," PMLA, LVIII (1943), 4 1 5 416. 22. G. Lanson, "Origines et premières manifestations de l'esprit philosophique dans la littérature française," R.C.C., 1908-1909, 1909-1910. 23. Carré, Philosophie de Fontenelle, pp. 246-247, for the influence of La Rochefoucauld upon Fontenelle. 24. I.MAM.5. Erasistrate, Hervé. 25. I.MM.2. Charles V, Erasme.

Notes

DIALECTIC: T H E

SPIRIT OF CONTRADICTION

205

26. Cf. Pascal's: " L e nez de Cléopâtre: s'il eût été plus court, toute la face de la terre aurait changé." 27. Carré, Philosophie de Fontenelle, p. 573. 28. Ibid., p. 50. The source as cited by Carré is Fontenelle's Histoire de l'Académie des Sciences, 1709, ed. 1733, "Sur le délire mélancolique," pp. 1 1 - 1 3 . Fontenelle says: "Il n'y a guère de tête si saine où il n'y ait quelque petit tuyau du centre ovale bien bouché." 29. Herbert Dieckmann, "Diderot's Conception of Genius," JHI, II (1941), 161-162. The source of Du Bos's remarks as cited by Dieckmann comes from the former's Réflexions critiques sur la Poésie et sur la Peinture (3 vols., Paris, 1755), II, 14. I have translated the original French of Du Bos as quoted by Dieckmann: ". . . dans un arrangement heureux des organes du cerveau, dans la bonne conformation de chacun de ses organes, comme dans la qualité du sang. . . ." 30. Egilsrud, Dialogue des morts, pp. 51-52. 31. Carré, Philosophie de Fontenelle, pp. 245, 254. 32. I.MM.3. Elizabeth d'Angleterre, le duc d'Alençon. 33. I.MM.4. Guillaume de Cabestan, Albert-Frédéric de Brandebourg. 34. Cf. Carré, Philosophie de Fontenelle, p. 49: ". . . la folie, la chose du monde la mieux partagée. . . ." 35. II.MA.i. Hérostrate, Démétrius de Phalère. 36. Cf. Voltaire, Œuvres complètes, X X I , 88: Voltaire makes use of the very same metaphor in "L'Ermite," the twentieth chapter of Zadig: "On parla des passions. 'Ah! qu'elles sont funestes!' disait Zadig. 'Ce sont les vents qui enflent les voiles du vaisseau,' repartit l'ermite: 'elles le submergent quelquefois; mais sans elles il ne pourrait voguer. La bile rend colère et malade; mais sans la bile l'homme ne saurait vivre. Tout est dangereux ici-bas, et tout est nécessaire.' " 37. Carré, Philosophie de Fontenelle, pp. 51-52. 38. Ibid., pp. 61-63; s e e a l s o PP· 244—255: ch. vii, "Sources possibles ou probables de la conception de l'homme." 39. II.MA.2. Callirhée, Pauline. 40. Egilsrud, Dialogue des morts, p. 54: on the profundity of Fontenelle's conception of reason and the human passions. 41. II.MA.3. Candaule, Gigès.

206

Notes

DIALECTIC: T H E SPIRIT OF CONTRADICTION

42. I I . M A 4 . Hélène, Fulvie. 43. II.MA.5. Parménisque, Théocrite de Chio. 44. Carré, Philosophie de Fontenelle, pp. 65-66. 45. Egilsrud, Dialogue des morts, p. 54. 46. II.M A M . ι. Sénèque, Scarron. 47. Carré, Philosophie de Fontenelle, p. 45. 48. Voltaire, Œuvres, Lettres philosophiques, X X I I , 1 3 1 : Lettre X I V , "Sur Descartes et Newton." 49. Carré, Philosophie de Fontenelle, pp. 685-686, "Conclusion." " L e système, car système il y est, était l'image même de celui en lequel il habitait: inflexible et souple, d'articulations nettes, d'applications nuancées. Tout s'y tenait . . . , mais tout, aussi, y était en suspens devant un esprit qui se juge, et reste libre vis-à-vis de luimême . . . le faisceau de ces idées qui couvrait l'ensemble des préoccupations théoriques et pratiques . . . , joint à cet art de jouer avec ses propres certitudes, était original. . . ." 50. I.MA.4. Anacréon, Aristote. 5 1 . C f . M. Tullius Cicero, Pro Archia Poeta Oratio: "Ipsi ill i philosophi etiam in iis libellis, quos de contemnenda gloria scribunt, nomen suum inscribunt; in eo ipso, in quo praedicationem nobilitatemque despiciunt, praedicari de se ac nominan volunt." 52. II.MAM.2. Artémise, Raimond Lulle. 53. Rigault, Querelle des anciens et des modernes, pp. 1 3 6 - 1 3 7 : for commentary on this dialogue. 54. II.MM.2. Paracelse, Molière. 55. Laborde-Milaà, Fontenelle, p. 1 3 1 , remarks that Fontenelle was a great admirer of Aristophanes. The question of Fontenelle's dialogue as comedies will be discussed in Chapter 4. 56. II.MM.4. Le Troisième Faux Démétrius, Descartes. 57. II.MM.5. La Duchesse de Valentinois, Anne de Boulen. 58. II.MM.6. Fernand Cortez, Montézume. 59. Here, Fontenelle reaches conclusions not unlike those of Montaigne in his essay, Of Cannibals. 60. Lanson, Manuel bibliographique, pp. 518-519. See also R.C.C., 1908-1909, for a discussion by Lanson of Foigny, Vairasse, Gilbert, Lesconvel, Bordelon, and Tyssot de Patot. 61. Marjorie H . Nicolson, " A World in the Moon: a Study of the Changing Attitude toward the Moon in the Seventeenth and Eight-

Notes

FONTENELLE AND THE PLATONIC DIALOGUE: IRONY

207

eenth Centuries," Smith College Studies in Modern Languages, X V I I (1936), 34-35, 44-45, 56-57· The page numbers indicate the places in the study where Fontenelle's contribution to the subject is discussed. 62. Guido de Ruggiero, Storia della Filosofia, II, 183 (Part I V , La Filosofia moderna, II: L'Età dell' Illuminismo). 63. Fontenelle, Œuvres, ed. Salmon and Peytieux, III, 5 (Théorie des Tourbillons cartésiens, avec réflexions sur l'attraction, I ) . He says: "Je suppose le plein absolu." 64. Carré, Philosophie de Fontenelle, p. 485. 65. Norman L. Torrey, The Spirit of Voltaire, p. 3. 66. Voltaire, Œuvres, IX, 475 f., "Ou l'homme est né coupable. . . ." 67. Diderot, Œuvres, II, 1 1 9 - 1 2 1 .

CHAPTER

3.

FONTENELLE

AND T H E

PLATONIC

DIALOGUE:

IRONY

1. Alexandre Koyré, Introduction à la lecture de Platon. Professor Koyré's first chapter " L e Dialogue" contains a clear and simple explanation of the form of the Platonic dialogue. The general remarks made therein are applied in the three chapters that follow, where he analyzes the Meno, the Protagoras, the Theaetetus. His commentary, because of its admirable lucidity, stands in marked contrast to the typical Platonic exegesis. The work has been turned into English: Discovering Plato, trans, by Leonora Cohen Rosenfield, New York, Columbia University Press, 1946. 2. Ibid., pp. 21-29 ( Le Dialogue"). 3. Lane Cooper, "Platonic Strife," Evolution and Repentance, Mixed Essays and Addresses on Aristotle, Plato, and Dante with Papers on Matthew Arnold and Wordsworth, pp. 96-119. 4. Warner Fite, The Platonic Legend, pp. 251-252, 279. 5. Ibid., p. 255. 6. Benjamin Jowett, The Worlds of Plato (4 vols, in one), "Plato's Writings," I, xlii. 7. Ibid., "Plato's Philosophy," I, lv. 8. Ibid., p. Ivi. 9. Ibid., pp. Iii—liíi.

2o8

Notes

FONTENELLE AND THE PLATONIC DIALOGUE: IRONY

10. Elizabeth Merrill, The Dialogue 1-2.

in English

Literature,

pp.

1 1 . Ibid., p. 3. 12. Ibid., p. 12. 13. Paul Elmer More, Shelburne Essays, 6th ser., pp. 346-347. 14. Padre Sforza Pallavicino della Compagnia di Gesù, Trattato dello Stile e del Dialogo, pp. 2 2 0 - 2 2 1 , 232-234: " . . . la curiosità e l'avidità di specolare con sottigliezza." 15. Koyré, Lecture de Platon, pp. 3 1 - 4 5 (II: Ménon). I am indebted to Koyré from whose analysis I have drawn my own remarks on the Meno. Needless to say the Greek arete has little kinship with "virtue" in the modern sense, although it is conventional to use the latter term in translation. T h e Greek word, like the Latin virtus, suggests the qualities of manliness, of courage, strength, valor. 16. Ibid., pp. 46 t., 68 f., for the first two dialogues; for the Gorgias, p. 24, footnote. 17. II.MM.4. 18. R. Hirzel, Der Dialog, Part I, p. 199 ("Platonische Dialoge als Dramen aufgefasst"). 19. Victor Goldschmidt, Les Dialogues de Platon, Structure et Méthode dialectique, p. 2. 20. Koyré, Lecture de Platon, p. 25 and footnote: " . . . au temps de Cicéron, les intellectuels romains faisaient jouer les dialogues." 2 1 . Ibid., p. 48, and p. 47, footnote. 22. John Gassner, Masters of the Drama, p. 77; see entire section 8, "Plato the Dramatist" (pp. 77-78). 23. Hirzel, Der Dialog, p. 199. 24. J. J. Chapman, Lucian, Plato and Gree\ Morals, p. 148. 25. David Worcester, The Art of Satire, p. 94. 26. Chapman, Lucian, p. 22. 27. Cooper, "Platonic Strife," Evolution and Repcntance, pp. 102-103. 28. Hirzel, Der Dialog, pp. 199-201 ( " D i a l o g und D r a m a " ) . 29. Worcester, Art of Satire, p. 92. 30. Alan Reynolds Thompson, The Dry Moc\, a Study of Irony in Drama, pp. 24, 25. H e is careful in pointing out, however, that

Notes

FONTANELLE AND THE PLATONIC DIALOGUE: IRONY

the problem of the origins of the eiron-alazon

20Ç

f o r m u l a is far f r o m

settled. H e concludes: " A t all events, it has a general value for o u r study in e m p h a s i z i n g an irony of character w h i c h occurs f r e q u e n t l y in life and is often e m p l o y e d in c o m e d y " ( p . 2 7 ) . It is w i t h a similar proviso that w e use it ourselves in reference to Fontenelle's dialogues. 31. Worcester, Art

of Satire,

pp. 93-94. T h e relation of Plato's

dialogues to the M i m e is attested by Aristotle, Poetics, 32. Worcester, supra;

Part I, sec. 2.

a discussion of the quality of

duplicity

in the method of Socrates. T h e G r e e k eiron means a "dissembler in speech," and eironeia Dry Moc\,

m e a n s " d i s s i m u l a t i o n . " See also T h o m p s o n ,

p. 4.

33. C h a p m a n , Lucían, passim; Fite, Platonic 34. K o y r é , Lecture

entire

fifth

chapter, also p p . 44-48, et

Legend,

passim.

de Platon,

p p . 24-25.

35. Worcester, Art of Satire, pp. 90-95, the section called " I r o n y of M a n n e r " ; see also K o y r é , p. 48: " E l l e [l'ironieJ ruine le prestige de celui qu'il tionary

[le polémiste] a t t a q u e . " W e b s t e r ' s Universal

Dic-

( 1 9 3 6 ) defines irony as a " k i n d of ridicule w h i c h exposes

the errors or faults of others by s e e m i n g to adopt, a p p r o v e or d e f e n d them. . . . P r e t e n d e d ignorance, w i t h the intention of irritating or p e r p l e x i n g an o p p o n e n t in dispute." 36. Worcester, Art of Satire,

p. 77.

37. I I . M M . i . S o l i m a n , Juliette de G o n z a g u e . 38. C f . Voltaire's Zadig,

ch. x v , " L e s Y e u x B l e u s " ( M o l a n d , X X I ,

6 9 ) : "Je n'ai q u e trop é p r o u v é q u ' o n caresse b e a u c o u p le roi de Serendib, et q u ' o n se soucie fort p e u de N a b u s s a n . " 39. Worcester, Art of Satire, p. 35. 40. T h o m p s o n , Dry Moc\,

p. 12.

41. Fite, Platonic

pp. 284-285.

Legend,

42. I . M A . 4 , I I . M A M . i , I I . M M . 2 , I I . M M . 4 . 43. Worcester, Art of Satire, p. 92. 44. Ibid., pp. 4 1 - 4 6 : a discussion of b u r l e s q u e or " S a t i r e by C o m parison." 45. The

Wor\s

of Plato (Jowett T r a n s l a t i o n ) , III, 25-26.

46. K o y r é , Lecture

de Platon,

p. 55, footnote.

47. T h e expression is W o r c e s t e r ' s . 48. T h e a r g u m e n t of the p a r a g r a p h s that i m m e d i a t e l y

follow

Notes

2X0

SATIRE AND C O M I C

CHARACTERIZATION

is based on Worcester, pp. 1 2 7 - 1 3 7 (III, "Cosmic Irony," from ch. ν, "Irony, the Ally of Tragedy"). See also that chapter, pp. 1 1 1 - 1 4 4 , passim, and pp. 102-108, 165-169, passim. 49. Worcester, Art of Satire, p. 129. 50. I.MA.2. 5 1 . II.MAM.6. Lucrèce, Barbe Plomberge. 52. II.MM.3. Marie Stuart, David Riccio. 53. II.MAM.5. Straton, Raphaël d'Urbin. 54. Carré, La Philosophie de Fontenelle, p. 56. "Straton, qui parle en vrai philosophe, en philosophe de l'espèce de Fontenelle, pense que 'pour trouver la vérité il faut tourner le dos à la multitude.' Mais Raphael d'Urbin qui lui donne la réplique, avec l'autre moitié de l'esprit de Fontenelle, a de bien bonnes raisons pour défendre le préjugé. . . ." 55. I I . M A . i , II.MA.5. 56. Renan, Dialogues Philosophiques, as quoted by Worcester, Art of Satire, p. 1 1 0 . 57. Worcester, Art of Satire, p. 8 1 .

CHAPTER

4 . S A T I R E AND C O M I C

CHARACTERIZATION

1. Worcester narrates the history of the "satire of the Great Man," especially as it is found in English literature. See pp. 61, 82-88, and 166 of The Art of Satire. 2. I . Μ Α . ι . Alexandre, Phriné. 3. François Rabelais, Gargantua and Pantagruel, trans. Urquhart and Motteux, Vol. I, Book II, ch. xxx, p. 235. 4. Ibid., ch. xxxi, p. 241. 5. Visitors to the Exhibition of Frcnch Tapestries ( 1 9 4 7 - 1 9 4 8 ) at the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art will recall the magnificent Gobelin, " T h e Family of Darius" ( 1 6 6 3 ) . Of this work, the 1948 Art News Attnual remarks (p. 3 2 ) : "One of the eleven tapestries of the Story of Alexander, an epic as enforcedly popular under Louis X I V as that of Augustus under Mussolini: a sumptuous, Rubensian design by Le Brun. The conqueror Alexander stands before the tent of Darius, whose family prostrate themselves

Notes

SATIRE AND C O M I C CHARACTERIZATION

211

before the victor" (commentary underneath the photograph of that tapestry). See also p. 31 for a photograph and a description of the remarkable Gobelin showing the King with Colbert visiting the factory at the moment when his workmen are busy on a Battle of Alexander. Also S. Reinach, Apollo, p. 277, on Le Brun and his Battles of Alexander: ". . . he was par excellence the type of the official painter, under a régime when it was the function of art to glorify absolute power, to subserve and contribute to its pomp." 6. Alfred de Vigny, " L a canne de jonc" from the Servitudes et Grandeur Militaires (1835). Cf. also, Victor Hugo's Hernani: "Je suis une force qui va!" 7. I.MAM.ι. Auguste, Pierre Arétin. 8. I.MM.2, II.MM.6. 9. ΙΙ.ΜΑΜ.4, I.MA.5. Respectively: Platon, Marguerite d'Ecosse; and Homère, Esope. 10. Worcester, Art of Satire, p. 165: "Irony is the flash given off when two contradictory absolutes collide." 1 1 . N. L. Torrey, The Spirit of Voltaire, pp. 276-277: Voltaire's reaction to Plato. When Fontenelle suggests that the Platonic teaching has been raised to the status of an absolute accepted without question, and therefore ought to be destroyed, he is briefly summing up the entire thesis of Chapman (see note 33, Chap. 3, supra). 12. I.MAM.3. 13. I.MAM.5. 14. Worcester, Art of Satire, pp. 69-70. 15. I.MAM.6. Cosme II de Médicis, Bérénice. 16. Cf. Koyré, Introduction à la lecture de Platon, p. 26, and footnote. In order to defend the manner of Plato, Koyré points out another similarity between the drama and the genre Dialogue. The play would be poor indeed which necessitated the appearance in some fashion of the author upon the stage to comment on and to explain his intentions. It would be ridiculous in a play of Shakespeare, for example, to look for the mouthpiece of the author. "C'est dans et par l'ensemble de l'œuvre que s'exprime son auteur." 17. Worcester, Art of Satire, p. 34. An explanation of the nature of comedy based on Bergson's theory. 18. Thompson, The Dry Mocf(, pp. 96 f.

212

Notes

SATIRE AND C O M I C

CHARACTERIZATION

19. Carré, La Philosophie de Fontenelle, p. 41 ; Egilsrud, Le "Dialogue des morts," pp. 1 7 - 1 8 , 193-196. The latter modifies his original contention somewhat in his conclusion (p. 195). 20. Shaftesbury, Characteristic's, III, 292 f., 294 f., chap, ii: "Reflections on the Nature of the Dialogue, Especially as Employed by Divines and Theologians." Fontenelle's practice of character delineation in the dialogue seems to be a successful realization of the theories that Shaftesbury was to entertain on the same subject. Shaftesbury was not satisfied with the type of dialogue being written in his day, in particular with the dialogues written by divines and defenders of religion: " A t present, it must be own'd, the Characters, or Personages, employed by our new orthodox Dialogists, carry with 'em little Proportion or Coherence; and in this respect may be said to sute perfectly with that figurative metaphorical Stile and rhetorical Manner, in which their Logick and Arguments are generally couch'd. . . . 'Tis by their Names only that their Characters are figur'd. T h o they bear different Titles, and are set up to maintain contrary points; they are found, at the bottom, to be all of the same side, and notwithstanding their seeming Variance, to cooperate in the most officious manner with the Author, towards the display of his own proper Wit, and the establishment of his private Opinions and Maxims. They are indeed his very legitimate and obsequious Puppets, as like real Men in Voice, Action, and Manner as those wooden or wire Engines of the lower Stage." Some may object that if the opponent is made too convincing and too strong in a dialogue on a point of religion, the side of religion may suffer. "But to this I reply, that either Dialogue shou'd never be attempted, or if it be, the Partys should appear natural, and such as they really are. If we paint at all; we should endeavor to paint like Life, and draw Creatures as they are knowable, in their proper Shapes and better Features. . . ." Fontenelle paints from life. The idea that the yearning for immortal fame is a vain one leaves us cold, but once that idea is embodied in pathetic disconsolate Cosimo, it becomes alive. 21. 22. 23. 24.

I . M M . ι . Anne de Bretagne, Marie d'Angleterre. I.MM.5. Agnès Sorel, Roxelane. I.MM.6. Jeanne I r p de Naples, Anselme. II.MA.6. Brutus, Faustine.

Notes

SECONDARY

213

DEVICES

25. Faguet, Dix-huitième siècle, p. 33. "Il a, avec tranquillité, des mots durs sur le mariage: 'Marié, M. de Montmort continua sa vie simple et retirée, d'autant plus que, par un bonheur, assez rare, le mariage lui rendit la maison plus agréable.' " 26.

II.MM.3.

27.

II.MM.5.

CHAPTER

5 . SECONDARY

DEVICES

Ι. I.MA.3. Didon, Stratonice. 2. II.MAM.3. Apicius, Galilée. 3. Thus the first line of Athalie is: "Oui, je viens dans son temple adorer l'Eternel." Cf. Racine, Athalie, Classiques Larousse, p. 17. Commentary by Henri Maugis: " L e rideau se lève sur une conversation commencée. Abner répond à la surprise manifestée par Joad. Ainsi le spectateur est, dès le premier vers, vivement intéressé." 4 . B. Boyce, " N e w s from Hell," PMLA, LVIII ( 1 9 4 3 ) , 4 1 6 . 5. In the eighteenth century Rousseau was to govern Corsica according to Plato. Fontenelle, incidentally, is here in error. The city was to be governed by the Laws of Plato and not by the laws of the Republic of Plato. The philosopher in question was Plotinus and the story is related by Porphyry in his life of Plotinus. 6. Worcester, The Art of Satire, p. 29. 7. As quoted by Gassner, Masters of the Drama, p. 589. 8. Ibid., p. 597. See the entire chapter "Shaw and the British Compromise." 9 . Guérard, France, pp. 1 4 2 - 1 4 3 . 10. I.MAM.4. L'empereur Adrien, Marguerite d'Autriche.

CHAPTER

6 . E V A L U A T I O N S AND

COMPARISONS

1. Trublet, Mémoires, X I I , 10 ("Article sur M. de Fontenelle," Dictionnaire de Moréri, ed. Paris, 1759). 2 . Ibid., XI, 1 8 3 - 1 8 4 , and footnote on p. 1 8 4 (Mercure, September, 1757). Trublet comments on Fontenelle's reaction to criticism. Fontenelle did answer his critics more often than some people sup-

214

Notes

EVALUATIONS

AND

COMPARISONS

posed. Only in the case of his works "de pur agrément," he did not think it worth while to answer criticisms. If the latter were good, they would bear fruit; if they were bad, it would be useless to answer. Indeed the sage would lose more than he would gain by acknowledging inept criticism. T h e dedicatory letter is addressed to a M. L . M. D . S. Α., and it is signed D . H . In 1684, when the Judgment was written, Fontenelle had not yet settled permanently in Paris. Had these initials apeared in a work of Fontenelle written after that time, Trublet says he would not have hesitated to say that they referred to Monsieur le Marquis de Saint-Aulaire, the philosopher's close friend. Trublet does not know whether they are purely fictitious or have reference to someone. What about the signature D. H.. ? Is it the Chevalier d'Her . . . ? T h e letters of that gallant gentleman appeared in 1685. 3. Egilsrud, Le "Dialogue des morts," pp. 47-49. 4. Carré, La Philosophie de Fontenelle, p. goi. 5. Trublet, Mémoires, X I I , 9 - 1 0 ("Article sur Fontenelle," Dictionnaire de Moréri, Paris, 1 7 5 9 ) : "Cette fiction ingénieuse est tout à la fois une critique des Dialogues, et une réponse aux critiques qu'on en avait faites. L'auteur se condamne lui-même sur plusieurs points avec assez de sévérité, et se défend sur d'autres avec beaucoup de modération et de modestie. Quelquefois aussi, sa déférence à certaines censures n'est qu'ironique." 6. Thompson, The Dry Moc\, p. 1 2 2 ; the reference is to Major Barbara. 7. W . A. Nitze and E. P. Dargan, A History of French Literature, pp. 380-381. 8. Trublet, Mémoires, X I , 2 7 1 , and footnote (Mercure, April, 1758); X I I , 8-9, footnote p. 9 ("Article sur Fontenelle," Dictionnaire de Moréri). Bayle's remarks, as quoted by Trublet, are from the Nouvelles de la République des Lettres, art. 4, February, 1687. 9. Egilsrud, Dialogue des morts, pp. 43-45, 55-58, 1 1 2 - 1 1 3 , et passim; L. Maigron, Fontenelle, pp. 3 2 - 3 4 . 10. Voltaire, Œuvres, X X I I I (Mélanges, I I ) , 367-370. The quotation is part of the "Connaissance des beautés et des défauts de la poésie et de l'éloquence dans la langue française," dated 1749 (ibid., Ρ·327)· 11. Trublet, Mémoires, X I , 11 (Mercure, July, 1756).

Notes

EVALUATIONS AND COMPARISONS

215

12. Voltaire, Œuvres, X X X V I I , 283-285 (Correspondance, V, No. 2245). 13. "Il ne veut point avoir d'esprit. Le défaut de Fontenelle est qu'il en veut toujours avoir: c'est toujours lui qu'on voit, et jamais ses héros; il leur fait dire le contraire de ce qu'ils devraient dire; il soutient le pour et le contre; il ne veut que briller. Il est vrai qu'il en vient à bout; mais il me semble qu'il fatigue à la longue, parce qu'on sent qu'il n'y a presque rien de vrai dans tout ce qu'il vous présente. On aperçoit du charlatanisme, et il rebute. Fontenelle me paraît dans cet ouvrage le plus agréable joueur de passepasse que j'aie jamais vu. C'est toujours quelque chose, et cela amuse." 14. "Catalogue des écrivains français du siècle de Louis X I V , " as quoted by Trublet, Mémoires, X I , 31 (Mercure, April, 1757): ". . . l'esprit de Voiture, mais plus étendu et plus philosophique." 15. Trublet cites three critics of Fontenelle: L'Abbé Desfontaines, l'Abbé Berthier, and Fréron, and quotes some of the critical remarks of the last. See Trublet, Mémoires, X I , 227-239 (Mercure, October, 1757). Fréron says: "Sa Pluralité des Mondes, ses Dialogues des Morts, ses Eclogues, sont des ouvrages très ingénieux sans doute, mais si remplis d'affectation et de faux brillants, qu'il est difficile d'en soutenir la lecture . . ." (ibid., pp. 236-237). 16. Egilsrud, Dialogue des morts, p. 52. 17. Trublet, Mémoires, X I , 247-251 (Mercure, March, 1758). Saint-Mard in his Discours sur la nature du dialogue praises Fontenelle's dialogues unreservedly. Later he became a bitter critic of his master, accusing him of being the prime corrupter of taste of the age, the second being La Motte, already corrupted by Fontenelle. It was a case of jealousy, says Trublet. 18. Ibid., XI, 3 1 0 - 3 1 1 (Mercure, June, 1758). Father Bouhours praises the Dialogues in his Manière de bien penser dans les ouvrages d'esprit (p. 188). 19. Ibid., XI, 272-273 (Mercure, April, 1758). Perrault refers to the Dialogues in his Epítre sur le génie. 20. Egilsrud, Dialogue des morts, p. 52. 21. Ibid., p. 58; B. Jullien, Fénelon, Dialogues des morts, suivis de quelques dialogues de Boileau, Fontenelle, d'Alembert; L. Maigron, Fontenelle, pp. 218-219, 226-227, 2 2 9 _ 2 3 I ; H . Rigault,

2i6

Notes

EVALUATIONS AND COMPARISONS

L'Histoire de la querelle des anciens et des modernes, pp. 132, 134. Even more than Egilsrud, Jullien fails to grasp the significance of Fontenelle's method, what there is behind his spirit of contradiction, although with greater insight than the former, he describes accurately enough some of the characteristics of Fontenelle's technique. For one thing, Jullien gives too much importance to the captions that in some editions precede each dialogue; they are convenient as tags, but they do not necessarily sum up the message of the dialogue. Maigron does remark that characters such as Plato, Margaret of Scotland, Laura and Sappho, Candaules and Gyges, Agnes Sorel and Roxelana belong to the same family as the Dorantes, the Silvias, the Lucindors and the Angéliques of Marivaux (p. 385). This would seem to be an admission that Fontenelle was capable of some characterization, indeed of a very subtle kind. We have already seen Faguet's indictment of Fontenelle and of the whole eighteenth century: an unartistic man and an unartistic age. The best answer to the thesis of Faguet is Lanson's, who observes that the eighteenth century created for itself " . . . un art à sa mode, indépendant de l'antiquité et du noble classique, adapté au ton de la société et aux mœurs" (Histoire, p. 601, footnote). This kind of art is already discernable in Fontenelle's Dialogues, which nevertheless preserves many links with the past. 22. Trublet, Mémoires, X I , 225 (Mercure, October, 1757). 23. Ibid., p. 214. The lady was Mile d'Achy, afterward the Marquise de Mimeure. 24. Ibid., X I I , 43 ("Article sur Fontenelle," Dictionnaire de Moréri, Paris, 1759). 25. Ibid., X I , 170 (Mercure, August, 175S): "Il n'était point froid. Son caractère était une vivacité douce et enjouée. S'il n'était pas joyeux, il était gai, et il l'était toujours. Jamais homme ne fut plus égal." 26. Ibid., pp. 99-100 (Mercure, June, 1757). 27. Ibid., p. 138 (Mercure, July, 1757). See also Carré, Philosophie de Fontenelle, Part V, ch. i, "L'homme et ses relations" (pp. 487-564). He remarks: " L a légende d'un Fontenelle insensible est insoutenable" (p. 560). 28. Henri Bergson, Le Rire, essai sur la signification du comique,

Notes

E V A L U A T I O N S AND COMPARISONS

217

pp. 1 0 6 - 1 1 1 . Bergson points out among other things the importance of the "gestes" in comedy, of actions in drama. 29. We are not suggesting the possibility of an all-embracing parallel; certainly as artists Molière and Shaw are infinitely richer than Fontenelle. Nowhere in this study do we suggest all-inclusive parallels; but we do see affinities and resemblances. 30. Bergson, Le Rire, pp. 1 1 2 - 1 1 4 , 125, 129-134. On p. 130 there is a résumé of Bergson's thesis on the nature of comedy. 3 1 . Fontenelle, "Avertissement de l'auteur sur la troisième édition des Dialogues des morts, 1683," Œuvres, ed. Salmon and Peytieux, III, 387-388. 32. The point made above has been amply demonstrated in the preceding chapters. That demonstration can be buttressed by the findings of Thompson and Worcester on the nature of irony, burlesque, satire, and comedy. "Irony arises from contrast; so also does comedy," says Thompson; and he defines irony as a device "which uses contrast as its means. Its essential feature is a discrepancy or incongruity between expression and meaning, appearance and reality, or expectation and event" ( T h e Dry Moc\, p. 10). The second of these discrepancies or incongruities, that between appearance and reality, is irony of character or of manner {ibid., p. 7 ) , or Socratic irony as it is sometimes called. This, as we know, is the irony that is chiefly found in the Dialogues. Burlesque is " . . . a kind of extended simile" (Worcester, The Art of Satire, p. 42); he distinguishes between two types: low burlesque and high burlesque—". . . diminishing and degrading the object is the method of low burlesque" {ibid., p. 44), whereas high burlesque is characterized by the " . . . principle of magnification" (ibid.), and "contrast rather than comparison is its method" (ibid., p. 46). The dictionary defines burlesque as " A literary or dramatic composition in which a trifling subject or low incident is treated with much gravity, as a subject of great dignity or importance; or one in which the contrast between the subject and the manner of considering it renders it ludicrous or ridiculous . . ." (Webster's Universal Dictionary, 1936). The second part of this definition describes the kind of burlesque called " h i g h " by Worcester. Therefore Fontenelle's burlesque, since it depends on the use of contrasts, is

2i8

Notes

EVALUATIONS AND COMPARISONS

mainly high. N o w burlesque, in particular high burlesque, is close to irony of manner or Socratic irony, as Worcester points out {ibid., p. 76). The linking element, therefore, between these two satirical devices is contrast. T h e latter is also the informing element of Fontenelle's cosmic irony. Cosmic irony is the affliction of the sage whose reason has made him acutely conscious of the problem of existence and the riddle of the universe, and whose same reason is too limited to solve the mystery: the contrast between the impotence of the sage and the immensity of the mystery gives rise to cosmic irony. "It was not for nothing that God forbad Adam and Eve to eat the fruit of the Tree of the knowledge of Good and Evil" (Worcester, p. 112). Smindyrides, who has eaten of the forbidden fruit, is like the old Brahmin in Voltaire's tale, whose wisdom brought him sadness, whereas his neighbor, the old woman, was happy because she was a stupid automaton. Yet neither Smindyrides nor the Brahmin would have it otherwise. A remarkable unity, therefore, would seem to characterize Fontenelle's esthetic manner, even as his thought is stamped by homogeneity. 33. Egilsrud, Dialogue des morts, p. 58; Hubert Gillot, La Querelle des anciens et des modernes en France, de la "Défense et Illustration de la langue française" aux "Parallèles des anciens et des modernes," pp. 484, 492; see the entire ninth chapter of Rigault's work, "Fontenelle—Dialogues des morts" (pp. 129-137). 34. Lanson, Histoire, p. 598, footnote. He lists the following dialogues: Socrates and Montaigne, Erasistratus and Harvey, Apicius and Galileo. 35. See Carré, Philosophie de Fontenelle, for a discussion of the whole problem: pp. 20, 572-582; also Egilsrud, Dialogue des morts, pp. 47-49; and Lanson, Histoire, p. 598. 36. Trublet, Mémoires, XI, 47 (Mercure, April, 1757): "Je n'ai jamais été aussi partisan de M. Perrault que certaines gens auraient voulu le persuader; je n'ai jamais été aussi loin que lui. Aussi l'Abbé Bignon me dit-il un jour, que j'étais le Patriarche d'une secte dont je n'étais pas." 37. Ibid., p. 49. Fontenelle's attitude toward the whole problem of the relative merits of the Ancients and Moderns was in many

Notes

EVALUATIONS AND COMPARISONS

219

ways similar to that of Descartes and Gassendi. See Gillot, Querelle en France, pp. 289-290; Charles Jacques Beyer, "Gassendi: ancien ou m o d e r n e ? " PMLA, LXIII (1948), 96, 99. 38. Trublet, Mémoires, XI, 273-274 ( M e r c u r e , April, 1758). 39. As cited by Trublet, Mémoires, XI, 38 ( M e r c u r e , April, 1757), from Voltaire's "Catalogue des écrivains français du siècle de Louis X I V , " article "Fontenelle." 40. Egilsrud, Dialogue des morts, p. 36. 41. René Bray, La Préciosité et les précieux de Thibaut de Champagne à Jean Giraudoux, p. 15. 42. Ibid., pp. 103, 135, 224. 43· l b i d - Ρ· 2 3 Γ · 44· Ibid., p. 230. 45. Gillot, Querelle en France, pp. 491-492. 46. Trublet, Mémoires, XI, 80 ( M e r c u r e , June, 1757), et passim. 47. Hirzel, Der Dialog, Part II, p. 408. 48. Lanson, Histoire, p. 612. 49. Henri Peyre, Le Classicisme français, pp. 1 3 5 - 1 3 6 . 50. Lucianus Samosatensis, Worlds, trans, by H . W . Fowler a n d F. G. Fowler, I, 1 0 7 - 1 5 6 ("Dialogues of the D e a d " ) . 51. C h a p m a n , Lucian, Plato and Gree\ Morals, p. 121. 52. Boyce, " N e w s f r o m Hell," PMLA, L V I I I (1943), 403. 53. René Pintard, Le Libertinage érudit dans la première moitié du XVIIe siècle, I, 318, 449-450, 490, 533, 572-573; also pp. 568, 5 7 ' . 57 6 · 54. Ibid., pp. 140, 505, 510. See also François de La Mothe L e Vayer, Deux dialogues faits à l'imitation des anciens, Introduction et Notes par Ernest Tisserand, p. 245 (bibliographical note by Tisserand). 55. Egilsrud, Dialogue des morts, pp. 46-47. 56. Gillot, Querelle en France, p. 287; Pintard, Libertinage érudit, p. 506. 57. La Mothe L e Vayer, Deux dialogues ( T i s s e r a n d ) , pp. 6 7 - 1 5 3 . 58. La Mothe L e Vayer, Cinq dialogues faits à l'imitation des anciens par Oratius [λ'