FICTION.
THE FEAR OF LiviNG.t „ Trr3an are few more remarkable developments in contern- potary French literature than the reaction against, the cult which Matthew Arnold described contribution to the Pall Mall Gazette in November, 1888.. "What man is there," he wrote, "that knoweth mit Kat the city of the Fiench is a worshipper of the Freiti:goddess Lubricity ?" raris, it is tnie, ih not France, siii'd'ilMrn tare a4vuj-si beeu • Freud' writers • Mg Happy ilunting•Groun4a..-AaitA-1144.- on Sport and Natural Bistory. Pittraagiolfitg4WrAvirankilliVeLtgrattigV1674
above reproach in this respect ; but, speaking bre:AV, the greatest masters of French fiction have not escaped the taint, and their example has lent support to the view that reticence and selection are incompatible with the expression of genius. But in the last dozen years or so, while English fiction has, un- happily, been more and more infected by this example, there has been a notable reaction in France against the tyranny of realism, and a growing tendency amongst novelists to employ the medium of fiction as an incentive to spirituality and seriousness. Amongst the writers who have taken part in the national revival on its literary side H. Henry Bordeaux occupies a foremost place. The difficulty which confronts a novelist, and most of all a French novelist, who deliberately sets out to render goodness attractive is perhaps best expressed in the line quoted by Aristotle in the Ethics : the good are simple, the evil of all sorts and kinds. Variety and irregularity have an aesthetic charm which appeals with peculiar force to the artist; rirtus faudatur et alget. No novelist has ever taken Aristides as a hero. But if. the portraiture of virtue is often insipid, that is the fault of the writer. M. Bordeaux is eminently on the side of the angels, but his good people are not prosperous prigs. The essence of his creed is that self-respect cannot be attained without self-sacrifice.
Prefaces to novels are skipped by the generality of readers. For them the story is the thing, and they resent any pre- liminaries which postpone the enjoyment to be derived from it, But the introductory essay to The Fear of Living is so essential to a due comprehension of M. Bordeaux's standpoint, as well as so acute an analysis of certain tendencies of modern civilization, that its neglect will be a positive blunder. We are not sure, however, whether it would not be a better plan to read it after the story ; but whichever order be adopted, no one will regret the time spent on its perusal. M. Bordeaux tells us that when he published 'La Pear de Vivre in 1902 family tragedies were not the fashion, and he, greatly daring, bad made a sorely tried old woman his heroine. But the book led to so much correspondence and discussion, and evoked such friendly interest that he was moved four years later to set forth in detail the ideas which were the foundation of his work. The fear of living, he proceeds, is of two kinds; the first and more cowardly is that denounced by Dante in the Inferno when he describes in the third canto the lot of "those inert ones who are pleasing neither to God nor to his enemies," who were banished from heaven because they marred its beauty, while the depths of belt rejected them because the damned would gain some glory from their presence. Their modern counterparts are to be found in those who are governed by the all-prevailing desire for peace; who evade all responsi- bilities, struggles, risks, and efforts; who carefully avoid. "danger, fatigue, exaltation, passion, enthusiasm, sacrifice— everything that disturbs and upset?." This fear prompts the choice of safe professions, postpones marriage, restrains parenthood, encourages a sterile fastidiousness in life and art; tends to promote valetudinarianism, and relegates to the State the duty of looking after and helping us ona1 Occasions. But the fear of living is not confined to paissfrorseigahness,, enervating timidity, and prudence; it ilf,i4No shown iii an active egotism capable of the utmost ,vigoll;, and energy, but only to satisfy an individual aim—that of 'one' pleasure. "These are the mad individualists who will not'Obse.rve any measure in enjoyment, awl see in the work) only a personal inheritance to be wasted by them," who, in 11TerinA'5 phrase, look on life as" a green table which only amuses us, when the stakes are high," and, as Pope has it, "die of nothing 'but the rage to lire," In a eeose they are fearless,. but; in their frantic and militant egotism they are afraid of, ordipary life, which seems wearisome . and dulL Like the Irishman, they " love action, but they hate work,- and the) fail to recognize that life is uot perpetual distraction, ana. that the only true energy is that which is 01.1.1,r1."4 and di:47, ciplined., In the most striking pages of this maaylitalk essay Hordeausdevelops the theme that ev.esTitiq 05nanflis effort, that • no one is exempt from sorrow, ,a111411v,syy, rsw. unacquainted with failure. Achilles is the popular el.° of the` • Iliad but Homer ' the conquereli Erector Ali abler aid more generoUsi eflarticter The ol.1 thefi' own st,sribe i,tbirMoir' for' their lode "faitIrlitethegeodrkelii kff' of litirdens the alit; " once' 4411. trai6E4x44tiLvif
goodness of life by faith in the innate goodness of man. It does not produce the same results." The more we love life in the true sense, the less we shall fear death, or give way to despair, and M. Bordeaux finds an inspiring example in the deaf and lonely Beethoven, who, in the depth of all his distress, under- took to celebrate Joy in his Ninth Symphony.
Turning to the story, we find in it a moving recital of the fortunes of &family who were unafraid of life, though it brought them more than their fair share of trouble. Madame Gallant, the sorely tried old woman," is the widow of a doctor who had sacrificed his fortune to pay his brother's debts and his life to save his patients. Two sons are engineers in Tonkin, a third, Marcel, is a brilliant young officer in the Tiesilleurs; of the two daughters living, one is a Sister of Charity and the younger Paula, lives with her mother. The friends who knew Madame' Guibert in her prosperity have for the most part deserted her in her poverty, yet when her soldier son comes home from the wars they are preparedto patronize her on the strength of his publicly acknowledged gallantry. Nonetheless, when Marcel falls in love with the daughter of the rich parvenu M. Dulaurens his suit is rejected because the young lady and her people are "afraid of living." Marcel rejoins his regiment in Algeria and is killed in action, and his friend and brother-officer, Jean Berlier, though he loves and admires Paula, is within an ace of being entrapped by a selfish siren. At the close we leave Madame Guibert parted from her beloved daughter, alone, infirm, and poor, yet undaunted, cheerful, and peaceful "with the peace of those who wait fearlessly for death after having met life bravely." Yet let no one suppose that, because the story enforces a somewhat austere morality, it is dull reading. As a study of provincial manners it is remarkable. One chapter, as M. Doumie observed in the Debate when the book first appeared, might seem a little exaggerated were it not that its truth is photographic. "It is the one in which the Mayor, officially ordered to tell Madame Guibert of the death of her son, is afraid to compromise himself by crossing the threshold of people classed as reactionaries and sends a policeman instead!" ht. Bordeaux can enter into the life of the "frantic egotists" as well as into that of their opposites. He wields by turns a mordant and a genial pen. But whatever his mood, he never loses sight of his high purpose—to awaken France from her weariness and preach faith in the life of clean and strenuous endeavour.
The English version, which betrays its American origin in one or two unfamiliar turns of phrase, is thoroughly com- petent, and, in the interest of those who are unable to appre- ciate them in the original, we trust that it may be followed by other specimens of M. Bordeaux's admirable and stimulating talent.
Previous page
