The editorial work and literary enterprise of Louis Aimé ...
The editorial work and literary enterprise of Louis Aimé-Martin
Submitted by Stephanie Mary Darrie, to the University of Exeter as a thesis for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in French, September 2009.
This thesis is available for library use on the understanding that it is copyright material and that no quotation from the thesis may be published without proper acknowledgement.
I certify that all material in this thesis which is not my own work has been identified and that no material has previously been submitted and approved for the award of a degree by this or any other University.
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[pic]
Portrait of Louis Aimé-Martin
(Lyon, Bibliothèque municipale, MS Coste 14415)
Abstract
This thesis offers a new perspective on the cultural contribution of Louis Aimé-Martin, best known as the principal editor of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre.
The thesis begins in chapter 1 with a critical analysis of the posthumous edition of Bernardin’s Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau. This text, singled out by the scholar, Maurice Souriau, as an exemplar of Aimé-Martin’s editorial negligence, introduces a theme sustained throughout chapter 2. This study of part of the Correspondance de J.-H. Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, in revealing Aimé-Martin’s emotive handling of the manuscripts he works from, leads to a necessary consideration of other, more objective editorial ventures in chapter 3. Attention turns from Bernardin’s legacy to an investigation of Aimé-Martin as a reputed authority on the lives and works of a host of French personalities from across the centuries. In light of those undertakings independent of Bernardin, the following chapters go on to broaden our understanding of Aimé-Martin, revealing some of his own literary endeavours. Reflections on the Lettres à Sophie sur la physique, la chimie et l’histoire naturelle (1810) in chapter 4, and Raymond (1811) in chapter 5, testify to Aimé-Martin’s interest in contemporary issues from feminine pedagogy to the moralisation of the peasant class. Such concerns eventually culminate in the philosophy of the Education des mères (1834), considered in chapter 6. It is this œuvre, with its promotion of a new, more accessible spirituality and its proposed revisions of the educative system, which truly sees Aimé-Martin engage with the socio-political agenda of his day. Chapter 7 looks further, then, at Aimé-Martin’s immersion in the cultural community of his time, drawing in particular on the revelations of his correspondence with Alphonse de Lamartine. The renowned editor is thus shown to be a transitional figure, holding a torch for the memory of an eighteenth-century icon while also shining a light of hope and inspiration for the people of the early decades of the nineteenth.
Table of Contents
Title Page 1
Portrait of Louis Aimé-Martin 2
Abstract 3
Table of Contents 4
Table of Illustrations 6
Acknowledgements 7
Introduction 8
1. Masters and disciples: Bernardin’s Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau 18
1.1 Introduction 18
1.2 Maurice Souriau 19
1.3 The preparation of the Essai 21
1.4 Significant changes 29
1.5 Conclusion 44
2. Addressing the Correspondence of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre:
The editing of his letters to Pierre-Michel Hennin 48
2.1 Introduction 48
2.2 Sidelining Hennin 51
2.3 The power of punctuation 55
2.4 A life in letters 57
2.5 Conclusion 68
3. Methodologies to define the man:
Aimé-Martin in his role as editor 71
3.1 Introduction 71
3.2 The Bernardin Enterprise 75
3.3 Expanding his editorial empire:
Aimé-Martin and his other subjects 89
3.4 Conclusion 96
4. Searching for science in the Lettres à Sophie 99
4.1 Introduction 99
4.2 The Lettres à Sophie as witness to God’s existence 104
4.3 The scientific textbook 111
4.4 Writing for the fairer sex 121
4.5 Conclusion 125
5. Raymond: The Great Imitation? 130
5.1 Introduction 130
5.2 The dilemma of youth 132
5.3 Young lovers 138
5.4 Man and Nature 141
5.5 Necessary ignorance and the path to faith 144
5.6 Conclusion 150
6. Educating a nation 152
6.1 Introduction 152
6.2 In the classroom 156
6.3 Words for Women 167
6.4 The Holy War 181
6.5 Conclusion 187
7. Interpreting the letters of Louis Aimé-Martin 192
7.1 Introduction 192
7.2 The Political Arena 196
7.3 The Cultural Entrepreneur 205
7.4 Righting social wrongs 210
7.5 Conclusion 216
Conclusion 219
Bibliography 223
Table of Illustrations
1 Portrait of Louis Aimé-Martin 2
2 Manuscript image 25
Acknowledgements
There are various people I would like to thank for the ways in which they have supported me in the preparation of my thesis. First and foremost I extend my thanks to my partner, Tim, who has always believed in me and who, in the midst of change, has helped me to stay focused over the course of the last few years. I could not have done this without him. Thank you also to my family: mum, dad and sister, Jenny, for their understanding and patience as they watched me on my journey, and put other plans on hold in order that I might complete my studies in the familiar surroundings of home.
I feel extremely fortunate in having had Malcolm Cook as my PhD supervisor. I must thank him for the opportunity he gave to me in offering me the studentship at Exeter University, and for the constant encouragement and support he has provided throughout. The thesis has benefitted from his many thoughtful insights and from the host of research materials he has very kindly loaned to me over the years. I have greatly appreciated all the time he has invested in my PhD project and in helping to develop me as a scholar.
Thanks are also due to the AHRC for funding my studies as part of the ‘Bernardin Correspondence Project’, and to Kate Astbury for pointing me in the direction of the studentship linked to the project in the first instance.
There are many individuals from different institutions who have been particularly helpful to me as I have gone about my research. Claudine Billoux, the principal archivist at the Bibliothèque Centrale of the Ecole Polytechnique when I consulted documents there some time ago, is one such individual; and, my thanks to all those who have in some way contributed knowledge to my thesis.
A final note of thanks should also go to Tom Wynn, who became my supervisor towards the end of my thesis, and to my friends and colleagues in the French Department at Exeter University for their enduring support. I would like to thank, in particular, Fredérique Ozanam, who was an enormous help in the proof-reading of the thesis.
Introduction
Louis Aimé-Martin is perhaps best known as the principal editor and biographer of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre. Indeed, remembrances of him have rarely failed to elicit some form of commentary on his advancement of the scholarship of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre or on his indelible connection to the writer’s close circle. Employed for a short time as Bernardin’s secretary, married eventually to his master’s widow, with free and easy access to Bernardin’s original manuscripts both before and after his demise, it is hardly surprising that Aimé-Martin would go on to enjoy a reputation as the authority on Bernardin’s life and works. However, such a reputation, forged through the retrospective celebration of an eighteenth-century figure, has until very recently tended to force a reductive reading of Aimé-Martin’s contribution to the literature and cultural climate of the early nineteenth century. Furthermore, where scholars have chosen to represent Aimé-Martin in his most recognisable capacity as the editor of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, they have sometimes disparaged the very corpus that arguably launched his career. It is in light of this paradox and in view of the disproportionate attention afforded the editorial, as opposed to authorial, achievements of Aimé-Martin that I have conducted my study.
Aimé-Martin was born in the parish of Saint-Croix in Lyon on 21 April 1782 and died in Saint-Germain-en-Laye on 21 June 1847. Contrary to the aspirations of his bourgeois parents who hoped that he would one day study law, Aimé-Martin would arrive in Paris sometime prior to 1809 in order to pursue a career as a littérateur. His first known publication, the Etrennes à la jeunesse (1809), replete with observations of the natural world and intended for the moral conditioning of the younger generation, is, in many respects, typical of Aimé-Martin’s later scholarly undertakings. Borrowing from the pastoral tradition, from the natural philosophy of Rousseau and Bernardin, and sensitive to the contemporary trend towards science-writing for a new and more inclusive age, Aimé-Martin’s early works are reflective of both his debt to thinkers of the past and to his engagement with emerging religious and cultural movements. Indeed, soon after the largely positive reception of the Etrennes à la jeunesse, Aimé-Martin would proceed to author the Lettres à Sophie sur la physique, la chimie et l’histoire naturelle (1810), followed closely by the novel Raymond (1811). Both works, resplendent with Romantic motifs, aim to enthuse a generation about the wonders of science, but this agenda remains consistently subordinate to that of testifying to God’s existence through examination of the natural world. Importantly, in recognising God in a perfect Nature, the implicit message is that individuals can consequently aspire both to a more personal relationship with him and to the emulation of the perfection and harmony they see in the natural world. Such ideas can be seen to anticipate just some of the concepts promulgated in Saint-Simon’s Le Nouveau Christianisme (1825), though later in his career, when still pre-occupied with notions of harmonising society, Aimé-Martin makes no specific mention of a Saint-Simonian influence in his work. It is at the same time as promoting his philosophy that Aimé-Martin begins to search for permanent employment and to make in-roads in to the political arena. The help provided him by the Vicomte Lainé both in his appointment as secretary to the Chambre des Députés in 1814 and to the Ecole Polytechnique in 1816 speaks volumes not only about the minister’s faith in Aimé-Martin’s ability, but also about the affiliations of their political views. The liberal royalist views held by Lainé can be seen reflected in the sentiments set out by Aimé-Martin in his various works, and in particular in his 1816 essay, the Réponse à la lettre d’un français au Roi. Such views did not always sit comfortably with Aimé-Martin’s students at the Ecole Polytechnique who, at home perhaps regaled with tales of the glory of the Bonapartist regime, did not always respond favourably to the expression of Aimé-Martin’s royalist sympathies. However, his long service there does imply that the pervasive rehabilitation of the monarchy outside of the school walls did also come to pass within the Ecole Polytechnique itself, allowing Aimé-Martin, and his political views, to flourish.
In 1818, shortly after taking up post at the Ecole, Aimé-Martin would publish the Œuvres de J.-H. Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, the labour of four years and the collection that truly secured Aimé-Martin his place amongst his peers in the literary community. It is from here that sprung a series of other editorial ventures that helped to reinforce Aimé-Martin’s renown as a key chronicler of France’s literary past and that may, in some measure, have further engendered the predominate focus on his career as editor. It seems that for some years Aimé-Martin would happily juggle teaching at the Ecole Polytechnique with his several editorial projects, projects that likely informed and enhanced his lessons there.
Of course, it is possible that Aimé-Martin’s growing reputation helped to initiate his friendship with Alphonse de Lamartine, both impressed with and intrigued by the older man’s commercial success. Meeting in 1824, the union of the two men seems to have encouraged in Aimé-Martin the confidence and inspiration to gradually consolidate his ideas on the re-spiritualisation of the people and on the necessary inclusivity of a national education. It was not until stepping down from his post at the Ecole Polytechnique in 1830 and moving into the less-demanding role of librarian at the Bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève that Aimé-Martin would at last be at liberty to consecrate to paper his ideology, publishing his Education des mères de famille in 1834. Aimé-Martin’s treatise settles upon the mother as the locus for social reform, a mother who would be guided by the precepts of his new religion. Indeed, the Education clearly states his position as the advocate of a religion both more accessible and less exclusive than Catholicism and more readily aligned with the Evangelical doctrine. Aimé-Martin clearly thought of the Education as the pinnacle of his career and it is interesting that it remained one of the few works in which he does not accord Bernardin a significant mention.
According to Lamartine, Aimé-Martin would eventually meet Bernardin, forty-five years his senior, when he ‘s’attacha comme secrétaire, à la fin du premier Empire, à [ce] vieillard éminent’.[1] That a precise date for their introduction continues to elude scholars is perhaps of little consequence, the alliance with Bernardin primarily taking root in the consciousness of an admiring Aimé-Martin sometime before 1813-14, during the younger man’s formative years.[2] It remains clear that Aimé-Martin felt a profound and instinctive connection to his mentor, motivating him to conclude in the ‘Réfutation’ to accompany the Correspondance de J.-H. Bernardin de Saint-Pierre of 1826 that, ‘les véritables motifs de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre […] étaient d’un ordre supérieur, et, sans doute, il m’eût été facile de les faire connaître, l’auteur les ayant développés en ma présence […].’[3] Certainly, Aimé-Martin, as an employee of Bernardin and as someone who enjoyed access to the writer’s private sphere, found himself, at the hour of his master’s death, in the unique position of being able to commemorate the life and works of a man he had known both as a literary inspiration and as a father, a husband and friend.
It is this close personal link and the way in which it impacted on the transcription of Bernardin’s manuscripts, that has led to the many criticisms of Aimé-Martin’s best-known editorial project: the publication of the Œuvres de J.-H. Bernardin de Saint-Pierre (1818). Far from immunising Aimé-Martin from the invective of those who would follow in his footsteps, the palpable success of the collection, in having established the former secretary as the authority on Bernardin, seems, conversely, to have invited unfavourable critique from several camps.[4] It is, then, both in response to Aimé-Martin’s accomplishment as Bernardin’s first editor and to the discordant reactions to that accomplishment that my study focuses in the first instance on the Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau, featured in the Œuvres. That the essay, written by Bernardin as an apologia of his deceased friend, had been reviewed in 1907 by the scholar Maurice Souriau has allowed for some direct comparisons between the two editions of the work, and has facilitated those conclusions that I eventually come to about the emotive handling of Bernardin’s original texts by his former employee.[5] The issue of the editor’s professional liability forms an integral part of this and the following chapter and through them I pose the question about whether or not an editor, driven to protect the reputation of his subject, can properly fulfil his office as the ‘transparent medium’[6] for the text he transcribes.
The second chapter, therefore, continues the theme of editorial (ir)responsibility with a focus upon the publication of the Correspondance of J.-H. Bernardin de Saint-Pierre. A consideration of Aimé-Martin’s later editorial efforts (the Correspondance appearing eight years after the Œuvres in 1826) was essential in establishing a cogent argument about Aimé-Martin’s real editorial agenda. Certainly, the Correspondance offered a rich resource for enquiry into recurring trends in Aimé-Martin’s work. That I singled out for examination the exchanges between Bernardin and the French diplomat, Pierre-Michel Hennin, can be explained by two major factors: firstly, the large number of letters within this category that I was able to utilise and, secondly, the accessibility of the original text, now available as part of the Electronic Enlightenment’s online database.[7] It is in revisiting the manuscripts of Bernardin that, both in this and in the previous chapter, new perspectives on Aimé-Martin in his role as editor and on certain aspects of the character of Bernardin were able to see the day. Indeed, both the first and second chapters offer a more discursive analysis and more reasoned appreciation of Aimé-Martin’s amendments to Bernardin’s original documents than Souriau, or some of his predecessors, ever really aspired to or attained; and those modifications unidentified by previous analyses now furnish the reader with fresh interpretations of some of Bernardin’s letters.
In a thesis concerned in part with Aimé-Martin’s editorial enterprising, and in order to instigate a shift of focus away from the Bernardin-Aimé-Martin relationship, there was an obvious necessity to acknowledge the full scope of Aimé-Martin’s contributions to the editorial field of the early nineteenth century. The many projects with which Aimé-Martin was involved testify to a much broader sphere of influence than is generally conceded in reviews of his work. Significantly, his editions of the œuvres of Molière, Racine, Delille, to name but a few of his commissions, were all widely regarded as competent endeavours and all served to acquire for Aimé-Martin popular renown as an adept literary historian of his time.[8] A reflection on the various projects that allowed Aimé-Martin to continue exercising his editorial profession in his post-Bernardin days[9] is especially pertinent for this study, given the controversy raised subsequently by the editor’s distinct lack of objectivity in the treatment of the Bernardin manuscripts. For, what comes to light upon exploring those studies independent of Bernardin is evidence of a markedly different, more consistent approach, revealing an editor whose practices not only fall in line with, but occasionally surpass, the common methodologies of the period. [10] [11] Of course, by illuminating aspects of Aimé-Martin’s professional life that have been somewhat marginalised by his denouncers and eclipsed by his association with the author of the Etudes de la nature I have intended no implicit, alternate agenda to, in turn, downplay the significance of Bernardin in the spiritual and professional development of Aimé-Martin. There can be no denying the debt owed Bernardin by Aimé-Martin in unwittingly helping him to showcase his strengths as an editor and biographer and, just as importantly, in the patent inspiration that he gave to his own vision of the world.
The next phase of the thesis, then, sets out to present the editor in a guise with which many scholars will be unfamiliar: Aimé-Martin in his role as author. In fact, like many of his contemporaries in the world of literature,[12] Aimé-Martin had many faces, from librarian, to editor, to educator, to author, and he was reputed for his conscientious work ethic. One observer would write to him in 1816, intoning:
O vous, Aimé-Martin, le travailleur par excellence, qui vous levez matin, vous couchez tard; vous qui avez tout lu, tout su; vous qui aimez les lettres, pour elles-mêmes, qui avez tout quittez et sacrifié pour vous consacrez à leur culte.[13]
The projects with which Aimé-Martin was involved were both far-reaching and multiple, their number certainly exceeding forty. Of Aimé-Martin’s literary output, the best-known works are enumerated in the bibliographic volume by Joseph-Marie Quérard. [14] The list, though not exhaustive, does allude to the more popular texts as, for example, the Etrennes à la jeunesse (1809), the Œuvres complètes de J. Racine (1821) and the Education des mères de famille (1834), to name but a few. It also mentions the numerous articles Aimé-Martin contributed to the Journal des Débats between 1814 and 1827, a corpus not investigated as part of this study. The ‘travailleur par excellence’, history has proved the inherent difficulty of effectively cataloguing all the literary exploits of such a prolific cultural entrepreneur. Indeed, with the provision of Google Books and other web-based resources such as those provided by Gallica online, new works that cite Aimé-Martin as a contributor or that relate his creed are being continually brought to the fore. Presented with the wealth and variety of Aimé-Martin’s literary investments, this thesis might have afforded several paths of enquiry.[15] Nevertheless, in the interest of time and academic interest, the focus here has been on those works authored primarily and exclusively by Aimé-Martin and that provoked sustained and noteworthy commentary from the contemporary audience.
That my study is not strictly chronological is attributable to a concern to make better the distinction between the two lines of work with which Aimé-Martin was chiefly involved. It is, thus, that works pre-dating some of Aimé-Martin’s editorial activity are only eventually introduced in the forth chapter. The Lettres à Sophie sur la physique, la chimie et l’histoire naturelle (1810), Aimé-Martin’s response to the women’s literature and science writing of his time, seemed a fitting introduction to his œuvres. Not only are the letters the earliest of the publications I set out to explore as part of my research, but they are also illustrative of the contradiction that pervades Aimé-Martin’s own literature: that being the simultaneous existence of the orthodox and the progressive therein. Still alive and as yet unacquainted with his future disciple when the Lettres à Sophie first appeared in print, Bernardin is recognised by Aimé-Martin as a galvanising force in the creation of the essays. However, although the collection begins with an acknowledgement to this effect, the budding author is keen to underline the modernity of his scientific tracts, his ‘découvertes modernes’.[16] The stress throughout is on Bernardin specifically as the initial inspiration, and it is clear that Aimé-Martin wishes to be seen as essentially moving beyond the limitations of his teachings. The aim in examining the precepts of the Lettres à Sophie, then, has been to ascertain both to what extent Aimé-Martin achieves his goal and to gauge the genuine interest the essays held for the contemporary reader. The letters did capitalise, of course, on the necessity ‘to shine in society’.[17] Shining amongst one’s peers was the order of the day in an increasingly meritocratic society, where education and learning held superior standing to that of birthright. Indeed, born into the age of the ancien régime, Aimé-Martin would go on to experience the country’s move from Republic to Empire to Restoration monarchy. It was in the midst of the general socio-political upheavals that the bourgeoisie would rise up, flying the flag for social mobility, itself dependent on such factors as education and amassed wealth. In a parody of his bourgeois compatriots, the hermit of Etienne de Jouy would be advised by a member of the new middle class that:
[…] il me semble que tout ce qu’on fait est pour moi: c’est pour ma commodité qu’on perce les rues de toutes parts, et qu’on agrandit les places publiques; c’est pour moi que deux cents fontaines versent leurs eaux, qu’on élève partout des monumens; […] et que cinquante mille ouvriers travaillent jour et nuit à orner la capitale.[18]
There is no doubt that Aimé-Martin advocated the notion of self-improvement, but only in so far as it led to the intellectual advancement of the individual and not to a tangible, material change. The concept of social mobility, full of the promise of material gain and integral to the new, industrialist and capitalist social order, was, in his eyes, a cause for alarm. It is not until he publishes the Education des mères in 1834 that Aimé-Martin laments, very publicly, the situation of his countrymen:
[…] partout l’abondance, et partout la plainte: triste tableau de notre belle France! Ce peuple industrieux, qui m’était apparu comme une grande famille, ne me sembla plus qu’un être misérable, qui cachait, sous de riches habits, des plaies hideuses, et l’ennui ce vice profond, sous les éclats d’une gaieté factice.[19]
The underpinning thought manifest in Aimé-Martin’s own literature is, therefore, the regeneration of ‘ce peuple industrieux’, a people that has forsaken the spiritual life in its search for fulfilment of a corporeal nature. Such a notion is there in the Lettres à Sophie, in those reminders about God’s existence as evidenced by the natural phenomena of this world, and in the tale of Raymond, which serves as the subject of the fifth chapter.
The novel Raymond (1811) is set within a broader work that also incorporates further studies on nature, the Tableaux de la nature. That these studies largely repeat the content of the Lettres à Sophie was reason enough to exclude them from my enquiries. The novel itself, however, is of especial interest, further testifying to the strength of influence of Bernardin in Aimé-Martin’s work while also indicating the author’s awareness of the incipient social problems of his time. Although the novel can be read as a tribute to the Paul et Virginie of Bernardin, the more serious and enduring message of the account of Raymond’s ill-fated life seems to be about the inevitable tragedy engendered by a premature departure from the home. The tale appears in some ways to scatter the seeds that would later blossom into the fully matured philosophy of the Education des mères. That the hero, a Romantic creation who wanders alone across desolate plains and is blighted by an industrialised society, falls victim to the trappings of introversion and loneliness is certainly significant. For, without family, ungrounded by the moral framework and love he had known there, his future happiness will be, and is, compromised.
It is, then, from those very concerns about familial obligation that the Education des mères takes its cue. From a realisation of the importance of family now comes a recognition of the primordial role of the mother.[20] By 1834, the groundwork done during Aimé-Martin’s younger years at last comes to fruition, his duties as secretary to the Chambre des Députés and as teacher forcing him in previous times to abandon his emerging philosophy. Central to Aimé-Martin’s vision is a conviction in the necessity to properly educate women and, indeed, to review the educative system in its entirety.[21] Clearly, the Education des mères had a significant impact on French society, apparent not only in the fact that it secured for Aimé-Martin the recognition of the Académie française but also in that notions propagated by the work would appear in publications by other authors many years after it first appeared.[22] The treatise, however, ought to be viewed in context, Aimé-Martin’s proposals in no way emulating the visionary pedagogical theories of Condorcet or Wollstonecraft, but taking rather more tentative steps towards the re-spiritualisation of home-life and the provision of a revised national curriculum. The inclusion of a study on the Education des mères was key in conveying to the reader the veritable extent of Aimé-Martin’s literary achievements, but also in adding another dimension to an understanding of him. It is to this end that the author is considered also in his role as a teacher at the Ecole Polytechnique where he taught for just over fifteen years and where he was able to exercise his passion for literary history. Perhaps in part drawing upon his experiences in the teaching profession, Aimé-Martin was able to produce his prize-winning treatise and, thus, to enjoy recognition on a scale that he had never known before. [23] Indeed, Aimé-Martin was celebrated by many of his contemporaries, not least for the way in which he had brought Bernardin back to life through the Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, but equally for his more universal competences as a biographer and editor without specific affiliations and as a writer of didactic works.
In spite of Aimé-Martin’s renown as a cultural figure in the early nineteenth century, his open admiration of luminaries of a bygone era and his continued association with Bernardin and his school[24] have tended towards a general disregard for his contribution to the culture of his day. Having gone some way to redress such a circumstance, the final chapter then examines Aimé-Martin’s correspondence with a man who, for many, epitomises the spirit of the early 1800s, the head of the provisional government of the Second Republic and author of the quintessentially Romantic poem, ‘Le lac’, Alphonse de Lamartine. A look at the association between Lamartine and Aimé-Martin seemed particularly pertinent as a final note for the thesis, intended as a fitting counterbalance to the earlier concentration on Bernardin. The chapter shows Aimé-Martin engaging with significant events and social questions of his time and, had he lived to see out the revolution of 1848, perhaps his friendship with Lamartine would have led to a consideration of his role therein also.[25] To view Aimé-Martin definitively in the context of the nineteenth century was of especial importance in initiating a new and more accurate depiction of him, although this very objective more often engendered a necessary focus on figures and ideologies of Aimé-Martin’s past than on those of his present.
Masters and disciples: Bernardin’s Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau
1.1 Introduction
It is no wonder that, after six years of close friendship with Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Bernardin de Saint-Pierre would see fit to consecrate to paper his intimate memory of the great philosopher. Separated by twenty-five years at the time of their first meeting in June 1772, the discrepancy in age seems not to have hindered the unfolding of their relationship, perhaps even accounting for it; Rousseau impressed by Bernardin’s yearning for quiet and solitude beyond his years, and the latter inspired by Rousseau’s ever-burgeoning interest in the natural world. Rousseau’s influence over the formative ideology of his younger companion (and, some might argue, unintended protégé) was such that Malcolm Cook, in his recent biography of Bernardin, would assert that:
We can certainly detect Rousseau’s influence in many of Bernardin’s writings, and there can be little doubt that their walks together and their discussions were having a considerable impact on the evolution of Bernardin’s philosophy of life.[26]
The manuscripts of Bernardin reveal a body of work relating to Rousseau that would eventually serve as the foundation for his Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau,[27] published by his former secretary, Aimé-Martin, some four years after his death. Importantly, the Essai would appear as part of the Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre (1818) that helped to establish Aimé-Martin as a prominent editor and biographer of his time. Many years after the editor’s early venture, in 1841, an Élias Régnault would comment that, ‘[t]oute publication importante place toujours l’éditeur entre la fortune et la ruine’,[28] and such a reflection was of particular pertinence at the time of Aimé-Martin’s editorial debut in 1818. Indeed, while the realisation of Bernardin’s Œuvres seems to have heralded a new professional interest for its editor,[29] it might as easily have engendered his ostracising from the editorial field. Certainly, Aimé-Martin appears largely to have escaped such an unfavourable reception of his work by his contemporaries but it is noteworthy that in the half-century after his demise the achievements implicit in the Œuvres would be subject to the scrutiny and censure of the scholar Maurice Souriau, drawing upon new-age practices and theories in the editing profession. Importantly, it was the Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau that found itself singled out for some lengthy and in-depth criticism in Souriau’s 1907 study, La Vie et les ouvrages de Jean-Jacques Rousseau, though other of Aimé-Martin’s projects had also been vilified by him.[30] That the Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau was chosen by Souriau as an exemplar of what he deemed the editor’s less-than-optimal methodologies can be partly explained by the wealth of Rousseau-oriented manuscripts available to him at the time of his investigations, in the main all well-preserved and mostly legible. Of course, the association of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre with one of the most celebrated philosophes of the Enlightenment may also have played some part in fostering Souriau’s interest in the Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau, and may reasonably account for it capturing Aimé-Martin’s attention for inclusion in the Œuvres over fifty years previously. Yet, while there can be no denying the interest aroused by the friendship between Rousseau and Bernardin, this study does not propose to shed further light upon their alliance, rather hoping to use the Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau, and the controversy raised by it, as a means of assessing the motivations behind Aimé-Martin’s editorial choices.
1.2 Maurice Souriau
The opening lines of Souriau’s La Vie et les ouvrages de Jean-Jacques Rousseau clearly establish his opinion of the only previous publication of the biography already in general circulation: ‘Le livre sur J.-J. Rousseau projeté par B. de Saint-Pierre a été édité par Aimé Martin avec sa légèreté coutumière’.[31] Indeed, Aimé-Martin’s version of the Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau is presented throughout Souriau’s œuvre as one littered with inconsistencies, and such criticisms can justifiably be levelled at this earlier edition. One is not short of suitable examples of a ‘légèreté’ that undeniably permeates and colours some areas of the work; and a look at the following two texts demonstrates just this:
Bernardin:
[...] il se mit a herboriser, voila l’anemone des bois [...] sa racine s’etend come un reseau par tout le bois [...], nous nous mimes en route et nous traversames les avenues du bois, couvertes de feuilles nouvelles, en partie, nous trouvames dans ces solitudes deux jeunes filles dont l’une racomodoit leurs cheveux [...].
(Fiche 163, Image 012).[32] [33]
Aimé-Martin:
Jean-Jacques se mit à herboriser. Pendant qu’il faisait sa petite récolte, nous avancions toujours. Déja nous avions traversé une partie du bois, lorsque nous aperçûmes dans ces solitudes deux jeunes filles, dont l’une tressait les cheveux de sa compagne.[34]
Admittedly, while the changes outlined do not dramatically alter Bernardin’s original draft, there is a tampering with both style and content that typifies what Souriau deems to be Aimé-Martin’s cavalier attitude towards his editorial duties. Such seeming malpractice would cast a shadow over his treatment of the Correspondance de J.-H. Bernardin de Saint-Pierre some eight years later, though one difference between that project and this is that, far from avoiding mention of his methodologies, Aimé-Martin can be seen in the Essai openly to discuss his methods. Interestingly, such frankness on the editor’s part occasions Souriau’s rather scathing remark that:
Pour faire valoir ses mérites personnels, l’infidèle secrétaire parle avec un certain dédain des éléments informes qu’il a découverts dans les papiers de son maître [...].[35]
The hypocrisy implicit in such a comment cannot be ignored, denying as it does Aimé-Martin’s praiseworthy efforts to defend his choices to his readership[36] and neglectful of the fact that such apparent ‘dédain des éléments informes’ arguably also surfaces in Souriau’s edition. Of course, if Aimé-Martin fails to handle Bernardin’s manuscripts with the respect Souriau believes they deserve, such disdain might well be written into any instance of rejected text that is a feature of both publications and that, in his preface, Aimé-Martin readily acknowledges is a natural consequence of his:
Ces notes n’étaient que des indications; il fallait ou les laisser perdre, ou essayer de les rédiger en leur conservant toute leur simplicité. Quelque désavantage qu’il y eut à entreprendre un pareil travail, il ne nous était pas permis de balancer.[37]
Indeed, there is a measure of accountability in this venture that is apparently missing from some other transcriptions contained in the Œuvres and in the Correspondance, an accountability that is perhaps the by-product of Aimé-Martin’s recent experimentation with editing conventions of the day. In the Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau there exists a consciousness in respect of Aimé-Martin’s editorial practice that ought to be taken into account when assessing the quality and reliability of his work, and that might usefully explain or excuse some of the more controversial decisions regarding his arrangement of the essay. Significantly, a comparison of the Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau with La Vie et les ouvrages de Jean-Jacques Rousseau might allow us better to appreciate the emotional and professional gulf that divides the respective editors of the two works and that inevitably leads to the conflict of interests so obviously at the heart of Souriau’s censure.[38]
1.3 The preparation of the Essai
Both Aimé-Martin and Souriau begin their publications with the same anecdote regarding the ‘cap de bonne Esperance’ (Fiche 161, Image 029),[39] but as we progress through the two editions we see this correlation gradually vacillate and then disappear. Indeed, the two men even fail to agree upon the impetus for Bernardin’s abandonment of his Essai; one citing the publication of Rousseau’s Les Confessions,[40] the other suggesting the Dutailly affair.[41] [42] What was certainly common to Aimé-Martin and Souriau, however, was the status of the documents they were dealing with. One must recognise that both editors were faced with the task of re-ordering a fragmented text, with Aimé-Martin notifying us that:
Une partie de ces matériaux avait été mise en œuvre, le reste était demeuré imparfait. Tels sont les fragments que nous avons essayé de réunir.[43]
It is perhaps inevitable, then, that the editor is wont to refer to his completed Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau as ‘le fragment que nous publions aujourd’hui’:[44] in its turn, a selective compilation of those fragments penned by Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, probably between 1778 and 1779.[45] Souriau, conversely, throws this ‘inevitability’ of the selective process into question, retaining considerably more of Bernardin’s reflections, albeit in their fragmented, disjointed form. To what extent his is an example of effective or responsible editing, however, remains debatable. Souriau’s edition may be more comprehensive than that of Aimé-Martin, but it is arguably less accessible for reasons of its largely un-sequential format. Such a notable discrepancy between the two œuvres makes the process for drawing comparisons between them far from linear or straightforward. The fact that the Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau and La Vie et les ouvrages were both posthumous publications meant that, in the absence of a definitive, official version of the text, both editors were forced to make the selections of their choice. The editing of the essay was rather expectedly not a restrictive or objective process and hence the two publications veer in separate directions. There was, in fact, only one apparent indication about the ordering of the work. It is due to its neatness (and, thus, seeming intention of eventual presentation to a printer) that Bernardin’s Folio 101 (Fiche 161, Image 029) is considered by both men as an official point de départ for the entire œuvre.[46] In addition, the selectiveness that manifests itself in both versions is perpetuated by the fact that, written into the collection of manuscripts, there sometimes appear several versions of text that are actually fundamentally the same, leaving both editors to deal with the problematic of repetition.[47] [48]
It should be noted that this chapter does not offer an exhaustive study of either the Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau nor of La Vie et les ouvrages; my thesis would not, unfortunately, afford the time to conduct such a thorough analysis of the two. Admittedly, there are some questions that remain unanswered by the end of this enquiry, mostly occasioned by the fact that Aimé-Martin, here as in other projects, leaves his edition wanting for many references that would otherwise serve to guide the casual reader or the critic.[49] It is very possible, for example, that many of the apparently inexplicable additions or modifications to his essay are sourced from the Bernardin manuscripts themselves, but the lack of guidance notes in his work not only does a disservice to the diligent, conscientious reader wishing to consult the original texts, but also, as is made so clear by Souriau’s disparagement of his editorial efforts, further exposes Aimé-Martin to criticism.
Furthermore, many of those manuscripts accessed as part of this study lend themselves to a detailed examination of Aimé-Martin’s initial selection and arrangement of the Bernardin texts. In amongst those documents written by Bernardin are copies of his originals, seemingly in Aimé-Martin’s hand, that are invariably punctuated with annotations about the reorganisation or the inclusion or exclusion of text. Such information reveals the careful, considered system that the editor uses to compile his final version of the Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau, challenging, if only superficially, Souriau’s accusations about his literary dilettanteism. Nonetheless, although it is useful to be aware that Aimé-Martin carefully evolved his transcriptions of the Bernardin documents, this is not necessarily important to our understanding of the ultimate changes that were made and, thus, will feature rarely (and often as an aside) in this study. Indeed, the primary concern centres on the edition of Bernardin’s manuscripts that was eventually made available to the public.
Importantly, there ought to be some consideration of the difficulty inherent in deciphering some of the manuscripts’ contents which, in both versions of the essay, occasions both nuance in spelling (and, subsequently, sometimes expression as well) and also causes difficulty in determining and appropriating corrections and revisions to the original draft (see Figure 1.1).[50] Where such issues have seemed to be the case, I deemed reasonable to ignore the changes. Indeed, Souriau deemed fit to remark of one particular section that, ‘La lecture de ce passage est assez conjecturale, car la soudure des corrections est difficile.’[51] Such comments, however, make his unforgiving criticism of Aimé-Martin somewhat harder to swallow, the considerations he affords himself clearly not extending to his predecessor. Is it not possible, after all, that some oversights and changes exist in Aimé-Martin’s edition because of the genuine difficulties, some of which are equally experienced and chronicled by Souriau, of reading certain of the original manuscripts? By identifying many of the modifications to those texts featured in Aimé-Martin’s edition and comparing them with those same texts as handled by Souriau,[52] I hope in this chapter to provide an instructive and insightful analysis of two posthumous editions of a work riddled with challenges of both comprehension and organisation.
FIG. 1.1 Le Havre, Bibilothèque municipale, MS 98A: 6v
[pic]
If Bernardin’s article on Rousseau raised technical, practical problems for Aimé-Martin and Souriau, they manifest themselves in varying degrees of complication. Both men were dealing with basic issues of missing punctuation and imperfect grammar and, while Souriau goes to some lengths to reference the majority of such revisions,[53] Aimé-Martin merely makes the necessary corrections without any indication of his changes. The lack of referencing for all such instances in Aimé-Martin’s edition, nevertheless, is certainly not born out of any sinister desire deliberately to distort the original work for the reader: all such changes are clearly intended to present the most grammatically correct version of the manuscripts possible and, thus, to facilitate the reading of them. A good example of this attention to detail can be seen in the following change:
Bernardin:
[...] d’ou viennent ces admirables qualités de la nature, auxquels ils laissent le tems de se développer [?] (Fiche 161, Image 048).[54]
Aimé-Martin:
D’où viennent donc ces admirables qualités de la nature, auxquelles ils laissent le temps de se développer?[55]
As illustrated, the agreement of ‘qualités’ and ‘auxquelles’ is established in the editor’s copy, along with other improvements of spelling and punctuation. Some other of Aimé-Martin’s more elementary adjustments, however, are not so immediately understandable. In some instances he ignores Bernardin’s own revisions of his work in order to revert back to the initial, original text (a word or expression) and one wonders whether or not this kind of selection can be considered as the most faithful example of the transcription of the original manuscripts or if it simply denies Bernardin his final wishes regarding his essay. Souriau, too, retains some of those elements rejected by Bernardin, as when he writes of Rousseau that, ‘ses gouts etoient aussi simples et aussi naturels [my emphasis].’ (Fiche 159, Image 001).[56] Bernardin crosses through those words italicised above, but they maintain their place in Souriau’s La Vie et les ouvrages.[57] Such interference with Bernardin’s writing style, nonetheless, is easier to excuse when we recognise that it is originally inspired by the man himself. We are not dealing with the re-invention but, rather, the resurrection of the text.
Other common, though arguably minor, changes surface in Aimé-Martin’s publication in an apparent bid to clarify some of Bernardin’s less lucid points. In the following example, Aimé-Martin’s introduction of several adjectives seems intended to reinforce the notion of various social stereotypes by specifying their defining characteristics:
Bernardin:
[...] je ne parle pas des autres ridicules mis sur la scene parmi nous comme les etats de la societe, les peres, les domestiques, les maris, les medecins, les gens de robe, les poetes, les tuteurs, enfin tous les liens de la nature et de la societé brisés par le ridicule. (Fiche 161, Image 050).[58]
Aimé-Martin:
Je ne parle pas des autres ridicules mis sur la scène parmi nous, comme les pères trompés, les domestiques fripons, les maris abusés, les médecins, les gens de robe, les poëtes, les tuteurs [...].[59]
Yet, this meddling is speculative and potentially limits or alters a myriad of possible associations that could stem from Bernardin’s original text. Later in Aimé-Martin’s essay this explanatory approach to the Bernardin copy manifests itself again in the following passage:
Bernardin:
[…] arrivés, conduits à la chapelle [:] litanie de la providence. providence qui avez soin des empires, des voyageurs [...]. (Fiche 163, Image 011).
Aimé-Martin:
Le religieux […] nous conduisit à la chapelle, où l’on récitait les litanies de la Providence, qui sont très belles.[60] Nous entrâmes justement au moment où l’on prononçait ces mots: Providence qui avez soin des empires ! Providence qui avez soin des voyageurs![61]
While the revised version, admittedly, paints a clearer picture of the episode, it also drastically alters the style of Bernardin’s original by abandoning his staccato phraseology and replacing it with detailed narrative. Indeed, regardless of whether or not this in any way improves upon Bernardin’s work, there is an apparent disregard for the author’s real voice as we are left with only a faint whisper of his initial wording. Importantly, this is far from the most dramatic or intrusive of Aimé-Martin’s stylistic revisions. In the midst of some fickle toying with vocabulary (‘son epouse’ to ‘sa femme’;[62] ‘axiomes’ to ‘traits’)[63] there are some small changes that stand out as deliberately misleading. Such is the case in Aimé-Martin’s description of Rousseau as ‘sauvage’[64] when, in the original, he is described simply as ‘solitaire’ (Fiche 162, Image 026).[65] It is probable that Aimé-Martin meant merely to add another dimension to this image of the ‘solitaire’ but this playing with style is evidently dangerous as it allows for marked misinterpretation of Bernardin’s meaning. Aimé-Martin and Souriau also make some presumptuous decisions regarding speech in the essay. They both display some inconsistencies in their mode of citing quotations, although this cannot be too severely criticised since Bernardin has no properly established method himself. Indeed, the following examples highlight the problem of effectively identifying the parameters of speech within the essay:
Aimé-Martin:
Cette distinction du caractère naturel et du caractère social m’a paru nécessaire pour bien faire comprendre une chose que disait Rousseau: Je suis d’un naturel hardi et d’un caractère timide. L’un était le caractère donné par la nature ; l’autre le caractère acquis ou social.[66]
Souriau:
Cette distinction était nécessaire pour comprendre une chose que disait Rousseau: ‘Je suis d’un naturel hardi, et d’un caractère timide.’ L’un etoit le caractere doné par la nature, l’autre le caractere acquis ou social.[67]
Due to the fact that in Bernardin’s version no quotation marks exist to denote Rousseau’s speech, one could in fact read the quote as everything from ‘Je suis’ to ‘acquis ou social’. That the exact parameters of Rousseau’s words are not defined in Aimé-Martin’s copy either, actually brings it closer to the original than that of Souriau who presumes to identify the speech correctly.
1.4 Significant changes
If many of the editorial decisions made by both Aimé-Martin and Souriau were taken with the reader’s pleasure in mind, then none are more so than the conscious avoidance of repetition in the two œuvres (though most especially in that of Aimé-Martin). Souriau is perhaps to be commended for his largely faithful transcription of the Bernardin manuscripts in his edition, but his dedication to the inclusion of most of the original sources available to him arguably could be considered to jeopardise the quality of his work. Indeed, it is not unusual for ideas to be repeated, almost exactly, throughout Bernardin’s essay and this is reflected in Souriau’s publication. It goes without saying that the re-appearance of ideas, while possibly becoming somewhat irritating for the reader, also serves to revive or reinforce what Bernardin deemed to be important anecdotes or concepts; however, is it not more likely that this re-emergence of similar text is merely a reflection of the fact that the Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau was still in the midst of its creation when the author abandoned it? It is doubtful that Bernardin expressly desired to compose an œuvre riddled with recycled sections of text. Significantly, Souriau was perhaps aware that in remaining largely faithful to the original text he was, to some degree, compromising the positive reception of his edition. His decision to relegate a passage of text to a footnote on pages 50-51[68] of his work (when there is no indication by Bernardin to do so) is evidently influenced by the fact that he will later include a very similar passage from Folio 155 (Fiche 163, Image 013)[69] on page 111 of his La Vie et les ouvrages. Aimé-Martin deals with this situation by retaining that same paragraph,[70] sidelined in the earlier part of Souriau’s edition, and excluding the later passage entirely. Souriau perhaps strikes a better balance here by refusing to omit any part of the two folios in question, but is this really necessary for the reader to appreciate what Bernardin is trying to say in either of these sections?[71] Aimé-Martin is, nevertheless, guilty of some repetition. On page 449 of his Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau, for example, he uses many of the thoughts on Voltaire and Rousseau to be later recycled in the Parallèle de Voltaire et de J.-J. Rousseau, which begins on page 453. Some phrases remain strikingly similar:
Essai:
Il [Rousseau] disait de lui [Voltaire]: Son premier mouvement est d’être bon; c’est la réflexion qui le rend méchant.[72]
Parallèle:
C’est la réflexion qui le rend méchant, son premier mouvement est d’être bon, disait Rousseau.[73]
Yet, in the main, Aimé-Martin makes a concerted effort to rid his edition of all such occurrences. The reader’s enjoyment was most certainly high on his agenda when compiling the Essai and he was surely conscious that the repetition of substantial volumes of text may have served to deter or exasperate many an enquirer. It is for this very reason that Aimé-Martin takes the editorial liberties exemplified in his treatment of the text contained in Folio 112. Two of the passages (found on Fiche 161, Image 048 and Fiche 161, Image 049 respectively)[74] display such subtle variations that the editor, justifiably in my opinion, chooses to omit the later anecdote, considering it superfluous in light of the first.[75] [76] Indeed, Aimé-Martin appears fastidious about this issue of repetition, extending it to even the smallest of references. A mention of ‘le P. Charlevoix’,[77] described by Bernardin as having been ‘chargé par le gouvernement d’observer le caractere des peuples de l’amerique septentrionale’ (Fiche 161, Image 049), is cut short in Aimé-Martin’s version; but this can be reasonably explained by the fact that, as is often the case, a near-identical phrase appears elsewhere in the manuscripts and is accordingly utilised in the Essai.[78] Of course, if our judicious editor has once made use of the phrase, it is no surprise to discover that he is loath to do so again. It is reasonable that such changes in Aimé-Martin’s work as those hitherto discussed might call into question his commitment to an honest presentation of the Bernardin manuscripts. It is clear that his edition lacks much of the stringent referencing and ethical considerations of the Souriau version of the Rousseau biography. However, it is worth noting that many of those changes referred to are necessitated, certainly in Aimé-Martin’s view, by inadequacies and inconveniences inherent in the compiling of a posthumous work and one wonders whether Bernardin might have condemned or applauded Aimé-Martin’s modifications to his essay.
While the ordering of the Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau as a whole is open to debate,[79] there is much rearranging of text that had been seemingly ‘fixed’ by Bernardin within the confines of various folios. Aimé-Martin is particularly fond of this internal, microcosmic re-ordering. When comparing the following passages we see that there seems to have been an addition to the original:
Bernardin:
[…] lecture. R. tres attentif. lecture [:] injustice des plaintes de l’home; dieu l’a tiré du neant il ne lui doit que le neant. Nous etions sortis. (Fiche 163, Image 011).
Aimé-Martin:
Rousseau fut très attentif. Le sujet était l’injustice des plaintes de l’homme : Dieu l’a tiré du néant il ne lui doit que le néant. Après cette lecture, Rousseau me dit d’une voix profondément émue: Ah ! qu’ on est heureux de croire ! Hélas ! lui répondis-je, cette paix n’est qu’une paix trompeuse et apparente ; les mêmes passions qui tourmentent les hommes du monde respirent ici [...].[80]
However, rather than adding text, Aimé-Martin actually makes an important change to the order of Bernardin’s Folio 155 (where this section features). He transposes this apparently new text from later in Folio 155, due to his intention to finish the transcription before reaching the end of the folio. Nonetheless, it is noteworthy that by relocating the passage, Aimé-Martin actually changes the meaning of ‘paix’. In the original it can be read thus:
Bernardin:
[…] je lui parle dans le cloitre, tapissé d’inscriptions consolantes, cette paix, lui dis-je, n’est qu’une paix trompeuse, et apparente ; les memes passions y suivent les homes. (Fiche 163, Image 011).
Yet, while the ‘paix’ of Bernardin’s version refers to the peace to be felt within the ‘cloitre’, the ‘paix’ of Aimé-Martin’s copy has an uncertain origin: has it manifested itself in the ‘lecture’ or in the ‘réfectoire’[81] (in Aimé-Martin’s edition, where the two men have come to listen to the gospel)? Whilst this change of meaning results from Aimé-Martin’s seemingly clumsy re-ordering of Bernardin’s text, some of his other reorganising is evidently carefully thought through. The insertion of an extended debate over Rousseau’s Emile towards the end of the essay seems, at first glance, to be pure invention:
Aimé-Martin:
Jamais je ne pourrais me résoudre à faire Sophie infidèle [...] Ce sujet, me répondit-il, est utile ; il ne suffit pas de préparer à la vertu, il faut garantir du vice. Les femmes ont encore plus à se méfier des femmes que des hommes. Je crains, répondis-je, que les fautes de Sophie ne soient plus contraires aux moeurs, que l’exemple de sa vertu ne leur sera profitable : d’ailleurs son repentir pourrait être plus touchant que son innocence ; et un pareil effet ne serait pas sans danger pour la morale [my emphasis].[82]
The anecdote is, however, yet another illustration of the reorganisation process. Initially, one might believe it to be inspired by a line in Bernardin’s Folio 101,[83] though it actually derives from Folio 156:
Bernardin:
[…] ce sujet, dit-il [Rousseau], est utile, il ne suffit pas de preparer a la vertu, il faut se garantir du vice. Les femes ont encore plus a se mefier des femes que des homes [...] la faute de Sophie est plus instructive que sa sagesse, et son repentir plus touchant que sa vertu [my emphasis]. (Fiche 163, Image 015).[84]
Admittedly, Aimé-Martin might not be inventing text in his edition, but he is guilty of appropriating some of Rousseau’s speech to Bernardin in part of this transcription. The italicised text from his version seems to be an expansion of that highlighted text of the original, with a major difference in the fact that Rousseau, in the editor’s version, is no longer holding that opinion about ‘Sophie’ (which is now held by Bernardin). Does Aimé-Martin make this calculated alteration in order better to nurture the idea of the compatibility of the two men’s thoughts? In the editor’s version Bernardin is not only swayed by Rousseau but he is also able to articulate Rousseau’s very meaning: a clear indication of their intellectual connection. There are many examples of this repositioning of passages throughout Aimé-Martin’s Essai and it is certainly true that such revisions can first appear both ruthless and extreme in the way they divide and redistribute text. The editor is not alone in this practice, however, as Souriau is also wont to rework many of the folios he handles.[85] Indeed, this is surely the editor’s role in selecting and preparing text for publication. It is only when this selection unduly destabilises or corrupts intended messages in the original version that this process becomes both problematic and questionable, as seen in the examples above.
Importantly, the expansion of some sections in Aimé-Martin’s edition cannot always be explained by the re-ordering of Bernardin’s manuscripts. While, as previously discussed, some additions possibly originate from tangible, authentic sources contained in the folios but unacknowledged by the editor,[86] others seem to be fabricated by Aimé-Martin for a number of specific purposes. Some of the more minor, and less comprehensible, additions can be seen in Aimé-Martin’s reference to ‘les noms de Colin et de Colette’ on the ‘Fontaine de Saint-Pierre’;[87] and in his speculation that ‘Pendant le repas’ Bernardin and Rousseau should naturally ‘traiter des questions philosophiques à la manière des convives dont parle Plutarque dans ses Propos de table’.[88] In fact, it is not unusual for Aimé-Martin to expand allusions to the classical writers made in the original manuscripts. The extension of a passage featuring the words, ‘parlant des romains, des grecs’ (Fiche 163, Image 014) to a more lengthy account of Rousseau’s philosophical musings;[89] and the supplement[90] to the anecdote about the ‘bergeres dans la solitude’ (Fiche 163, Image 011) are evidence of this penchant for classicising Bernardin’s Essai. Indeed, while Aimé-Martin may have considered such changes to elevate his work (or, rather, that of Bernardin), he most certainly also intended them to elevate those very protagonists at the heart of the Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau. Aimé-Martin betrays such pre-occupations in his preface to the essay:
En lisant les notes où Bernardin de Saint-Pierre consignait ces souvenirs [...] on croit lire quelques passages d’un dialogue de Socrate et de Platon.[91]
And, a little further on, he informs us that, ‘on est presque étonné de voir qu’ils étaient hommes!’[92] From the outset there is a clear agenda concerning the representation of both Rousseau and Bernardin and the editor modifies their conversations and related anecdotes accordingly.
That Aimé-Martin was keen to produce a work with far-reaching appeal engendered arguably necessary additions to the original texts. One ought to remember that his Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau is delivered in continuous prose, making for a markedly pleasurable, accessible read. Souriau quite rightly observes, with regard to the episode ‘du silencieux Dauphinois’ featured in Aimé-Martin’s text, that ‘elle est imprimée d’après une copie qui développe en douze lignes quatre lignes de Bernardin.’[93] The slight distortion of the number of extra lines aside, Souriau is making a very pertinent remark about the way in which Aimé-Martin expands several passages of the manuscripts. However, an examination of the text referred to here might help us to understand why Aimé-Martin feels it necessary to develop it:
Bernardin:
[…] il me [ra]conta d’un qui lui voyant manger une graine. Il rencontra un [word illegible] [:] que mangés vous là? c’est du poison. Du poison?, l’autre dit que la [word illegible] bon. Mais j’ai vu que vous trouves cela bon. Je n’ai voulu [word illegible] ce n’etoit poison dit-il [...]. (Fiche 161, Image 031).[94]
There is evidently some considerable difficulty in reading about this rather unusual encounter, especially when coupled with its disjointed delivery. Aimé-Martin’s revisions retain the basic message of the text while overcoming this awkward narrative voice and clarifying (albeit speculatively) some points of confusion for the reader:
Aimé-Martin:
Rousseau me citait encore un Dauphinois, calme, réservé, qui se promenait avec lui en le suivant toujours sans rien dire. Un jour il vit cueillir à Rousseau les graines d’une espèce de saule, agréables au goût; comme il les tenait à la main; et qu’il en mangeait, une troisième personne survint qui, tout effrayée, lui dit: Que mangez-vous donc là? c’est du poison. –Comment! dit Rousseau, du poison! –Eh oui! et monsieur que voilà peut vous le dire aussi bien que moi.-Pourquoi donc ne m’en a-t-il pas averti? –Mais, reprit le silencieux Dauphinois, c’est que cela paraissait vous faire plaisir.[95]
The obvious gaps and ill-expression of the original surely serve to support the theory, propounded by Souriau, that Bernardin was forced to abandon his project while in the midst of its realisation; and, thus, the tampering with the manuscript can reasonably be considered a well-intentioned necessity. However, if this particular example might be viewed from such an indulgent and forgiving perspective, there is clearly no defence for some of the more obviously calculated additions found elsewhere in Aimé-Martin’s work. The desired effect of the following supplement is unmistakeable:
Bernardin:
[…] j’aime ce qui me rappelle le nord, je vous parlerai de mes amours […]. (Fiche 163, Image 014).
Aimé-Martin:
J’aime ce qui me rappelle le nord : à cette occasion je lui racontai mes aventures en Russie et mes amours malheureuses en Pologne.[96]
Aimé-Martin adopts the reference to the ‘nord’ and expands upon it, harnessing the opportunity to impose something of Bernardin’s biography and, therefore, to reiterate some of those areas already featured in his Essai sur la vie de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre.[97] The allusion to Poland could not occupy a better place in the Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau, bound up as it is with the nostalgia and emotion of the final, parting scene of Aimé-Martin’s edition. Yet, even if in this reference to the ‘nord’ and, more importantly, to ‘mes amours’ Bernardin infers a nostalgic lament about the Polish princess, Marie Miesnik,[98] and her ilk this is not stated anywhere on the folio in question (156) nor elsewhere in Bernardin’s Rousseau manuscripts. Such a change to the original, while it diminishes nothing of it at face value, proves reductive in the way it channels and guides the reader’s interpretation of the articles therein. What is more, there is certainly something sinister about the way Aimé-Martin should use a transcription of Bernardin’s work to promote and reinforce elements of his own œuvre or, indeed, of his own conjectures about his mentor’s history.[99] Indeed, some other of his additions, although helpful for the reader, remain unclear in their motivations. Where Souriau retains Bernardin’s version of a letter from Rousseau,[100] Aimé-Martin sees fit to insert instead a transcription of that very letter as written by Rousseau himself.[101] [102] His reasons for this decision may initially seem intended to authenticate Bernardin’s essay (with the inclusion of the genuine article) or even to lessen the severity of the version of the letter cited in the manuscript (Bernardin portrays a much more brutal Rousseau in his version).[103] However, as a look at a related footnote in the published text will verify, Aimé-Martin is actually concerned, not to authenticate Bernardin’s work nor to moderate Rousseau’s ‘letter’ but, rather, to make a show of his own resourcefulness: ‘Nous rétablissons ici le texte de ces deux lettres que nous avons retrouvées depuis la première édition’.[104] Whilst the fledgling editor might be keen simply to underline his professionalism, such self-promotion written in to the Essai smacks of opportunism, raising further questions about the genuine motives behind those variants to be found in his publication.
For all of Aimé-Martin’s many additions to the manuscript texts there are, also, some substantial omissions. We have seen how the editor often discarded repeated ideas or anecdotes in the Essai but he was also making some more liberal decisions about what he deemed to be ‘unnecessary’ text. Strangely, for a work concerned with the remembrance of Rousseau, there are some significant choices regarding the exclusion of speech or discussion attributed to Rousseau in Bernardin’s biography. Such is the case when Aimé-Martin misses out Rousseau’s reflections on ‘les pays de montagne’ (Fiche 163, Image 012) or his anecdote about the ‘moucheron’ (Fiche 163, Image 012). Of course, this can perhaps be explained by Aimé-Martin’s awareness of his readership’s familiarity with Les Confessions. There seems to be some concern about this very issue from early on in the Essai:
Cependant il n’est point inutile de remarquer qu’en recueillant ces fragments, il nous a été impossible de ne pas répéter quelques uns des traits déjà rapportés dans les Confessions.[105]
Although he refers in his preface to similar traits included in his essay, this desire preliminarily to excuse any repetition of material from Les Confessions suggests that Aimé-Martin might have been eager not to overuse any potentially well-chronicled personal anecdotes about Rousseau by omitting them from his œuvre altogether.[106]
One omission in the essay is of particular interest. We see Aimé-Martin modify the whole episode regarding the two protagonists’ entry into ‘une eglise’ on the ‘Mont Valerien’:[107]
Bernardin:
Ayant frapé un des Ιers nous dit qu’on ne pouvoit nous recevoir à cause des comis aux aides qui les voulaient mettre sur la liste des cabaretiers [...].
(Fiche 163, Image 012).
Why ‘un des Iers’ should not want to feed the two men, Bernardin and Rousseau, is not quite clear: perhaps because the ‘comis aux aides’ stipulates that, as innkeepers, they would not be able to feed customers unless they were lodging at the premises as well. Possible explanations aside, this uncharitable, unchristian ‘greeting’ obviously makes an impression on Bernardin as later he (or Rousseau, it is not made explicit in his text)[108] states that, ‘ces litanies de la providence sont belles. Oui, pourvu qu’après avoir preché de la providence, ils nous refusent pas l’hospital[ité].’ (Fiche 163, Image 012). In Aimé-Martin’s edition, however, all mention of this episode is carefully erased, with the likely intention of masking any hint of Bernardin’s displeasure with representatives of the Church, an authority that had latterly been so keen to endorse his master’s doctrine and that Aimé-Martin continued to see as an important stalwart in the upholding of his reputation.
Other factors were also at stake for Aimé-Martin in his paring down of the manuscripts. Significantly, Bernardin is seen to stray from his proposed intentions for the essay[109] at various stages throughout the manuscripts. Indeed, anecdotes of his own life pepper the work, as can be gleaned from such instances as that when he recounts the tale of his truancy.[110] It is probable that such tangents in Bernardin’s work were rejected by Aimé-Martin, not only because they were in some sense irrelevant to Bernardin’s specific project, but also because the editor had already amassed many of the author’s personal anecdotes to include them in his Essai sur la vie de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre.[111] Certainly, the manuscripts concerning Rousseau were littered with material that could, and did undoubtedly, become sources for Aimé-Martin’s biography on Bernardin, and little wonder since both essays were being compiled simultaneously.[112] Yet, while Aimé-Martin’s transposing of text attributed to the Rousseau essay within the Rousseau essay itself is, to some extent, understandable, excusable even, this more radical treatment of the manuscripts (whereby he borrows text and claims it as his own) conveys a marked irreverence in respect of Bernardin’s authorial intentions that is more difficult to vindicate. It is of note that Souriau, who proves so conscientious in his handling of the manuscripts, declares that:
Je n’ai tiré de cette masse de notes que ce qui concerne directement Rousseau, laissant de côté les réflexions trop générales, qui n’intéressent que B. de Saint-Pierre, puisqu’elles sont simplement des idées à côté du sujet.[113]
Of course, if Souriau chooses not to include some superfluous information (in that it contributes nothing towards our understanding of Rousseau) in his essay, some might argue that what at first appears as plagiarism in Aimé-Martin’s text, is rather the mark of an artful and enterprising mind. Where Souriau decides to ignore episodes that he deems ‘simplement des idées à côté du sujet’, Aimé-Martin, whose relative creativity cannot be contested, sets about recycling those episodes elsewhere. Nevertheless, Aimé-Martin’s inventiveness begs the question: are passages displaced from the Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau in the genuine interest of streamlining its contents, or is the essay pared down at the expense of its narrative and to the benefit of Aimé-Martin’s biographical enterprise?
Importantly, it is in some of the most drastic and seemingly unprincipled modifications to the original that we see Aimé-Martin’s entrepreneurial qualities display themselves, his choices so often appear driven by a consciousness of the commercial viability manifest in particular aspects of Bernardin’s work. Such is clearly the case in his decisions to omit banal or repetitive information from the essay and, indeed, when re-arranging the order and determining the specificity of subjects contained in the manuscripts. Many of Aimé-Martin’s changes also appear destined to protect the reputation of both Rousseau and Bernardin. It goes without saying that the editor’s improvements to style and presentation in the essay arguably go some way towards protecting or reinforcing Bernardin’s reputation as a successful, competent writer, but some alterations take this protectionist policy one step further. In one change, Aimé-Martin produces a more modest reason than that cited by Bernardin for his reluctance to continue Rousseau’s Emile:
Bernardin:
[…] vous scavés que je me suis chargé. (Fiche 163, Image 014).
Aimé-Martin :
Je n’ai point votre style, lui disais-je, cet ouvrage serait de deux couleurs.[114]
One cannot help but notice the irony in the editor’s choice of phrase here. While his change offers the reader a less introverted, less selfish Bernardin, in abandoning the original text he consequently creates a work ‘de deux couleurs’. In another example, as noted by Souriau,[115] Aimé-Martin extends a paragraph recounting a trip to the theatre made by the two men. Of especial note is the concluding part of the anecdote:
Bernardin:
[…] je dis à mes voisins, n’en parlez pas, voilà M. R. Il se fit une barrière. (Fiche 161, Image 038).[116]
Aimé-Martin:
Enfin, m’adressant au groupe qui était devant moi, je me hasardai de prononcer le nom de Rousseau, en recommandant le secret. A peine cette parole fut elle-dite, qu’il se fit un grand silence. On le considérait respectueusement [...].[117]
In Bernardin’s account it seems that either Bernardin has disgruntled Rousseau by announcing his presence in the theatre and, therefore, Rousseau ‘se fit une barrière’ or he simply instinctively, customarily puts up ‘une barrière’ when in public (which would support much of what Bernardin writes about him in his essay). In either event, it is clearly Rousseau who creates this ‘barrière’ in the original version. In Aimé-Martin’s edition, however, the ‘barrière’ becomes a mark of respect, ‘un grand silence’, imposed not by Rousseau but by the crowd. In addition, the editor hazards an explanation for Bernardin’s actions, having him reflect that, ‘L’envie me prit de le nommer, dans l’espérance que ceux qui l’environnaient le protégeraient contre la foule.’[118] This whole series of alterations is obviously intended to promote Rousseau’s image while also excusing any seeming misconduct on Bernardin’s part. Certainly, there is a general feeling in the Essai that Rousseau had been misunderstood by his contemporaries and perhaps Aimé-Martin felt a sense of duty to revolutionise many of the misconceptions about him through his edition, even if it had to be at the expense of some of the original text. Nonetheless, it seems rather nonsensical that an essay written by Bernardin as a quasi apologie of his friend should need any revisions in the interest of excusing or justifying Rousseau. In spite of this it seems that Aimé-Martin considered some elements insufficient to meet this end and, through arrogance or over-zealousness, he makes what he deems to be ‘necessary’ adjustments.
In the midst of Aimé-Martin’s editorial modifications there are some that came about due to the several historical inaccuracies evident in Bernardin’s manuscripts. It was an accepted fact that Bernardin had not yet read Les Confessions when he came to write his essay[119] and this occasions a string of misinformation to be written into the Rousseau biography. It is perhaps expected, then, that Aimé-Martin should make some basic corrections to the original essay, as seen in the updated (and historically sound) account of Rousseau’s reading of Plutarch,[120] or of the arrival in Lyon.[121] Souriau criticises Aimé-Martin’s multiple revisions,[122] but is he not to be commended for this attention to detail? Importantly, both Bernardin and the editor stand to benefit from the correction of such basic errors, the revised version denying the author’s shortcomings while also avoiding possible accusations of Aimé-Martin’s ignorance of cultural history. It is doubtful, nonetheless, that Aimé-Martin should have needed to exercise such caution on Bernardin’s behalf, after all the author acknowledges his ignorance of Les Confessions (both in the original and in Aimé-Martin’s edition) and even emphasises his commitment in his narrative ‘de ne pas renfermer la plus legere circonstance que je n’en aye eté le temoin ou que je ne la tienne de sa bouche’.[123] It is arguable, too, that Aimé-Martin might have done better simply to highlight the historical inaccuracies prevalent in the essay in a series of footnotes (something he does with regard to an incorrect reference to mademoiselle Levasseur’s birthplace),[124] thus allowing him to retain the original text.
There is only one instance in the manuscript copies of the Essai where Bernardin makes a historical revision of his own, asserting that, ‘[Rousseau] avoit épousé Mlle le Vasseur du pays de Bresse, de la religion catholique – dont il n’a point eu d’enfans.’ (Fiche 158, Image 059).[125] Interestingly, Bernardin rejects all the text marked in italics. Souriau suggests the initial assertion is an innocent mistake:[126]
On voit aussi qu’il avait soigneusement transcrit toutes les confidences de Rousseau, même celles qui étaient fausses: ‘dont il n’a point eu d’enfans’. Mieux informé, il corrige l’erreur, avec une entière bonne foi.[127] [128]
Unusually, unlike other instances where he would merely acknowledge the omission by referencing it in a footnote, Souriau includes the unwanted line in the body text;[129] demonstrating that he was not infused with that desire, so prominent in Aimé-Martin’s work, to censor the manuscripts (by sidelining less palatable or historically unsound aspects of them).[130] Importantly, this reference to Rousseau’s children provides a rare example of a situation where the editor chooses not to display the historical facts at his disposal, thus, avoiding admission of Rousseau’s very questionable treatment of his five orphaned children.[131]
It is noteworthy that Aimé-Martin, unwittingly perhaps, invents some of his own historical inaccuracies. In the preface to his essay, for example, he suggests that Bernardin inspires Rousseau to abandon the company of the likes of Diderot.[132] Yet, this claim is both idealistic and misleading since, in Les Confessions, Rousseau states that his friendship with Diderot begins in 1744 and continues for some fifteen years: ‘Cela forma bientôt entre nous des liaisons plus intimes, qui ont duré quinze ans’.[133] This would bring us to a rupture of their union in the year 1759, at least twelve years prior to Rousseau’s first encounter with Bernardin and, therefore, too premature to have any overlap with it. This obvious distortion of history is clearly meant to exaggerate the influence that Bernardin had over his friend. Interestingly, in another passage, this very distortion is inverted with Rousseau portrayed as leaving a very positive impression on Bernardin in the wake of their first meeting: ‘Dès qu’il connut Rousseau, il l’aima, on peut dire, avec passion’.[134] Indeed, Aimé-Martin implies a sudden blossoming of the writers’ friendship, a view challenged by a letter written by Bernardin to Duval on 29th July 1772, soon after his first visit to Rousseau:
J’en sors quelquefois pour aller voir M. D’Alembert et votre compatriote, qui n’est pas trop sociable (1). [The ‘(1)’ denotes Rousseau].[135]
Of course, Bernardin is far from suggesting that he dislikes Rousseau as a result of his unsociable nature, but nor is there any indication of the unconsidered, mutual affection alluded to in the opening of Aimé-Martin’s essay. Indeed, even the gradual regularity of those meetings that characterised their early friendship implies a much more cautious beginning to their relationship than Aimé-Martin allows for in his preface.
1.5 Conclusion
It is undeniable that Aimé-Martin sometimes showed himself to be a renegade editor by modern standards, but, occasionally, so too did Souriau. While the latter’s La Vie et les ouvrages de Jean-Jacques Rousseau was clearly well-referenced and thorough in its treatment of the manuscripts,[136] Souriau inevitably made small but notable oversights in his transcription (a ‘31’ (page 73) instead of a ‘34’ (Fiche 161, Image 049); a confusion of syntax on page 45).[137] However, such minor details cannot take away from his overall fidelity to the original texts. It is certain that we witness nothing close to the number of noteworthy changes that surface in Aimé-Martin’s text in Souriau’s work. Nonetheless, it ought to be remembered that Maurice Souriau had the distinct advantage of a precedent work to guide his own version of the essay; and, while he indirectly claims to ignore this earlier edition in some sections of his œuvre[138] there are certainly instances where he is most likely compelled to rely upon Aimé-Martin’s efforts (for which service he affords the editor no credit).[139] The academic, objective approach that presides over Souriau’s La Vie et les ouvrages engenders his animosity towards an editor who is marching to the beat of a very different drum, and that blinds him to the many merits of the Essai. The words of Élias Régnault, though conceived over half a century before Souriau’s attack on Aimé-Martin’s text, have particular resonance for the professional relationship of two editors separated by time and space and, most significantly, by their individual prejudices. He writes:
Ce que l’on peut à bon droit reprocher aux éditeurs, c’est l’esprit de dénigrement et de jalousie qui règne parmi eux. […] quand il s’agit d’un confrère, ils lui contestent le plus petit mérite: tous ses succès sont dus au hasard, son habileté n’est que de l’intrigue; et plutôt que de lui faire hommage d’une réussite qui n’est due qu’à de constants efforts et à une intelligence qui ne se dément jamais, ils aiment mieux tout rapporter à l’auteur et rabaisser à plaisir leurs propres fonctions, en attaquant à outrance celui qui sait les rendre honorables.[140]
For all of Souriau’s disparagement of the achievements of his predecessor, and while La Vie et les ouvrages de Jean-Jacques Rousseau can reasonably be deemed a reliable edition of the Rousseau biography, its status as a comprehensive critique of Aimé-Martin’s Essai is not quite so well established. Souriau misses many opportunities to cite specific examples of the editor’s meddling, suggesting that the vehement criticism of the avant propos is more an isolated, introductory article (designed to elucidate the motivations for the essay) than it is a theme to dominate and direct Souriau’s work. That he seemingly could not and would not learn from his ‘confrère’ was, according to Régnault, the lot of many an editor, perhaps too anxious to promote and to ‘faire hommage’ to a ‘réussite’ of his own making.
In the introduction to his essay, Bernardin attests that, ‘Je ne mets d’autre art dans ma narration qu’un peu d’ordre [...]’ (Fiche 158, Image 054). One wonders to what extent this can be said of Aimé-Martin’s œuvre. My study has demonstrated that his Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau needs to be treated with some caution. Certainly, Aimé-Martin seems to be guilty of abusing his position as editor, from the additions he imposes to the omissions he makes, although, as we have seen, he is not always alone in generating many such changes. After alluding to some choice examples of Aimé-Martin’s reworking of the manuscripts, Souriau attests that:
On voit déjà, par ce simple aperçu, que le travail de Martin ne ressemble guère au livre projeté par B. de Saint-Pierre. Nous pouvons donc le considérer comme nul et non avenu, le rejeter au tas de ces œuvres soi-disant posthumes, dont j’ai démontré ailleurs le caractère apocryphe.[141]
However, this is one of numerous examples of the critic’s penchant for making some rather unhelpful generalisations about Aimé-Martin’s editorial undertakings and one should, thus, treat such sweeping statements with the suspicion they deserve. Furthermore, this radical proposal fails to take into account the fact that Bernardin’s manuscripts were still, in the main, far from ready to be condensed into a ‘livre’. Souriau writes quite candidly and confidently about the ‘livre projeté’, but in reality the final work was still to be teased out of the collection of materials contained in the manuscripts. I have previously established the problems that collating Bernardin’s essay engendered for the two editors: mainly those of selection and organisation. That Aimé-Martin and Souriau approach the manuscripts differently can be explained, not by the non-conformism of the former and the conservatism of the latter, but by the freedom given them by the absence of a definitive version of the essay. Admittedly, Aimé-Martin displays a more liberal handling of the original, in his greater selectiveness for example, but this arguably can be seen as a positive aspect of his work. His organisation of the text allows for a more fluid progression through the narrative than in Souriau’s rather haphazard edition, littered as it is with the repetition of passages and ideas. [142] Of course, it is in failing to reference many of his changes that Aimé-Martin left himself vulnerable to the criticisms of Souriau and others.[143]
Nonetheless, perhaps Aimé-Martin should be judged, not on the intricacies of his editorial methods, but on the degree to which he adheres to those original wishes that first inspired Bernardin’s œuvre.[144] Indeed, the success of the author-editor ‘partnership’ should surely rest upon the correlation of respective objectives, as articulated in the recent enquiry into the evolution of the editor:
Auteur et éditeur, fonction auctoriale et fonction éditoriale émergent conjointement, corrélativement, comme l’avers et le revers d’une même médaille, les deux acteurs d’un même jeu […].[145]
Like any dutiful editor, then, Souriau asks, ‘Qu’est-ce donc que Bernardin avait eu l’intention de faire? Une apologie de son ami mort. Il voulait défendre la mémoire de Jean-Jacques contre les libelles et les calomnies.’[146] Significantly, there is evidence of Aimé-Martin’s genuine desire to fulfil this very goal to ‘défendre la mémoire de Jean-Jacques’ throughout the essay. Indeed, it is worth noting that Aimé-Martin was widely considered to be a disciple of both Bernardin and Rousseau.[147] Bernardin asserts that ‘le sort d’un homme de lettres est donc bien a plaindre en France’ (Fiche 159, Image 007)[148] and perhaps what we witness in Aimé-Martin’s edition of the essay is the disciple’s faithful attempt to make that ‘sort’ (albeit in a posthumous context) a much more positive experience for both Rousseau and Bernardin.
Addressing the Correspondence of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre:
The editing of his letters to Pierre-Michel Hennin
2.1 Introduction
It is little wonder that once Aimé-Martin had realised the publication of the Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre he would proceed to share with the public articles of his mentor’s extensive correspondence. Such practice was not uncommon in the first three decades of the nineteenth century, as evidenced by the contemporary trend towards the publication of memoirs and letters pertaining to such personalities as Madame d’Épinay[149] and Voltaire[150] and, certainly, the editor of Bernardin’s correspondence[151] can be considered to have been buying into a culture that willingly sought anecdotal or epistolary records of celebrated lives. The Correspondance de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre was, in Aimé-Martin’s view, a natural progression from what he had accomplished through the Œuvres, imparting further, more profound insights into the life of Bernardin:
Ces correspondances auront d’autant plus d’intérêt qu’on aura mieux compris les ouvrages de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre.[152]
Importantly, however, Aimé-Martin considered the releasing of the Correspondance into the public domain not only as an opportune commercial venture, but equally as the culmination of his efforts to preserve his master’s memory, to answer to those critics who, upon reading the letters, the editor estimated would discover in them that ‘la morale de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre est appuyé de l’autorité de toute sa vie!’[153] With such expectation riding on the publication of Bernardin’s letters, it is hardly surprising that Aimé-Martin saw fit to modify certain elements of his mentor’s collection, giving rise, as we shall learn, to the same kind of controversy as that born out of his editing of the Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau. However, though the latter-day reader might reasonably question the veritable worth of a reportedly heavily-edited correspondence,[154] for a contemporary audience approaching the corpus from an unscholarly, un-academic perspective, the Correspondance was simply a means of making further headway towards uncovering the private life of a man who had very recently been a popular literary figure and whose work, with the dawn of Romanticism, was experiencing something of a revival. As Malcolm Cook points out in his biography of Bernardin,[155] Aimé-Martin’s Correspondance is largely commendable for what it has to tell us about the writer’s life and about his relations with key personalities of his day. It is noteworthy that the collection appears simultaneously with the Mémoire sur la vie et les ouvrages de J.-H. Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, a work compiled of an essay on the author’s life and that also features a selection of his letters, suggesting that though a body of work in its own right, the Correspondance is also part of a wider enterprise to enlighten a nation about the private world of one of the eighteenth century’s most venerated individuals. Nevertheless, whilst Aimé-Martin might have been seeking to shed light on the previously-obscured biography of his master with the publication of the Correspondance, he did not set about doing so with naive abandon, drawing a veil of silence across certain aspects of the collection. Interestingly, Sainte-Beuve would go as far as to suggest that many of the silenced episodes of the correspondence came to pass at the whim of Bernardin’s widow, Désirée, speculating that:
Les éditeurs crurent pourtant devoir y faire quelques suppressions, et la veuve de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, en particulier, demande avec instances, avec larmes, au possesseur des lettres de lui permettre d’en détruire cinq ou six qui présentaient sous un jour trop triste la situation morale du grand écrivain.[156]
Of course, there is every likelihood that Désirée had a significant part to play in the editing and selection of the letters, her marriage to Aimé-Martin surely impacting on his professional decisions. However, Aimé-Martin having been a staunch enthusiast of Bernardin’s philosophy and having once worked as his secretary, one might justifiably argue that his attachment to the author ran much deeper than the relationship with his new wife,[157] his position as editor complicated by more profound factors than those of mere ‘instances’ and ‘larmes’. Indeed, modifications to Bernardin’s letters were far-reaching, extending to areas beyond his domestic situation. Maurice Souriau would allude to the number of ‘importantes coupures’[158] that characterised Aimé-Martin’s edition of the correspondence and that, in his view, markedly devalued the collection. Nevertheless, it is interesting to note that while condemning Aimé-Martin as ‘un faussaire’[159] for his selective approach to the manuscripts, Souriau would also set about censoring specific articles contained therein, writing in the following terms of the letters exchanged between Félicité Didot (Bernardin’s first wife) and Bernardin:
Je ne prendrai dans cette correspondance intime que ce qui est indispensable pour laver la mémoire de Bernardin des vieilles calomnies […].[160]
Of course, it is this very consideration to ‘laver la mémoire de Bernardin’ that motivates many of the modifications to the correspondence orchestrated by Aimé-Martin, but that clearly also directs even the more objective of editors, Souriau. Certainly, if such meddling with the original text can be observed in the practice of Aimé-Martin’s most scathing of critics, this in some measure both negates those objections raised by him and further justifies the continued references to Aimé-Martin’s edition in the decades and centuries after its initial release.
The Correspondance, it ought to be acknowledged, is a lengthy document that spans more than eight hundred pages and that features letters written by Bernardin and several of his correspondents. For this study, however, I have focused in particular on the correspondence between Bernardin and the French diplomat, Pierre-Michel Hennin.[161] Their exchanges begin in 1764, after a meeting at the Polish court, and continue for some twenty-five years. Hennin, at the time of his first encounter with Bernardin, had been chosen by the Count de Broglie to further French hopes of placing a monarch favourable to France upon the Polish throne. He was especially esteemed by Bernardin who saw him not only as a friend but equally as a powerful and influential ally upon the political stage, a belief that, while manifest in the Correspondance, is delivered there with more nuance than by Bernardin’s own hand.
It is with the aid of letters recently transcribed as part of the ‘Bernardin Correspondence Project’[162] that I have been able to examine Aimé-Martin’s version of his master’s letters in comparison with their originals. My research aims to understand why particular discrepancies exist between the manuscripts and the published work, though in some instances access to the original documents has been impossible. Indeed, I have often afforded a place in my analysis to letters without the corresponding archival copies and even to some without significant changes since they lend us a deeper appreciation of what Aimé-Martin tries to achieve in his collection as a whole. While it remains clear why the editor chose to include select texts without any, or with few, alterations (to indulge Bernardin’s literary success (Letter 122);[163] to capture the spirit of adventure in the early correspondence) my primary focus centres on those noteworthy omissions and modifications that left Aimé-Martin so open to reproach.
2.2 Sidelining Hennin
Importantly, similar to his Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau, Aimé-Martin’s Correspondance found itself the object of criticism less due to the numerous changes to Bernardin’s manuscripts but more as a consequence of the editor’s failure to highlight the alterations he made. Nonetheless, what critics such as Souriau, and Maury[164] before him, apparently fail to consider is the discrepancy between editorial practices in the early nineteenth century and that of their own era, when referencing of materials and fidelity to original sources were becoming increasingly commonplace.[165] This would certainly go some way towards explaining the continued editorial achievements of Aimé-Martin amongst his peers pitted against the unforgiving criticism of his methods in some later studies. Perhaps one of the most radical of Aimé-Martin’s stratagems was his decision to exclude Hennin’s letters after the first volume of correspondence (despite there being well over twenty of them after October 1779, from where the second volume opens). Significantly, Aimé-Martin makes no secret of this fact. Writing in a footnote to Letter 2 of his publication, he states:
Les lettres de M. Hennin ne manquent pas d’intérêt; cependant nous ne publierons que les premières, parce qu’elles sont indispensables à l’intelligence des lettres de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre.[166]
Nevertheless, does the exclusion of these twenty or so letters not prove problematic to our overall understanding of the complete correspondence? To be able to answer such a question one must look at very specific examples of the missing Hennin correspondence and I shall certainly do this as part of my enquiry. It is helpful to our understanding of Aimé-Martin’s decision regarding these absent letters to look at the context in which he was editing. In the Mémoire he observes of Bernardin’s correspondence with Ducis that, ‘Malheureusement les lettres de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre à son ami n’ont pas été retrouvées’.[167] Indeed, in the nineteenth century, as in those centuries that preceded and followed, it was not unusual for editors to work with only a partial collection of correspondence. Letters were often lost for a whole host of reasons: the impracticality of storage, the necessity to recycle paper, the disposal of incriminating evidence and, thus, it is no surprise that Aimé-Martin was seemingly so unperturbed by his decision to omit such a volume of letters from his edition. The motivation behind this decision, of course, is not immediately obvious, but the outright suppression of this amalgam of later correspondence does imply that Aimé-Martin’s choice was based not on each letter’s individual merits but on a more universal, common factor between all of the letters in question. Importantly, Aimé-Martin was primarily concerned with producing a work that would, to some extent, reveal new and instructive information regarding Bernardin. It is true that Hennin’s correspondence is concerned largely with responses to the articles of his friend’s letters and is subsequently of little interest to the reader as it rarely contains new topics or new information and offers a distinctly limited sense of progression. It is revealing that Aimé-Martin concludes of the letters from Hennin that, ‘[Le ton] de M. Hennin [est] sincère mais froid’,[168] while in the footnote to the first letter of the Correspondance he describes the relationship between the two men as ‘la plus tendre amitié’.[169] Though it remains possible that Hennin’s letters were banal, uninspiring, even cold while his friendship with Bernardin remained steadfastly strong, the accuracy of the claim that they shared ‘la plus tendre amitié’ is certainly questionable, especially in some of the later correspondence. It seems that, far from an overbearing concern to portray the genuine nature of the Bernardin-Hennin relationship through the collection, Aimé-Martin is equally concerned, if not more so, to use it as a backdrop for exploring Bernardin’s life and this is reflected more than anywhere in his choice to abandon Hennin’s later offerings. There are, of course, some exceptions to the rule and Aimé-Martin includes select letters written by Hennin in volumes II and III of his œuvre; but this is likely because they serve a specific purpose (see Letter 102, detailing the progress of Bernardin’s memoirs;[170] and Letter 123, highlighting the arrangements for the repayment of Bernardin’s loan).[171] It is also noteworthy that some of Hennin’s letters are extremely critical of Bernardin, as in Letter 0678[172] where there is a hint at Bernardin’s paranoia,[173] and, rather expectedly, Aimé-Martin deems preferable to exclude such observations from his edition. Rather confusing for some readers is the un-chronological arrangement of the Correspondance. However, if Hennin was thought ‘froid’[174] in the addresses to his friend, he was also an undeniably irregular correspondent[175] (we see a lapse of months, even years, between some letters) and, as a result, we can count five, often more, Bernardin letters to one of Hennin’s offerings. Many of his replies are, thus, chronologically out of step with Bernardin’s profusion of letters and we are subsequently left with occurrences as in Letters 2 (‘Réponse de Monsieur Hennin’, dated ‘le 6 août 1764’) and 3 (‘A Monsieur Hennin’, penned ‘le 28 juillet 1764’). Souriau made much of what he considered to be Aimé-Martin’s haphazard dating system, but one must remember that Aimé-Martin was not presenting his Correspondance as an historical document and consequently the text is, for no apparent ill intention, ambiguous or incomplete with regard to some addresses (just ‘A Paris’),[176] postscripts, greetings (both of which he regularly omits) and, to a degree, dates. It is worth noting that many of Bernardin’s postscripts could reasonably be deemed superfluous in the eyes of the casual reader and it follows that an editor, in a move to capture and retain interest and to standardise presentation, should take liberties to rid his text of such material. Indeed, a pre-occupation with the aesthetic aspect of his work surely explains Aimé-Martin’s handling of some untidy, textual overspill (as detailed in footnote 22 of Letter 0075)[177] and, of course, applies to some of the changes regarding paragraph divisions too. For those details that Aimé-Martin considers peripheral or un-engaging for the reader, they are used sparingly, not as evidence to legitimise his edition, but as directors to orient enquirers and to satisfy their curiosity.
Significantly, many of the decisions Aimé-Martin took were with the reader’s particular interest in mind, a fact reiterated by his sustained efforts to create an exciting and gripping work. The element of adventure is introduced in all its glory in the ‘Relation de ce qui s’est passé depuis mon départ de Varsovie’, an entry made exclusive by its separate feature in volume III of the Correspondance. We see Aimé-Martin working deliberately to heighten the suspense of the episode by, for example, exaggerating numbers (from ‘je vis quatre ou cinq houllands’ in the original[178] to ‘j’aperçus à travers la porte sept ou huit’[179] in Aimé-Martin’s edition); and implying a more imminent danger for Bernardin by adding such phrases as: ‘[Les Russes] profitent des moindres prétextes pour conduire les étrangers dans leurs pays’.[180] Of course, one can speculate that, having known Bernardin personally, Aimé-Martin had heard this story recounted many a time and was merely making use of a more spectacular anecdote related by Bernardin himself.[181] Yet, it seems rather convenient that many elements with the potential for embroidery are, in fact, enhanced and, if Bernardin had embellished the tale for Aimé-Martin’s benefit one might surely expect more dramatic exaggerations than those written into the Correspondance. Indeed, Aimé-Martin’s changes are tellingly subtle and seem intended for the dual purpose of captivating the reader’s attention and revolutionising the way that reader may have come to think of the late Bernardin as a reclusive,[182] decrepit old man. This revolutionising of Bernardin’s image in the eyes of the reader can also be seen at play in the way Aimé-Martin depicts Bernardin’s role in Poland. Aimé-Martin alters the references to the army major, Michælis,[183] (although, it would seem he is merely adhering to changes already made, though rejected, by Bernardin) from the singular ‘il’ to the ‘nous’ form in order to make Bernardin more complicit in the ‘crime’ of serving the Polish throne when only recently in the service of the Russians.
Manuscript: Michælis se hata de brûler ses papiers […].[184]
Aimé-Martin: […] nous nous hâtames de brûler nos papiers […].[185]
Indeed, in the ‘Apologie’, which accompanies the Correspondance, it is clear how Aimé-Martin wants us to perceive Bernardin’s involvement in this episode, relating that, ‘Il […] arrive en Pologne et tente de se jeter dans l’armée des indépendans; mais trahi par l’infidélité de ses guides, il tombe au pouvoir des ennemis.’[186] This, according to Aimé-Martin, is Bernardin’s adventure and Bernardin’s betrayal. That Michælis is not mentioned serves not only to aggrandise Bernardin’s role in the political scheming specific to the aspiring diplomat’s arrest but could also imply his more general integration into the diplomatic circles of the time.[187]
2.3 The power of punctuation
As editor, Aimé-Martin’s responsibilities extended to typographical and stylistic concerns in the Correspondance. In Theodore Besterman’s discussion of his editing of the Voltaire correspondence, he concedes that:
One need only point out that Voltaire hardly ever used an apostrophe: he wrote jose for j’ose and mont for m’ont. His use of capital letters is almost totally erratic: he seldom wrote one even after a full stop […]. All these details have been normalized, except in a few cases […].[188]
Admittedly, Aimé-Martin was not always making the same changes as Besterman (such things were occurring in Bernardin’s work, a contemporary of Voltaire, but were presumably still acceptable in the early nineteenth century, if not in the late twentieth century when Besterman was writing). However, such an example demonstrates the kind of accepted liberties that editors often take with their respective texts. Although much of Aimé-Martin’s tinkering with style appears, and most likely is, in the sole interest of improving Bernardin’s expression (from ‘cette équité dont il a la reputation’[189] to ‘cette équité qu’on lui attribue’)[190] or grammar, some of his changes are possibly somewhat more calculated. Aimé-Martin’s manipulation of punctuation, for example, on two occasions serves to highlight Bernardin’s distress and, thus, gain the sympathy of the reader, replacing simple full-stops with emphatic exclamation marks (‘et si moi meme je voulois me marier!’[191] and (with regard to the impending convalescence of Dutailly) ‘Enfin Dieu m’a délivré de cette longue et cruelle peine!’).[192] Not only this, but Aimé-Martin substitutes what one might expect to be an indefinite article in one of Bernardin’s letters with a possessive adjective for his collection, thus distorting the sense of the initial phrase. In Letter 165, written in 1787, he adds ‘mon’ into the following sentence: ‘mes occupations jointes à celles de mon secretaire [my emphasis]’.[193] However, it is quite baffling to think that Aimé-Martin would want to imply (as the above change might) that Bernardin is obliged to fulfil the role of his lazy or incompetent secretary. After all, it seems inappropriate, scandalous even, that a man who is continually imploring the state for various pensions should afford to keep a private secretary.[194] Yet, perhaps Aimé-Martin felt the allusion to a secretary symbolic of Bernardin’s impending success and, thus, a necessary seed to plant in the reader’s conscience as he reaches the climax of his collection and, subsequently, the high point in Bernardin’s literary career. Nonetheless, some other of the editor’s revisions are harder to explain, and it is probable that in Aimé-Martin’s editorial legacy there feature some un-conceited oversights and mistakes and one must be warned against making too much of these.[195]
It is interesting to consider Aimé-Martin’s comment in his Essai sur la vie de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, referring to Zimmermann’s translation of the Voyage à L’Ile de France:
[…] et l’on peut y apprendre comment la modification d’une tournure, le changement d’un mot, suffisent le plus souvent pour détruire l’effet d’une pensée.[196]
Though this statement deals primarily with literary translation, we can see its pertinence for Aimé-Martin as he ‘translates’ Bernardin’s manuscripts into their new, modified form; and one wonders if these cautionary words were echoing in his head as he went about editing the Correspondance. There is certainly evidence here to suggest that, at least sometimes, they did not, and there begs the question that at what stage does ‘un changement d’un mot’ become one too many?[197]
2.4 A life in letters
While Aimé-Martin certainly made changes in the Correspondance (with some major alterations to be duly discussed) it seems worthwhile to note that the greater part of the letters remained in the Correspondance with insignificant or no changes at all. It is, in fact, evident from just such letters that Aimé-Martin was concerned to paint an intimate portrait of his mentor through his œuvre. The letters that reveal Bernardin’s more positive and virtuous traits are obviously included. However, one might be surprised to find within the collection letters that divulge some of the less palatable aspects of Bernardin’s character. Let us recall that Aimé-Martin had invested much in the ‘Bernardin enterprise’ at both a professional, and perhaps more importantly for this point, a personal level. Nonetheless, he allows Bernardin’s selfishness (he remarks over the death of the Comte de Vergennes, ‘j’ai regretté Mr le Cte de Vergennes qui auroit pu ce me semble faire les choses un peu mieux à mon égard’),[198] and his increasing impatience with and manipulation of Hennin[199] to become public knowledge with the release of the Correspondance. If Aimé-Martin was trying to hide anything in his collection one may reasonably expect it to be this very sort of information. Certainly, some of Aimé-Martin’s inclusions may seem ill-advised, standing to jeopardise Bernardin’s reputation rather than to protect it. However, though the Correspondance was variously motivated by Aimé-Martin’s memory of his friendship with the author of the Etudes de la nature, by his position as the husband of his widow and guardian of his two children, Aimé-Martin also wanted others to remember Bernardin and, as a shrewd publicist, he knew that that meant pandering to the demands of a public audience, answering to those insatiable appetites for the scandalous. That such detail remains in the collection (and, one can safely assume, not as the result of oversight) is indicative of the fact that, in spite of the expectation of Aimé-Martin’s defence of his mentor, this publication seemingly aims to teach the reader about Bernardin in a reasonably thorough and rounded way.
It is perhaps unsurprising that one area of Bernardin’s life that Aimé-Martin did appear particularly eager to develop in the Correspondance was that of his interaction with women. Indeed, the string of references to his female fans at the advent of his authorial success with the Etudes de la nature was surely met with delight by Aimé-Martin, further enforcing the image of the charismatic bachelor, Bernardin, who had been simmering under the surface of earlier, select letters in the Correspondance[200] (notably during his early popularity in the Polish courts).[201] It is worth noting that in Aimé-Martin’s Essai sur la vie there are allusions to several love affairs as well as the news of Bernardin’s two marriages (the first wife having been one of his many admirers) and we can see some of this material reflected in or inspired by the Correspondance. A love story common to both the Essai sur la vie and the Correspondance is that between Bernardin and the woman who Aimé-Martin calls ‘la princesse M’.[202] [203] It is perhaps revealing of Aimé-Martin’s commercial acumen that he chooses to refer to the Polish princess, Marie Mesnik, in this way, despite the original manuscripts clearly naming her as ‘la Princesse Mesnik’.[204] Sources that have become apparent to the modern-day reader corroborate tales of an intimate relationship between Bernardin and Marie Miesnik,[205] but those perusing the letters in 1826 might only previously have come to learn of such an affair through a reading of the Essai sur la vie or through popular rumour and speculation. Of course, what better way to excite people about the Correspondance than to allude to such intrigues[206] by codifying the name of the princess and, in so doing, to infer the necessity to protect her identity? Such measures can only have served to re-ignite discussion of the couple’s putative love affair, one that had reportedly compromised the princess. That in the ‘Apologie’ preceding the correspondence Aimé-Martin describes her as ‘une parente du prince Radziwill’[207] further supports the theory that the editor is ostensibly trying to preserve the princess’s reputation since, after all, she was more than a ‘parente’ to the prince, she was once his wife. Yet, of note is Aimé-Martin’s penchant for the widespread use of initials in the place of a full name and, thus, it is very possible that he changed references to the princess’s name rather to ensure uniformity of style throughout his collection than to seemingly safeguard her identity. Importantly, there are signs of Bernardin’s affection for Marie Mesnik in several of the letters. The regret he expresses about those he has left behind in Eastern Europe in Letter 31 most certainly extends to the princess;[208] and it is noteworthy that Aimé-Martin, who omits a number of postscripts in the Correspondance, chooses to retain one enquiring after Marie.[209] Nonetheless, in spite of the evidence authenticating Bernardin’s devotion to his Polish love, there seems to be nothing in the Correspondance to confirm that Marie reciprocated any romantic feelings towards her alleged suitor. Notably, in Letter 104 of the collection Bernardin remarks that, ‘Dieu m’a fait la grâce de me présenter seul et sans appui […] aux intrigues des femmes’.[210] [211] Footnote 23 in the corresponding archive Letter 0545 suggests this comment is with reference to Madame Necker,[212] but could it reveal a bitter memory of Marie Mesnik and of Bernardin’s frustrations at the risks he took for her[213] in spite of her indifference? The Correspondance does not offer the reader a clear picture of the relationship, whatever its true nature, despite the changes Aimé-Martin put in place. Indeed, the collection was for many the first contact with Bernardin’s private history and the letters featuring ‘la princesse M’ only really become suggestive when coupled with an awareness of the Essai sur la vie where Aimé-Martin explores the affair in categorical terms. In his biography, Souriau claims that Aimé-Martin exaggerated the entire episode, suggesting instead of the couple’s mutual attachment, Bernardin’s distant adoration of Marie. Indeed, it might seem contradictory that Bernardin is so reserved in his mention of her in the letters, especially when Hennin seems to have known her quite intimately, but the author is not generally forthcoming with any such information in the exchanges with his friend. Significantly, most of Souriau’s arguments are reliant upon the fact that Marie’s letters to Bernardin are rather aloof and formal;[214] however, it is obviously possible that propriety had a large part to play in this circumstance, the princess wanting to preserve her honour and reputation should her correspondence ever have fallen into the wrong hands. While Souriau seems determined that Bernardin’s was an early case of an ‘unsuccessful campaign of seduction’[215] (as with the later pursuit of Madame Poivre)[216] the Essai sur la vie settles on a largely reciprocal, though turbulent union. The Correspondance itself ultimately leaves this chapter of Bernardin’s life inconclusive, the letters only going so far as to make clear that Bernardin knew Marie well and was still thinking of her as late as 1783.
If Aimé-Martin modified some of the articles relating to the women featured in the Correspondance, ‘Martin fait de nombreuses et importantes coupures dans ces lettres’[217] in some other major areas, too. From the outset he is evidently concerned to omit the references to Bernardin’s management of Hennin’s affairs in Varsovie that dominate the bulk of the letters exchanged in 1764. In some instances Aimé-Martin misses paragraphs of thirteen lines,[218] in others he discards entire letters.[219] Why Aimé-Martin might be so resolved to exclude such information can be explained by his commercial astuteness, guiding the editor towards the inclusion of the exceptional or exotic and away from the commonplace. Nevertheless, the possibility also remains that the editor strives to be discreet for Hennin’s sake as, although there is nothing untoward in his dealings with Bernardin, it is perhaps surprising to learn that a thriving diplomat should entrust a virtual unknown with his property. Of course, perhaps Aimé-Martin considers simply that Bernardin’s role as Hennin’s veritable manservant is incompatible with the image of the eminent writer. His motivations aside, it is undeniable that the effect of so many omissions, particularly in some letters, does distort the two men’s relationship, reducing the importance of those domestic concerns that seem to be at the foundation of the early correspondence. In Letter 10, for example, the exclusion of the two, opening paragraphs of the original (concerning household affairs),[220] results in the letter concentrating primarily on Bernardin’s presentation to the King of Poland. Free of domestic issues, this letter, and others dealt with similarly, becomes of a more general nature, the product of an unconditional friendship and not an exchange necessitated by Hennin’s property particulars. Nevertheless, one ought to ascertain that although Aimé-Martin does not allow Hennin’s domestic arrangements to monopolise this first handful of letters there is still mention of it, notably in Letter 9, from Hennin: ‘je vous prie de ne pas oublier de m’apporter l’etat de mes effets et si vous restez de me l’envoyer’.[221] And again in Letter 8, from Bernardin: ‘je vous prie de m’instruire (…) des derniers arrangemens qui regardent vos effets’.[222] Certainly, Aimé-Martin seems more concerned by the recurrence and precedence of domestic issues in the Correspondance than he is with the mention of the domestic issues themselves and one might reasonably assume this is because he wishes to hide the business-like dimension to the Bernardin-Hennin relationship, either for simplification purposes or knowingly to distort the nature of their relations.
Another aspect of the Correspondance that is closely monitored by Aimé-Martin is the issue of Bernardin’s debt. On examination of the Essai sur la vie it is plain to see that our editor is at pains to avoid any lengthy discussion of the considerable debt Bernardin found himself in until his more mature years and, in particular, following the success of his Etudes de la nature. It is, then, unsurprising that the Correspondance should be changed to conform to Aimé-Martin’s policy of censorship. Having loaned Bernardin 100 ducats in 1764, Hennin spends some significant time soliciting his friend for a reimbursement (in 1771 Bernardin has only successfully repaid half of the debt), and several letters evidencing this fact are rejected in Aimé-Martin’s edition.[223] Interestingly, of those letters that Aimé-Martin does include, one can remark that they either contain some other vital or engaging material or show Bernardin making efforts to acquit himself of the repayment, as we read in his address to Hennin in 1771:
Enfin, mon ami, je viens de recevoir une ordonnance pour toucher six mois d’appointemens à raison de cent livres par mois. […] Voyez si vous voulez que je la remette à M. Lullin, et envoyez-moi une quittance de six cents livres à compte de ce que je vous dois. […] Je suis bien faché d’avoir si long-temps différé, mais je vous donne tout ce que j’ai et je subsiste de mes économies passées.[224]
Importantly, when Bernardin proposes some rather unconventional and undignified methods for settling his debt with Hennin, Aimé-Martin makes certain to conceal such designs from the reader. We can compare the transition that Letter 0488 makes from a cheap and presumptuous proposal regarding ‘deux jolis tableaux’ to an implied generosity in the revised version:
Manuscript:
[…] je les ai achetés pour vous. si vous fussiés venu me voir vous les eussiés emportés. mais le secretaire du conseil a retenu M.r hennin. envoyés les chercher. il seront en diminution de ce que je vous dois, je pourois trouver encore quelque moyen semblable de m’acquitter[,] la guerre occasionnant une grande disette d’achetteurs, j’emploierois a ces aquisitions mon goust et mon loisir [my emphasis].
Aimé-Martin misses all the italicised text.[225] As footnote 42 of the transcribed Letter 0488 suggests, it is very probable that the editor was reluctant to disclose the way in which Bernardin tried to offload his debt, especially as the Correspondance offers no hint at Bernardin having consulted previously with Hennin upon such means of reimbursement. Indeed, by omitting the closing sentence of the paragraph and, consequently, by hiding any mention of the ‘gift’ as a substitute for repayment, Aimé-Martin’s edition implies that the offer of the ‘deux jolis tableaux’ was purely a selfless gesture of friendship. Later in the correspondence, we see Bernardin turn to such tricks again as he urges Hennin to secure a bonus from the government for his Etudes de la nature:
De plus j’ai pensé que si mon ouvrage avoit du succès, il interesseroit le gouvernement, et que partant, il vous seroit possible de vous faire rembourser de vos avances en gratifications que vous pourriés m’obtenir.[226]
Testament to Bernardin’s unreasonable aspirations for governmental favours, it comes as no surprise that this letter is omitted from Aimé-Martin’s collection.[227] However, the editor’s objection was surely also raised in a bid to suppress further proofs of his mentor’s shameless crusade to offload responsibility for the repayment of yet another loan from Hennin. All such modifications, as one might expect, remain unaccounted for in the Correspondance. It seems an overbearing desire to limit public knowledge of the true extent of Bernardin’s struggle to repay his debt presided over Aimé-Martin and caused him to commit what some might call abuses of his editorial powers. Indeed, he does not simply limit references to the debt but he also disguises Bernardin’s undignified attempts to rid himself of it.
The early borrowing of the 100 ducats and its related problems heralded the beginning of Bernardin’s financial hardships of adult life. However, as was the case with Bernardin’s debt, such issues are never given the same amount of coverage in the Correspondance as in the original manuscripts. While Bernardin’s claims to the navy are occasionally omitted, Aimé-Martin’s primary occupation in this financial area of the Correspondance seems to be the blotting out of Bernardin’s over-zealous frugality. His quibbles over postage expenses in Letter 0615,[228] the counting of petty costs in Letter 0653,[229] and his dissatisfaction and apparent greed in Letter 0629,[230] all these references are excluded from the Correspondance. Of course, it is very likely that Aimé-Martin’s awareness of Bernardin’s miserly tendencies prompts his decision to exaggerate the money Bernardin was paying for the upkeep of his sister (from ‘cent livres’ (Letter 0660) to ‘trois cents’)[231] as a way of excusing or countering any widespread conspiracies about his thriftiness. Certainly, Aimé-Martin’s depiction of Bernardin affords none of the ingenuousness that typifies the biographical style of Sainte-Beuve, who claims of his subject that:
On le voit en définitive bon homme, honnête homme, ressemblant au fond à ses écrits, mais atteint de quelque manie et marqué de mesquinerie et de petitesse.[232]
Interestingly, however, the reader of the Correspondance is permitted to view some evidence of Bernardin’s financial cunning; notably in his soliciting of Hennin to continue his efforts for government pensions and bonuses for him even as his finances are looking promising at last.[233] However, without knowledge of the former grievances, such inclusions as this one appear merely prudent and can be passed off as paranoia originating from years of financial struggle.
Certainly, if Bernardin was paranoid, he was also obsessive and, when comparing the manuscripts to the published Correspondance, one sees clearly that Aimé-Martin has attempted to downplay this aspect of Bernardin’s personality. Nowhere is Bernardin’s obstinate nature more in earnest than in his quest for compensation for his services in Poland. Whether or not Bernardin begins his campaign in 1775 because he finds himself in a financial quandary (he is still without a permanent position or noteworthy government bonuses) or because he truly believes he is entitled to his claim is uncertain, but what is unmistakeable is Aimé-Martin’s care to strip the Correspondance of Bernardin’s rather embarrassing and largely unfruitful crusade for indemnities. One might reasonably expect Aimé-Martin to omit all exasperating solicitations for recompense from his collection but, having made much of Bernardin’s episode in Poland with the inclusion of the ‘Relation de ce qui s’est passé depuis mon départ de Varsovie (1764)’ it seems both natural and logical that he should want the reader to witness Bernardin’s campaigning in the Correspondance, both as a verification of the importance of his role there and as a further point of interest. Nonetheless, Aimé-Martin certainly omits references to the Polish restitution at frequent stages. In one letter, he reformulates a paragraph in order to do just this:
Manuscript:
[V]ous pourrés en rapeller le souvenir au Ministre par la relation de ce qui m’est arrivé en pologne que je vous envoye et par le memoire que jai donné sur les affaires du nord à M.r Durand. je joins l’une et l’autre minutte a ma lettre.[234]
Aimé-Martin:
Je vous envoie le Mémoire que j’ai donné sur les affaires du Nord à M. Durand; j’y joins la minute de ma lettre […].[235]
In Aimé-Martin’s version the allusion to Poland is missing (and ‘minute’ is used accordingly). In footnote 6 of the transcribed Letter 0399, it is suggested that this change is made in order to avoid over-shooting the end of the page and, as a consequence, the sense of the text is altered. Nevertheless, this is evidently a well-considered decision since instead of sacrificing the reference to ‘les affaires du nord’ Aimé-Martin omits instead ‘la relation’ about Poland (when the reader is surely more familiar with the Polish incident than with Bernardin’s account of the Northern territories). Significantly, while concerned to limit the frequency of Bernardin’s appeals in the letters, Aimé-Martin is also keen to uphold Bernardin’s claims by omitting those amongst Hennin’s letters that might invalidate them, as, for example, when he writes to Bernardin that some appointments are considered only as ‘des actes de bonne volonté’.[236] Thus, in common with the majority of the changes he makes, Aimé-Martin’s practices are once more swayed not by a commitment to some kind of professional practice, but rather by his allegiance to Bernardin.
This allegiance manifests itself over and over again in Aimé-Martin’s handling of the original manuscripts and in the way he thoughtfully transfers their content into his edition, a point demonstrated very well in those letters regarding Dutailly (Bernardin’s slandered and unstable brother). While Aimé-Martin’s collection deals extensively with Dutailly’s plight there is much that the reader of Aimé-Martin’s Correspondance is not permitted to know. Indeed, there is a whole host of ‘missing’ (probably destroyed) letters detailed by Denise Tahhan Bittar[237] that, at one time, might have been in Aimé-Martin’s possession. Such letters (along with one containing some ‘détails pécuniaires’,[238] that possibly also specifies Dutailly) are to be found neither in Le Havre nor in the Institut archives. Significantly, some of the original documents excluded from the Correspondance hint at Dutailly’s guilt as a traitor to France, notably in Letter 0397 where Bernardin refers to him as ‘un coupable’ and in Letter 0547 where Hennin comments to Bernardin that, ‘il [Dutailly] a des reproches à se faire et que vous êtes pur’. The fact that such text does not appear in the published collection means that Dutailly’s culpability is never made clear for the reader (indeed, the only certainty is that Bernardin believes his brother to be mentally ill). The originals also reveal a less philanthropic side to the humanitarian Bernardin who seems to begrudge the necessity to spend so much on Dutailly’s maintenance,[239] something that remains concealed from the reader. And in Letter 0615 Aimé-Martin makes amendments that seem intended to deny Bernardin’s annoyance and exasperation over the Dutailly drama. Having consulted about his brother with the advisor, M. Emangard, Bernardin relates that:
Il concluoit à ce qu’il fut renvoyé dans sa famille. nota bene, suivant la demande de ce prisonier. M.r le M.al a envoyè ce raport a Mr le Noir en le priant de ne rien faire a cet egard sans me le communiquer. j’ai ecrit alors à Mr le M.al pour lui representer que le genre de sa folie etoit de tenter de grands coups de fortune sans moyens, que sa famille ne pouvoit lui donner d’azile [my emphasis] et j’ai ouvert un temperament en proposant de donner à mon malheureux frere la libertè aux environs de sa prison dans l’esperance quètant a l’abri de l’indigence et de la captivité ces deux grands mobiles d’inquietude, son ame se calmeroit peu a peu.
The discrepancies between the manuscript and Aimé-Martin’s text are identified above with the use of italics (the italicised prose denotes an omission), and are considerable.[240] Importantly, in Aimé-Martin’s version of the letter Bernardin appears utterly compassionate: there is no mention of his frivolous interpretation of Dutailly’s madness (‘le genre de sa folie etoit de tenter les coups de fortune sans moyens’) nor is there mention of his refusal to house his brother (and, thus, the reader can assume that Bernardin has, in fact, been warned against it). The passage continues: ‘J’ai rendu compte par ecrit a Mr le Noir de ma lettre et de mes vues’,[241] but in Aimé-Martin’s account those ‘vues’ remain ambiguous. Indeed, the editor cultivates the image of a caring brother, highlighting Bernardin’s quiet suffering at the hand of Dutailly in a rare footnote that accompanies Letter 137:
On peut voir dans l’Essai sur la Vie de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, l’histoire déplorable de Dutailly. Les sollicitations de son frère le tirèrent de la Bastille […]. [Mais] [i]l voyait en lui un ennemi qui s’étendait avec les ministres pour lui faire manquer les plus riches mariages; il le persécutait, il le menaçait, et se moquait de sa misère et de ses travaux.[242]
Bernardin obviously shows much patience in his dealings with Dutailly but the original letters from him show a vexation that is never given due mention in Aimé-Martin’s Correspondance.
2.5 Conclusion
Why Aimé-Martin makes the judgements we have examined here can be largely explained by his very clear agenda to protect Bernardin’s reputation for posterity, but equally by the conviction that some information, both in the Bernardin-Hennin correspondence and in a more general and timeless context, is simply not meant to be shared by many. In his Essai sur la vie, Aimé-Martin states that, ‘La vie de M. de Saint-Pierre n’étant ni une confession ni un roman, nous pouvons nous croire libres de garder le silence sur ses faiblesses’,[243] and this same philosophy clearly extends to the revelations of the Correspondance. Of course, perhaps the best way to conclude whether to condemn or to condone Aimé-Martin’s decisions in the Correspondance to variously ‘garder le silence’ or to impose his changes is by establishing if the revisions, whatever their motivations, end by significantly distorting the overall content of the original documents. The evidence of the above examinations suggests that although some modifications result in the withholding of information, it is not apparent that they radically alter the central message of the letters and all major issues maintain a prominent place in the collection. What is more, the possibility that Aimé-Martin had access to sources that were eventually destroyed or that remain, as yet, undiscovered cannot be ignored, such a circumstance surely problematising latter-day efforts to cross-reference the Correspondance and to arrive at satisfactory conclusions about its fidelity to the manuscripts.
Importantly, though Aimé-Martin was sometimes deemed an inadequate editor for his seemingly emotive handling of the manuscripts, a look at the editorial undertakings of others in the profession helps us maintain perspective on the veritable achievements of his collection. Indeed, far from abandoning accepted editorial practices, Aimé-Martin is seen to adhere to principles that have guided editors throughout the centuries, most especially with regard to the posthumous safeguarding of a subject’s renown. In Michael Hunter’s study of Robert Boyle, he alludes to a ‘positive censorship’[244] in evidence in several eighteenth-century biographies of the scientist and philosopher; and Valentine de Cessiat, in the Correspondance générale of her uncle, Alphonse de Lamartine, is seen to suppress the more incriminating articles of his letters. The scholar Louis Barthou writes candidly of her effort:
Élevée comme un pieux monument par la gratitude amoureuse de Valentine à la mémoire d’un oncle illustre, elle se ressent d’une absence de méthode, d’une insuffisance de documentation ou d’un parti pris de silence qui affaiblissent son crédit et nuisent à son utilité.[245] [246]
Of course, the ‘silence’ that typifies Valentine’s collection also characterised instances in that of Aimé-Martin and clearly compromised ‘son crédit’ in the eyes of select readers of later generations. However, the ‘utilité’ of the Correspondance for the editor’s contemporaries cannot be underestimated, his being the only work to catalogue Bernardin’s letters[247] and in so doing to map out his life in ways that the Essai sur la vie and the Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre could never aspire to. Vitally, the perceptive reader would likely have been alert to the bias implicit in Aimé-Martin’s relationship with Bernardin and his family and in the repeated public defence of his master in the early decades of the nineteenth century. Indeed, there is no insidious design to mislead the reader manifest in the Correspondance, Aimé-Martin establishing the ‘Apologie’ as a prelude to the collection and launching into an attack against Bernardin’s critics in the accompanying ‘Supplément à l’Essai sur la vie et les ouvrages’ in which he bemoans ‘les manœuvres des ennemis de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre’.[248] Certainly, Aimé-Martin’s public can have been under no illusion as to his devotion to Bernardin and, thus, may have approached the Correspondance with according degrees of reticence or scepticism, assuaging concerns that this ‘plus étrange biographe’[249] might have in some way abused his powers in knowingly misrepresenting Bernardin.
Significantly, the ‘Apologie’ that introduces the three volumes of correspondence is not concerned with a commentary on the editor’s methodologies, stressing instead the importance of the letters as an accompaniment and further witness to the life of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre. Indeed, then, it is no surprise to discover that at times Bernardin’s story would run its course at the expense of the original manuscripts. Aimé-Martin often evoked notions of ‘vérité’ in his œuvres, but his truth, neither finite nor tangible, was rather an enduring principle that eclipsed pedantic fidelity to material sources. In the Mémoire, he contemplates ‘la vérité’, reasoning that, ‘Ce mot, en effet, renferme tout, car il faut de la constance pour chercher la vérité, du courage pour la dire, une ame pour la défendre.’[250] There is no doubt that Aimé-Martin saw himself as a defender of the truth, but his truth was arguably influenced neither exclusively by fact nor history but by a ‘constance’ in respect of his service to Bernardin’s circle. Interestingly, though other editors throughout the nineteenth century (and beyond) would attempt to steal Aimé-Martin’s crown as the authority on Bernardin,[251] the success of his enterprise was such that his legacy prevails up until the present day. Nonetheless, if Aimé-Martin secured his reputation as the principal editor of the author of the Etudes de la nature, one wonders if he enjoyed that same renown as he strove to make further in-roads into the editorial field, with projects pertaining to other, famous personalities.[252] Indeed, that the profession was growing increasingly competitive and regulated throughout the nineteenth century cannot be denied,[253] with Henri-Léon Curmer asserting in 1839 that, ‘Cette profession est plus qu’un métier, elle est devenue un art difficile à exercer’.[254] By the early years of the nineteenth century the move away from independent practices based upon individual ‘truths’ might reasonably have begun to take effect and one wonders if Aimé-Martin’s dealings with subjects other than Bernardin imply an adherence to more inflexible principles than those manifest in the Correspondance.
Methodologies to define the man: Aimé-Martin in his role as editor
3.1 Introduction
Aimé-Martin was not always destined to pursue a career in the literary sphere. We learn from the biography overseen by Jean Hœfer, that, at twenty-eight years old,[255] he would defy the expectation of his parents to become the editor we know today:
Ses parents lui firent étudier le droit; mais il préféra se consacrer aux lettres, et en 1809 il vint à Paris contre le gré de sa famille.[256]
It is from this point in 1809 that we witness the beginnings of Aimé-Martin’s immersion in the literary circles and cultural politics of early nineteenth-century France, from his first publications[257] to his later appointment as ‘professeur de belles-lettres, de morale et d’histoire’[258] at the Ecole Polytechnique in 1816. Aimé-Martin’s editorial undertakings were in many ways a natural progression in the life of a man consciously carving out a career inspired by and centred around literature. In an era still infused with the ideals of the Enlightenment, editorial projects such as those Aimé-Martin would invest in were not uncommon,[259] the publications appearing in his time a clear indication that the French people were keen to celebrate those great thinkers who had influenced the nation throughout the centuries.[260] [261] There can be no denying the burgeoning book trade of the early 1800s, helped along by the spending of the emerging bourgeoisie and motivated not only by the rise in literacy levels but more importantly by the philosophical climate of the Age. Certainly, the Enlightenment had given birth to a generation of readers who would look to their books for a means of social, spiritual or intellectual advancement, and entrepreneurial individuals were wise to the increased veneration for the written word:
L’image du livre s’en trouvera modifiée à mesure, d’abord objet typographique élégant dans sa forme et exact dans sa lettre, ensuite produit voué à la propagation sociale et à l’éclaircissement des consciences, avant de devenir œuvre offerte à la jouissance esthétique individuelle.[262] [263]
Aimé-Martin’s decision to dedicate his time to various editorial ventures was not taken lightly; alert to market trends, he would no doubt have anticipated the commercial reward of his professional investments. Significantly, one individual would go as far as to suggest that editing was where Aimé-Martin’s interests were best directed, with the critic, Sainte-Beuve, claiming he had not the talent to excel as a writer in his own right, ‘un homme assez instruit, un éditeur estimable, mais un écrivain déclamateur et sot.’[264] If this was, in fact, the case,[265] it is perhaps no wonder that Aimé-Martin embraced his editorial role so completely, at times seemingly sacrificing his own literary output to give precedence to his work as editor.[266]
While Aimé-Martin would edit a considerable number of complete works in the early part of the nineteenth century, most notably through his involvement with the Lefèvre Classics Collection, it is clear that of all the projects undertaken by him, that concerning Bernardin de Saint-Pierre is the best known, both because Aimé-Martin was the author’s first editor and biographer and because he has produced the most comprehensive edition of Bernardin’s writings to date. In spite of this fact and, indeed, perhaps because of it, other editors of Bernardin’s works have tended to focus on this early venture, not only as a basis for mounting their own assessment of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, but also with the express desire of attacking Aimé-Martin’s enterprise. In Sainte-Beuve’s biography on Bernardin, he makes the generous remark that:
Son biographe, M. Aimé-Martin, et une partie de la Correspondance publiée en 1826, ont donné sur ces années d’épreuves tous les intéressants détails qu’on peut désirer; et les origines d’aucun écrivain de talent ne sont mieux éclairées que celles de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre.[267]
This is praise indeed for Aimé-Martin’s efforts; and a footnote alludes to the wealth of further information contained in the editor’s study:
Nous emprunterons beaucoup à cette biographie de M. Aimé-Martin, mais sans prétendre du tout dispenser le lecteur d’y recourir, ainsi qu’aux débats qui s’y rattachent.[268]
However, the closing comment regarding the ‘débats qui s’y rattachent’ is ambiguous. Does it refer to those ‘débats’ raised in Aimé-Martin’s biography or by it? Admittedly, Aimé-Martin’s work on Bernardin has been repeatedly debated and scrutinised since the publication in 1818 of the Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre,[269] and more specifically of the featured Essai sur la vie. Like many editors and biographers before and after him, Aimé-Martin did not benefit from the support and authorisation of the subject of his biography. And, although the posthumous edition of the Œuvres was most certainly approved by Bernardin’s widow, it was never blessed with that most coveted of endorsements: the approval of the writer himself. Significantly, without this luxury, it is perhaps inevitable that Aimé-Martin was to endure a series of damning reviews and unforgiving critiques of his work in the decades that followed his demise.
It is noteworthy that nearly all of Aimé-Martin’s editorial projects on various notable figures of France’s cultural history feature a biography, with any instance of a complete works headed by an account of the subject’s private life. Certainly, it seems that, in this respect, Aimé-Martin was consciously conforming to the practices of the period in which he was working. In the nineteenth century, as in those centuries that preceded it, the role of editor and biographer remained inextricably linked and it is only in the twentieth century that this convention is ostensibly challenged.[270] Editors thought it instructive to highlight those aspects of a writer’s life that might have some bearing upon his or her literary creations. In this study, therefore, Aimé-Martin will not be assessed exclusively in his role as editor but, equally, in his role as biographer. Certainly, it is in his work on Bernardin that this duality of the roles of editor and biographer becomes most explicit and most complex. Aimé-Martin’s attachment to and close involvement with Bernardin and his family inevitably influence the presentation of his subject, and it is perhaps this very factor that has encouraged the numerous re-assessments of his studies on the writer. Cook asserts that, ‘The biographer will come to a life with certain ideas and prejudices, and will be forced to reassess these in the light of evidence.’[271] However, it is questionable whether or not Aimé-Martin was sufficiently detached from his subject to be able successfully to ‘reassess’ his ‘ideas and prejudices’ about a man he had come to know so intimately and whose family remained in his care. To what extent his private concerns were allowed to dictate his editing of the Bernardin life and œuvres remains to be seen, but our earlier examinations of the Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau and the Correspondance suggest that his revisions here might once again prove significant. Furthermore, in order to contextualise Aimé-Martin’s editorial work, this study will consider those projects independent of Bernardin and will establish if emotional detachment from the editor’s subject engenders the genuine reassessment of ‘ideas and prejudices’ prescribed by Cook. That Aimé-Martin was able to distinguish himself as the principal editor of Bernardin is both undeniable and unsurprising, the Œuvres enjoying its place as the unique authority on Bernardin until the end of Aimé-Martin’s lifetime. However, with so much earlier material to inform his new editions of classical texts such as those by Molière or Fénelon, the editor can be seen to differentiate his work in other, more considered ways than those appropriate for his earliest, Bernardin-centric effort. This chapter, thus, will provide a detailed analysis of Aimé-Martin’s methodologies and those concerns that shape his editorial decisions, both as editor of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre and as an homme de lettres, chronicling France’s cultural heritage.[272] I have divided my examination into subsections to reflect these two areas of editorial interest.
3.2 The Bernardin Enterprise
As previously observed, Aimé-Martin has been most enduringly recognised for his editorial work on Bernardin de Saint-Pierre. Indeed, we have already noted the decidedly negative attention that some aspects of Aimé-Martin’s publications have received.[273] What is certainly true of many of the criticisms levelled at Aimé-Martin by Souriau and a host of other critics[274] is that, had Aimé-Martin referenced his sources more thoroughly, this might have negated the impulse for several accusations of malpractice. Admittedly, as a general rule, it appears that Aimé-Martin includes relatively fewer annotations and references in his Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre than in his collections of other authors. However, the failure to identify his sources can perhaps be explained by reasons other than disregard for convention or outright nonchalance on Aimé-Martin’s part. The fact that his edition of Bernardin’s complete works was commentated and collated by Aimé-Martin in cumulative stages meant that the Œuvres, in their entirety, feature several ‘Avis de l’éditeur’; and, it is possible that the editor felt these ‘Avis’ compensated for copious footnotes (signalling, for example, the provenance of his sources) that he might otherwise have included in the body text.[275] Secondly, let us remember that when first compiling the Œuvres between 1814 and 1818, Aimé-Martin was just at the beginning of what would later become a prolific editorial career, his relative naivety at that period perhaps accounting for instances of oversight or uncurbed speculation. Indeed, it is surely experience in the field, coupled with criticisms of his early studies of Bernardin,[276] which prompts a more thorough treatment of the works and the biographies of personalities considered in his later projects.[277] In addition, it should be noted that Aimé-Martin professed complete confidence in the authenticity of his sources. He states in the ‘Avertissement’ to the Œuvres that, ‘[cette édition] a été revue avec le plus grand soin sur les manuscrits de l’auteur’.[278] The confidence propagated by this assurance in the reliability of the ‘manuscrits de l’auteur’ he works with, would have been surely further enhanced by the editor’s confidence in the public acknowledgement of his intimacy with Bernardin. Indeed, it is possible that such factors combined to the extent that Aimé-Martin felt little necessity constantly to justify his editorial choices, especially concerning the referencing of his sources. Whatever the reasons for Aimé-Martin’s seeming complacency in this regard, one thing is certain: his failure adequately to acknowledge his sources exposed him to much of the criticism that plagued his work in the years after his death.
The success of Bernardin’s Etudes de la nature in the late eighteenth century, and in particular of his bucolic tale Paul et Virginie, served to establish him in the early nineteenth century as one of the foremost precursors of the Romantic movement. Resplendent with romantic motifs, Bernardin’s work made him the champion for a new generation of writers, most famous amongst whom were Chateaubriand and Lamartine.[279] It is unsurprising, therefore, that we witness an overbearing concern by those biographers who studied him to present an accurate image of Bernardin, an author who, in the first twenty years of the nineteenth century, was already becoming one of France’s most influential luminaries. Indeed, this concern carries into the mid-nineteenth century and beyond, with Sainte-Beuve remarking in the appendix to his biography of the writer that:
Ceux qui sont curieux de voir les hommes au naturel, et que les détails de la vie commune ne rebutent pas, peuvent lire cet Appendice.[280]
The emphasis here is not on the presentation of Bernardin per se but, specifically, on the depiction of him ‘au naturel’; and biographers and editors of the writer would stress the importance of a natural, authentic representation of his life for many years. Significantly, such a concern appears to pervade Aimé-Martin’s early study as he states in the preface to his Essai sur la vie de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre that, ‘Il n’a pas dépendu de nous d’être meilleur juge et plus habile historien; mais il a dépendu de nous d’être toujours vrai, et nous l’avons toujours été.’[281] Cook would corroborate this view, remarking in his study that:
Much of what we read is persuasive, especially those elements that refer to Bernardin’s early reading, and there are some manuscripts to support Aimé-Martin’s account.[282]
However, while it is true that the veracity of much of Aimé-Martin’s biography and of his transcription of the Bernardin manuscripts can be verified by an examination of the original documents, the editorial process was far from a scientific, objective undertaking, as a look at the Essai sur la vie will reveal. We recognise from such conclusions as that which he derives from Bernardin’s relations with the princess Marie Miesnik (‘une passion sans laquelle il n’eût peut-être jamais peint les amours de Paul et Virginie’)[283] that Aimé-Martin is guilty of some speculation. Indeed, for many critics Aimé-Martin is far from ‘toujours vrai’[284] in his presentation of Bernardin. By the early twentieth century, Souriau, in his Bernardin de Saint-Pierre d’après ses manuscrits, claims to paint the genuine portrait of a Bernardin whose life story has been distorted and falsified by his slanderous former secretary. Souriau is dismissive of Aimé-Martin’s work on the writer, and cites several reasons for the reader to discount the editor’s assertions about the author:
Aimé-Martin est le plus étrange biographe que l’on puisse rêver. Son moindre souci est de dire la vérité. […] Sa méthode critique, pour la partie narrative, ou plutôt son absence de méthode critique, son manque de sincérité scientifique, dépassent toute idée.[285]
However, what Souriau repeatedly forgets or, rather, ignores is the privileged position Aimé-Martin found himself in as the former employee of Bernardin and as a beneficiary of his estate. Cook makes the perceptive remark that:
Given the close working relationship between Bernardin and his secretary, it must be a fair assumption that during the course of their discussions Bernardin would talk about his youth […].[286]
And Hunter, in his chapter dedicated to the biography of Robert Boyle, comments that, ‘North agreed with many others, including Samuel Johnson, that “They only who live with a man can write his life with any genuine exactness and discrimination” ’.[287] Importantly, in his quest to undermine the efforts of Aimé-Martin, Souriau fails to recognise the obvious advantages the editor enjoyed both as a contemporary of Bernardin and as a man who knew him personally. Nevertheless, Souriau is sometimes right to question the reliability of Aimé-Martin’s work, since, as we have seen, it is invariably dictated by a positive censorship of Bernardin’s life. Significantly, just two years after the publication of the Essai sur la vie, Aimé-Martin would find himself the target of criticisms of the family of Bernardin’s first wife, Felicité Didot:
La famille Pierre-François Didot jeune s’abstiendra d’examiner si l’auteur [...] a réellement atteint son but; si, dans la relation des faits, l’historien n’a pas le plus souvent cédé la place au romancier […].[288]
If the ‘but’ of Aimé-Martin’s Essai sur la vie had been to present an authoritative account of the life of his mentor, then such accusations as these might serve to cast doubt on the veritable success of his project. However, while this censure of the œuvre masquerades primarily as an attack on Aimé-Martin’s style, on the recounting of a life story misleadingly rooted in fiction, the opening passages of the Didot study reveal that it is less about how properly to honour the life of Bernardin than it is about how better to remember the Didot family’s relationship with him.[289] The Didot article, entitled La Vérité en réponse aux calomnies, denounces various aspects of the biographer’s account, particularly those relating to the financial dealings between the publisher and Bernardin, and those claiming the author as the deserving husband of a vulnerable, young wife. There is no doubt that in the Essai sur la vie Aimé-Martin would have overlooked instances of reprehensible conduct in his master’s marriage to Félicité, but to deny him the freedom to do this would be to retract from him one of the principal liberties enjoyed by all editors and biographers: that of the power to select their material. In his journey through the many biographies of Boyle, Hunter points out that:
In the preface to The Life and Death of Sir Matthew Hale, Burnet criticised other biographers for ‘writing lives too jejunely, swelling them up with trifling accounts of the Childhood and Education, and the domestick or private affairs of those persons of whom they Write, in which the World is little concerned’.[290]
In many respects Aimé-Martin can be considered to have swelled up his biography with ‘accounts of the Childhood and Education, and the domestick or private affairs’, but a close look at such accounts will reveal that they are very rarely ‘trifling’. The short autobiography Bernardin wrote in 1809 to accompany a portrait which he sat for the American painter, Rembrandt Peale, informs us of those episodes that Bernardin deemed most worthy of note and it is reassuring that they all, without exception, find a place in Aimé-Martin’s Essai sur la vie. The account teaches us several things about what is considered to be the most adventurous period of Bernardin’s life, before he returns to France in 1771 and eventually establishes himself as a writer. From that first trip to Martinique to his short spell in a Polish prison for his work with the Russians, all that Bernardin considered significant in his early life is preserved in Aimé-Martin’s Essai. Likewise, the years after his stay on the Île de France are also outlined, with special mention of the generosity of Napoleon Bonaparte and his brother, Joseph, for their according various state pensions to the ever-destitute Bernardin. All this information, thought memorable by Bernardin, maintains a place in the biographer’s essay. It is true that the Essai is also replete with detail not included in the autobiography that consequently might be considered ‘trifling’. Yet, Aimé-Martin, in writing posthumously about a man whose memory he is keen to preserve for posterity, has sought to produce the most comprehensive picture of Bernardin, a task that warrants reference to events, feelings and circumstances beyond those Bernardin judged to be of importance. Indeed, it would be misguided to attempt to make direct comparisons of the two accounts because their aims are so markedly divergent: one man keen simply to map the course of his life, the other keen to impress that life upon a generation which risks forgetting the social and cultural contribution of the writer of the Etudes de la nature.
The inclusions made by Aimé-Martin in the Essai sur la vie and, indeed, in his biographies of other writers, feature for a specific purpose as they help to illuminate the oft-obscured private persona of his subjects. Such intentions are implied in the ‘Avis de l’éditeur’ to Aimé-Martin’s edition of the Œuvres de l’Abbé Fleury:
Après l’étude approfondie de tant de beaux livres, une question intéressante nous restait à traiter ; c’est à savoir si la vie privée de l’auteur avait toujours été d’accord avec les principes évangéliques qui font le charme de ses ouvrages. Cette question ne se présente jamais qu’à la lecture des chefs-d’œuvre. Soit à tort, soit à raison, notre confiance pour le moraliste se mesure à l’usage que lui-même a fait de sa morale.[291]
For Aimé-Martin, it follows that the moral code that permeates the works of Fleury should dominate and guide the life of the man himself;[292] and it is not unreasonable to assume that Aimé-Martin might feel inclined to select sources for inclusion in the biography to support this ideal. Importantly, Aimé-Martin, duty-bound by his responsibilities to Bernardin and to his family, would repeatedly manipulate the reader’s image of his mentor that it might better conform to an ‘ideal’. The allusions to Bernardin’s Christian values, his immaterialism, his philanthropy, his gallantry and his innocence are meant to produce a very deliberate, positive impression of his subject. In the editor’s account Bernardin is a hugely talented individual (from his military vision to the originality of his Etudes de la nature) with much to offer humanity. The biographer does try to balance the presentation of his subject by referring to the mistakes he made, but every mistake is accompanied by a justification, an excuse, a positive growth. Admittedly, in footnotes to Bernardin’s Etudes de la nature Aimé-Martin corrects some of the writer’s more questionable theories,[293] however, such instances only serve to repudiate a small fraction of a huge body of work, and that with the obvious benefit of the scientific discoveries of Aimé-Martin’s age.[294] Indeed, if Aimé-Martin, in his role as editor, felt compelled to correct some of the more dubious claims of the Etudes, he also made certain to applaud it:
Au reste, le but de l’auteur des Études est si sublime, qu’on éprouve à chaque page le besoin de croire et de penser comme lui.[295]
The Œuvres bear witness to Aimé-Martin’s agenda to promote Bernardin’s image through various methods. While the biographer, Souriau, implies that Bernardin would willingly compromise his beliefs for material gain,[296] Aimé-Martin, conversely, nurtures the vision of a man loath to sacrifice his principles for financial reward or advancement:
[Les travaux de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre] ont ce caractère particulier, que l’auteur s’y montre toujours ferme dans ses principes sans aucune considération pour l’époque à laquelle il écrit.[297]
Significantly, this promotion of Bernardin is coupled with a defence of the writer. Just as Bernardin pens his apologie of Rousseau, so Aimé-Martin sets about defending the reputation of his mentor, prompting Sainte-Beuve’s comment that:
Ayant à défendre Bernardin contre plusieurs inculpations qui touchaient au caractère, M. Aimé-Martin s’est jeté dans une apologie sans réserve.[298]
Tellingly, in the ‘Avis’ to the Etudes de la nature discussion of Aimé-Martin’s editorial methods is eventually superseded by a defence of Bernardin.[299] This is certainly contrary to what Aimé-Martin includes in the ‘Avis’ of his editions of other writers where he focuses not on defending his subjects, but rather on defending the choices he has made as editor. However, this convention is reversed in the Œuvres, hinting at his most pressing concern as the editor of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre. Interestingly, his apology of Bernardin occasionally appears misguided. In printing the ‘Proposition faite à l’Institut par Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, pour rappeler ses confrères a la modération (1798)’,[300] Aimé-Martin attempts to secure the defence of the writer’s reputation against rumours proclaiming Bernardin a liar and a ruffian. Yet, the editor’s decision to reveal the contents of the ‘Proposition’, although well-intentioned, is arguably not justified on two counts. Firstly, because it does not (as the editor proposes it will) explicitly or categorically refute those claims of the ‘disciple de Cabanis’;[301] [302] and, secondly, because Bernardin specifically requests that all record of his address be destroyed:
Je demande de plus, chers confrères, que si vous adoptez ces réclamations d’un membre de votre section de morale, il n’en soit pas fait mention dans nos registres, afin qu’on n’y voie pas qu’en les employant quelquefois dans des délibérations étrangères, nous en avons eu besoin pour nous-mêmes.[303]
Admittedly, the reader is able to benefit from a further insight into the life of Bernardin, at the same time as Aimé-Martin dutifully produces what he deems his vindication of the writer, but this is all at the expense of Bernardin’s explicit request for privacy. Indeed, this is not the only instance where Aimé-Martin sees fit to publish material Bernardin has desired to keep private[304] and one is forced to question whether or not the editor can be considered to abuse his position in this sense.
Nevertheless, if Aimé-Martin exploits his power as editor in order to produce the most comprehensive collection of Bernardin’s works possible, he was clearly unwilling to use his exceptional, personal knowledge of the writer to press for a comprehensive exposure of his private life. The previous chapters have already explored Aimé-Martin’s handling of some of the Bernardin correspondence and manuscripts, and we have seen the extent to which Aimé-Martin was prepared to manipulate his sources in order to avoid mention of certain aspects of Bernardin’s biography. Certainly, the editor would, as one might expect, omit several articles from the original manuscripts detailing the relationship between Bernardin and his second wife, Désirée Pelleport, the woman who would one day become Aimé-Martin’s wife. In the preface to the Essai sur la vie she is identified as having had an active role in the compiling of the essay and it is possible that some of the decisions regarding revelations about Bernardin’s life fell to her. In her biography of the celebrated author, Arvède Barine remarks that:
[…] on ne saurait lire sans être touché les pages où les amours de jeunesse du héros sont poétisés et magnifiés au delà de toute mesure, car ces détails-là n’ont pu être fournis que par sa veuve. Désirée l’idéalisait pour la posterité jusque dans les aventures les plus vulgaires.[305]
However, the accuracy of this statement is difficult to determine and the full measure of Désirée’s involvement in the editorial process is largely unknown. Of course, had she been actively making decisions about the arrangement and presentation of the Œuvres, this would clearly complicate an analysis of Aimé-Martin’s efforts as the principal editor of Bernardin’s life and works.[306] Nonetheless, what can be ascertained is that Aimé-Martin had responsibilities that extended beyond those of editor; responsibilities as a husband, as a father figure and as a friend, and this clearly affected the choices he made when approaching the Œuvres.
Significantly, the censorship and careful modification that typify Aimé-Martin’s treatment of Bernardin’s private life is not seen so explicitly in his work on the Bernardin texts. It is undeniable from statements in the Œuvres and, indeed, from observations made by Souriau and others, that Aimé-Martin spent considerable time grappling with what he deemed to be problematic documents (he describes some work as ‘souvent illisible’);[307] and our study of the Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau is evidence enough that he would often modify the original texts as a result of difficulty in comprehension. Nevertheless, there are limitations to the extent of Aimé-Martin’s interference with Bernardin’s manuscripts. In the ‘Avis’ to the Etudes de la nature Aimé-Martin stresses his intention to resist comment upon the scientific theories propounded by Bernardin, proclaiming that, ‘[L’éditeur] s’est donc abstenu de porter un jugement sur les théories qui forment la base de quelques parties des Études.’[308] Whether or not Aimé-Martin should, as editor, be prepared to produce some sort of commentary on the theories considered by Bernardin is debatable; editors vary considerably in their approach to critical editions. The biographer, Barine, for example, has no qualms about making the following statement regarding Bernardin’s erroneous arguments on plants and the earth’s circumference:
On lui aurait pardonné cette théorie avant les travaux de Lavoisier. Venue après, elle trahit plus d’ignorance qu’il n’est permis d’en avoir, même à un poète, en parlant de science.[309] [310]
Perhaps what Aimé-Martin’s lack of criticism indicates, more than anything, is a respect for those theories the author of the Etudes had long laboured over, a respect manifest elsewhere in the Œuvres in Aimé-Martin’s proclaimed reluctance to revise the phraseology of his mentor:
Souvent la brièveté de ces notes les rendait inintelligibles: nous avions alors à craindre de substituer notre pensée à celle de l’auteur, et cette crainte a toujours amené à la suppression des morceaux qui en étaient l’objet.[311]
Rather than substitute his words for those of Bernardin, he chooses instead to exclude phrases altogether, a practice that would disprove some of what Souriau had to say about Aimé-Martin’s penchant for imitation and transposition in his biography:
Dans les œuvres posthumes de Bernardin, il introduit de l’Aimé Martin; par réciproque, il emprunte à Bernardin, qui ne peut plus protester, quelques-unes de ses meilleures pages inédites, et les fait passer pour de l’Aimé Martin.[312]
Indeed, Souriau accuses Aimé-Martin of many such displays of misconduct, and not all of his accusations are reasonable or valid. He makes the observation that, ‘Aimé Martin, […] écrit trop fréquemment sur les chemises des dossiers: à bruler. D’autres ont été donnés par lui, distribués à des amis.’[313] However, Souriau never makes a satisfactory attempt to understand the context in which Aimé-Martin was working. Why were some letters ‘à bruler’, and why were others ‘distribués à ses amis’? Such practices are not necessarily indicative, as Souriau is surely suggesting, of malpractice but instead are a reflection of the period in which Aimé-Martin was editing. Letters previously belonging to well-known figures were often distributed amongst interested individuals and were considered valuable; and the decision to burn some documents, although perhaps sinister in part, may also have been necessitated by factors such as a lack of storage space.
Importantly, many of Aimé-Martin’s editorial decisions are taken with his reader’s needs in mind. The Œuvres feature many directors that facilitate the reader’s navigation of the text. In several of the featured works Aimé-Martin uses footnotes to refer his audience to related articles contained within the Œuvres. In one footnote he remarks of the phrase ‘votre plume est un pinceau’ (in the Lettre de Napoléon à Bernardin de Saint-Pierre) that:
Cette expression, qui plaisait à Bonaparte, se retrouve dans une autre lettre que nous avons déjà citée. (Voyez le supplément à la Vie de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre.)[314]
What is more, as is the case with all of the editor’s transcriptions of Bernardin’s original manuscripts, Aimé-Martin corrects the various grammatical errors and spelling mistakes that appear therein, in keeping with contemporary, editorial processes but, more importantly perhaps, with processes observed by conscientious writers themselves. In the ‘Avis de l’auteur’ that accompanies the 1792 publication of the Etudes Bernardin informs us that, ‘Il est de mon devoir de le rendre le plus digne que je pourrai de l’estime publique: ainsi j’ai corrigé les fautes de style’.[315] Such focus on stylistic (and sometimes typographic) detail was not uncommon as part of authorial practice though, as the nineteenth century wore on, this focus appears to fall increasingly (if not equally) under the responsibility of the editor.[316] That Bernardin subjected his work to multiple revisions of his own[317] nonetheless remains significant. He was constantly reassessing his writing and improving his texts and the intervention of others hoping to achieve this end would perhaps have been applauded and even encouraged by him.
Of course, any efforts to accommodate the reader clearly would have made Aimé-Martin’s publication more appealing to the public. As Cook quite rightly observes, ‘Aimé-Martin was a shrewd publicist and an expert at marketing his literary goods.’[318] Even as he produces the Œuvres, the editor is considering possibilities for future projects, professing that, ‘Nous possédons plusieurs lettres de madame de Krudner, nous les publierons peut-être un jour.’[319] Indeed, the Essai sur la vie, included at the opening of the second volume of the Œuvres, whets the reader’s appetite for those texts that follow, Cook noting of the description of Bernardin’s arrival in St Petersburg that it ‘is clothed in rich romantic detail.’[320] Certainly, the entire biography is ‘clothed in rich romantic detail’, resulting in a text very much in harmony with the literary style of the period. Furthermore, the biographer sought other ways to create a work with universal appeal, producing an account that abounds with adventure (in the storm at Sardinia, in Bernardin’s arrest in Poland), scandal (Dutailly’s treason), love affairs and celebrity. However, it is clear that Aimé-Martin was not prepared to sacrifice Bernardin’s reputation in a bid for commercial success. Even in the more sensational episodes one can discover a more sober, less objectionable interpretation: Bernardin’s endeavours to help his brother, Dutailly, showing fraternal compassion and the love affairs dealt with according degrees of sensitivity (Bernardin’s relationship with the Polish princess, Marie Miesnik, dramatised for its glorious associations with royalty, while the alleged affair with the wife of Monsieur Poivre is alluded to in only the most implicit of terms).
The examination of Aimé-Martin’s various editorial projects engenders questions about what he hoped to achieve through his work on a personal level. It is evident that Aimé-Martin was a devout Christian and this has led to the suggestion that his religious convictions influenced his professional activities, specifically in respect of the representation of Bernardin. Souriau declares that, ‘Aimé Martin fait de Bernardin un catholique fanatique.’[321] However, though Aimé-Martin implies that Bernardin remained a religious man throughout his life, it ought to be noted that Bernardin’s religiosity is never categorised by the editor. Cook notes that, in 1792, Bernardin ‘had moved on from the belief of a staunch Catholic’ to ‘a belief in a providential deity’;[322] and, if Aimé-Martin attempts to prove otherwise he does not do so by labelling Bernardin a Catholic.[323] If the editor does exaggerate the fervency of Bernardin’s religious beliefs it is never to the extremes of some advocates of Christianity. One ecclesiastical authority, overseeing an edition of Paul et Virginie, states, ‘Nous avons revu cet ouvrage, et retranché ce qui pourrait produire sur la jeunesse de funestes impressions.’[324] Indeed, the church authority changes several passages in the novel that compromise religious doctrine or the reputation of the church. Such a blatant move by the ecclesiastical powers to use Paul et Virginie as a medium for their own didactic agenda is not immediately apparent, if at all, in Aimé-Martin’s work on Bernardin.
In his study of Bernardin, Cook comments that:
Clearly, […] the publishing and editorial norms expected today were not those of the first decades of the nineteenth century. From our early work on the correspondence it is evident that Aimé-Martin changed very little, even though he omitted letters that he knew existed and cut passages from some of the letters he published. But, it remains generally true that Aimé-Martin’s published versions are very close to the manuscript sources, and in this respect Souriau’s criticism of his editorial practices, at least as far as the correspondence is concerned, is unfair.[325]
Such a statement can, to some degree, be extended to Aimé-Martin’s work on Bernardin in a more general context. One ought not to forget that Aimé-Martin spent over four years researching and compiling his edition of the Œuvres, and it is clear that his editing of the Bernardin manuscripts continued for years after that. Having dedicated so much time to such a project, it would be reasonable to assume much care was taken to guarantee both its quality and comprehensiveness. Interestingly, the measure of a good editor, though qualified in different ways by various individuals, to this day has, as far as I am aware, escaped official classification. One interpretation of what constitutes an effective editor is posited by the critic Northrop-Frye, who argues that:
The editor’s education is an education in humility, precisely paralleling the education of the critic. The youthful critic starts out full of enthusiasm for the metaphor of the judge: it is he who has been singled out to evaluate the greatest writers of the past, to decide precisely what in them is relevant to our concerns and what must be considered the relative failures in their achievement. […] The ultimate aim of the critic, teacher and editor alike is to become a transparent medium for whatever one criticizes, teaches or edits.[326]
While there are obviously elements of seemingly unbiased evaluation in the Œuvres, the notion of Aimé-Martin as ‘a transparent medium’ for the work of his mentor is somewhat harder to swallow. Indeed, the editor was not the impartial critic imagined by Northrop-Frye, a circumstance born of his intimacy with Bernardin and of his unique position as the sole authority on the writer. Importantly, however, we see a distinct shift in focus in those editorial undertakings unrelated to Bernardin and, thus, that remained uncomplicated by shared confidences and familial relations. Without the bond of friendship weighing heavily around his neck, constraining his professional decisions, Aimé-Martin is at liberty to indulge the reader of a new age: one who is both prepared and intellectually-equipped to ask questions pertaining to the provenance of his sources and to the overall reliability of his text. Certainly, the critical analysis and dispassionate judgement, deemed by some to be so elusive in the Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, is clearly at work in the studies that followed Aimé-Martin’s editorial debut.
3.3 Expanding his editorial empire: Aimé-Martin and his other subjects
Though Aimé-Martin met with criticism over what some perceived to be his cavalier attitude towards the editing of Bernardin’s texts, the same cannot be said of his other editorial projects, and this is largely because Aimé-Martin went to greater pains to discuss his practices in them. In his edition of the works of Descartes, he comments that:
Après ces observations générales, il nous reste à donner quelques renseignements sur la manière dont nous avons établi le texte de notre édition, et sur les ouvrages qu’elle renferme.[327]
Statements such as this are not unusual in Aimé-Martin’s publications, in which he seems willing if not eager to specify his methodologies. Of course, in editing the works of some noteworthy personalities, Aimé-Martin is embracing a long-standing tradition of narrating literary history. He is obviously aware of the substantial legacy that precedes his work and is, thus, keen to justify his effort as yet another in a succession of studies, reasoning that, ‘Quant à nos propres remarques, elles sont peu nombreuses, peu importantes, et cela devoit être, après les travaux de tant de critiques habiles.’[328] Significantly, he views each study as part of a collective, cumulative process and is prepared to credit his predecessors with their contribution to his edition. Yet, how, in light of so many other studies, does Aimé-Martin account for the necessity of his own? It is noteworthy that the editor promotes his projects by proclaiming some of those critical editions already in circulation to be outdated, and by stressing the new features that appear exclusively as part of his collection. Evidently, Aimé-Martin has a keen sense of what constitutes a competent edition of a complete works. His criticisms are consistent, identifying as pedantic and unnecessary such things as a focus on the writer’s grammar and, ironically perhaps, a preoccupation with criticism of other editors, stating of two editors of Jean Racine that, ‘Desfontaines n’a pris la plume que pour contredire d’Olivet. Ses raisons sont foibles.’[329]
Aimé-Martin also condemns those who attempt to cover too much material in their editions; and, this tendency complements much of what we see him doing in his own work, specifically that concerning the Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau, whereby he pares down many of the original documents as part of a rigorous selection process. He asserts of one editor of Fleury:
Rondet était un philologue fort érudit, mais il manquait de goût; son édition est un chaos; il a tout recueilli, le bon et le médiocre, l’utile et l’inutile, les discours de circonstance et les ouvrages du moment, et il n’a établi aucun ordre dans cette immense publication.[330]
Aimé-Martin recognised that although making judgements about the value of original manuscripts was necessary it was also difficult, commanding both courage and resolution. We see the following mention in his edition of Boileau Despréaux:
M. Berriat de Saint-Prix ne retranche rien ou presque rien, et il ajoute beaucoup. Trente années de recherches et de petites découvertes semblent avoir épuisé son courage; il se croit obligé de tout donner.[331]
Nevertheless, if Aimé-Martin proved an advocate of the selection process, he meant for selections to be made thoughtfully and wisely. He comments on the work of one editor of Descartes that:
[…] trop souvent aussi il s’est permis de mutiler l’œuvre du maître, en détachant de ses traités de physique des fragments de morale et de philosophie, développements nécessaires des choses qui suivent ou qui précèdent, et que l’auteur a évidemment composés pour la place qu’ils occupent.[332]
Such comments might surprise, coming from a man who clearly reordered and modified many of the manuscripts he worked with, specifically those of Bernardin. Yet, Aimé-Martin is not condemning the selective process per se; indeed, he goes on to make the point that, in some cases, the reorganisation of text would not distort the communication of the thoughts contained therein.[333] What he suggests is that, when selecting material for publication it is necessary to do so cautiously and considerately, without compromising the essential message of the original.
Indeed, the work of an editor is not something Aimé-Martin approached lightly, he recognised that the role involved noteworthy effort and carried considerable responsibilities. In his version of the letters of Madame de Sévigné he writes:
Le rétablissement du texte exigeait un travail long et pénible : il fallait retrouver les lettres originales, consulter les Mémoires du temps, fouiller les collections, et se faire pour ainsi dire de la société intime de Madame de Sévigné.[334]
Certainly, Aimé-Martin was thorough in his work, and his claim to ‘se faire pour ainsi dire de la société intime de Madame de Sévigné’ was often taken quite literally. The editor would not merely settle for a transcription of the work of his subjects, but he also strove to contextualise their lives, immersing himself in literature issued from the respective period, accepting projects with obvious commonalities of theme and periodisation.[335]
If Aimé-Martin was concerned to situate the life of his subjects in the context of their historical and cultural background, he was also equally concerned to censor those less palatable aspects of their biographies. He does express a desire to represent his subjects honestly:
Boileau disoit que la France avoit, comme l’Italie, ses auteurs classiques, et qu’il seroit nécessaire de relever leurs beautés et leurs défauts dans des notes consacrées à ce seul objet. Notre travail est une réponse à ce vœu.[336]
However, Aimé-Martin was in fact acutely aware of the necessity to draw a veil over certain private matters, as demonstrated so clearly in his selections of Bernardin’s Œuvres and through his observation of other editors:
Ainsi, madame de Coligny, fille de Bussy, supprimait tout ce qui pouvait blesser la mémoire de son père, et madame de Simiane tout ce qui rappelait les discussions plus ou moins orageuses de la mère et la fille, et qui pouvait faire douter de la tendresse de cette dernière [...].[337]
Nevertheless, Aimé-Martin’s acknowledgement of the practices of other editors did not necessarily constitute an adherence to those same practices. If he did suppress select information about subjects other than Bernardin with a view to sparing their blushes it was never with the same fervour as that manifest in his mentor’s Œuvres. Indeed, when the son of Jean Racine tries to defend posthumously the reputation of his father over an accusation of illegal, simultaneous performances of the play Alexandre, Aimé-Martin contradicts his defence by stating that:
L’assertion de Louis Racine est détruite par la gazette en vers de Robinet. [...] Ce gazetier parle du succès de la pièce, et dit expressément que Racine produisit en même temps l’Alexandre sur les deux théâtres françois.[338]
Another difference that distinguishes Aimé-Martin’s studies of other writers from that on Bernardin is the fact that in these other works he appears keen to authenticate his sources. Interestingly, there seems to be considerable recognition in his editions of the value of the editor’s consultation and cooperation with the subject and, or the subject’s family. In his assessment of previous editors of Boileau, he observes the privileged position of his editor and friend, Brossette; and, in the text he borrows from Louis Racine, there is mention of the authoritative edge given specifically to a biography when compiled in conjunction with, or with approval from, the subject’s family. Perhaps this realisation of the value Aimé-Martin places on personal contact with the subject goes some way towards explaining his approach to the Œuvres. Could it be that his confidence in the relationship with Bernardin and Bernardin’s family drove Aimé-Martin mistakenly to believe that the public might see that relationship as sufficient affirmation of the authenticity of his edition? Time, of course, would show that this relationship was not enough to justify his choices and make his critical edition irreproachable.
There are some remarks in Aimé-Martin’s studies on the issue of plagiarism as carried out by other editors. In his introduction to the Œuvres poétiques de Boileau Despréaux, he comments on ‘la faute grave de ne pas citer ses autorités’;[339] and he is also careful to justify the similarities between his translation and that of another editor in his work on Descartes, ‘A présent nous prions les lecteurs qui seraient frappés de la ressemblance de quelques parties de notre traduction avec celle de M. Cousin’.[340] That Aimé-Martin shows an awareness of and effort to comply with particular editorial practices surely goes some way to refuting the accusations of substitution and professional misdemeanours of which Souriau, for example, holds the editor guilty.
It will come as no surprise that Aimé-Martin’s various studies display the same concern as that outlined in the Œuvres to facilitate the reader’s engagement with his work. The same directors manifest themselves in footnotes throughout, although sometimes not all are necessary. In his Œuvres de Fénelon, Aimé-Martin provides the reader with an ‘Avis’ to conclude the ‘Entretiens sur la religion’,[341] notifying him of how he will conclude the whole section and quoting the closing lines of the following piece in so doing. These very same lines appear only five pages on, surely negating the need to include them in the first instance. Furthermore, as in the Œuvres, Aimé-Martin is wont to correct many of the historical inaccuracies he encounters and he is seen also to insert footnotes relating anecdotes and additional facts about his subjects, a practice not so common in the Bernardin study due to the inclusion of the Essai sur la vie. Importantly, Aimé-Martin remains insistent on one point, that his complete works feature a biography, showing, if nothing else, an adherence to long-held literary practices. Indeed, where a biography is lacking or is considered in some way inadequate, Aimé-Martin compensates for this, remarking of the efforts of Amédée Prévost that:
Toutefois, comme le but de cette notice n’était pas la biographie de Descartes, mais l’appréciation de ses ouvrages, nous avons dû y suppléer en publiant les notes placées à la suite du discours de Thomas. Ces notes sont en effet la meilleure biographie qu’on ait encore publiée de notre auteur [...].[342]
If there are suspicions raised by Bernardin’s Œuvres that Aimé-Martin might have used the work to satisfy his own ends (namely that of promoting the virtues of religion), there can be no doubt that he does just this in many of his other projects. A number of his editorial undertakings reflect his Christian beliefs, from his work on Fleury and Fénelon to his mission to disprove what he considers the godless philosophy of La Rochefoucauld. In the Œuvres de l’Abbé Fleury Aimé-Martin tells his reader that his work will do service to the regeneration of spirituality in France:
C’est donc rendre un véritable service à la religion et aux lettres que de recueillir en un seul volume tous les opuscules remarquables de l’abbé Fleury [...].[343]
And, in an edition of Fénelon’s œuvres he implicitly states that he is battling against the godlessness instigated by the Enlightenment and still prevalent at the time of his writing, asking, ‘Que penserons-nous à cette heure de certains Sages qui nient Dieu, et veulent nous faire croire qu’ils connaissent les Hommes?’.[344] It should, however, be noted, that there is no obvious manipulation of the texts referred to in order to render them suitable for expounding Aimé-Martin’s own beliefs. Indeed, it is probable that, coupled with a certainty that some personalities would be popular with his public, Aimé-Martin chose to collate certain works because they complemented his own beliefs so well. What is more, it will come as no surprise that many of Aimé-Martin’s editorial projects are characterised by the ever-present concern to conjure the memory of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre:
Jeunes gens, vous qui êtes l’espoir de l’avenir, recevez donc du sage Fleury la plus sainte et la plus utile des leçons: laissez un moment ce monde de fange pour entrer avec le véridique vieillard dans un monde habité par les plus belles âmes, il vous guidera vers Fénelon, Fénelon vous guidera vers Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, et vous recueillerez, de leur bouche, la double révelation des lois de la Nature et de l’Evangile.[345]
Indeed, such allusions to the writer are not uncommon, his name also appearing in Aimé-Martin’s work on Platon, Fénelon and Molière. This tendency, though self-serving, ought not to be too severely frowned upon, after all it is usual for editors, biographers and writers to allude to those figures sharing interests and theories in keeping with their own, and Aimé-Martin does nothing irregular in repeatedly bringing Bernardin into the reader’s consciousness.
In Aimé-Martin’s introduction to the Œuvres poétiques de Boileau Despréaux he asserts that:
C’est l’heure du commentaire. Le poëte est devenu classique. Il réclame les honneurs d’une étude spéciale qui ne laisse rien d’obscur, rien d’inconnu, qui le replace, avec ses lecteurs, dans son siècle [...].[346]
Aimé-Martin recognises that the French people are investing in projects like his and, thus, launches himself into what he knows will be a lucrative business, exploiting opportunities for further publications. In his opening to the Œuvres philosophiques de Descartes, he writes:
La seconde série, renfermant la géométrie, la physique, l’anatomie, etc., n’offre plus que les pièces justificatives de l’histoire de la science, et elle sera publiée plus tard si nos souscripteurs en font la demande.[347]
Yet, although Aimé-Martin pursued his career as editor for financial gain he also appears to have been infused with a genuine desire to share a body of work that would to some extent better humanity. In a dedication to the late interior minister, Henri Lainé, we read that, ‘Le Panthéon Littéraire réalise un des vœux les plus ardents de ce grand citoyen: la publicité populaire des chefs-d’œuvre de l’esprit humain.’[348] Certainly, much like the ends he hoped to achieve through his work with Le Panthéon Littéraire,[349] Aimé-Martin was keen to contribute to the intellectual and spiritual improvement of the French people through the dissemination of his complete works series. Indeed, what he strove to accomplish through his various studies was in many ways not dissimilar to that which he aspired to do through the diffusion of Bernardin’s many œuvres; and, significantly, as the aims of the works were largely congruent, often so too were the methodologies that defined them.
3.4 Conclusion
Despite those similarities in the practices that typified Aimé-Martin’s editions of both Bernardin and other writers, the work on Bernardin has alone stood out throughout the centuries as a target for the criticisms of generations of scholars. It would seem that while many commonalities do exist between the editorial methods used by Aimé-Martin across the spectrum of his work, he was condemned to his fate by that one big difference that set the Bernardin project apart from all the others: Aimé-Martin’s intimacy with his subject. While Aimé-Martin saw the benefits of the work of an editor able to infiltrate the private circles of his subject, posterity would see his close relationship with Bernardin and his family as something of a handicap in the compiling of a complete works. As the first man to handle the manuscripts, Aimé-Martin’s early work was necessarily subjected to close scrutiny by those individuals who later retraced his footsteps, and who would inevitably discover the veritable extent of his modifications. Of course, if Aimé-Martin did change articles he found contained in the manuscripts, it was first and foremost with a desire to protect Bernardin’s reputation and he would not be the first editor or biographer to do as much for his subject. In the ‘Mémoires sur la vie et les ouvrages de Jean Racine’, written by his son, Louis, in 1747 and featured in Aimé-Martin’s edition of Racine’s œuvres, Louis states, ‘Je ne dois jamais louer le poëte ni ses ouvrages: le public en est le juge.’[350] However, we have seen that Louis Racine was not always an impartial narrator when recounting his father’s life and, if he is not explicitly casting judgements on the life and works of the playwright, he manipulates the judgement that the public will eventually formulate of him.[351] Similarly, Aimé-Martin professes to paint an honest picture of Bernardin and his works through the Œuvres and our study has concluded that, at times, the editor fails to do so in various ways. However, it should be recognised that the editorial decisions taken by Aimé-Martin with a view to colouring his reader’s interpretation of the life and works never distort Bernardin’s image to the point of substantially altering his life history or changing the fundamental message of his texts. Undoubtedly, if Aimé-Martin had approached his editorial project on Bernardin with the complacency insinuated by the vehement criticisms of Souriau and others, he would arguably never have achieved the success he went on to experience in the early nineteenth century. His work on Bernardin seems to have been the impetus for a whole host of projects that established Aimé-Martin as a respected editor of his time. Indeed, one compatriot, François Grille, would insist:
Continuez cependant, imprimez, publiez, vous êtes la providence des bibliothèques de ce siècle. Vos commentaires sont des encyclopédies; vous touchez à tout, vous moissonnez les lys et les épis, vous prenez le suc et l’essence, vous ne négligez aucun éclaircissement et l’on sait par vous, à fond, le sort et l’origine des auteurs et des ouvrages, leurs succès, leurs revers, leur travers, et toutes leurs mille et une vicissitudes.[352]
It is undeniable that even as early as the mid-1820s, Aimé-Martin occupied an important position in the literary community. Indeed, we see him at the forefront of initiatives perpetuated by some of the most influential figures in France’s cultural landscape, his signature appearing on the contract that united contributors to Le Livre des cent et un, for example.[353] While Aimé-Martin’s exact contribution to the Livre remains unclear,[354] his association with such a venture both of socio-cultural significance and of service to the editing and publishing empire of a new age should not be ignored.
Such willingness to be a part of movements in the literary field proves both Aimé-Martin’s conviction in the consequence of his work and his unfailing entrepreneurialism, as he exploits every opportunity to extend his sphere of influence. Importantly, Aimé-Martin’s ‘sphere of influence’, though now most popularly recognised as one of editorial proportions, in fact also encompassed his achievements as author; and, in 1831, upon signing the contract to the Livre des cent et un, he was just three years away from securing the official recognition of the Académie française for his treatise, the Education des mères de famille. Nonetheless, his work as author had begun in 1810 with the publication of the Lettres à Sophie sur la physique, la chimie et l’histoire naturelle, a collection that, though pre-dating the future editor’s involvement with Bernardin, was drawing prophetic parallels between the disciple and his master.
Searching for science in the Lettres à Sophie
4.1 Introduction
Whilst the Education des mères de famille (1834) was popularly celebrated as Aimé-Martin’s foremost literary success, germs of the ideology contained therein (promulgating the belief that in better educated mothers lay the salvation of society) were apparent, if only in a very abstract sense, in the writer’s Lettres à Sophie sur la physique, la chimie et l’histoire naturelle of 1810. Indeed, the Lettres à Sophie might reasonably be deemed an earlier, though less explicit, attempt to address women’s learning in France, a preliminary stage in the eventual, later acknowledgement of her significant role in the community. Importantly, the sciences were ‘a part of [the] programme for social improvement’[355] that had become the leitmotif of many of the texts of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries published in and outside of France.[356] Thus, in keeping with contemporary trends, Aimé-Martin would envision his Lettres à Sophie as a work to sow the seeds of a ‘scientific’ education, one capable of overturning the moral degradation of society.[357] In the introduction to the collection, his hopes to enlighten his readership, to lend it what he terms ‘ce rayon bienfaisant’, are made repeatedly clear:
J’ai osé appliquer cette sentence de Pythagore à mon Ouvrage: heureux si le sexe enchanteur pour qui je l’écrivis veut répandre sur lui ce rayon bienfaisant![358]
Certainly, the Lettres à Sophie, the second of Aimé-Martin’s more widely read literary efforts,[359] seem in many respects to be unconsciously laying the foundation for the Education des mères,[360] not least because the author addresses his essays to ‘le sexe enchanteur’, specifically the young woman, Sophie. It is in cultivating in Sophie a spirit of inquiry that she will begin better to understand the harmonies of the natural world and perhaps to contrast these with the undesirable, disharmonious workings of civilisation. Indeed, in his work, Aimé-Martin proposes to introduce the country girl,[361] Sophie, to the wonders of science, to guide her beyond the limitations imposed by mere observation and to offer her the knowledge necessary to a more profound appreciation of Nature. Yet, the Lettres à Sophie are also a treatise on the existence of God, on the perfection of his creation, and the by-product of propounding these ideals might happily be the moralisation of society. In the introduction to the Lettres à Sophie, Aimé-Martin exclaims of the marvel of Nature that:
[…] le spectacle de tant de gloire n’est pas fait pour des yeux mortels, et c’est assez que Dieu se révèle à nous par les bienfaits et par les merveilles de la Nature. J’essaierai donc de le connaître par ses œuvres.[362]
In bringing her closer to Nature it was hoped that the fair sex would consequently come closer to Nature’s creator, the projected outcome of many a ‘scientific’ œuvre of the period. [363] Significantly, in light of this agenda, the merits of Aimé-Martin’s text as a scientific handbook remained highly contested throughout the early nineteenth century. Indeed, it is noteworthy that the author never specifies what exactly he wants the naive Sophie to have understood about science by virtue of studying his letters. Of course, this is likely because other factors were clearly at play in his text, principally the desire that his musings on Nature might succeed in bringing the metaphorical Sophie ever closer to God.
The Lettres à Sophie owe much both to Bernardin’s Etudes de la nature and to the work of Charles Albert Demoustier,[364] whose Lettres à Emilie sur la mythologie had first appeared in 1786. The allusions to Bernardin’s voluminous text in the Lettres à Sophie will feature considerably as part of this study, and tend to identify the inspirational and contextual nature of Aimé-Martin’s borrowings from the Etudes. Demoustier’s paradigm, however, served exclusively as the structural and thematic template for Aimé-Martin’s collection. It is of note that, similar to the Lettres sur la mythologie, Aimé-Martin’s text is not an epistolary novel in the strictest sense of the term. In principle, one might consider him to be continuing a literary mode made popular in the second half of the eighteenth century[365] but, in practice, his letters might be thought of more accurately as a collection of essays, punctuated with verse and pleasant anecdotes.
Je ferai encore remarquer que, soit pour ramener l’attention, soit pour rompre un peu l’uniformité du style épistolaire, j’ai souvent changé la forme de mes lettres: tantôt c’est une promenade, tantôt un entretien, un rève [sic], une fable, un voyage; quelquefois je hasarde une fiction.[366]
The literary encyclopaedia of Quérard comments on the two œuvres, making the following distinction between the Lettres à Sophie and their predecessor:
Cet ouvrage est composé sur le modèle des ‘Lettres sur la Mythologie’, de Demoustier: comme lui, et en surmontant plus d’obstacles, M. Aimé-Martin a voilé l’érudition par la grâce, et a prêté le charme de la poésie et d’une prose élégante à des discussions naturellement sèches. Il a presque toujours évité la fadeur et les autres défauts dans lesquels est tombé Demoustier.[367]
There in fact remain many similarities between the literary approach of Demoustier and Aimé-Martin (both reliant on a quasi-conversational, sometimes romantic register) and this is plainly because both men are concerned to entertain their respective readers, to ‘voil[er] l’érudition par la grâce’.[368] Of course, as the titles of the two respective works indicate, Aimé-Martin’s Lettres à Sophie differentiate themselves from those of Demoustier in a very significant way, abandoning mythological teachings in favour of scientific (and religious) instruction. Indeed, the Lettres à Sophie are far from a mere imitation of their prototype as, though not wholly original in format, they strive to promote quite a different set of lessons to those envisaged by Demoustier. Interestingly, the critic and natural scientist Mouton–Fontenille takes little exception to the issue of imitation in the Lettres à Sophie, rather encouraging imitation when done well:
Pourquoi M. L.A.M. n’a-t-il pas cherché à imiter les lettres admirables de J. J. Rousseau sur la Botanique? Pourquoi a-t-il voulu créér, lorsqu’il avait des modèles aussi parfaits à suivre?[369] [370]
The answer to the question, of course, is that Aimé-Martin was not writing a thesis purely about science and, therefore, he was unlikely to want to imitate Rousseau. The Lettres à Sophie are the culmination of their author’s extensive reading, an amalgam of the women’s literature and science writing very much in vogue in the years when Aimé-Martin would have been producing his collection and, in this sense, they do qualify as a composite imitative piece. Interestingly, the Lettres à Sophie can be seen to exemplify the very principles of a necessary, hybrid literature that had been outlined in the Encyclopédie:
Mais si les belles-lettres prêtent de l’agrément aux sciences, les sciences de leur côté sont nécessaire[s] pour la perfection des belles-lettres. Quelque soin qu’on prit de polir l’esprit d’une nation, si les connoissances sublimes n’y voient accès, les lettres condamné[e]s à une eternelle enfance, ne feroient que bégayer. Pour les rendre florissantes, il est nécessaire que l’esprit philosophique, & par consequent les sciences qui le produisent, se trouvent, sinon dans l’homme de lettres lui-même, du-moins dans le corps de la nation, qu’elles y donnent le ton aux ouvrages de littérature.[371]
Certainly, the encyclopédistes were not envisioning the production of strictly scientific works, but rather of a literary corpus infused with serious, philosophical overtones that subsequently characterised many of the publications of the late eighteenth century,[372] and that we also observe in Aimé-Martin’s Lettres à Sophie. Indeed, the Lettres à Sophie were not a superficial imitation of the topical literary genres of the era; they were a sincere response to a calling, implicit in those literary genres, of a spiritual and moralistic kind. Significantly, in 1786, when Demoustier would write his Lettres sur la mythologie, he too would allude to the nation’s necessity for a moral re-awakening. In his reminiscences upon a former age of peace and virtue, he seemed almost to prophesy the Revolution of 1789:
Ma muse, couverte du voile de la douleur, cherche en silence, dans nos forêts profondes et sous nos antres solitaires, un asyle où la Discorde et la Haine n’aient point encore pénétré. Là, gémissant sur le passé, déplorant le present, et lisant dans un sinistre avenir elle dépose tristement sa lyre détendue jusqu’au retour incertain de la Paix, des Arts, de la Vertu et du Bonheur.[373]
Though drastically altered at the time of Aimé-Martin composing his letters sometime between 1809-1810, post-Revolutionary France was still considerably unstable. The country had witnessed unprecedented civil unrest and was at that time ruled by an emperor engaged in various military campaigns that were slowly proving less and less fruitful. The consensus in the early nineteenth century seemed to be that France was still stumbling blindly through the abyss, a circumstance reflected by the shortcomings in the culture of the age:
Tous les jours on entend déplorer la perte du goût et la décadence des lettres. […] Mais, si l’on est assez d’accord sur le fait principal, on l’est beaucoup moins sur ses causes: l’un attribue ce triste résultat à la dépravation des mœurs et à l’oubli des principes religieux, celui-ci à l’influence des philosophes, un autre au progrès des sciences. Chacun rejette le mal sur le parti opposé, personne n’en veut voir la source dans la nature. C’est pourtant là qu’elle réside. Si notre langue, après avoir enfanté les ouvrages de Boileau et de Racine, ne produit plus de pareils chefs-d’œuvre, pourquoi s’en étonner?[374]
Similarly to contemporary thinkers such as Madame de Staël and Chateaubriand with their respective works Sur la littérature considérée dans ses rapports avec les institutions sociales (1800) and the Génie du christianisme (1802), Aimé-Martin would offer with the Lettres à Sophie his own solution to the nation’s calling for a chef-d’œuvre to remedy ‘la perte du goût et la décadence des lettres’. Such aspiration, however, would be repeatedly frustrated by critics who, for reasons of inappropriate style and outmoded content, deemed his collection unfit for purpose.
4.2 The Lettres à Sophie as witness to God’s existence
While reviews of the Lettres à Sophie served to establish a decidedly ambivalent notion of the collection’s intent and societal contribution, most commentaries would nonetheless allude to the spiritual doctrine central to the essays. Certainly, if we can consider Aimé-Martin to have been guided in his writing by any force beyond and above his own learning and experience it would most certainly have been his immovable belief in God. For him, the relationship between God and science was both reciprocal and proportionate. Belief in a divine being would enhance insight into the workings of the natural world, whilst, equally, the study of science would open up pathways to God. In the introduction to the Lettres à Sophie he writes:
Viens m’inspirer, ô dieu du jour!
Que ma voix, sublime ou légère,
Puisse célébrer tour à tour
Les lois du ciel et de la terre […].[375]
Even later, in 1837, when Aimé-Martin produces his Plan d’une bibliothèque universelle, he is still searching for inspiration from the ‘dieu du jour’, holding stolidly onto the conviction that only with faith in God can we hope to gain a complete understanding of his creation:
C’est qu’il y a dans le sentiment religieux quelque chose de plus large, de plus puissant que dans nos théories les plus savants: la science n’explique que les causes secondaires, le sentiment religieux complète la science en l’élevant jusqu’à Dieu![376]
It is clear that Aimé-Martin considers his approach to science both relevant and progressive for modern society, as can be gleaned from the way in which he contrasts his own system with that comparatively mystical ideology of some physicists:
Faut-il à present que le physicien évoque les ombres, qu’il s’entoure de fantômes et de spectres, et qu’il s’élève dans les cieux avec cette pâle assemblée de morts?[377]
Aimé-Martin believed that ‘le physicien’ should be both rational and systematic, unimpressed by superstition and fantasy. However, paradoxically, in a society still enthusing over the principles propounded by the philosophes, Aimé-Martin, curiously perhaps, is still able to reconcile his faith in God with the teaching of science. What is more, the Lettres à Sophie go much further than simply conciliating religion with the emerging advances in science, they set themselves up as a witness of God’s influence and authority over the entire universe. The marvels of creation are considered as evidence of God’s infinite power and perception. Indeed, what other scientists may have observed as being compatible with their new, though unperfected and still largely contentious ideas about the evolution of the earth, Aimé-Martin was adamantly professing as indicative of the omnipotence of God:
Je vous ferai seulement remarquer que la coquille des œufs de poule étant extrêmement dure, le bec du petit poussin a été armé d’une eminence osseuse, dont il se sert pour fendre l’œuf, et qui tombe quelque temps après sa naissance: prévoyance qui décèle la main d’un Créateur intelligent, et qui embarrasse singulièrement les incrédules.[378] [379]
Furthermore, not only was Aimé-Martin clearly content to ignore the growing scientific debate about evolutionary theories, he is often seen in the Lettres à Sophie to oppose them as, for example, when he advances the theory that man was first and only created as an intelligent being, capable of independent thought and in possession of all the faculties we observe in him today.[380] He asserts:
Enfin, que de choses merveilleuses à dire d’une creature qui, jetée sur la terre […] a su, par la seule force de sa pensée, créer les arts et les sciences, bâtir des villes magnifiques […].[381]
Certainly, as the Catholic Church of the seventeenth century had placed obstacles in the path of the scientist Galileo, one might argue also that writers of Aimé-Martin’s ilk were, in their own unwitting way, doing science a disservice, vulgarising their topic with an insistence on its religious dimension. The publication of works such as Aimé-Martin’s Lettres à Sophie and the controversy raised by it are illustrative of the perennial conflict between science and religion. In Aimé-Martin’s edition of Fénelon’s De l’existence de Dieu (1809) he comments that:
[…] nous ne tâcherons point d’expliquer la formation du Globe, autrement que par la volonté du Tout-Puissant. […] et si, au milieu des grandes harmonies de l’Univers nous rencontrons quelques lois qui nous semblent en contradiction avec la sagesse divine, nous nous garderons bien de les juger […].[382]
Admittedly, Aimé-Martin’s fervent religiosity serves to muddy the waters of his science and, consequently, to render the plausibility of his treatise on science in all its guises highly questionable. The theories propounded in the Lettres à Sophie would certainly hold more sway if, while testifying to God’s existence, they were not so obviously hostile to the advances and discoveries of Aimé-Martin’s time. Aimé-Martin is perhaps ill-advised to establish his Lettres à Sophie as articles of faith instead of articles about science.[383] His contemporaries were keenly aware of the religious agenda in his œuvre, remarking on the implication, deep-rooted in the text, that to contradict any of his claims would amount at best to impiety, at worst to blasphemy.
Je lui demanderai si tous ceux qui honorent aujourd’hui l’Europe par leurs lumières, lui ont fait confidence de leurs sentiments secrets; ou, par quels moyens il a pu les pénétrer; et s’il ne l’a point fait, je demanderai comment il s’est hasardé à leur donner ainsi en masse une qualification à laquelle il attache un sens odieux, et dont la fureur des parties ne se montre que trop prête à abuser. On doit un grand respect aux sentiments vraiment religieux; mais, quand ils sont vrais, ils ne sont ni aigres ni persecuteurs; s’ils le deviennent, ce n’est plus de la piété, c’est de la haine.[384]
Having already published his edition of De l’Existence de Dieu in 1809 it is perhaps little wonder that Aimé-Martin continues to model himself as the writer to redeem a nation from the godlessness of science. However, in so doing he makes the mistake, not only of ignoring modern science, but equally, in his haste to protect his religion, of ignoring the Christian precepts of tolerance.
Certainly, Aimé-Martin recognises that he is not alone in his quest to save Christian values, conjuring the authority of Bernardin during the author’s lifetime and reinforcing his religiosity in the years following his death. In the introductory note to his edition of the Etudes de la nature he remarks of Bernardin that, ‘Il ne faut donc plus s’étonner du discrédit que certains gens ont voulu jeter sur son ouvrage […] ils n’ont pu lui pardonner d’être un écrivain religieux.’[385] Indeed, in the letters Aimé-Martin appears to have been working towards much the same end as Bernardin in his Etudes, with Cook observing that:
In the Études Bernardin seeks to define the essence of nature by showing its harmonious working, a process that is engineered and driven by a divine entity. Given the philosophy that inspired the author, which can be seen throughout the Études, it is not surprising that Bernardin’s text should have pleased those who professed a belief in God.[386]
Aimé-Martin’s respect for the philosophy of Bernardin is evident in the way that his own ideology for the Lettres à Sophie echoes that of his mentor who, in the ‘Avis de l’auteur’ of his Etudes claims:
Voilà donc la gloire que j’ai ambitionnée, celle d’assembler quelques harmonies de la nature, pour en former un concert qui élevât l’homme vers son auteur […].[387]
Nonetheless, Aimé-Martin’s admiration of Bernardin’s work is not limited to a shared interest in elevating ‘l’homme vers son auteur’. Aimé-Martin also lauds Bernardin’s considerable contribution to science, commenting of the Etudes:
Je sais que jamais l’univers n’eut un plus habile peintre que l’auteur de cet ouvrage: porté sur les rivages de l’Ile-de-France, il eut la gloire de peindre, le premier, les beautés d’une Nature nouvelle: à sa voix, les plantes, les fleuves, les montagnes, la terre, tout semble sortir du chaos, et le monde embelli devient l’œuvre de la Providence.[388]
Indeed, Aimé-Martin is most impressed by Bernardin’s ability to see nature in all its complex splendour, to contemplate nature in the context of the wider universe, something he reiterates in both the Lettres à Sophie and in later works.
Ce sont ces convenances que l’auteur des Études semble avoir entrevues le premier. Pour lui tout est lié dans la nature; […] les extrémités vont du ciel à la terre, de la plante à l’homme par les formes, de l’homme à Dieu par la pensée.[389]
In addition, Bernardin is portrayed by the author of the Lettres à Sophie as the first natural philosopher to appreciate the value of observation as a powerful scientific tool:
Le livre favori de Sophie était les Études de la Nature; elle le portait toujours avec elle, comme on dit que La Fontaine portait les Œuvres de Gassendi. La lecture de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre avait donné à cette aimable personne le goût de l’observation.[390]
Certainly, Aimé-Martin continually stresses the merits of observation in the Lettres à Sophie, considering it an essential feature of the ‘new’ science he endorses, a feature that, most importantly, sets it apart from more ancient, scientific practices:[391]
L’ancienne physique était moins la science de la Nature, que celle des opinions des philosophes. On n’observait pas, mais on faisait des systèmes qui expliquaient tout.[392]
It is noteworthy that Aimé-Martin’s praise of Buffon, whom he sets alongside Bernardin, centres almost exclusively on his powers of observation.[393]
Significantly, if Aimé-Martin’s work on science was intended to reinforce his religious beliefs, it was also, in part, destined for the promotion of Bernardin’s achievements as a natural scientist. It is interesting that Aimé-Martin never posits a theory of his own to explain tidal movements, especially in light of Bernardin’s preoccupation with the subject. However, Aimé-Martin instead shows his support for the controversial claims of the Etudes regarding the cause of tides[394] by clearly rejecting the contrary assertions of Newton (claims, it should be noted, that in 1810 were thought scientifically sound). An article from the Mercure de France states that:
M. Martin ne traite pas mieux les savants dans ce monde que dans l’autre. Il trouve fort ridicule la théorie Newtonienne des marées. ‘Imaginez-vous, dit-il, voir tous les savants se désespérant de ne pouvoir expliquer les marées:’
Leur ignorance était commune,
Et ces messieurs ne sachant pas
Ou trouver la cause ici-bas,
Furent la chercher dans la lune.[395]
Nevertheless, in spite of the positive publicity that the Lettres à Sophie lend to Bernardin’s Etudes, the work is not without its criticisms of them:[396]
Cependant l’Ouvrage de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, en […] transportant [Sophie], pour ainsi dire, au milieu d’une Nature enchantée, lui avait donné des idées fausses sur plusieurs grands phénomènes de la Nature […].[397]
There is, however, a huge irony in Aimé-Martin’s assessment. He makes several allusions in the Lettres à Sophie to Bernardin’s markedly literary approach to science, to the distortions and misunderstandings that this engenders, but this would, of course, be a criticism later levelled at Aimé-Martin in turn. Furthermore, on those occasions when Aimé-Martin attempts to correct those of Bernardin’s theories that he regards as flawed, his own scientific knowledge is often revealed to be wanting. He writes candidly about Bernardin’s apparent failure to understand why, in the depths of winter, Providence has dictated that predatory animals maintain their dark coats while those of their prey, conversely, are bleached white:
Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, avoue dans ses études que la raison de ce contraste lui est inconnue. Comment l’interprète de la Nature n’a-t-il pas deviné qu’elle n’a blanchi les lapins, les perdrix, les cailles même, que pour les soustraire aux yeux de leurs féroces ennemis qui les confondent avec les frimas?[398]
However, in spite of Aimé-Martin’s seemingly logical and helpful explanation, his reasoning here belies his putative knowledge of the Etudes and of the intricacies of the animal kingdom. His contemporaries, of course, might have observed that some prey did remain dark against the snow-clad landscape and, equally, that some predators would adapt to blend in with their surroundings. Yet, most interestingly, Bernardin had, in the ‘Etude septième’, previously advanced a ‘raison de ce contraste’ between the coats of predators and their prey,[399] a finding clearly overlooked by Aimé-Martin. Indeed, unfortunately for Aimé-Martin, and for the credulous Sophie, this is not the only instance where his scientific theories could, and would, prove unreliable.
4.3 The scientific textbook
Aimé-Martin produced several problematic theories in the course of writing his letters, though the theories themselves will occupy only a small section of this study. Many of the objections raised to his work materialised due to the lack of clarity that ensued as a result of his use of poetic imagery. Indeed, from the outset it is made clear that the Lettres à Sophie are to be conveyed through a romantic language that would ordinarily be disassociated from the teaching of science but that Aimé-Martin considers well-suited to the successful communication of his text:
Vous voulez donc que je prenne la lyre
Pour célébrer le magique pouvoir
De ces savants que l’univers admire?
Vous désirez égaler leur savoir?[400]
Many of Aimé-Martin’s generation would ask why a man hailing from a literary background would want to try his hand at science,[401] but there is no doubt that Aimé-Martin judged himself suitably qualified for the task.[402] Certainly, he acknowledged his limitations as a scientist but he also recognised his ability as a writer who could enthuse a nation about science. Nonetheless, there are several instances in the Lettres à Sophie that serve to highlight the problematic associated with a desire to marry two such incongruent aspects of culture as literature and science. One critic is alerted to Aimé-Martin’s romantic description of the violent winds in the Otranto forest:
Ainsi, ce n’est pas un doux murmure que l’on entendit dans la forêt d’Otrante, mais un vent très-violent, et dès-lors la forêt fut très-agitée. Ce que je viens de dire prouve combien toutes ces allegories [d’Aimé-Martin] sont déplacées en histoire naturelle.[403]
What is more, Aimé-Martin posits some rather confusing theories as a result of his lack of a truly scientific discourse.[404] He defines the ‘attraction élective’ as ‘l’amour qui porte l’une des substances d’un composé à abandonner le corps dont elle fait partie, pour s’unir à une nouvelle substance qu’elle préfère: c’est un choix.’[405] Aimé-Martin then proceeds to argue that the ‘attraction élective’ is responsible for the harmony of the universe. However, this afore-mentioned ‘choix’, the absence of a pre-destined union of elements and creatures, must surely threaten to give reign to chaos. Indeed, Aimé-Martin gives a rather puzzling suggestion about how harmony would come to pass in this order of things:
Si une substance n’était pas destinée à s’unir à telle substance plutôt qu’à telle autre, tout rentrerait dans le chaos, tout serait confondu; ou pour mieux dire, rien de ce qui est n’existerait. Le monde ne serait plus qu’un amas de ces corps simples, de ces éléments primitifs, dont nous ne connaissons encore qu’une partie.[406]
Of course, the indication here is that Nature has implicitly mapped out the paths of all living things in spite of the superficial appearance of choice, of this ‘attraction élective’. Yet, if the reader is not looking for implicit meanings in the text (and this would be quite reasonable for someone hoping to find a traditional scientific handbook), they would most certainly find this seemingly contradictory thesis rather baffling. Conversely, what Aimé-Martin does make clear in this proposal is his belief that the ‘attraction élective’ allows for more complex organisms to develop, a theory that anticipates the propositions of Charles Darwin that would appear some fifty years later in 1859 with the publication of his work On The Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection.[407] Such progressive thinking is perhaps unexpected in the Lettres à Sophie, though Aimé-Martin’s visionary potential should not be overstated. It is, of course, extremely unlikely that he was consciously propounding ideas of natural selection in 1810, not least because such theories threatened to contradict his Christian beliefs.[408] Importantly, if Aimé-Martin was expounding the notion of an ‘evolving’ natural world, the elective processes happening in it were nonetheless predetermined by a sublime being and according to a foreordained plan.[409] [410]
Admittedly, many of Aimé-Martin’s theories were far from visionary and his contemporaries hounded him as a result of his shortcomings as a scientific writer. Not only were some of his theories unconvincing, reductive[411] and even downright confusing but, most worryingly of all, many of his teachings were, in 1810, outdated and irrelevant. While Aimé-Martin asserts his rejection of an ancient or outmoded scientific philosophy, a study of his Lettres à Sophie, and the history of scientific discovery as a cumulative, often collaborative, process, makes plain that a rejection of past philosophies was not always possible in practice. He states:
Ainsi le pouvoir de l’attraction, qui tend toujours à unir, balance le pouvoir de la raréfaction, qui tend toujours à diviser; et c’est à l’équilibre admirable de ces deux lois opposées que nous devons l’existence et la conservation des mondes.[412]
Yet, such theories on attraction and repulsion were not new in 1810, and can in fact be traced back to a time before Christ:
Empedocles (c. 490-c. 430 b.c.) maintained that the physical world evolved from interactions between the four elements under the influence of the forces of ‘love’ and ‘hate’ (which might well be regarded as attraction and repulsion).[413]
Mutel, the author of a text that parodied the teachings of the Lettres à Sophie, would despair at the many discrepancies between Aimé-Martin’s science and that of his contemporaries, making the following remarks about his references to the ‘gaz hydrogène sulfuré’:[414]
Mais puisque vous faisiez tant que d’extraire des pages entières de l’ouvrage de Fourcroy, vous eussiez dû au moins consulter les savans travaux de nos chimistes plus modernes, Davy, Gay-Lussac, Thénard, etc.; vous eussiez vu que ce que vous annoncez comme incertain et probable est aujourd’hui bien avéré […] et en outre vous eussiez eu encore le plaisir d’annoncer à votre élève que le nom de ce gaz avait été changé par nos chimistes en celui d’acide hydrosulfurique.[415]
Such glaring oversights in the Lettres à Sophie could reasonably be excused if Aimé-Martin was seen to take stock of the numerous criticisms of his work, but what we see on contemplation of his later editions of the letters and, equally, in other of his œuvres, is a reluctance to revise certain aspects of his thesis.[416] There are various instances of Aimé-Martin borrowing passages or ideas from his Lettres à Sophie in order to recycle them in other works (notably in his Langage des fleurs of 1819),[417] and he is also seen to recycle sections of his earlier work, De L’Existence de Dieu, in the Lettres à Sophie, [418] a reasonable and economical practice for any author repeatedly dealing with topics of a similar nature. However, with reviews quick to identify the misinformation featured in his text, Aimé-Martin could hardly have been under the illusion that his Lettres à Sophie were in any sense beyond reproach and ought to have been honouring his readership with the necessary revisions to each new edition of the letters and with each new œuvre he wrote. One reader observes in a letter to a friend:
J’ai lu la nouvelle édition des Lettres à Sophie. Elle ne contient de nouveau qu’une Lettre sur Les lois du mouvement et une autre sur l’œil. La Lettre sur les migrations des oiseaux et celle sur les ruses des animaux ne peuvent être regardés comme nouvelles, puisqu’elles ont déjà paru dans les Etrennes à la jeunesse et dans le Traité de Fénélon sur l’existence de Dieu. Vous voyez que Martin a ce qu’on appelle du métier, et qu’il connait à merveille l’art de faire des livres avec des livres.[419]
Repetition of useful and versatile material is, of course, in many respects, both welcomed and sensible but if the Lettres à Sophie are motivated by a desire to inspire a taste for science in the young Sophie, should that really be the bitter taste of timeworn theories with a questionable place in modern learning?
Aimé-Martin does, in fact, propose some unwitting justifications for his decision to include various contentious or under-developed materials in his Lettres à Sophie. Firstly, he makes several references to the unfinished nature of his work, commenting in a footnote that:
On conçoit que cet Ouvrage, pour être complet, demande un cinquième Livre où il soit traité de la physique du monde en général, des métaux, des sels, etc. Ceci fera le sujet d’un Ouvrage à part que l’Auteur se propose de publier, ainsi que des lettres sur la botanique, si le Public accueille avec indulgence ce premier essai.[420]
Aimé-Martin does not actually succeed in writing his work on physics,[421] though he does eventually publish the Langage des fleurs, a catalogue of various plants, in 1819. There is no doubt that Aimé-Martin was, as we have already mentioned, conscious of the sort of criticisms that might trouble his work and he is seen to anticipate the objections in passages included in the Lettres à Sophie:
Cependant, si les savants me reprochaient de traiter les matières scientifiques trop légèrement, je les prierais de se rappeler que mon Ouvrage n’est qu’une introduction à ceux de Lavoisier et de ses successeurs, et que je n’ai point tâché de refaire ce que ces savants ont si bien fait.[422]
Indeed, Aimé-Martin models himself as the simple mouthpiece for the scientific teachings of his time, and the inclusion of notes written by the scientist Patrin indicates his recognition of the limitations and of the constraints resulting from his lack of scientific training. Furthermore, the supplementary notes contained in the Lettres à Sophie are intended for those amongst Aimé-Martin’s readers who wish to gain a more profound understanding of science, thus to some extent compensating for the lack of more weighty theory in the body of the work:
[…] les notes que M. Patrin a bien voulu me communiquer serviront comme de supplément à mon Ouvrage, et contenteront ceux qui auraient le désir de pénétrer plus avant dans les profondeurs de la science. Qu’il me soit permis de remercier ici ce savant naturaliste, qui a bien voulu m’aider de ses conseils et de sa plume.[423]
Interestingly, Aimé-Martin does occasionally reveal himself capable of appropriating a sober style more compatible with science writing as, for example, when he footnotes the characteristics of a wasp that he describes in purely poetic terms in the body text:
Body text:
Armé d’un aiguillon, il fond rapidement
Sur l’ennemi qu’il veut combattre;
L’attaquer, le frapper, l’abattre,
Est l’affaire d’un seul moment […]
Footnote:
Le sphex est une guêpe qui attaque tous les insectes, et surtout les araignées, les perce avec une espèce de tarière, les tue à moitié, dépose ses œufs dans leurs corps, et les ensevelit sous terre, où les petits éclosent, et se nourrissent du cadavre qui les renferme.[424]
This observation might surprise anyone studying the Lettres à Sophie as, of course, it does reveal that Aimé-Martin’s decision to maintain a predominantly literary style throughout his collection is quite deliberate and not, as some might suspect, indicative of his inability to adopt a more traditional, scholarly approach to scientific writing. This said, Aimé-Martin did express some concern over the elusiveness of the mysteries of Nature and the problematic inherent in writing about science:
Eh! comment l’esprit de l’homme devinerait-il tous ces mystères, lorsqu’il se perd dans les choses les plus simples? […] Ne chercherons donc point à découvrir ce que la main du Créateur a caché avec tant de soin […].[425]
Moreover, he also alludes to the mutability of scientific discovery, expressing thoughts that echo the words of the philosophes over fifty years previously:[426]
Telle découverte nous paraît inutile aujourd’hui, qui, demain, fera toute notre gloire. Ces formules abstraites, ces experiences oiseuses qui semblent n’avoir aucun but, feront peut-être un jour le destin des nations.[427]
Nevertheless, while Aimé-Martin underlines all that his Lettres à Sophie fail to do, there are several positive aspects of the work, consciously implemented by the author, which are worthy of mention and that go some way to explaining its popularity in the face of such adversity. Notably, the Lettres à Sophie feature several analogies aimed at contextualising the work for Sophie and, indeed, for any one of Aimé-Martin’s audience. He relates the phenomenon of sound waves in the following, familiar terms:
Les physiciens comparent la manière dont le son se propage, aux vagues circulaires qui se forment lorsqu’on jète une pierre dans un bassin: les vibrations des corps sonores […] font dans l’air de pareilles vagues qui, en s’agrandissant, se communiquent le son […].[428]
What is more, Aimé-Martin informs his reader of various simple, scientific experiments that he allegedly conducts as an aid to writing his letters and, importantly, he describes them in such careful detail so as to enable his coterie of Sophies to recreate them at home:
Il faut que vous ayez le plaisir d’opérer vous-même la décomposition de l’air. Allumez une bougie, fixez-la sur une soucoupe à moitié pleine d’eau, et couvrez cet appareil d’une cloche de crystal; vous verrez bientôt la flame se rétrécir, prendre une couleur bleue, et s’éteindre. Cependant l’eau s’élèvera pour occuper la place de la portion d’air absorbée.[429]
Certainly, this advocacy of experiential learning serves to ally Aimé-Martin with such writers as Jane Marcet, whose Conversations on Chemistry, translated into French in 1809, had helped to establish her as one of the key exponents of a feminine-oriented science. Though evidence that Aimé-Martin knew Marcet’s work is still wanting, it is, nonetheless, significant that parallels exist between the pedagogical methodologies of the author and a recognised progressist in the education of women.[430] The championing of experiments to be undertaken in the domestic space, whilst integral to the instruction proposed by Marcet, also remains a noteworthy component of the learning envisaged by Aimé-Martin; and which lends to his work a gravitas more readily associated with serious and consequential writings.
Despite the intermittent use of a sober, science-centric diction, the romantic motifs and pretty verse that ultimately characterise the Lettres à Sophie were considered by many not only highly appealing but also paramount to the book’s mission and to its success. Aimé-Martin pronounces that:
La sécheresse des sujets que j’avais à traiter était souvent désespérante. Pour y jeter un peu de variété et d’agréments, et pour sortir des routes déjà tracées, je resolus d’entremêler ces essais de quelques morceaux de poésie, et je chantai tour-à-tour la Beauté, la Nature et la Science. Instruire en amusant, tel est le but que je me suis proposé; le temps seul m’apprendra si j’ai réussi.[431]
In contrasting Aimé-Martin’s œuvre with that of his contemporaries we see how dramatically different his product really is from the other scientific texts of the early nineteenth century. Aimé-Martin, rather unfairly, criticises one ornithological study specifically because it lacks any of the literary finesse that his work boasts. The subject of this criticism responds by explaining:
Si M. L. A. M. avait voulu ou pu se pénétrer du sens de l’ouvrage […] il aurait vu que ces nombreuses et insipides répétitions ne sont pas un travail à lire de suite, mais à consulter. On peut les comparer aux tables d’un ouvrage qu’on consulte, et qu’on ne lit pas de suite.[432]
There is, of course, no denying the relative accessibility and delightfulness of the Lettres à Sophie. Indeed, Aimé-Martin would begin his journey through science charming Sophie with his rhymes and eloquent prose, although, tellingly, this is an aspect of the collection that would be modified as the letters ran into further editions:
Ces Lettres, adressées dans l’origine à une demoiselle charmante, renfermaient quelques galanteries qui ne pouvaient intéresser le public; j’ai senti, avec un critique distingué, qu’il était nécessaire d’en diminuer le nombre […].[433]
Certainly, it seems Aimé-Martin wanted to infuse his work with notions of romance and chivalry, but clearly not at the expense of distancing his readership. Nonetheless, romance in all its guises was still very much at the heart of the Lettres à Sophie even after the author’s revisions, uniting the pillars of Beauty, Nature and Science in ways unexpected for a work pertaining to the instruction of science.
4.4 Writing for the fairer sex
Aimé-Martin’s consistently literary interpretation of the sciences and the natural world can be explained quite simply by his conviction that, ‘il est bien difficile de ne pas se croire poète en présence de la Nature’.[434] This is, of course, perhaps a happy situation for Sophie as she embarks on her rather unnerving and labourious quest to uncover the secrets of the universe. Indeed, fortunately for any debutante in the study of science Aimé-Martin punctuates his teachings with various literary devices designed both to render the task less daunting and to alleviate the boredom often associated with the rote consideration of scientific topics. Certainly, poetic licence allows the author of the Lettres à Sophie to conceive of nature in ways other science writers could never hope to. The imagery he uses is recognisable and seems destined in many respects to spur his reader on to mimic the same harmonious, peaceful existence he observes in the natural world.[435] Nature is perceived as a sensitive, inter-connected entity, with creatures existing in communities and plants contributing to the delicate balance of the atmosphere. It is suprising, in view of Aimé-Martin’s philosophy, to witness his criticism of the ideology of the science writer Durand:
Vous avez peut-être entendu parler de M. Durand […]. Ce savant avait la prétention de prouver mathématiquement que les cailloux sont doués de sensibilité. Il s’appuyait surtout de ce qu’il appelait l’amour de la matière pour le soleil.[436]
Indeed, Aimé-Martin’s vision of the sciences and the way in which he translates that vision to his reader are not so far-removed from the theories expounded by Durand. In matters of ‘sensibilité’ and ‘amour’ Aimé-Martin is seen to endorse notions of the natural world engaging with courting protocols that would look equally at home in the ballrooms and parks of Paris as in the depths of the forest or on remote countryside plains:
Voyez comme au printemps le feuillage est mollement agité, comme le ruisseau caresse le gazon, comme l’oiseau chante avec tendresse: tous les êtres sont en extase, tous se revêtent de leurs habits de noces, tous adoucissent et modulent leurs voix. Il semble que la Nature veuille plaire pour faire aimer.[437]
Admittedly, scientists have long observed mating rituals in the animal kingdom, but Aimé-Martin sometimes distorts the perception of these rituals to such an extent that he removes them from their natural context, thus permitting himself to attribute humanistic traits to flower and fauna as well as to other living creatures.[438] The critic, Mouton-Fontenille, remains markedly antagonistic towards Aimé-Martin’s personification of the natural world, stating that:
Si M. L. A. M. avait voulu, avant de faire imprimer ses Lettres à Sophie, jeter les yeux sur des ouvrages d’histoire naturelle, il aurait évité de faire de son livre un répertoire de fables puériles, qui assimilent ses lettres aux contes des fées.[439]
Nevertheless, these ‘conte des fées’ succeeded in captivating a generation of mainly female admirers. Indeed, it was not for Aimé-Martin to acknowledge the true extent of his influence as his contemporaries, even those hostile to his doctrine, were doing so for him:
[…] mon cher professeur, vous recevez chaque jour les témoignages les plus flatteurs; votre nom est dans toutes les bouches, votre ouvrage dans tous les boudoirs, […] et grâce à vous, le beau sexe raisonne chimie et vous cite à tous propos […].[440]
Interestingly, for an author with such far-extending popularity, Aimé-Martin claims to know very little about the sciences while proceeding to write a series of letters in which he models himself as the principal science teacher of the young Sophie:
J’eus beau lui représenter qu’une partie des connaissances nécessaires me manquaient; que, pour lui faciliter l’étude des sciences, je serais obligé moi-même à des études considérables; Sophie ne voulut rien entendre, et tout-à-coup, comme le pauvre Sganarelle, je fus reconnu savant malgré moi.[441]
Aimé-Martin informs us that his preparation for the formidable task he sets himself is to read and write about science,[442] and, as such, the author of the Lettres à Sophie becomes a student in order to qualify himself for the role of instructor. This state of affairs might teach us something about the expectations for the education of Sophie, who is to be ‘enlightened’ by Aimé-Martin’s sometimes naive and faltering scientific doctrine. Clearly, the author of the Lettres à Sophie is little concerned by his latent inadequacies as a science writer, largely due to his conviction that, as Sophie’s chief pedagogue, he ought, above all, to ‘rendre amusantes des expériences et des découvertes souvent abstraites’.[443] One might argue that Aimé-Martin’s insistence on the necessity to ‘rendre amusantes’ abstract concepts for his female audience, merely serves to reinforce long-standing stereotypes pertaining to woman’s mental incapacity for serious learning. However, Aimé-Martin’s recourse to the use of a light-hearted tone was not indicative of his lack of faith in the cerebral forces of womankind, but rather of his recognition of those distinctions existent between the way in which men and women had been trained to think. He likely saw that, while women were no less capable of assimilating complex information than men, their education to date had not taught them to process it in quite the same way as their male counterparts.[444] Importantly, let us recall also that, in writing the Lettres à Sophie, Aimé-Martin was not proposing to create experts but enthusiasts in the enquiry of science[445] and, thus, his collection aims to facilitate learning about its various components, to shake free the shackles of centuries of prejudice about the inherent difficulties of its study. Indeed, his work is marketed as an educative appetiser, a small but purposeful step forward for Sophie’s appreciation of science:
N’allez pas rire de mon petit ton scientifique, et m’ordonner de ne vous rien cacher. En vérité, je ne me méfie ni de votre tête, ni de votre esprit; je veux simplement vous éviter des difficultés. Je ne puis encore vous offrir que les fleurs de la science; mais rappelez-vous que les premières fleurs dont le printemps se couronne, sont celles qui promettent des fruits délicieux.[446]
Of course, that Aimé-Martin dedicates his letters to a female readership rather expectedly engenders the endorsement and exploitation of various stereotypes of femininity. The romantic imagery[447] that pervades the Lettres à Sophie is an obvious example of how Aimé-Martin harnesses and uses beliefs about the sensibility of women, but there are other ways in which we see traditional views of femininity dictate the direction of the work as, for instance, in the series of analogies that he employs to contextualise his theories. When informing Sophie about the way in which we see colour (‘L’eau et l’air nous paraissent bleus parce qu’ils réfléchissent les rayons d’azur, et absorbent toutes les autres couleurs’),[448] Aimé-Martin goes on to explain:
Ceci peut servir à votre toilette. Si vous voulez, par exemple, qu’une étoffe bleue ne devienne pas verdâtre au milieu d’un bal, choisissez un fond extrêmement vif, autrement les rayons d’azur mêlés aux rayons jaunes que l’étoffe recevra des bougies, la feront paraître verte.[449]
Furthermore, one cannot help but wonder at the somewhat patronising tone of the following passage that ostensibly delights in the frivolity and innocence of womankind but that also hints at that vacuity so often attributed to young girls:[450]
Laissez là pour quelques instants
Et les bijoux et les dentelles,
Et ces frivoles bagatelles
Dont aujourd’hui toutes les belles
Font leurs plus doux amusements.[451]
Nevertheless, such passages obviously did little to jeopardise the favourable reception of the Lettres à Sophie. Indeed, perhaps women were able to forgive Aimé-Martin such references to their capricious nature simply because they were so flattered by a work designed exclusively for their learning and, in the end, history proves that the obvious relevance and appeal to their tastes would entice more loyal readers to follow in the footsteps of Sophie.[452]
4.5 Conclusion
When we first encounter Sophie in the opening to the Lettres à Sophie, Aimé-Martin informs us that:
Lorsqu’elle me parlait des quatre éléments, des sept métaux, ou de la foule des glaces polaires, je me hâtais de lui donner une idée de la science de Newton et de Lavoisier; mais la crainte de voir détruire son monde enchanté, l’empêchait de se livrer aux sublimes systèmes de ces deux grands génies.[453]
However, in spite of Aimé-Martin’s assurance of Sophie’s later conversion, we are left wondering just how far removed she eventually is from this ‘monde enchanté’ where she finds herself at the beginning of the work. Indeed, it could be argued that Aimé-Martin plunges her, and, therefore, his predominantly female readership along with her, deeper into the realms of fantasy through the course of his Lettres à Sophie. Admittedly, Aimé-Martin’s intentions for his study seem both confused and contradictory and this is arguably what prompts many of his contemporaries to condemn its content. In a parody of Sophie’s words, Mutel states:
Si vous n’aviez eu d’autre but que de me donner le goût de la science et de m’offrir une esquisse des découvertes principales de la chimie et de la physique, on ne vous accuserait pas aujourd’hui de témérité; mais vous avez eu la folle prétention de vous croire vous-même un savant chimiste, et de vouloir professer une science dans laquelle votre élève vous a surpassé.[454]
Certainly, Aimé-Martin hopes to instill the ‘goût de la science’ in his reader, but his pretensions to be a scientist,[455] though compatible with this goal, are not considered reasonable for a man with such a limited knowledge of the sciences. What is more, many deemed Aimé-Martin’s proposal for the Lettres à Sophie as virtually unrealisable, questioning the possibility of writing about such complex subjects as the workings of the eye without indulging in scientific rhetoric. The irony in the following statement would certainly have made many a cynic smirk:
Les yeux, dit-on, sont le chemin de l’âme,
Et leur langage est celui de l’amour. […].
Tels sont à-peu-près les conseils que vous donnerait un poète, s’il avait à vous parler de la puissance du regard: pour moi, qui ne suis que votre physicien, je vais essayer de vous donner tout simplement une description de l’œil.[456]
Undoubtedly, Aimé-Martin’s recourse to a literary vocabulary often handicaps him and prevents him from doing justice to the scientific material he deals with. Nonetheless, let us stress that his aim was never to write a treatise that would impress a scientific audience and, therefore, his reluctance to engage in a dialogue steeped in scientific terminology could be thought justified. However, it cannot be ignored that Aimé-Martin’s Lettres à Sophie, in posing as the scientific bible for the society lady, threatened to lull a generation of women into an arguably false sense of intellectual security.
Yet, in spite of this, perhaps we should commend what can only be described as an effort to encompass women into what would slowly evolve into Aimé-Martin’s grand plan to educate the nation.[457] While the Lettres à Sophie leave many a stone unturned in the vast universe of scientific learning, it cannot be denied that they contain both interesting and useful information:
Les Lettres à Sophie sont calquées sur les fameuses Lettres à Emilie par Demoustier; et si les fadeurs galantes étaient assez ridicules dans le premier ouvrage, elles ne le sont pas moins, quoi-qu’elles soient plus ménagées, dans un livre sur des questions aussi sérieuses que celles de la physique, de la chimie et de l’histoire naturelle. Cependant, on ne peut nier que le livre de L.-A. Martin ne soit curieux et instructif, bien qu’il ait perdu avec les années.[458]
Indeed, it seems that the Lettres à Sophie enjoyed favourable reviews when they first appeared to the French public[459] and we see Aimé-Martin grow in confidence in his abilities as time goes on as, in later editions, we see none of the ingratiating language that appears in the second edition.[460] In 1841 Aimé-Martin writes to Monsieur Azaïs, an homme de lettres, to express his new-found disregard for the opinions of his contemporaries:
[…] au reste Monsieur, je pense comme vous, votre destiné [sic] ne dépend ni des journalistes, ni des académies. Si vous avez trouvé la vérité elle aura son jour, malgré les pers[é]cutions et les oppositions.[461]
The popularity of the Lettres à Sophie suggests that ‘la vérité’ that Aimé-Martin believed to be propounded in his work did eventually have its day. Nevertheless, this delightful collection of letters did ultimately fade into insignificance. Perhaps it came to be forgotten as scientific understanding evolved and people came to realise how flawed some of its theories really were or perhaps the Lettres à Sophie simply suffered the same fate of anonimity that so many lesser-known œuvres are subjected to. Certainly, despite Aimé-Martin reviewing his work and modernising some aspects of his letters, [462] many contemporaries continued to insist on the inadequacies and irrelevancies of his teachings.
In view of the multiple editions of the Lettres à Sophie[463] one might expect Aimé-Martin to have been continually revising his text in line with those theories sometimes brought to the fore by his critics. Yet, in common with Bernardin and his conviction regarding tidal movements, it is obviously possible that Aimé-Martin saw no fault in those areas of his study that he leaves unaltered: criticisms and demands for modifications to his theories being of little concern to a writer who stressed only a desire to ‘donner le goût de la science’. Many of Aimé-Martin’s critics would accuse him of having been too ambitious, but one episode in the Lettres à Sophie suggests that even a small victory in his project to educate the young women of France might have been enough for him. After successfully teaching one lady about the inner functions of the eye, he claims to have made ‘une physicienne’ of her:
Je ne vous peindrai pas l’étonnement de Madame de S*** en écoutant ce petit discours; elle était étonnée d’elle-même; jusqu’à ce jour elle n’avait connu que la puissance de ses regards, et je venais de lui donner une idée de la puissance de la Nature; j’en avais fait une physicienne.[464]
Indeed, the implication is that if Aimé-Martin can excite and educate his reader about even the most simple or singular aspect of science he has, in some small way, fulfilled his ambition.
Aimé-Martin’s persistence in reviewing and rewriting his Lettres à Sophie in spite of the various objections to his work is hardly surprising. The commercial gain associated with the re-invention of the Lettres à Sophie cannot be overestimated, and once the text was in the public eye Aimé-Martin had nothing to lose and everything to gain by producing further editions of it. However, perhaps the answer to Aimé-Martin’s persistence in reproducing his collection lies in a far more noble enterprise than that of purely financial reward: that of his unfailing admiration of the work of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre whose philosophy he felt compelled to emulate. Francois Grille correctly observes that Aimé-Martin spends much of his career attempting to imitate the work of his mentor and this was as true in 1810 as it was after the great writer’s demise in 1814:
[…] s’il se fût moins jeté dans l’imitation de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, qu’il ne put jamais atteindre, il aurait été plus libre dans son allure et eût laissé des œuvres plus originales et plus piquantes. Il s’enflait pour égaler son maître, et perdait ainsi toute la grâce de son genie.[465]
Indeed, the imitative process that led to the writing of the Lettres à Sophie and that arguably saw Aimé-Martin live out his early literary career in the shadow of Bernardin is equally in evidence in other of the author’s œuvres, perhaps most especially in the lesser-known offering of 1811, Raymond.
Raymond: The Great Imitation?
5.1 Introduction
From the very first pages of Raymond, the work comprising both a short novel and a collection of essays on natural science, we see that there are numerous parallels to be drawn between it and Aimé-Martin’s previous œuvre, the Lettres à Sophie. It is telling that on the inside cover of the 1812 edition of Raymond,[466] we discover the following advertisement for the Lettres, first published two years previously, but, evidently, still of enough interest to warrant its general circulation:
On trouve chez pankoucke, rue et hôtel Serpente, no I6, et chez h. nicolle, rue de Seine, no I2,
Les Lettres à Sophie sur la physique, la chimie et l’histoire naturelle, mêlées de prose et de vers, par M. Louis-Aimé Martin, auteur de Raymond, avec des notes par M. Patrin, de l’Institut; troisième édition, ornée de jolies figures. 4 vol. in-I8 : prix, 9 fr.[467]
Indeed, Aimé-Martin’s undertaking, so he informs us, reflects a continued interest in those subjects that dominated the Lettres à Sophie:
Toujours occupé de l’étude de la nature,[468] j’ai osé esquisser quelques uns de ses tableaux.[469]
However, how does Aimé-Martin succeed in marketing what at face value appears to be another consideration of the study of natural science? It is of note that Raymond consists of two parts, and the second section of the œuvre, entitled Tableaux et Beautés pittoresques de la Nature, will strike any reader as being remarkably similar to the Lettres à Sophie. Indeed, in the newer work the author appears merely to reiterate much of what has come before in the Lettres:
[…] aussi est-ce moins pour l’instruction de mes lecteurs[470] que pour leur inspirer le goût de l’histoire naturelle, que je publie ces faibles essais. Les idées nouvelles que j’y ai répandues sont sans doute de peu d’importance pour l’avancement des sciences; mais elles peuvent éveiller la curiosité, et donner naissance à des observations précieuses et utiles.[471]
The familiar protestations regarding Aimé-Martin’s relative inadequacy as a teacher of science, the desire that his essays should simply ‘éveiller la curiosité’, the stress placed on the importance of observation as a tool in the learning process, recall to us many of those passages contained in the Lettres à Sophie. Indeed, most surprisingly, in spite of criticisms of his shortcomings as a science writer following the appearance of the Lettres,[472] Raymond does not, by any stretch of the imagination, attempt to answer Aimé-Martin’s detractors. On the contrary, in his essays he readily alludes to studies featured in the Lettres à Sophie as, for example, in his musings on insects:
On a beaucoup parlé des fourmis, des abeilles et de leurs gouvernements. Les sages n’ont point dédaigné d’y chercher des leçons; les savants et les poëtes en ont fait des peintures délicieuses, et la gloire de ces peuples charmants a presque égalé la gloire de Sparte et d’Athènes.[473] [474]
It is evident that Aimé-Martin sees the mystery of the universe as sufficient justification for the unsatisfactory state of some of his arguments:
On m’a reproché encore de ne point expliquer la nécessité de certains insectes venimeux, des plantes empoisonnées, des maladies, etc. Mais pourquoi essayerais-je de juger ce que je ne comprends pas?[475]
Of course, as highlighted in the previous chapter, such science-less logic, such concession to the limitations of human understanding, would not hold sway with proper scientists of the period.[476]
Nonetheless, while the Tableaux are clearly marketed as further studies of nature, not easily distinguishable from the Lettres à Sophie, it is the first section of Raymond, the novel about the character of the same name, which sets the work apart from Aimé-Martin’s earlier undertaking. Raymond, a novel that recounts the life of the now-blind, aged and regretful Raymond,[477] actually provides Raymond in its entirety with a narrative that is missing in the Lettres and that adds to the work a Romantic dimension that is obviously in harmony with the literary style of the age. The inclusion of the novel as a feature within a collection of essays on natural science patently serves to ally the work with the Etudes de la nature, and an examination of its content will reveal several motifs and themes common to Bernardin’s Paul et Virginie that also run through it. However, though Aimé-Martin has been accused of lacking in originality as an author, and in spite of comments that he clung too steadfastly onto Bernardin’s example ever to be able to produce truly innovative material, only a detailed study of Raymond will reveal the full extent of Bernardin’s influence in Aimé-Martin’s work.
5.2 The dilemma of youth
Importantly, Raymond, similarly to Paul et Virginie, is not characterised by a straightforward diegetic narrative. The old man of Paul et Virginie operates at an extra-diegetic level, recounting the tale of the two tragic, young lovers to a visitor to the Île de France. Aimé-Martin, too, uses a narrator to relate the account of Raymond’s ill-fated life.[478] We learn from him that the protagonist grew up with his parents[479] in a forgotten hamlet in the south east of France, and that their immediate neighbours were, ‘une jeune veuve nommée Thérèse’ who ‘y vivait avec sa fille bien-aimée’.[480] The pastoral setting and the circumstance in which the young friends find themselves, children of poor but morally upstanding parents, strike us as similar to the situation of Paul, Virginie and their mothers; and, as we shall see, the similarities do not stop there. Interestingly, however, Aimé-Martin claims to have been inspired, not by Bernardin’s Paul et Virginie, but instead by his father. He writes:
C’est à vous, ô mon père! Que je dédie ce faible ouvrage. Ainsi, lorsque les circonstances m’éloignaient de vous, j’essayais de m’en rapprocher par le souvenir, et de peindre à-la-fois les sentiments que vous m’avez inspirés et les vertus dont vous offrez l’exemple.
Votre fils respectueux,
L. aimé MARTIN.[481]
This dedication to Aimé-Martin’s father offers the reader, certainly one who might be concerned with the biographical details of the author’s life, an interesting insight into the state of their relationship. Let us not forget that Aimé-Martin left his home in Lyon in order to pursue a career of which his parents did not entirely approve.[482] Indeed, early on they had made it clear that the aspirations for their son lay in the courts of law but Aimé-Martin, determined to establish himself as a littérateur, set out for Paris. Nevertheless, it seems that despite this move away from his place of birth, despite this rejection of his parents’ designs, Aimé-Martin remained on good terms with his family, Francois-Grille observing that he would care for his father through the course of his long illness:
Il eut l’héritage de son vieux et vénérable père, qu’il avait si bien soigné, mais qui mourut enfin.[483]
The Dédicace is, of course, sentimental, personal, and helps to situate the text as a quasi-autobiographical work. Aimé-Martin describes the novel as ‘le mémorial des sensations de ma jeunesse’,[484] but he is quick to explain to his reader that its application is, nonetheless, universal for, although the novel is inspired by his youth, it is not a self-indulgent, introspective story about his life:
J’ai essayé d’y peindre cette inquiétude secrète qui nous éloigne de nos parents, et nous entraîne dans les plus grands malheurs.[485]
Indeed, if this statement tells us anything about Aimé-Martin’s decision to leave home, it might be that, in abandoning his family, the ambitious Aimé-Martin was forced to contend with ‘les plus grands malheurs’; and, what Raymond offers us is the benefit of that experience.[486] Of course, while Bernardin’s Paul et Virginie is born out of the writer’s first-hand knowledge of the Île de France, it is clearly not infused with the same autobiographical dimension as Aimé-Martin’s novel. Admittedly, the note of sincerity and genuine concern for a generation of young adults bent on leaving their homes for pastures new is apparent from the first pages of Raymond:
On n’avait point encore peint avec assez de détails ce désir curieux, cette inquiétude inconcevable qui nous éloignent de la maison paternelle. J’ai vu la nécessité d’un livre qui apprendrait à la jeunesse le danger de quitter les seuls amis que nous ait donnés la nature, et j’ai fait ce livre.[487]
However, is this initial divergence in Aimé-Martin’s aspirations for the work indicative of a more general shift away from those aims specified for Paul et Virginie in the Avant-Propos? In it Bernardin informs his reader that, ‘Je me suis proposé de grands desseins dans ce petit ouvrage’.[488] Indeed, Bernardin’s novel was inventive and original in many respects, most obviously because in writing it he had ‘tâché d’y peindre un sol et des végétaux différents de ceux de l’Europe’.[489] Although Raymond is partially set in America, the references to the natural world, to the newly-discovered landscapes, are so few as to be negligible. Indeed, similarly to Paul et Virginie, Raymond is a novel that relies upon the backdrop of a natural environment in order to demonstrate its moral message, but, as a man who has little travelled,[490] Aimé-Martin is forced to accept that his work cannot be expected truly to ‘peindre un sol et des végétaux différents de ceux de l’Europe’.[491] Of course, Bernardin’s novel works on several levels and it is no wonder that his disciple clearly has him in mind at the time of his writing, referring to him as a guiding light in the introduction to his text:
[…] j’éprouvais enfin ce vague des passions qui a été si bien peint par saint Augustin dans ses Confessions, et plus récemment par J. J. Rousseau, Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, et M. de Châteaubriand.[492]
Importantly, Aimé-Martin claims to have been specifically inspired by ‘ce vague des passions’ that typifies the œuvres of his predecessors. Rousseau’s Julie and St-Preux, Bernardin’s Paul and Virginie and even the René and Amélie of Chateaubriand, all struggle to contain their passions and to master their wayward emotions; and, rather expectedly, we learn that such inner turmoil will also threaten to disquiet the peaceful existence of Aimé-Martin’s hero, Raymond:
[…] élevé [-] dans la solitude au sein de [la] famille: son ame est belle, ses sentiments sont purs; et, s’il fait des fautes, c’est qu’on ne lui a point assez appris à se méfier de ses passions.[493]
Yet, Raymond, though in part concerned with passions of an amorous kind, is equally, if not primarily, focused on the passions that engender this inexorable impulsion to leave the paternal home. Aimé-Martin considers parents an essential force in the moral conditioning of the children of France and he is perturbed to see so many youngsters want to stray from those people who, with years of life experience, ought to qualify, in the rose-tinted, pastoral setting of Aimé-Martin’s imagination, as bastions of virtue and uprightness. Raymond tells the narrator of the novel:
Hélas! ce n’est pas un des mystères les moins singuliers de notre existence qu’il nous faille vieillir pour comprendre quelque chose de la vie.[494]
Indeed, Aimé-Martin believes it absolutely necessary to educate the younger generation, that impressionable cohort of tomorrow’s adults. As the narrative gets underway, the old man Raymond speaks to the narrator, remarking to him that, ‘Si j’en crois le son de votre voix, vous êtes jeune; c’est presque dire que vous êtes bon’.[495] It would seem, therefore, that to keep children close to the positive influence of the mother and father is, in Aimé-Martin’s eyes, a way of preserving that inherent innocence of youth, of avoiding the corruption that would inevitably ensue as a result of adventures further afield than the family abode.[496] Certainly, Raymond seems to echo many of the precepts of the pastoral tales made popular in the eighteenth century.[497] The Paysan parvenu of Marivaux, for example, shows us that, even as early as 1734, the trend towards leaving the paternal home was already instilling itself in the younger generation. Jacob, the hero of Marivaux’s novel, is only able to concede the following to be true when he eventually leaves the city and retires to the country, also his place of birth:
On a dû le reconnaître: personne n’a poussé la fortune plus loin; mais qu’étais-je alors? Un cœur tyrannisé de désirs, qui ne sentait point son malheur, parce qu’il n’y faisait point attention; mais ici les souhaits sont étouffés, et je suis heureux, parce que je vois plus clairement mon bonheur. C’est, je crois, la seule félicité qui puisse satisfaire l’homme véritablement raisonnable.[498]
Of course, Aimé-Martin’s protagonist is not, in his late teens, an ‘homme véritablement raisonnable’ and, thus, he is overcome by a desire to search for fulfilment in a world far from the country he knows. Interestingly, the novel features a host of characters who unwittingly prophesy Raymond’s mistake in wanting to abandon his homeland, the ‘jeune pêcheur, nommé Antonio’[499] warning him:
Le calme et la paix habitent ce vallon, et j’ai souvent entendu dire que la peine et le chagrin troublaient les grandes cités. […] Raymond! pourquoi parcourir le monde, lorsqu’un petit coin de terre suffit à nos besoins?[500]
In fleeing the ‘vallon’, Raymond will not only expose himself to the dangers of the ‘grandes cités’ but, more worryingly still, far from his family and friends, he will not be able to reap the benefits of the advice and guidance of loved ones, and will inevitably succumb to the corrupting influence of unfettered passions:[501]
O que l’homme est un être plein de misère et de faiblesse! Rien de grand ne sort de son ame, s’il n’est agité par les passions; et trop souvent, dès que ses passions veulent naître, son innocence l’abandonne![502]
Interestingly, this desire to break away from one’s parent, this tendency of the younger generation to cede to passions beyond their control or full understanding, is construed by Aimé-Martin as a process too painful for any mother or father to endure. Indeed, Raymond informs his son Charles, who sits listening to the story of his life (along with the narrator and Camille, Charles’ mother):
[…] à ton âge, mon ami, j’ai fui mes parents: tu vois ta mère[…] j’avais abandonné la mienne; à mon retour, elle n’était plus […].[503]
This circumstance would, for many readers, recall the death of the two mothers, Marguerite and Madame de la Tour, in Bernardin’s Paul et Virginie, afflicted by the abandonment of Virginie, albeit through death, and the loss of their ‘son’, first through his withdrawing from society, then through his eventual demise. The suggestion both in Bernardin’s work and in Aimé-Martin’s tale is that to deny Nature its usual course, to allow the separation of families, certainly those of a specific social milieu, is not only detrimental to the moral upbringing of the child, but is also fatal to the parent whose purpose, in the absence of his or her progeny, is thrown into question and whose only remedy to fill the emotional void left by their dejection lies in death.
5.3 Young lovers
Both novels deal with a broad spectrum of emotions, and it is interesting to see that in spite of their many differences, both narratives are propelled along by the love story pertaining to the characters who lend their names to the works. The parallels to be drawn between Virginie and the girl with whom Raymond falls in love are evident though not especially distinguishing:
Camille, moins agée que moi, portait dans tous ces jeux une gaieté charmante; par-tout où elle paraissait, on était sûr de voir briller la joie […].[504]
Certainly, Camille’s cheery disposition is not unusual, firstly for an intended heroine and, equally, for a young girl living a relatively care-free existence. However, when we are first introduced to her, it is not Camille who strikes the reader as familiar, but rather the nature of her relationship with Raymond, echoing those tender exchanges between Paul and Virginie:
[…] aussi ne la quittais-je point, et nous croissions dans cette solitude sans nous douter qu’il fût un autre bonheur que celui de nous aimer.[505]
If the links between the two works are still too tenuous for some readers, there is an obvious congruency in the way in which Bernardin, and Aimé-Martin, more than twenty years after him,[506] allude to the evolving relationship of the young couples. There seems to be an overbearing concern in both works that the innocence of their ‘love’ should not be compromised[507] and, therefore, many accounts of their interaction are imbued only with implicit messages about their growing affections. Indeed, Raymond claims not to have recognised his love for Camille, mistaking it for friendship:
Je l’aimais sans savoir ce que c’était qu’aimer; je l’aimais, parceque [sic] ses yeux bleus avaient un si doux regard, et sa voix quelque chose de si touchant! Je l’aimais enfin parceque [sic] c’était elle; et je ne croyais pas connaître l’amour, qu’elle possédait déjà toute mon ame.[508]
Furthermore, the accounts of their watching birds together, the building of their own ‘nest’, both features common to Paul et Virginie[509] and to Raymond,[510] are suggestive of that next stage in their relationship, when they will settle down and raise their own family.[511] Of course, the tragedy of Paul et Virginie is that the two will never realise this dream.
Importantly, the growing affection between the two youngsters is not strictly fraternal and nor, under usual circumstances, ought it to be. However, Bernardin, like Aimé-Martin, problematises the evolving relationship between the protagonists by stressing the familial attachment felt early on in their lives and, as the story progresses, contrasting this innocent love with the more adult affections Paul and Virginie are clearly experiencing. In Raymond, too, the hero and Camille find it difficult to come to terms with this new phase in their love and in their lives together:
Chaque jour je devenais plus timide; chaque jour je perdais auprès de Camille cette douce familiarité qui faisait le charme de notre enfance. Mais ces changements ne lui causaient aucune surprise: elle-même ne me voyais plus sans embarras. Son visage avait auprès de moi un air de tristesse qui me remplissait de trouble: ce n’était qu’avec Albert qu’elle conservait un peu de gaieté.[512]
It is interesting that in Raymond it is the young man who is most visibly perturbed by his feelings, while in Bernardin’s text it is Virginie who strikes a more emotional and tragic figure. Of course, Raymond’s story is told from his perspective and, therefore, the work lacks an objective voice that might offer an otherwise more balanced portrayal of the sufferings of both protagonists. Nevertheless, Raymond remains the principal active, instigating force throughout the novel, his flight from his homeland clearly mirroring Virginie’s decision to leave the Île de France (even if Virginie, persuaded to leave the island, does not plot her departure in quite the same, calculated way as does Raymond).[513]
Significantly, in spite of the love story that runs through the narrative, Raymond does not qualify as a romance in the way that Paul et Virginie clearly does. The tragic elements of the story abound and the romantic dimension is overshadowed by other concerns that persist both as part and independently of the relationship between Raymond and Camille. Indeed, while love dictates the majority of actions and reactions in Bernardin’s tale of woe, the love story of Raymond is used primarily as one example of the many blessings of a simple life that could and would be compromised by an irrational, misguided impulsion to leave home too prematurely. However, even if romance is marginalised in Aimé-Martin’s text, and even if the lovers are eventually seen to marry and bear children, the love story is clearly still comparable with that of Paul et Virginie. Certainly, though Camille is united with Raymond again after his return from America, the novel is still imbued with a deep sense of regret over a love affair that is only eventually consummated in the midst of an unhappy circumstance (Raymond is blind and disfigured upon his return from the American wars) and that was previously prevented from realising its potential by the rules of propriety: ‘La pudeur fuit ce qu’elle desire. Camille me fuyait parce qu’elle m’aimait.’[514] Similarly to the fate of the lovers Paul and Virginie, who are pushed apart by Virginie’s unbearable shame at the extent of her feelings towards the young man she deems her dear friend and surrogate brother, and who are only reunited when it is too late, Raymond and Camille are also destined to suffer the consequences of a love that is, at its beginning, too perfect and too pure to survive in this imperfect world. It is of note that by the end of the novel we learn of the death of Raymond and his wife. Indeed, it would seem that the hope for their genuine happiness lies in the next world and not this, a concept that also resounds in the closing passages of Paul et Virginie.
5.4 Man and Nature
Another passion that is also at play in Raymond is that unflinching, awe-inspired love of the natural world that pervades many of Aimé-Martin’s œuvres. However, what is most interesting in his portrayal of Nature is the way in which he juxtaposes the natural world with that of civilisation. The relationship between Man and Nature undergoes an important transformation through the course of the narrative, moving from the idyllic, harmonious co-existence of the two spheres as implicit in the ‘chaumière’[515] of Raymond, to one where the power of Nature is felt in negative, destructive terms. This eventual, problematic meeting of Nature and Man is prefigured by the words of our narrator (who, we assume, is Aimé-Martin) in the early stages of the novel as he advances towards a flock of birds:
Je craignais que mon approche les fît disparaître; car, c’est une loi de la Providence, que l’aspect de l’homme inspire la crainte et l’effroi.[516]
Importantly, this same dichotomy of Nature and Man also pervades the later stages of Paul et Virginie where, as we witness the lovers’ idyllic world fall apart, we also see their enviable communion with Nature come to an end. As Virginie begins to sense what she determines to be ‘unnatural’ feelings for Paul, Nature is seen not only to sunder its ties with the maturing lovers but also to work against them, as can be gleaned from the cyclone that devastates the habitation and the storm of Saint-Géran that delivers Virginie to her death:
La nature conservera désormais jusqu’au dénouement cette signification négative.[517]
Nature plays such a significant part in the tale of the two tragic lovers that Bernardin concedes in the Avant-Propos to have originally wanted to name the novel ‘Tableau de la Nature’.[518] Interestingly, Bernardin explains to his reader that the decision to use such an exotic setting for his love story stems not only from a desire to consecrate to paper his experience of the flora and fauna of the Île de France, but also from the conviction that the natural beauty reflected in the novel could provide a worthy canvas for the exposition of a ‘beauté morale’:
J’ai désiré réunir à la beauté de la nature entre les tropiques, la beauté morale d’une petite société. [519]
Indeed, this ‘beauté morale’ is implicit in the simple, immaterial existence of Paul and Virginie, as made clear in the following statement:
Je me suis proposé aussi d’y mettre en évidence plusieurs grandes vérités, entre autres celle-ci, que notre bonheur consiste à vivre suivant la nature et la vertu.[520]
Nature and virtue are seen as inseparable notions, as necessary features of ‘notre bonheur’, of a life both blessed with and guided by the ‘beauté morale’. The suggestion is that Man can only attain a sense of fulfilment, via the path of virtue, through harmonious communion with the natural world. Indeed, such a concept also preoccupies much of Aimé-Martin’s work in which union with Nature is considered as the principal way for mankind to find peace, to find his truth. In Aimé-Martin’s view, it is only when Man strays from what Nature or Providence has provided him with that he finds himself wandering blindly through life:
Voilà sans doute pourquoi les vrais sages ont toujours aimé la campagne; […] ils donnaient toute leur ame à la nature, et la nature au moins ne les trompait pas.[521]
While the changing face of Nature in Paul et Virginie suggests some congruency between the fall of man and that of a perfect Nature, in Raymond, Man, divorced from the natural world, vision obscured by ambition and ungrateful for his lot, is seen quite distinctly as the antithesis of Nature. The juxtaposition of Man and the natural world is apparent through the narrative, particularly in some of the novel’s tableaux:
La cime des tentes rougie des derniers feux du soleil, cet appareil terrible de la guerre mêlé aux tableaux les plus riants de la nature […].[522]
In his youthful ignorance, Raymond expects to escape his valley in the pursuit of better things but, fresh from the far-flung plains of the warring states of America, the place of his youth, in its comparative, rustic innocence, proves itself the more favourable of two, disparate worlds.
It is pertinent that, while for writers such as Chateaubriand, America was the inspiration for an exoticised literature, resplendent with its description of an unfamiliar and ‘natural’ people, for Aimé-Martin, America would instead be the locus of a broken and war-mongering civilisation. Fernand, Raymond’s world-weary companion, warns his naive friend:
Ne crois pas cependant trouver le bonheur dans le Nouveau Monde. Cette terre si jeune et si belle est déja vieille dans le crime. On y entend les cris de la douleur et de la misère […].[523]
That Aimé-Martin envisioned America as a land ‘déja vieille dans le crime’ is not difficult to explain. The allusions to ‘Wasington’[524] and the battlefield accounts establish this episode in Raymond’s life as happening in or around 1778, as France enters into the American War of Independence. As witness to the aftermath of the French Revolution and as spectator to the unrelenting belligerence of Napoleon, it is little wonder that Aimé-Martin deems criminal the bloodshed engendered by slaughter on such a large scale. Following one ferocious battle, Raymond relates that:
Je me traînai long-tems [sic] au milieu des herbes et des broussailles. Quelquefois des cris aigus s’élevaient à mes côtés; aussitôt un peu d’espoir rentrait dans mon cœur. J’élevais la voix, je m’approchais de l’infortuné qui m’avait imploré; mais tout rentrait dans le silence, et j’étais épouvanté de ne plus rien entendre. Chacun de mes pas était une chûte; mes pieds heurtaient contre les morts; mes mains s’appuyaient sur des cadavres.[525]
In Aimé-Martin’s mind the American wars are responsible for the ravaging of a previously unspoiled nature and for the laying to waste of human life, further reinforcing ideas about the potential dangers of Man’s misguided ambition, in part born of his disharmony with the natural world.
5.5 Necessary ignorance and the path to faith
The notion of misguidance is evolved in Raymond to address the issue of ignorance,[526] a line of enquiry that is perhaps expected in a novel that charts the life of a peasant. Stereotypes of country folk, ignorant of town practices, ill-educated and socially vulgar were not uncommon in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries as can be gleaned from the popularity of characters such as Restif de la Bretonne’s Edmond. However, ignorance is not necessarily perceived in negative terms by the characters in the novel. Certainly, inadequate knowledge of the ‘civilised world’ beyond their valley is not construed by the older, wiser generation as a handicap or as an obstacle to happiness and it is no wonder that the young Raymond is disillusioned by what he discovers when he insists on venturing into that world apart. Of course, such a philosophy that advocates this idea of a ‘necessary ignorance’ can also be seen in Bernardin’s Paul et Virginie.[527] At the opening of the novel, when we first encounter the unconventional families of the two protagonists, Bernardin poses the question, ‘Après tout, la considération publique vaut-elle le bonheur domestique?’,[528] and the answer is implicit in the happy condition of those characters who live contrarily to social norms. For them, ignorance really is bliss.[529] It is interesting that in Paul et Virginie, the separate spheres of rural and urban are never significantly brought into conflict. Indeed, if Madame de la Tour and Marguerite never take drastic steps to become part of the universe that exists beyond their terrain, it is made all the more possible by the fact that the rest of civilisation is content to ignore their existence. We learn that:
Dans cette île, où, comme dans toutes les colonies européennes, on n’est curieux que d’anecdotes malignes, leurs vertus et même leurs noms étaient ignorés.[530]
In Raymond, however, social divisions, though acknowledged, are not given the same reverence and, in his youth, Raymond determines to cross over into a world far-removed from the valley from which he hails, a world that reveals itself to be one of warfare, politics and misplaced ambition. Of course, Virginie, too, makes this transition into ‘civilised’ society, but her journey there is perpetuated by forces beyond her control. Certainly, in Raymond, where notions of civilisation have successfully seduced the principal character, it seems that the world beyond the valley has somehow been able to impress itself upon the community in a more profound way than in Bernardin’s Paul et Virginie. Admittedly, this could be a reflection of the new age in which Aimé-Martin produces his novel, one in which people were enjoying increased social mobility.
Importantly, though both novels address the ignorance of the peasant classes, and in spite of the implication of virtue manifest in that ignorance, the recourse to some form of education is specified in Paul and Virginie[531] and Raymond alike. In the latter Aimé-Martin is keen to underline the importance of a universal system of primary education[532] as made apparent in those episodes where the children would habitually gather round to listen to the teachings of Raymond’s father:
Au milieu de cette vie simple et patriarchale, nous ne restions point dans une entière ignorance. Mon père, qui avait beaucoup étudié les livres et les hommes, se plaisait à nous révéler les grands mystères de la nature.[533]
Aimé-Martin’s portrayal of a working-class family aspiring to an education, having the time and resources to invest in such a venture, may have been idealistic, failing to take into account the economic necessity of long working hours that afforded little time for study.[534] [535] However, in spite of these complications and obstacles, were such an ideal possible for peasant families across France either at the time during which the story is set (sometime before the turn of the nineteenth century) or indeed, in 1811, Aimé-Martin is sure to qualify the type of instruction he is proposing. Indeed, the brand of education advocated by Raymond’s father is described in the following terms:
Il n’avait point cette science qui flétrit les sujets les plus sublimes, et réduit tout à des classifications tristes et arides: son esprit s’appliquait à découvrir les harmonies de l’univers et les rapports qui se trouvent entre les œuvres du Créateur.[536]
Of course, it is unsurprising that these ‘harmonies de l’univers’, while bearing witness to the ‘œuvres du Créateur’, do not subsequently demand the teaching of those ‘classifications tristes et arides’. The concept, to make science more accessible to the layperson, echoes those very principles that proved so controversial in the Lettres à Sophie. Nevertheless, Aimé-Martin writes his novel about the learning of science that takes place in the bosom of a poor, peasant family and, here, his brand of teaching makes perfect sense. Indeed, for this social milieu, too much learning could prove detrimental, as illustrated by the unhappy situation of the over-inquisitive character, Fernand:
Voilà les résultats de la science et de la méditation. L’homme qui pense est perdu; Il n’a plus d’illusions, plus de vertus, plus même d’espérance.[537]
The discrepancy in the temperaments of the contented Raymond and the dissatisfied Fernand serve in the novel not as testament to the disadvantages inherent in too much learning, but as an example of the dangers of misguided instruction, as articulated by Raymond as he attempts to reason with his beleaguered friend:
Crois-moi, ce n’est point un mal de faire usage de la faculté qui nous élève. Regarde cette foule de sages et de savants dont le génie instruit l’univers; sont-ils si malheureux, lorsqu’ils agrandissent notre pensée? […] Ce n’est pas la pensée, c’est son abus qui détruit le repos. Tu te plains de la méchanceté des hommes […]; mais qui es-tu, pour les juger si sévèrement?[538] [539]
From where, then, should the guidance for the nation’s instruction come? For those familiar with the philosophy propounded in the Lettres à Sophie, it will come as no surprise to ascertain that in Raymond, too, the instruction envisaged by Aimé-Martin stems principally from the study of the harmony of Nature and from an appreciation of it as one of the greatest achievements of God’s creation. Such a vague notion of education would be further developed in Aimé-Martin’s later literary projects, notably in the Education des mères de famille (1834) and in the Plan d’une bibliothèque universelle (1837), but as his ideology stands in 1811, critics would be quick to question the validity of his claims. Fernand surely echoes the thoughts of many sceptics and non-believers at the time of Raymond’s publication:
Heureux […] l’ame noble et pure qui se livre à ces brillantes illusions! Mais comment les accorder avec l’état de guerre et d’oppression où vivent tous les êtres divers?[540]
The explanation offered by Raymond (who operates here as the mouthpiece for Aimé-Martin’s own views) for the indiscriminate persecution of all living things is perhaps suggestive of the author’s conviction in a ‘necessary ignorance’ that should be adopted by all.
J’ignore pourquoi nous sommes malheureux: une intelligence bornée ne peut comprendre les desseins d’une intelligence infinie; mais cette ignorance même est un bonheur, puisqu’elle sert à nourrir nos espérances.[541]
In Raymond’s philosophy ignorance is perceived to be a happy human state, ‘un bonheur’; but this is a rather outmoded and irrelevant notion during a period when man was striving to overcome his ‘intelligence bornée’. Aimé-Martin’s justification for the seeming mercilessness of God lies not in careful reasoning or intelligent debate but in Raymond’s observations of the harmony of the natural world:
L’univers renferme toujours le même nombre de vies; tous les êtres y passent comme des ombres fugitives, et ils ne sont détruits que parce qu’ils doivent se succéder.[542]
Such musings on the perfection orchestrated by a Providential being, such elation in the presence of his creation, points the reader towards a godly figure far-removed from the vengeful, tyrannical God of Catholicism. Indeed, similarly to the God and, more specifically, the religion of Paul et Virginie, Aimé-Martin envisions a brand of non-prescriptive Christianity that would inspire a love of Nature, of God and, importantly, of one’s fellow man. Certainly, the abandonment of the precepts of Catholicism is made quite clear in Bernardin’s text:
De temps en temps, madame de La Tour lisait publiquement quelque histoire touchante de l’ancien ou du nouveau Testament. Ils raisonnaient peu sur ces livres sacrés; car leur théologie était toute en sentiment comme celle de la nature, et leur morale toute en action comme celle de l’Evangile.[543]
Of course, Aimé-Martin would later formalise his new brand of religion in the Education des mères de famille, but the seeds of this more extensive work are evidently already sown in 1811 and, arguably, even before this with the considerations of the Lettres à Sophie.
5.6 Conclusion
Finally, the religious elements of Aimé-Martin’s Raymond are hardly surprising to those readers who would readily acknowledge the considerable influences of writers such as Bernardin and Chateaubriand in the novel. Interestingly, Aimé-Martin not only willingly recognised the contribution that such luminaries had made to his work but was also keen to highlight the relative accomplishments of such hommes de lettres:
J’ai mis toute mon ame où ils ont mis leur ame et leur génie: aussi telle est la différence de nos destinées, qu’ils devront l’immortalité à leurs ouvrages, tandis que, pénétré de ma faiblesse, je ne demande aux miens que des souvenirs.[544]
It is significant that this recognition of literature as possessing the power to immortalise its creator is a concept that pervades another of Aimé-Martin’s texts. In the Essai sur la vie de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre he remarks that:
Je puis […] prononcer le non omnis moriar d’Horace, car je viens de graver mon nom à côté d’un nom qui ne doit pas mourir![545]
Indeed, while in 1811 Aimé-Martin reconciles himself to the fact that immortality through literary works is the lucky lot of only a select few, in 1818, when he writes the Essai sur la vie, he has come to realise that if he cannot achieve immortality through his literature, he can perhaps do so through association with a literary figure greater than himself. Certainly, in spite of Raymond’s clear look forward to a new and enlightened century and in spite of its rejection of a past blackened by wars and rebellions, its proximity to the philosophy of Bernardin is nonetheless discernible, the novel unwittingly laying the foundations of that aggrandising alliance with his future mentor.
It ought to be noted that Raymond is not many things: it is not a pastoral tale, nor a bildungsroman, and nor is it simply an imitation of Bernardin’s Paul et Virginie. It is obviously inevitable that contemporaries of Aimé-Martin would have recognised those parallels to be drawn between Raymond and its predecessor, the Etudes de la nature, but, certainly with regard to the content of the novels featured as part of the two works, there are many discrepancies between them that belie any trite accusations of imitation of Bernardin’s text.
However, while Aimé-Martin may not have copied Paul et Virginie, his was not a work of originality, as he informs the reader in the Introduction to his œuvre:
Le dénouement m’appartient, ainsi que la conception dramatique de l’ouvrage.[546]
In fact, much of the work, ‘huit ou dix pages’ to be precise, is attributed to ‘une brochure allemande’.[547] In Aimé-Martin’s usual fashion at such an early stage in his career, the reader is left to ponder about where exactly this ‘brochure allemande’ originated from as the source of his inspiration is never accorded a complete reference in the novel. Furthermore, what part of Raymond’s story does not ‘belong’ to Aimé-Martin is not made apparent, we know only that somewhere in the text there are eight or ten pages that constitute a literal translation of the earlier tale. However, pastoral tales were not uncommon in the eighteenth century and Aimé-Martin’s inspiration for Raymond could, arguably, have come from any number of sources. Of course, whether or not his novel is original is, to some extent, of little consequence. What Aimé-Martin can claim credit for in writing Raymond is a consistency and congruency in aims and objectives for his work that smacks of sincerity, particularly as those same objectives can be seen to be sustained and developed in the years after 1811. The focus on the harmonious workings of the natural world in the Lettres à Sophie and the lessons about the consequences of disharmony with it imparted by Raymond ostensibly serve to identify Aimé-Martin as a committed philosopher of Nature. However, these two early works also use the teachings implicit in Nature as a framework for the consideration of women’s instruction and the enlightening of the peasant class, concepts that later would resurface as principal themes of Aimé-Martin’s most highly-acclaimed treatise, the Education des mères. It is here where he would eventually concretise his earlier ideas in a move away from science towards more theological and pedagogical concerns arguably better suited to a man of letters.
Educating a nation
6.1 Introduction
It is upon reading one of the many letters written by Aimé-Martin to his friend Alphonse de Lamartine that we discover the feeling of frustrated ambition that troubled the author in the years preceding the success of his Education des mères. In September 1834, even as the publication of his treatise seems imminent, he complains:
Hélas! voilà de quoi se compose ma vie, de bonne volonté, de désirs et d’impuissance de les réaliser.[548]
It would not be long though until dreams of a literary breakthrough were realised and recognition from the Académie française would be duly granted, Aimé-Martin becoming the joint recipient of the Academy’s Monthyon Prize in 1835.[549] That the Education des mères was able to bask in the glory of such commendation is in some respects little wonder, the work, as we shall learn, not only brought to the fore contemporary debate about motherly responsibility but was also bolstered by a portfolio of inter-connected ideologies. It is clear that in the twenty-three years that separate the Education des mères from Aimé-Martin’s earlier publications, the Lettres à Sophie and Raymond, that his musings on the teaching of science and the misdirection of youth would at last have had time to amalgamate and expand to inform the wider-reaching philosophy of the Education des mères. No longer is the observer-author’s lens narrowly focused upon the instruction of Sophie and the enlightenment of the peasant class, it is instead turned towards the consideration of a more expansive and universalised education of mothers, marrying together notions of feminine pedagogy and the salvation of a misguided people. The four areas that underpin Aimé-Martin’s argument are loosely termed ‘Influence des femmes’, ‘Education de l’âme’, ‘Recherche de la vérité’ and ‘L’Evangile et la nature’, the familiar allusions to truth and the spiritual life reassuring the reader that while Aimé-Martin may have evolved and matured his thinking, his interests have nonetheless remained constant. That the author’s new societal agenda has grown in step with his pedagogical duties (1816-1830) may come as no surprise, his time at the Ecole Polytechnique both facilitating sustained contact with the younger generation for whom he writes and providing for him a platform to express and to trial his ideologies. Accounts of the occasionally lacklustre response to Aimé-Martin’s doctrine from pupils at the school might throw into question the extent to which he truly understood the concerns and spirit of his age, but the prize-winning status of his Education des mères suggests on the contrary that he had through the medium of that work successfully captured the thoughts of the French people.
Let us recall that the political climate in the years following the Revolution was such that intellectual thought, imbued with ideals of liberté, egalité and fraternité, would run to the re-assessment of topics from politics to religion, giving rise to a culture of questioning. Nevertheless, while aspirations to re-evaluate and learn were not in liberal circles to be curtailed, by metaphorically opening doors onto previously unchartered realms, the ‘culture of questioning’ soon threatened to challenge even the most sacrosanct of subjects, so much so that in his Education des mères, Aimé-Martin would make the retrospective comment that:
Depuis quarante ans que nous combattons, rien ne se décide: il semble que le mouvement généreux imprimé aux esprits n’ait servi qu’à les diviser. On discute surtout, on n’a de principes sur rien, et les règles de la morale, comme les délicatesses du goût, comme les doctrines de la philosophie, cessent d’être des lois à mesure qu’elles deviennent des opinions.[550]
Aimé-Martin laments that although great thinkers such as Descartes had inspired a nation to query social norms, they had, in some measure, failed the nation also by neglecting to identify a moral code that would lead them to a just reasoning or, as Aimé-Martin refers to it, ‘la vérité’:
Remarquons toutefois que si la mission de Descartes fut sublime, elle fut incomplète: il découvrit le principe qui devait nous délivrer de l’erreur, et se trompa sur le principe qui devait nous rendre à la vérité.[551]
In Aimé-Martin’s mind, what was desperately lacking in this new phase of France’s history was a moral code to guide the enquiring and increasingly empowered population. The prevailing demand ‘to know’ inevitably unsettled the authorities as the nation began to question, among other things, the government’s responsibilities towards them. The historian, Roger Price, concludes that:
The government determined both to end political agitation […] and to safeguard the longer-term by the introduction in 1833 of a major law on primary education designed to ‘moralise’ the lower orders.[552] [553]
It is, then, perhaps no coincidence, given the socio-political concerns of the period that, just one year after the enforcement of the new primary school legislation, Aimé-Martin would publish his own treatise on education in which he would propose his solution to the ‘morality problem’ prevalent in France. His thesis settles upon the mother as the locus for social reform. From her position at the heart of the family she would be well placed to teach her children how to be the virtuous citizens of tomorrow. Furthermore, in calling all mothers to this cause, Aimé-Martin hoped to break down barriers that had grown up as a consequence of the period’s regard for and tendency toward individual thinking.
Alors, faute d’autorité commune, ou plutôt sur l’autorité de Descartes, chaque raison individuelle se fit souveraine: il y eut division, discussion, anarchie, et le siècle tomba dans le chaos.[554]
Aimé-Martin envisions a cohort of mothers speaking a language of truth that would bridge the gap between regional frontiers and social divides, professing that:
[…] à jamais perdue la génération qui vient de naître, si dans chaque famille il ne s’élève une voix en faveur de la vérité![555]
The ‘génération qui vient de naître’ was as much a symbol of hope in 1834 as it is today and Aimé-Martin’s contact with and interest in the younger generation stemmed from his strong belief that in children lay the potential for effective social change. Indeed, not only did Aimé-Martin dedicate much of his literary career to the production of various instructive works destined for the young,[556] he was also, as previously mentioned, a teacher at both the Athénée and then at the Ecole Polytechnique in Paris and his teaching spanned nearly sixteen years.
When Aimé-Martin took up his post as ‘professeur de Grammaire, Belles Lettres, Histoire et Morale’[557] at the Ecole Polytechnique in September 1816 the institution had already undergone some noteworthy revisions to its literature programme. During the time of Napoleon’s rule literary studies at the Ecole had been widely considered to be intellectually inferior to those of the sciences (and, in a time of incessant military campaigning, as infinitely less useful) and, thus, were deemed a supplementary as opposed to a complementary subject. However, in spite of this, the argument that the study of literature, if not regulated or properly directed, could inspire controversial, perhaps even dangerous, ideas was becoming increasingly popular.
Selon [Napoléon], tout enseignement oral non suivi d’études sérieuses était condamné à demeurer à peu près inutile et pouvait même devenir nuisible en servant de prétexte à des conversations, à des lectures à la fois contraires au bon ordre et au bon emploi du temps.[558]
The established approach to literature as a ‘délassement’[559] had to evolve to accommodate the more progressive views about its value not least as a necessary tool of communication but also as an exemplar of correct and virtuous behaviour. In 1806 a new teacher, Andrieux, had been appointed and a new grammar and literature lesson had been authorised with the expectation that moral guidance would become a significant part of the curriculum:
L’aimable conteur avait compris qu’il devait faire moins un cours de beau langage qu’un cours de bon sens et de bonne conduite.[560]
Therefore, at the opening of the nineteenth century, the establishment had recognised the country’s need, exemplified in its student body, for a spiritual makeover. At the time of Aimé-Martin’s appointment to the Ecole in 1816 the moral situation in France had altered very little and he would, thus, take up his post maintaining a programme similar to that of his predecessor, Andrieux. Aimé-Martin considered the study of literature, not as an end unto itself, but as a means of exploring morals, virtues and, importantly, faith. His classroom activity, as we shall discover, reinforced this conviction, as did the explicit didacticism of his published œuvres. Of course, that morals and spirituality were high on the agenda of a teacher of morality is hardly surprising. However, that this agenda should carry beyond the classroom reveals the genuine and earnest desire, alive in Aimé-Martin, to improve what he deemed to be the sorry state of humanity, and this chapter will explore the various ways in which he attempted to re-educate the French nation to achieve this end.
6.2 In the classroom
While Aimé-Martin produced theories about the instruction of women that we see propounded in his Education, I shall firstly examine his experience of education in the broader context, beginning with those changes implemented during his years at the Ecole Polytechnique. At the time of Aimé-Martin’s arrival at the school he would announce the plans for his programme, Pinet observing that:
Le cours de littérature prit à sa demande le titre de Cours d’histoire et de belles-lettres et se proposa d’embrasser toutes les périodes intéressantes de l’histoire de France avec un tableau pour chaque siècle du rôle de la monarchie, des moeurs [my emphasis], de l’histoire littéraire, des institutions politiques et religieuses.[561]
While the Ecole had long dealt with the study of history and literature by combining the subjects and consolidating them into a one-year course, the evidence suggests that Aimé-Martin struggled for some time to resist this convention, persistently giving greater precedence to literary studies, perhaps in a bid to prove that the two topics, so broad in nature, could not be taught effectively in the space of one year. It would seem that whatever the views outside the school walls during this period, the powers within were still bent on seeing literature exclusively as a resource for honing expression, as a tool for knowing how to ‘énoncer ses idées avec clarté; rédiger un mémoire; défendre son opinion’.[562] The learning of history, conversely, was viewed as a markedly different undertaking, a means of teaching students about the processes of analysis. It is interesting that, in 1816, the school authorities had not yet conceived of the two topics as having complementary elements and it seems that Aimé-Martin was the first educator there to do so. His new approach meant that the course had to be extended from one to two years and an examination of the lesson plans he drew up shows us that his methods were not far-removed from more modern techniques of teaching literary history:
Cette transposition sera très avantageuse, car elle permettra au Professeur de donner plus de développements aux parties importantes de son cours d’histoire, en même temps qu’elle mettra plus d’ensemble dans le travail des élèves et plus d’ordre dans les matières historiques et littéraires qui se trouvent réunis sous une même date.[563]
This reflection, recorded in a letter contained in the school’s archives, indicates how Aimé-Martin intended to contextualise literary works used in the classroom, surely in order better to explain their motivations and better to understand the many lessons they had to impart.
Aimé-Martin’s belief in the importance of teaching literature[564] and, therefore, of his role meant that he spent considerable time petitioning for use of a répétiteur at the Ecole.[565] The creation of such a post, he professed, would allow him more opportunity to focus on his duties as a teacher. ‘[…] la lecture et l’examen des 75 compositions; les notes dont elles sont l’objet, peuvent absorber la semaine de l’homme le plus laborieux’[566] he complained. The school ignored his gripes and resisted his demands for some years, arguing that better men than he had ably managed to fulfil their tasks:
L’abbé Delille, Monsieur, avait déjà donné ses Géorgiques à l’Europe littéraire et ne faisait pas moins modestement ses deux classes par jour au college [sic] de la marche.[567]
Significantly, Aimé-Martin’s period at the Ecole Polytechnique was marked by many such instances of discord, often arising from the free expression of his political persuasions and religious beliefs. We are informed that:
A l’amphithéâtre les élèves accueillirent par des murmures tout éloge des beaux jours de la monarchie; des signes manifestes d’improbation accusèrent leur antipathie pour tous les souvenirs de l’ancien régime […].[568]
Although perhaps sometimes driven to lecture on specified subjects with emphasis on particular areas by his superiors, the evidence held in the archives at the Ecole suggests that, for the most part, Aimé-Martin was at liberty to devise his lessons as he saw fit. Indeed, it is no secret that Aimé-Martin was a religious man[569] and biographers, in comparing him with Andrieux, have commented that he was ‘plus croyant ou du moins appréciant mieux la nécessité de la foi’.[570] He never hesitated to infuse his teachings with religious motifs and Christian doctrine; and it is with faith that he hoped to battle against the liberal thinkers who had abandoned religion in their ungodly pursuit of freedom in all its guises. Pinet asserts that:
Malgré le véritable talent du professeur, son ‘erudition sérieuse et variée’, ce cours [de politique, moral et littéraire d’histoire de France] eut peu de succès. En lui imposant pour but ‘de montrer l’alliance des vérités scientifiques avec les dogmes religieux, afin d’empêcher les elèves de porter dans la société l’esprit d’indépendance qu’on doit laisser aux jeunes insensés élevés dans les écoles d’athéismes’ le gouvernement semblait se refuser à voir que la jeunesse, avec ses vives impressions, ses aspirations ardentes, était irrésistiblement entraînée dans le grand mouvement libéral des esprits.[571]
Whilst the government certainly had much to do with the imposition of a curriculum destined to ‘montrer l’alliance des vérités scientifiques avec les dogmes religieux’, works such as the Lettres à Sophie, which first appeared in 1810 (six years before Aimé-Martin’s association with the Ecole), show that he had a particular, long-standing interest in the relationship between religion and science and, more importantly, in how to reconcile scientific theories with religious convictions. This topic evidently remained close to Aimé-Martin’s heart, perhaps because it was something that had equally fascinated his mentor, Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, and later in his writing on public education we see it surface again.[572] It is noteworthy that for a man so inspired by Bernardin his career as a pedagogue should be marked by similar controversies to those associated with his predecessor. The disappointing reception of Bernardin’s lessons at the Ecole normale supérieure and those clashes with fellow members of the Institut de France largely born out of the ever-forthcoming expression of his Christian beliefs,[573] serve to remind us of the strength of influence he exercised over Aimé-Martin, even in the most abstract and unwitting of ways. Nevertheless, though there can be no doubt that in some quarters Aimé-Martin’s doctrine alienated people in the school community and antagonised them to his cause, that is not to imply that he categorically failed as a teacher. Certainly, the duration of his service at the Ecole attests to the success of his term there, as do the anecdotal reports to friends and loved ones about moments of connection with his pupils.[574] It is not difficult to imagine how perplexing the decision to resign from his post must have been for the long-serving Aimé-Martin, and perhaps it is to fill the void left by his departure from the school that he began to commit to paper his theories on education.[575]
Aimé-Martin’s views on public education are generally positive which may come as something of a surprise for anyone familiar with the basic precepts of his Education. Admittedly, for a man so convinced of the pivotal role played by the mother, so persuaded by the positive nurturing that can only come from the home, it is somewhat paradoxical that he should also value what a public education has to offer. Aimé-Martin saw l’éducation publique as positing three favourable points. Firstly, and importantly in the wake of the Revolution, he considered it not only as a way of blurring the class divide (‘[…] vous les croiriez toutes d’égale naissance et de même rang; c’est la même instruction, le même charme, le même goût des arts’),[576] but also as a means of creating a united purpose within what he deemed to be a fragmented society (‘L’éducation est la chose publique même, la diviser dans des intérêts particuliers, c’est troubler l’ordre, c’est nuire à l’intérêt général […]).[577] Aimé-Martin also envisioned a public education as a preventative measure against lawlessness and social disruption. He argued that if the state had no control over what was being preached in the classroom this could prove troublesome, eventually escalating into sedition. And, besides, if the state could regulate trivial things such as the desired weight of bread, why should they not intervene in the politics of the classroom? He exclaims at the thought:
Quoi! Sa surveillance s’étend jusque chez le boulanger pour reconnaître le poids et la qualité du pain destiné à notre corps, et cette surveillance s’arrêterait à la porte des écoles […].[578] [579]
However, although Aimé-Martin is keen to endorse the principle of a public education he calls for reform within that institution as it stands in 1834. While he sees the value of a state-run educative system, he is adamant that children receive a more substantial education than that which the state might offer. In Aimé-Martin’s grand plan to re-educate France the family is cited as playing a very essential role. A public education is intended to complement, not to replace, the learning that ought to take place within the home. That said, however, if the family is incapable of providing the necessary education for its brood, the state should be primed to intervene:
[…] elle [la patrie/l’éducation publique] n’est appelée à remplacer la famille que lorsque la famille renonce elle-même à ses droits. L’état doit alors à l’enfant ce que la famille ne peut lui donner, l’éducation.[580]
Importantly, and rather unhelpfully, Aimé-Martin proposes that if the state were to shun responsibility for the instruction of its ‘children’, the family would be available to compensate for its failings. Unfortunately for the reader of the Education it is not made entirely clear when or how a family might ‘renonce[r] elle-même à ses droits’ and, if this were the case, how Aimé-Martin might reconcile such a circumstance with the fundamental claims of his treatise. Certainly, at the same time as he identifies the mother as the central force in her child’s upbringing, he implies that families, and therefore mothers too, might sometimes prove unwilling facilitators in the education of their young. Interestingly, Fénelon too had entertained the possibility of the mother’s unavailability, remarking that she would be his preferred choice as the principal educator of her child provided, of course, that she were at liberty to perform such a role:
J’estime fort l’éducation des bons couvents; mais je compte encore plus sur celle d’une bonne mère, quand elle est libre de s’y appliquer.[581]
Yet, for Aimé-Martin, the problem arises not just from a possibility that the ‘bonne mère’ might not be ‘libre de s’y appliquer’, but that she, or rather the family, might equally be unfit for their task. Bernardin also expresses a similar concern:
J’avoue cependant qu’il est heureux pour beaucoup d’enfants qui ont de mauvais parents qu’il y ait des collèges; ils y sont moins malheureux que dans la maison paternelle.[582]
Admittedly, at first glance Aimé-Martin’s argument is somewhat confusing. He seems to propose an education that is either exclusively private due to the possible inadequacies of public schools, or exclusively public due to the possible short-comings of the family. It is only on further reading that we learn that his hope is for neither extreme, but instead for an educative system comprised of both public and private instruction. He tells us that:
Le remède, il est dans le mélange des deux éducations domestique et publique; il est là […]. Que l’enfant reçoive donc, comme externe dans les colléges, cette instruction scolastique à laquelle on attache tant de prix, et que cependant il faudra réformer un jour, qu’on éveille son intelligence, qu’on féconde sa mémoire, l’âme est en sûreté si chaque soir, au sein de sa famille, il peut entendre la voix de sa mère et s’imprimer ses exemples. Ainsi tout se résume par l’éducation des femmes.[583]
Thus, Aimé-Martin’s specific wish is for ‘l’enfant’ to remain an ‘externe dans les colléges’ in order that he might benefit from both the influence of his family and from the revised, formal education provided by the state. Of course, in this happy solution the mother’s role as moral guide to her child is seen as paramount. The success of Aimé-Martin’s social regeneration being dependant upon the willingness of each mother to accept her calling, it is little wonder that the Education, while referring to instruction in the public arena, is clearly more concerned with the inculcation and rallying together of child-rearing women in the private domain.
In Aimé-Martin’s revision of the relationship between public schools and the private sphere, he also proposes some reforms for the curriculum. His most pressing concern seems to be to open up education to a wider community and this is primarily reflected in a conscious shift away from the study of ancient history and literatures. Aimé-Martin’s hope is to substitute these antiquated subjects with the study of more contemporary cultures in a bid to make his syllabus more relevant to more students.
Aujourd’hui l’enseignement scolastique, tel que le conçut son génie, n’est l’expression d’aucun besoin. La lumière ne brille plus là. Tout ce que les langues grecque et latine avaient à nous apprendre, elles nous l’ont appris.[584]
Such a view was also held by Bernardin de Saint-Pierre who, in his essay on women, complains that ‘nos drames’ are too often inspired by ‘des sujets très éloignés’.[585] However, Aimé-Martin was eager to make his programme more accessible both from a geographical as well as an intellectual standpoint. His wish was that the whole nation would one day have access to a basic education. His plan stipulated that there should be, ‘l’instruction primaire dans toute la France; l’instruction intermédiaire dans toutes les villes du royaume’ and ‘l’instruction classique et scientifique dans tous les chefs-lieux de département, et dans toutes les villes de trois mille âmes […].’[586] Making the opportunity for learning readily available to country dwellers was integral to Aimé-Martin’s project as he maintained that an education was owed them as a necessary recognition of their social contribution.[587] Notably, he repeatedly refers to their plight as disadvantaged and exploited members of the community:
Et c’est la rougeur sur le front que les grands proprietaires de la Bretagne reconnaissent enfin des citoyens et des Français dans les sauvages habitans qui cultivent leurs domaines.[588]
It is hardly surprising that in Aimé-Martin’s writing he refers specifically to the inadequate education offered to peasant women, for they, perhaps more than women of any other social class, will be responsible for the education of their young.[589] Through the agency of mothers, Aimé-Martin hoped to realise his dream of uniting people of all classes by introducing them to universal laws born out of a common truth:
L’isolement des idées et l’ignorance presque universelle des lois générales de la nature sont les véritables sources de nos erreurs, c’est-à-dire de tous les maux qui pèsent sur l’humanité. L’homme isolé ne voit que des points: incapable de saisir aucun ensemble, toutes les vérités d’un ordre supérieur lui échappent.[590]
Importantly, his intentions for a new-model public education system would not undo the work begun in the home for it would in fact be reliant upon it as the locus for l’instruction primaire. Furthermore, in the same vein as writers such as Fénelon and Madame de Genlis, Aimé-Martin would stress that his education was not intended as a means for social advancement but rather as a tool for self-improvement:[591]
Le but de nos trois degrés d’instruction est de favoriser l’état de chacun, et non d’inspirer chacun l’envie de sortir de son état.[592]
Ironically, the three degrees of education might seem destined eventually to split society by setting apart those who would go on to the third stage of learning (‘l’instruction classique et scientifique’) and those who would not. Nevertheless, Aimé-Martin attested that such animosity would never exist between the distinct, educative groups as, in spite of their differences, they would all be united by common principles based on the teachings of the Evangile.
Ainsi la nature varie ses dons, mais ses lois sont universelles: elles appellent tous les peuples à la même science, à la même morale, au même Dieu.[593]
Indeed, if Aimé-Martin’s primary education was such that as long as the presence of a mother was guaranteed its application would be universal, then his ‘instruction intermédiaire’ was only similar in so far as it too had the potentiality to apply to all classes. The major discrepancy in this next phase of schooling existed in the fact that it applied exclusively to boys.[594] In overlooking the creation of a similar level programme for the instruction of girls, Aimé-Martin was to be seen as reactionary when considered alongside the radical, co-education school of thought of predecessors such as Mary Wollstonecraft. Nevertheless, it is clear that his treatise was thought forward-looking by many, particularly for its pragmatic appeal to mothers,[595] but maybe also for its innovative plans for the curriculum. The ‘instruction intermédiaire’ was meant to provide for anyone (male) not intent on becoming a doctor, lawyer, artist or teacher and, thus, occasioned some changes to the traditional educative system that are detailed below:
|Old curriculum |Proposed curriculum |
|Greek and Latin |Modern languages and Natural science |
|Rhetoric |Literature |
|Logic |Moral philosophy |
|Ancient history |Modern history with focus on French history |
| |Agriculture and industry |
One cannot help but notice the abandonment of the more classical subjects and the introduction of vocational training, also a feature of Bernardin’s plans for a new system of learning.[596] The specification of the study of modern languages is indicative of Aimé-Martin’s progressive views that learning should have both relevance and currency in modern society, although such a proposal was, of course, not new. In the novel Adèle et Théodore of Madame de Genlis we learn from the Baron that it is no longer in fact necessary to teach a child Greek or Latin but rather to give precedence to modern languages, namely English, Italian or French. Another addition to the curriculum as envisaged by Aimé-Martin is that of natural science, something of a popular feature of many late eighteenth and nineteenth-century curriculum proposals.[597] As discussed in the chapter on the Lettres à Sophie, Aimé-Martin practises a science informed by principles based on observation, his techniques occasioning praise from one critic of the Journal de l’Empire, writing of the Recueil de contes (later re-named the Etrennes de la jeunesse) in 1811 that:
Le livre est terminé par quelques morceaux d’histoire naturelle. Cette science, que M. Martin connaît si bien, prend sous sa plume un charme et un intérêt que peu de savans savent maintenant lui donner; et les articles trop courts qu’il en donne cette année, entre autres ceux de la Mygale mineuse et du Vorticelle rotifère, font regretter qu’il n’ait pas fait de l’histoire naturelle une des parties les plus étendues de ce recueil.[598]
Even before Aimé-Martin’s involvement with the educative sector and before the publication of the relatively more widely-disseminated Lettres à Sophie, we see that not only have his instructive methodologies begun to take shape, but so too has the romantic writing style manifest in the purportedly ‘scientific’ work that would follow the Recueil de contes.[599] Certainly, Aimé-Martin’s science would remain a product of the era in which he was working and, as I have shown, it would establish itself, above all else, as a witness of God’s presence on earth. ‘Religion et science, ces deux pouvoirs ne peuvent plus être séparés!’,[600] professed Aimé-Martin during his time at the Ecole Polytechnique and, though sometimes marginalised for such assertions, attempts to imbue his subjects at the Ecole with some moral learning in the face of such adversity might now be deemed admirable at the very least. Significantly, with Aimé-Martin’s departure in 1830 the value of literary studies was reduced once again to the currency of communication.
Quant à l’enseignement littéraire, il fut réduit à un modeste cours de composition française dont le but succinct et mal défini devait être d’exercer les élèves dans l’art d’écrire.[601]
As such, another generation at the school came to think of the study of literature as little beyond a lesson in spelling and grammar, attesting both to the extent and to the success of Aimé-Martin’s efforts to preserve and promote the subject during his time there.
6.3 Words for Women
We have already established how Aimé-Martin intended the family to play a crucial part in the instruction of its children, both as a means of instilling a sense of morality in the populace from an early age and, equally, as a way of making education more widely available, to be found in both ‘la chaumière du pauvre comme dans le palais du riche’.[602] Aime-Martin believed that nurturing in the home would inevitably lead to the moralisation and, thus, to the bettering of society as a whole, a view that deviated slightly from that held by Bernardin. Bernardin argued not that love and nurturing in the home would better the nation, but simply that love of one’s country should be taught there. He observed that, ‘Parmi les peuples modernes, l’amour de la patrie ne se trouve que chez ceux dont les enfants sont élevés dans la maison paternelle’.[603] Aimé-Martin’s vision of the home was perhaps not the politicised arena imagined by his mentor, but nor was it an insular and isolated domain. Aimé-Martin saw its potential as, among other things, an exemplar of correct, social conduct, as setting standards that would be mirrored, for example, within schools: ‘L’origine de ces réformes [des écoles] est toute entière dans les améliorations de la vie domestique’.[604] Notably, as the historian James McMillan would stress, this focus on a home-centric education, this return to domesticity, was instrumental in the valorising of women’s place in society:
In the eyes of most nineteenth-century contemporaries, both male and female, the domestic role was neither passive nor degrading and a far cry from the stereotype of the enslaved and oppressed housewife denounced by some late twentieth-century feminists in the Anglo-Saxon world.[605]
The woman’s sphere evolved from one concerned with the provision of basic material needs to one now dedicated to the spiritual care of her children. Nonetheless, in spite of this fact, the education taking place within the home was not to be the sole responsibility of the mother. Other family members were also summoned to the cause, beginning with the grandmother. In Aimé-Martin’s view, this older woman, informed by years of experience, would provide support and advice to the young mother and would delight in her renewed sense of purpose:
Ainsi donc la mère, loin de se transformer en un être inutile et passif après le mariage de ses enfants, devient l’ange tutélaire de sa nouvelle famille.[606]
And if the grandmother was considered a necessary succour for the mother, the father was deemed essential in providing for his child an education to complement that assigned by his wife.[607] Indeed, Aimé-Martin anticipated that his presence in the home could reasonably benefit a daughter as well as a son, for through him his daughter would come to understand the opposite sex and, subsequently, would be better equipped to make an informed choice about her future husband. Paradoxically, in light of such a forecast according woman some degree of autonomy, the father’s society is also seen by Aimé-Martin as a means of reinforcing the daughter’s place both as the weaker sex and as a dependant: ‘[…] on voit qu’elle a compris sa puissance en même temps que sa faiblesse’.[608] Indeed, at the same time as the Education aspires to empower women, it does so only within certain parameters often in keeping with Rousseauian ideals of femininity.
While the plans for a preliminary, home-centric education were addressed largely to mothers in their role as educators, they were equally applicable to young girls in specifying the preparatory measures required for their futures as mothers and wives. Aimé-Martin bemoans the fact that so many young women are thrust into marriage without the necessary knowledge to cope with their new place in society. In the Education we learn that through marriage, ‘cette jeune fille, qui ne se connaît pas encore, qui, jusqu’à ce jour, n’a su qu’obéir sans réfléchir; à qui l’on n’a rien appris de ce qui se fait dans le monde; cette jeune fille, sans science, sans expérience, devient tout à coup puissante et souveraine’.[609] Woman is not a thinker, her role demands that she ‘act’ and, thus, she must be taught to ‘act’ correctly. Her importance as the salvation of the French nation dictates that she must be taught well to fulfil those various functions that befall her, from the running of her home to the moral conditioning of her child:
The chief end to be proposed in cultivating the understandings of women, is to qualify them for the practical purposes of life. Their knowledge is not often like the learning of men, to be reproduced in some literary composition […]. A lady studies, not that she may qualify herself to become an orator or a pleader; nor that she may learn to debate, but to act. She is to read the best books, not so much to enable her to talk of them, as to bring the improvement which they furnish, to the rectification of her principles, and the formation of her habits. The great uses of study are to enable her to regulate her own mind, and to be useful to others.[610]
As Rousseau recognises that ‘leurs études doivent se rapporter toutes à la pratique’[611] so too does Aimé-Martin.[612] And yet, woman’s education ought not to be confused with that of man simply because it has a practical dimension. Man, ‘actif et fort’, is set up as the binary opposite of woman, ‘passi[ve] et faible’.[613] Aimé-Martin’s proposals in no way endorse woman’s employment in activity, least of all physical activity, outside of the home. For him, woman’s education is to be quite a different experience to that of man and in this his views remain closely allied with those of many writers of the late eighteenth century. Rousseau argued that for a woman to strive for a man’s education would inevitably render her only half-capable of her proper role within the family. And, in Adèle et Théodore, Madame de Genlis, too, expresses similar notions through the personage of the Baronne:
L’éducation des hommes et celle des femmes a cette ressemblance, qu’il est essentiel de tourner leur vanité sur des objets solides, mais elle diffère d’ailleurs sur presque tous les autres points: on doit éviter avec soin d’enflammer l’imagination des femmes et d’exalter leurs têtes; elles sont nées pour une vie monotone et dépendante.[614]
Certainly, the education destined for men and women varied enormously, not only as envisioned in Aimé-Martin’s œuvre but also as propounded by many great luminaries who preceded him. Indeed, unlike the instruction offered men that sought to better their chances of venturing out into society, woman’s education was often viewed as a means of protecting her from the evils prevalent outside of the home. Exterior influences threatened to corrupt woman and, therefore, her education focused on preventing her from falling victim to such forces. Importantly, while the school of thought championed by Bernardin had sought to promote the theory that woman should remain in ignorance as a guarantee against the evils of the world at large,[615] Aimé-Martin at least proved more forward-looking in borrowing from the philosophy of Rousseau who insisted on a more comprehensive and revelatory instruction of women:
Rousseau explains that in modern times, in civilised, corrupting big cities, a woman cannot remain in ignorance. Education can keep her from falling into wily men’s clutches.[616]
That Aimé-Martin was partisan to such thinking is hardly surprising given the age of women’s growing worldliness in which he writes. Indeed, in 1816, almost twenty years prior to the appearance of the Education, the author’s friend, François-Joseph Grille, comments to Aimé-Martin that:
Une fille n’est plus timide, bornée, idiote. Elle a dîné chez Véry, condoyé des fumeurs, fait la lionne. Elle rapporte au lieu natal des tons, des libertés, des jugements qui réveillent et enchantent.[617]
Aimé-Martin cannot realistically base his education on any presumption of ignorance on the part of women because in 1834 society has acknowledged that they are becoming increasingly well travelled and informed. The hope for women therefore resides in the most thorough education possible:
[…] il est important de leur donner une éducation large, profonde, qui leur prépare la ressource d’une vertu plus puissante que les douleurs qui les attendent, et que les séductions qui les menacent.[618]
Significantly, women’s education is a necessary part of Aimé-Martin’s plan for social reform for, let us remember, that if a woman can do great good to the community when well educated, she is then, of course, also capable of infinite devilry when poorly instructed. Admittedly, if there are external threats to the preservation of woman’s propriety then there are also threats originating from within her. Such potential for mischief needs to be curtailed, and Aimé-Martin suggests that the only way to do this effectively is through recognising and controlling a woman’s more wayward emotions, not through denying their existence.
Women were, and in some quarters still are, deemed to be the weaker sex, both in physiological and psychological terms. While Rousseau posited the theory that woman could not reasonably survive without man (‘les hommes dépendent des femmes par leurs désirs; les femmes dépendent des hommes et par leurs désirs et par leurs besoins; nous subsisterions plutôt sans elles qu’elles sans nous’),[619] Aimé-Martin declared that man’s regeneration, his moral survival, depended completely upon women. Nevertheless, although he recognised the potential, societal power of women, Aimé-Martin was also acutely aware of their physical and emotional vulnerability:
Dans l’état des mœurs, les paysans sont des espèces de bêtes brutes, qui traitent leurs femmes comme des bêtes de somme. Les traiteraient-ils ainsi si les femmes avaient sur eux l’avantage d’un peu d’instruction? Et les femmes consentiraient-elles à leur avilissement si elles avaient un peu plus de lumières?[620]
The France of 1834 was far from becoming an egalitarian society, but Aimé-Martin, for his part, saw that women, though physiologically and psychologically different to men, needed help to carve out their place as the emotional equals of their male counterparts. Notably, the only character weakness Aimé-Martin attributes to woman in his Education is her need for reassurance:
[…] il [le cœur d’une mère] peut tout supporter, excepté de se voir réduit à l’impuissance et à l’oubli, excepté l’isolement, l’abandon et l’indifférence.[621]
The implication here is that women need to be wanted, they need to be recognised and to be praised. Bernardin displays a similar thought in his ‘Discours sur l’éducation des femmes’:
Pour réformer un homme, une femme doit donc l’aimer: quand on aime, on cherche à plaire, et qui sait plaire est sûr de persuader.[622]
It is revealing that, in Bernardin’s text, the onus ‘à plaire’ is placed specifically upon women. The man is not expected to reform in order to please his wife, instead it is anticipated that she will reform him because she knows how to endear herself to him. This is, of course, hardly indicative of woman’s weakness or inferiority but is rather suggestive of her strength as an able manipulator of her husband, a view also held in Rousseau’s Émile:
Alors ce qu’il y a de plus doux pour l’homme dans sa victoire [de la femme] est de douter si c’est la faiblesse qui cède à la force, ou si c’est la volonté qui se rend […].[623]
Indeed, a woman can ultimately exploit those assumptions about her ‘faiblesse qui cède à la force’ in order to get her own way.
Certainly, in spite of women’s manipulative potential, views about her inability significantly to influence men were more generally popularised, driven by notions of the separate spheres. Men belonged to the public domain and, thus, were in the business of governing and controlling others, whereas women, confined to affairs of the private arena, were not. Their role was a supportive one and their sphere of influence extended primarily, and almost exclusively, to their children:
The discourse of complementarity is used to promote a strictly hierarchical system based on separate spheres – women have the power to ‘civilise and govern’ the family in support of men’s authority in public affairs.[624]
Woman had her own special mission to preside over family matters and this meant both bolstering her husband and educating her children. Aimé-Martin laments those examples of women who reject their calling in favour of work beyond their ‘sphere’. However, rather worryingly, at first glance his most pressing concern seems to be one of aesthetics:
Vous les voyez courbées vers la terre, comme des manœuvres, ou chargées de fardeaux énormes comme des bêtes de somme. […] Dès-lors leur peau se ride, leur visage se charbonne, leurs traits s’hommassent, et elles tombent dans la décrépitude anticipée, plus hideuse que celle de la vieillesse.[625]
He appears rather too perturbed by the physical wear and tear of a life of labour on the delicate features of a lady. However, we soon learn that, fortunately for a man set on improving the moral wellbeing of the nation, his objections extend further than this:
Mais pendant qu’elles font les travaux des hommes, les travaux des femmes, ces travaux qui adoucissent tous les autres, restent inconnus ou négligés.[626]
By neglecting her duties, by stepping outside of her sphere, woman risks more than her beauty and her health, she risks the integrity of a generation. Indeed, work was not only a profanation of the ideal of femininity it was also incompatible with women’s role as wife and mother.
Significantly, work was not the only influence to tempt women away from their place in the home. There is something prophetic about Bernardin’s statement that, ‘Ce n’est qu’à religion que nos femmes doivent la liberté dont elles jouissent en Europe’,[627] for religion would go on to do much for the social situation of women, particularly in the years following the Revolution.
The doctrine of separate spheres implied that women were restricted to the private sphere, but in practice, through the Church, whether as the saintes sœurs of the congregations or the femmes fortes of the confraternities and charitable organisations, many women gained access to the public sphere.[628]
Despite many charitable movements growing up at the time Aimé-Martin would have been compiling his Education there is no specific mention of them in his œuvre. However, the feminisation of religion is clearly there in his work as I shall explore below.
While the binary opposition of public and private played a key part in discourses on man and woman throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, some writers were careful to note that women should still strive for a basic understanding of the public domain. Rousseau maintained that woman had a responsibility both to herself and to her husband to appreciate the conventions and moral standards dictated by society and to adapt her behaviour accordingly. In this way, ‘Elle devient le juge de ses juges, elle décide quand elle doit s’y soumettre et quand elle doit les récuser. Avant de rejeter ou d’admettre leurs préjugés, elle les pèse’.[629] Aimé-Martin, too, recognised that, although women’s duties centred on domestic activity, their knowledge had to reach far beyond the confines of the home:
Chez nous la vie est plus intellectuelle, et la société plus large, donc l’éducation doit être plus étendue. Que les femmes règnent dans l’intérieur de la maison, qu’elles y établissent l’ordre et l’économie, ce n’est là qu’une partie de leur mission. A côté des devoirs de la sage ménagère, il y a les exigences et les élégances du monde.[630]
Understanding the world at large meant that women would be better equipped not only to instruct their children but also to conduct themselves correctly in company and to converse intelligently with their husbands:
[…] il [le mari] se figure d’avance le plaisir qu’il aura de raisonner, de philosopher avec elle […].[631]
Certainly, marriage was seen as the locus for a unification of the separate spheres of man and woman. However, Aimé-Martin saw marriage not only as a partnership where women could establish themselves as the equal of men, but also as a state in which a wife could develop spiritually and intellectually:
[…] on peut conclure qu’il n’y a de civilisation possible que dans le mariage seul, les femmes sont appelées à exercer leur puissance intellectuelle et morale.[632]
Indeed, such exercise of the emotional and cerebral force of the feminine is encouraged even before the act of marriage, at the early stage of choosing a husband. Making the right decision, Aimé-Martin argued, required the vague notion of ‘le sentiment du beau’,[633] which was essentially a reference to creativity, or, in this instance, freedom of thought, freedom to choose. Furthermore, the Education posited the theory that allowing women to select their future partner would subsequently avoid the disastrous consequences of many a marriage born out of commercial interest:
C’est ainsi que notre folle sagesse est parvenue à supprimer l’amour du mariage; nous en avons fait un marché […].[634]
It is important to note that if men and women were considered to occupy separate worlds it was largely because they were believed to be conforming to a natural order or a natural self:
‘Man’ was depicted as having the virtues and ‘nature’ which qualified him for activity rhetorically located in the ‘public’ domain. In necessary comparison, le sexe was, we are frequently reminded, represented as possessing the virtues and nature appropriate for duties which are quintessentially ‘private’.[635]
Laclos, undoubtedly borrowing principles propounded in the work of Rousseau, wrote of a predestined, natural order as being one comprised of free individuals, although he also stressed that this natural state had been perverted by society, ‘La nature ne crée que des êtres libres; la société ne fait que des tyrans et des esclaves.’[636] Notions of the tyrannical figure of man[637] and the naturalness of woman’s subservience abounded in the late eighteenth century. Bernardin, for example, makes assumptions about the harmony displayed in the relationship of man and woman, but the harmony he envisages is only possible if woman is to accept her position as ‘un être complaisant et doux’ unquestioningly.[638] He professes:
De ces deux caractères opposés se forme la plus belle de toutes les harmonies. A la vue d’une jeune fille, un garçon n’éprouve pas de rivalité; charmé de trouver un être complaisant et doux, s’il se plaît à vaincre qui lui résiste, il aime à donner la couronne à qui ne la lui dispute pas.[639]
Society insisted on a female nature, but society had itself created that nature. Indeed, the vision of femininity was such a deeply ingrained social construct that contradicting it would simply prove unnatural. Certainly, at the time of Aimé-Martin’s writing he would insist on a natural order, but one that society had to maintain. If woman was to be effective in her natural role as mother and wife it was the collective duty of the people to ensure she would be able to do so, firstly by guaranteeing her appropriate instruction and, secondly, by making certain she remain in the home. Indeed, woman’s destiny was according to her nature - modest, unambitious but also absolutely essential:
La nature doit être votre règle; elle demande que ses besoins soient satisfaits, elle ne veut pas de magnificence.[640]
However, in suggesting that a major part of woman’s natural undertaking should be the education of her child Aimé-Martin finds himself battling against some long-standing prejudices about her unworthiness for the task. He laments that myths about her nature have threatened to cripple her potential as the rightful educator of her children.
Aussi plusieurs femmes crurent-elles lui [Rousseau] obéir en s’attribuant les fonctions du gouverneur, mais elles ne marchaient qu’en tremblant sur ce terrain qui fuyait sous leurs pas. Le préjugé gothique qui les condamne à la futilité les enchaînait encore.[641]
While Rousseau writes of the ‘tendresse et les soins’[642] that a mother owes to her children, he fails to further explore the possibilities of her role. Indeed, Aimé-Martin remarks of his treatise that:
Tout ce qu’il exigea des femmes, il l’obtint: elles furent épouses et mères. […] Malheureusement il s’arrêta. Celui qui, en parlant des femmes a si bien dit: ‘Que de grandes choses on ferait avec ce ressort!’ n’ose rien leur proposer de grand; il abandonne à leur tendresse les soins matériels de la première enfance, et croit leur destinée accomplie![643]
What Aimé-Martin finds particularly contradictory about Rousseau’s argument is his proposal to deliver up children into the clutches of a governor whilst also placing so much faith in the positive influence of the family unit. Notably, Rousseau calls on a governor to educate his Émile despite his initial concern that a suitable tutor would be difficult to find.
Et toutefois ce livre admirable commence par une impossibilité: Rousseau peut bien nous promettre des Émile, mais où trouvera-t-il des gouverneurs? Aux perfections qu’il en exige, qui sera digne de ce noble emploi?[644]
Aimé-Martin asks a pertinent question, indeed, ‘qui sera digne de ce noble emploi’? The answer, for the author of the Education, lies close to home, in the figure of the mother. This mother-educator would negate the services of any governor for she would set to work teaching her child from the earliest possible age, readying him for ‘l’éducation intermédiaire’. According to Aimé-Martin, if society hoped to instil a sense of morality in the young, it had to be introduced early on, through the study of the ‘facultés de l’âme’:
Étudier l’époque précise de leur apparition, apprendre à les reconnaître, à les diriger, à les harmoniser, c’est ce que nous appelons faire l’éducation de l’homme. […] Nous en donnons le travail aux rhéteurs et aux logiciens; mais ils y arrivent trop tard. Pour bien entendre la science de l’âme, il faut en étudier l’alphabet près d’un berceau […].[645] [646]
It is interesting to note the distinction made in Aimé-Martin’s œuvre between instruction and education. The notion of instruction as a type of learning concerned with the assimilation of specific, targeted information permeates the work. It is what one might expect to gain from a maths lesson or a study of historical events. In contrast, education is seen as the result of nurturing. It is not fleeting, it is instead a perennial force that inspires through example. Aimé-Martin explains that:
Les bons professeurs font les bons écoliers, il n’y a que les mères qui fassent les hommes: là est toute la différence de leur mission; il en résulte que le soin d’élever l’enfant appartient tout entier à la mère, et que si les hommes l’ont usurpé, c’est qu’ils ont confondu l’éducation et l’instruction, choses essentiellement différentes, et qu’il est important de bien séparer, car l’instruction peut s’interrompre, et passer sans péril d’une main à l’autre; mais l’éducation doit être d’une seule pièce: qui l’interrompt la manque, qui l’abandonne après l’avoir commencée, verra périr son enfant dans les divagations de l’erreur, ou, ce qui est plus déplorable, dans l’indifférence de la vérité.[647]
Aimé-Martin does not imply that mothers are to be taught how to teach their children, they are simply taught what they need in order to function as mothers and wives. The young learn from the mother-educator because she inspires them, not because she forces her lessons upon them:
[…] leur mission n’est point un enseignement, elle est une influence; ce n’est pas le savoir qu’elles donnent, c’est l’inspiration et la direction.[648]
It is this very principle that renders Aimé-Martin’s Education a work for all people because its proposals do not presume that its readership, or rather those it may benefit, might possess skills beyond those associated with managing a home. Aimé-Martin’s mother will teach her child through example, thus she will neither be distracted from household duties and nor will her mission be hindered by the pedantry of a textbook.
However, if Aimé-Martin’s desire is for woman to educate her young through example, he is adamant that the example she sets be consistent with correct moral behaviour. Importantly, to ensure this happens he suggests she strive to better herself, though his rather naive expectation is that woman would be able to do this through the study of didactic works destined for the young mother:
La jeune femme a quitté la maison paternelle; elle est épouse, elle est mère: sa sollicitude ne lui laisse plus de repos. La voilà lisant, relisant Fénelon, Jean-Jacques, madame de Beaumont, madame de Genlis, madame de Rémusat, et, cherchant partout des méthodes et des directions, un instinct secret lui révèle que, pour se rendre digne de l’éducation de son enfant, elle doit recommencer la sienne.[649]
Of course, Aimé-Martin here makes the gross assumption that all mothers can read and if his plan for social reform depends in part upon this he will need to devise a way of ensuring the literacy of an entire nation. His ‘éducation intermédiare’ would perhaps solve the problem if only he intended to make it available to girls as well as boys. Nonetheless, let us assume that his hope for those who cannot read lies in the redeeming qualities of wilfulness and common sense, a belief espoused by Madame de Genlis in responding to criticisms of her pedagogical methods:
On dira peut-être que, puisqu’il faut de l’instruction et des talens pour faire une bonne éducation, les mères qui ont reçu une éducation distinguée doivent seules se mêler d’élever elles-mêmes leurs enfans, et qu’alors mes conseils ne s’adressent qu’à une bien petite classe. Je répondrai que la supériorité dans ce cas, comme en toute chose, serait en effet très-désirable, mais que cependant on peut s’en passer; avec du bon sens et de la bonne volonté, une mère élèvera toujours bien sa fille.[650]
While women played an indispensable role in teaching their children in the home environment, their role also involved the necessary introduction of one particular force that pervaded both in and outside of the private domain. Aimé-Martin states clearly that:
J’ai appelé les mères de famille à la moralisation de la famille et du pays. Leur véritable mission est le développement religieux de l’enfance et de la jeunesse.[651]
Indeed, women were considered the best hope for a rechristianisation of France in the years both preceding and following the Revolution. Their divorce from public affairs meant that the popular move away from the Church tended not to throw their Christian beliefs into doubt in the same way as it might have done for men.[652] Le Comte de Résie, in his treatise on Catholicism, attests that:
Toutes deux [la religion et la femme] resteront debout sur les ruines de cette société corrompue qui se dissout et s’ébranle de toutes parts, puis elles aideront l’homme à se relever de sa chute et à travailler avec elles à une nouvelle regénération sociale. C’est ainsi que, depuis l’Incarnation de son divin Fils, Dieu se sera servi une seconde fois de la femme pour sauver le monde.[653]
Significantly, although Aimé-Martin was also campaigning for the mobilisation of women in a bid to reinforce religious belief in France, he did not anticipate quite the same end as that for which Resie was hoping. A staunch Catholic, Resie wrote his article, not in support of Aimé-Martin, but instead to rally women to his cause: that of defending the Catholic Church against Aimé-Martin’s blasphemy. Indeed, while the author of the Education calls upon women to provide religious instruction to the nation, he does not envisage the endorsement of a religion that, in his mind, has lost both its appeal and its relevance in modern society:
Maintenant, que reste-t-il aux femmes? Quelques pratiques de dévotion et la messe du dimanche, point de direction morale et religieuse, car je ne puis appeler de ce nom cette instruction courte et étroite, confiée à la mémoire du premier âge, et qui, n’étant appuyé ni par la conviction des parents, ni par l’exemple de la famille, tient presque la place d’un songe dans le songe de la vie.[654]
Aimé-Martin was clearly a Christian but, as we shall see, his vision for society called for the abandonment of some of the outdated practices of Catholicism.
6.4 The Holy War
It ought to be recognised that Aimé-Martin’s attempt to reinterpret the gospel was nothing particularly new in 1834. He in fact cites various philosophers from Descartes to Rousseau as having conceived of his brand of religion (a form of Evangelicalism) long before him. Resie, in his attack on Aimé-Martin, suggests that the writer sets out to denounce the teachings of Fénelon in his work, but Aimé-Martin claims that Fénelon in fact first invented notions of the Evangile:
Humanisez nos législations encore sauvages, comme Fénelon humanisa les doctrines théologiques en y introduisant l’esprit de l’Évangile.[655]
However, even if the ideas propounded in the Education had been circulating for some years, Aimé-Martin was still conscious of their controversial nature. He makes the following comment about reflections on the new doctrine contained in his œuvre:
Supprimez ces chapitres, me disaient mes amis; ils nuisent au succès de votre livre. Le temps de la vérité n’est point encore venu; pourquoi la dire lorsqu’elle trouble les consciences, lorsqu’elle arrête le bien que vous pouvez faire?[656]
Nevertheless, in spite of advice to the contrary, Aimé-Martin considered the nation more than ready for ‘le temps de la vérité’. The need to preserve spiritual values was too urgent to warrant any concern for popularity or commercial success, he had come to save a desperately fragmented and discontented society, exclaiming in the introduction to his edition of the Portrait d’Attila that:
Bossuet, Fénelon, descendez à ma voix;
Venez de nos Titans contempler les exploits;
[…] Venez voir la Vertu pleurant sur un cercueil,
Et la Religion, en vêtement de deuil.[657]
Aimé-Martin had waited until 1834 to publish his Education, but he had recognised the necessity for change as early as 1814 when the above extract appeared in print. People across the country were without faith and their lives were accordingly meaningless and misguided. Aimé-Martin maintained that the religious quandary was an expected consequence of people’s inability to relate to the Catholic doctrine, of their tiring of ‘l’ignorance du sacerdoce, de son éloignement de la lumière, et de l’instruction stupide qu’il persiste à recevoir et à donner’.[658] Such estrangement from religion was further compounded by the apathy of the nation who, without proper instruction, failed to recognise a need to fill the spiritual void in their lives. Resie, too, battles not only against the enemies of Catholicism, but equally against society’s overwhelming inertia:
N’était-ce point assez pour la France d’avoir supporté le joug de la terreur et celui du despotisme impérial, sans être forcée de subir encore le joug honteux des pédants et des idéologues, le plus humiliant de tous, parce qu’il n’est accompagné d’aucune gloire; mais aussi le plus facile à briser, par la raison que ces tyrans de l’Enseignement n’ont ordinairement d’autre courage que celui que leur donne notre sotte faiblesse et d’autre force que celle qu’ils acquièrent par notre propre inertie.[659]
Importantly, Resie’s insistence on Aimé-Martin as the archetypal adversary of Catholicism is somewhat unreasonable. While the author disagrees with many Church practices, his intention is not for the outright ruination of the Catholic religion. Indeed, the ‘haine profonde’[660] Resie refers to is quickly thrown into question on discovering Aimé-Martin’s consideration that the Church reform itself as an urgent matter of survival:
Vous voulez régner sur le globe, et voilà que, par une seule règle de discipline, vous vous fermez une des cinq parties du monde. Appuyez-vous sur les lois de la nature si vous voulez vivre; elles seules sont universelles.[661]
His thesis is that the Church must adapt or it will perish, but there is no antagonism, no ‘haine profonde’, seething between the lines of the Education. In fact, at times upon composing his œuvre, such was the seeming temperance of Aimé-Martin’s feeling about the Catholic Church that Lamartine, in the private correspondence with his friend, would chastise the soon-to-be author of the Education for failing to proffer a more radical and more clearly defined overhaul of the institution:
Si vous ne voulez pas séparer le Christianisme-Principe, ou l’Église qui le représente ainsi, d’avec l’administration de cette Église et son personnel qui ont été souvent opposés à son esprit, nous ne pouvons pas nous entendre.[662]
Ultimately, Aimé-Martin’s wish was to bring people closer to the spiritual life and to do this he needed to make religion more accessible, and spirituality more attainable. He rejected the exclusivity of Catholicism with all its ostentatious trappings and its exclusionary doctrine in favour of a religion that was within people’s grasp. Even his priest was to become a part of the community:
Dans d’autres temps, le sacredoce se sépara de la société pour la dominer: aujourd’hui il doit rentrer dans ses rangs pour la sauver.[663]
In this respect Aimé-Martin might be seen to have been ahead of his time. In a review of the Esquisse d’une philosophie produced by Aimé-Martin in 1841, seven years after his Education had first appeared in print, the clergyman-turned-layman, Lamennais, is remarked for his vision of a new-age priesthood:
C’est toujours aux mains des prêtres qu’il veut placer le souverain pouvoir; seulement ces prêtres ne seront plus les soldats de Rome; ils seront citoyens du monde civilisé, et missionnaires de la civilisation du monde.[664]
That Aimé-Martin was promoting the very same enterprise seven years prior to the proposals of Lamennais is significant in the way it attests to the modernity of Aimé-Martin’s thinking, but also in the suggestion that the philosophy of the Education might have been significantly influencing those who read it.
Importantly, Aimé-Martin’s religion was based on the principle of a central truth or a central and unequivocal God. He strove to preserve the spiritual values of the nation with a religion that was simultaneously inspired by interconnected notions of Providence, Nature, and the Creation. He was an advocate of the pantheistic view that God is All and All is God, though he could not be described as a pantheist per se. The vague and non-specific terms in which Aimé-Martin referred to his new religion and the non-discriminatory nature of his doctrine necessarily led to the rejection of traditional models of the inherence of original sin and the temptation of the Devil. However, Resie argued that such attempts to demystify religion actually served to undermine its authority and, subsequently, would lead people to question the existence of God. His complaint was that the likes of Aimé-Martin had created:
[…] cette jeunesse de libres penseurs, qui ne connaît d’autre liberté que celle de tout dire, d’autre indépendance que celle de ne rien croire, d’autre culte que celui de la raison, et d’autre amours que celui des plaisirs. Car, au lieu de lui apprendre à aimer et à servir Dieu, sans chercher à le comprendre, […] on lui a enseigné à douter de son existence, ou à le placer dans tout, dans l’homme comme dans la brute, dans l’esprit come dans la matière.[665]
Furthermore, Resie considered much of Aimé-Martin’s Education to contain vague and ill-considered theories, particularly with regard to his hope to unite the nation under one God, not one cult. Resie noted that to unite the nation under one God would occasion the necessary creation of one cult:
[…] notre foi doit être une dans le même sens que Notre Seigneur Jésus-Christ est un: or, notre divin Saveur étant absolument et essentiellement un, notre foi doit être absolument et rigoureusement une.[666]
However, while Aimé-Martin failed to elucidate various points in his Education, consideration of some of his other œuvres tends to clarify certain of his ideas on religion, as is the case with texts such as the Examen critique des Réflections ou sentences et maximes de La Rochefoucauld. Examination of some of the articles featured therein helps us better to understand some of the author’s religious convictions:
Mais la foi du chrétien a pénétré plus avant dans ces abîmes. Ce n’est point assez pour lui de regarder la mort fixement, il la contemple avec joie, il l’attend avec amour.[667]
Certainly, Aimé-Martin’s most contentious proposal to feature in the Education is that relating to celibacy. Though his claims about the priesthood did not extend to the notion, propounded by Michelet,[668] of unmarried priests’ conscious attempts to divide families,[669] he did argue both that remaining unmarried distanced the clergy from other men and, thus, society and that Catholic priests were plagued by the burden of impossible expectations. At the sight of a crying lady the priest must restrain his natural impulsions to comfort her:
Vainement il veut combattre une si douce vue, vainement il repousse comme une tentation le sentiment qui le charme, une voix intérieure lui crie que cet attrait si vif est le lien de tous les êtres, et que lui-même doit son existence à l’amour.[670]
Indeed, the Catholic priest is in a constant state of denial and self-reproach because his conscience is forced to contend with Nature. In order to resolve this conflict of emotion and, equally, in order to find his place amongst the people the priest ought to marry:
Les enseignements divins n’ont pas moins de force que les lois naturelles. Partout ils supposent le mariage des prêtres, et le supposer sans le défendre, c’est l’adopter. ‘Que l’éveque soit le mari d’une seule femme, dit saint Paul. Établissez les prêtres selon l’ordre, c’est à dire mari d’une seule femme’, dit encore saint Paul; remarquez bien ces mots: selon l’ordre, c’est-à-dire selon les lois de la nature.[671]
Resie, as one might expect, fiercely contested this view, asserting instead that ‘jamais l’Eglise ait autorisé ou même toléré le mariage des personnes déjà engagées dans les ordres sacrés’.[672] However, both men are concurrently correct and misguided in their interpretation of the gospel. While Aimé-Martin uses Paul’s advice on the condition of elders to support his vision of a married clergy, he is wrong to suggest that Paul actively encourages the marriage of all priests. And Resie, too, is wrong to allege that the Church has always refused to recognise or tolerate the marriage of its ministers. In fact, what Paul’s gospel states is not the obligatory marrying of the priesthood, nor the condemnation or exclusion of married men with views to entering the Church. It instead considers that marriage, though not unthinkable for churchmen, is likely to weigh upon any man with designs of dedicating his life to God by adding to his vocation the burden of worldly cares: namely, a wife.
The unmarried man gives his mind to the Lord’s affairs and to how he can please the Lord; but the man who is married gives his mind to the affairs of this world and to how he can please his wife, and he is divided in mind.[673]
Certainly, Resie not only sees that woman would be a distracting influence destined to force man away from his duties as clergyman, but he also fears that, should she make any display of improper conduct, this might serve to jeopardise her husband’s reputation, a view that surely surprises on consideration of Resie’s appeal to woman as the saviour of Christianity. Conversely, Aimé-Martin’s vision of woman as the support of a husband engaged in religious undertakings is far more compatible with his hope for her spiritual mission.
6.5 Conclusion
In Resie’s denunciation of the Evangelicalism emerging in France in the early nineteenth century he estimates that Aimé-Martin is simply one in a long line of blasphemous ‘tyrans de l’Enseignement’. He deems that:
Le livre de M. Aimé-Martin est donc non-seulement un très mauvais livre; c’est encore, pour les hommes de goût, un livre ennuyeux. C’est l’œuvre péniblement élaborée d’un aspirant académicien, qui a sué sang et eau, en entassant sophismes sur sophismes, impiétés sur impiétés pour arriver au fauteuil académique.[674]
Accusations to the effect of the Education being ‘un livre ennuyeux’ are certainly rare and, in fact, Résie’s is the only such objection I have come across. Nonetheless, whilst Aimé-Martin’s Education posits many theories that had not been so publicly nor so widely acknowledged before, a lot of his work can be seen to recycle or reinvent popular ideas about the new religion, and the re-education of the population, specifically through the agency of mothers. Indeed, some would argue that his Education never went far enough along the path to social reform as, in many respects, his ideas clung too readily to outmoded notions of femininity and betrayed an underlying allegiance with a school fearful of the subversion of the ‘natural order’. The enduring influence of luminaries such as Fénelon, Rousseau and Bernardin are plain to see and one might question the genuine progressiveness of a philosophy that continually harks back to concepts popularly expounded during a bygone era.[675] Furthermore, in Aimé-Martin’s revising of woman’s place in the social hierarchy works such as the Contes merveilleux dédiés aux mères et aux filles (1814) that were popularised by him reveal his investment in allegories that reinforce, rather than challenge, stereotypes of the feminine.[676]
Additonally, although Aimé-Martin identifies many of the social injustices afflicting women, particularly peasant women, and despite highlighting the shortcomings of their education, his practical propositions to redress the situation are not always clear. His hope, first and foremost, is to give these women a good elementary education so that, through them, renewal can come from below, from the women of the people. Yet, we never understand how he intends to disseminate this education throughout the country. Who will teach these women? Other women? And, from what social milieu would these first ‘teachers’ hail? Was his intention that an enlightened clergy might be there to provide? And perhaps more pressing still, how to overturn a culture long-convinced of the economic necessity of women working the land and, thus, that actively encouraged their disengagement with home-centric activity? His exact wishes on any of these points are never satisfactorily clarified for the reader. Certainly, it remains apparent that in the Education there are missed opportunities truly to revolutionise women’s learning, either through the suggested implementation of tangible, political processes or through the call for a genuine, practicable re-socialisation of the people.[677]
Yet, in spite of the shortcomings of Aimé-Martin’s œuvre, the veritable achievements of his treatise should not be under-estimated. Though his theories might have proved too utopian, too abstract to take immediate effect, particularly within that social milieu for which he writes, perhaps this can be explained by Aimé-Martin’s conviction that society was not yet prepared to facilitate the changes outlined in the Education. Indeed, the philosophy of his treatise is consciously vague and non-prescriptive because he understood that the social and political institutions of his day were not easily receptive to the ideals it promoted. In one letter to an admirer, Madame Gransard d’Epinal, dated 1845, Aimé-Martin observes of his Education that:
Ce livre est traduit dans toutes les langues mais je ne fais point d’illusion[:] son tem[p]s n’est pas ecor[e] venu. Les lectrices intelligentes et qui ne cherchent que la vérité, sont rares même en France, et je serais bien heureux si dans chaque ville je pouvais en compter une seule comme celle qui s’est revelé à moi à Epinal. La grande révolution sociale et religieuse serait faite, et les femmes regneraient sur le monde par leurs enfants.[678]
There is no doubt that Aimé-Martin’s ideology was both new and controversial. His work further concretised the growing concensus about motherhood as being not only an occupation to secure socio-political standing but also as being a means to female virtue that defied previously held views about woman’s inherent sin.[679] What is more, his Education would go on to appear in at least three different languages[680] and would even provoke debate in the feminist upsurge of the Victorian era, thus, securing its status as a text that not only had to, but that could and did transcend both time and space.
His policies on education in a more general context are sadly never given much attention in the Education, but a study of those changes implemented by him at the Ecole Polytechnique shows clearly his agenda to promote a subject that he saw as the possible antidote to the moral and spiritual wasteland of the nation. Indeed, if Aimé-Martin was nothing else, he was a religious man who saw the belief in a higher order as the guiding principle on the road to enlightened learning and this belief could be nurtured both in the classroom, at the stage of ‘l’instruction intermédiaire’ and, later, as part of ‘l’instruction classique et scientifique’. Initially, of course, redemption of the human race fell to the mother-educator, sowing the seeds of a moral, spiritual awakening through the medium of ‘l’instruction primaire’, as reiterated in the closing lines of Aimé-Martin’s Education:
Que chacune de vous travaille seulement au bonheur de son enfant; dans chaque bonheur particulier, Dieu a placé la promesse du bonheur général. Jeunes filles, jeunes épouses, tendres mères, le sceptre vous appartient, c’est dans votre âme bien plus que dans les lois du législateur que réposent aujourd’hui l’avenir de l’Europe et les destinées du genre humain![681]
Significantly, Aimé-Martin’s focus on maternal teachings is adapted and evolved by his contemporaries, and perhaps it is telling that for the compatriot he held in highest regard, Lamartine, the most enduring precepts of the Education are those that are divorced from notions of the mother-educator. Indeed, in Lamartine’s L’État, l’église et l’enseignement, the hope for enlightened learning now lies primarily with the state and this perhaps can be explained by the groundwork already undertaken by Aimé-Martin[682] and equally by the expanding government-controlled educative provision in France at the time of Lamartine’s writing in 1843. His thesis argues for the issue of a state-run education system whose curriculum would be sensitive to a myriad of religious doctrines and whose objective would accordingly extend to both the moral and intellectual conditioning of its ‘children’. He requests:
Restituons-nous donc les uns aux autres la place, la liberté, le respect qui nous appartiennent. La terre est assez vaste pour que tous ceux qui veulent adorer Dieu, dans tous les rites, puissent s’agenouiller devant lui sans se coudoyer et sans se haïr.[683]
Certainly, in L’État, l’église et l’enseignement we see an ostensible shift away from Aimé-Martin’s aspirations for a home-centric initiation of the young, although that Lamartine glosses over primary education in his tract does not necessarily imply his aversion to the concept. However, it is noteworthy that, despite the differences in the way in which each author chooses to communicate his lessons (one principally through mothers, the other through schools), echoes of Aimé-Martin’s non-prescriptive and truth-inspired religion clearly resound through the pages of Lamartine’s essay. And a study of their long and prolific correspondence will reveal the sustained exchange of ideas that regularly assisted in bringing to life the literary creations of both men.
Interpreting the letters of Louis Aimé-Martin
1. Introduction
The consideration of correspondence has long been an integral part of literary studies. The letters of Madame de Sévigné, of Voltaire, Rousseau, Diderot and, more pertinently for this study, of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, have all come under the scrutiny of a variously curious, admiring or incredulous public. Of course, numerous are the motivations for those taking up the latest collection of Correspondance générale or Lettres retrouvées. What might hold the promise of private tragedy or concealed scandal for some might equally offer the prospect of a personal perspective of more universal themes or events for others. Certainly, the correspondence of Aimé-Martin is no exception to this rule, offering the reader access to the writer’s most intimate thoughts as well as commentary on the cultural politics of his day. Indeed, there is something almost prophetic about Aimé-Martin’s accompanying note to a catalogue d’autographes that he seeks to sell in 1843:
En effet, ces restes écrits des personnages célèbres, ne sont pas seulement des reliques vénérables destinées à recevoir nos hommages; ils doivent un jour devenir une source précieuse de documents pour l’histoire de la littérature et des arts, et pour la biographie des hommes célèbres; peut-être même l’histoire politique y trouvera-t-elle aussi des sources inattendus [sic].[684]
Aimé-Martin articulates that same conviction in the multifaceted value of manuscripts that would prompt, and had in the past prompted, scholars to examine the correspondence of many an important personality and that now leads us to a reflection on his letters.
A contemporary and acquaintance of Charles-Augustin Sainte-Beuve,[685] Aimé-Martin was part of a culture that deemed the study of the writer a necessary complement to a study of the works, and, as I have shown, he would express such notions in the preface to several ‘complete works’ edited by him for the Lefèvre Classics Collection.[686] Indeed, Sainte-Beuve’s belief in the correlation between literature and the life of the author was made plain through articles such as that on Chateaubriand, ‘Chateaubriand jugé par un ami intime en 1803’,[687] and seems clearly to have had some resonance for Aimé-Martin. In the eyes of Sainte-Beuve:
La littérature, la production littéraire, n’est point pour moi distincte ou du moins séparable du reste de l’homme et de l’organisation; je puis goûter une œuvre, mais il m’est difficile de la juger indépendamment de la connaissance de l’homme même […]. L’étude littéraire me mène ainsi tout naturellement à l’étude morale.[688]
Of course, if Aimé-Martin espoused such a philosophy, it is reasonable to wonder to what extent his life reflected those same values and ideologies manifest in his œuvres, and this reading of his letters proposes, in some measure, to do exactly that. Certainly, the correspondence offers a fresh and unprecedented insight into the life of Aimé-Martin, though it must be stressed that the corpus of letters examined for this study, itself the culmination of speculative enquiries and the perusal of numerous library catalogues, derives from a number of different sources and, subsequently, tells a fragmented and incomplete story about our subject’s life. Indeed, while my assessment hopes to paint the picture of a man who has until now been both eclipsed by his reputation as the principal editor of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre and obscured behind the pages of his own best-known works, my primary focus has been Aimé-Martin’s relations with the literary community, and his private reactions to the social and political crises that perpetuated themselves in early nineteenth-century France. Should further letters one day be discovered,[689] it is my hope that a more comprehensive account of Aimé-Martin’s life can be established, one that might at last, for example, proffer a more exact chronology for his acquaintance with Bernardin or that might give us a more enlightening description of his paternal responsibilities to the children of his mentor.
In this chapter I have concentrated on some of Aimé-Martin’s most extensive correspondence, namely that with Alphonse de Lamartine. A small number of other correspondents also feature in my study,[690] but only where their contributions lend something to the type of material being dealt with in the more lengthy correspondence with Lamartine. In addition, along with the letters, I have seen fit to examine some other texts, as for example the Réponse à la lettre d’un français au Roi, Aimé-Martin’s reaction to the anti-Royalist treatise, Du Nouvel ordre des choses, although such pieces are only cited when parallels with the correspondence have been too pronounced to be ignored.
Aimé-Martin’s friendship with Lamartine, though more enduring and arguably more significant than his relationship with Bernardin, is invariably overlooked in narratives about Aimé-Martin’s life. Nevertheless, for some commentators it was this association, above all else, that recommended Aimé-Martin to his peers:
Mari de la veuve de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, porteur d’une figure ingrate que rayaient deux petites moustaches noires, il m’a toujours paru en même temps silencieux et gourmé. L’amitié très-vive dont l’honorait Lamartine, et les bonnes intentions de ses œuvres étaient ses correctifs.[691]
Interestingly, it seemed inevitable that Aimé-Martin would one day meet Lamartine, most especially because Désirée had long-established links to the poet’s relatives. Indeed, for Lamartine the union of Aimé-Martin and Désirée must have been celebrated as a double-blessing that would enable him to indulge his passion for the creed of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre:
Ce culte de Bernardin a été entretenu chez Lamartine par son ami Aimé Martin, second époux de Madame de Saint Pierre, elle-même liée de longue date à la famille du poète.[692]
The exact date of a first meeting between Lamartine and Aimé-Martin has not, to my knowledge, been officially determined, but the two men were certainly corresponding in 1824, when both had already known some literary success (Lamartine with his Méditations poétiques and Aimé-Martin with his Lettres à Sophie), and when the latter had only recently emerged from a bitter court battle with the Didot family publishing house. By Lamartine’s own account, he had come to know his friend through their attendance at a school of arms in Paris,[693] though the friendship would not really evolve until the time of Lamartine’s ambassadorial post in Florence:
Mais ils ne firent vraiment connaissance qu’au cours d’un voyage d’Aimé Martin et de sa femme en Italie. Lamartine le reçut à Florence ‘comme un compatriote, et comme un poète aussi.’[694]
It was during this stay in Italy that the men and their wives forged the close bonds that would blossom into an attachment lasting beyond the period of Aimé-Martin’s death some twenty-two years later. Admittedly, such detail about the relationship between the two men may prove of limited interest to the majority of readers. What is more, much has already been concluded about the friendship by previous scholars, to whom I am indebted for aspects relating to Aimé-Martin’s biography and whose work is such that there would be no justification for a detailed mapping out of the relationship again here.[695] Yet, what is of particular importance in respect of the long association with Lamartine is the fact that such an alliance helps us further to envisage Aimé-Martin as a man who could and did hold sway in early nineteenth-century society. Indeed, their long correspondence reveals a side of Aimé-Martin that is independent of Bernardin and his literary legacy and that serves clearly to situate the disciple of an eighteenth-century luminary more definitively in the nineteenth. It is noteworthy that, as well as befriending Lamartine, Aimé-Martin was in regular contact with several other key literary figures of the period, from Charles Nodier[696] to Jules Lechevalier,[697] and he also worked closely with politicians and newspaper editors from the viscount Lainé to Monsieur Bertin of the Journal des Débats. Certainly, Aimé-Martin was both well-connected and well-informed, a circumstance attributable in part to his post as rédacteur to the Chambre des Députés and to his intermittent work for the aforementioned Journal des Débats. It is no wonder for a man so deeply involved in the cultural and political spheres of his time that, while rich in autobiographical material, Aimé-Martin’s correspondence should also lend itself to discussion of a socio-political nature, making his letters of significance to the biographer and political historian alike.
2. The Political Arena
Aimé-Martin was active at a time of unrelenting vicissitudes in the world of politics and it is, therefore, unsurprising that his letters should be coloured by some lively discussion relating to the various controversies of his day. Lamartine’s regular and often prolonged absences from Paris engendered some in-depth commentary on the unfolding of events in the capital from his conscientious correspondent as well as making of Aimé-Martin an indispensable intermediary between Lamartine and the editors and publishers based there. Importantly, the interests of the growing publishing empire and the incidents that shaped the political landscape of the increasingly industrialised city were by no means mutually exclusive and this was made especially evident in the circumstances surrounding the appearance of Lamartine’s Contre la peine de mort.[698] Against the backdrop of a mass working-class mobilisation on the streets of Paris, notably calling for the punishment of four of Charles X’s most ultra ministers, Lamartine would compose his verse. His well-intentioned bid to pacify the Parisian workers baying for blood was, however, to spark a polemic between his primary negotiator, Aimé-Martin, the newspaper giant, the Journal des Débats, and government bodies, arguably revealing his, but more especially his friend’s, political naivety. With the dawn of the July Monarchy the working class found itself granted a new-found, political identity, in particular due to official praise for its courage in the face of further disruptive governmental and legislative reform. Imbued with confidence, assured of their recognition on the political stage, the people of Paris were not only beginning to strike very early on in Louis-Philippe’s reign, but they were also unafraid to demand bloody retribution for the sins of the previous regime. Lamartine’s Contre la peine de mort, soliciting from the populace a show of mercy, while admired by the editors and government ministers who initially reviewed the work, was feared by the authorities to hold the potential further to antagonise the masses. The préfet de police, in a speech relayed by Aimé-Martin to Lamartine, was not alone in predicting the disastrous impact of the poet’s plea:
Je connais […] l’état du peuple dans les faubourgs, et les moyens qu’on emploie pour le mettre en mouvement. Le premier prétexte sera bon. On dira: les Débats publient une demande en grâce, donc le ministère veut sauver Polignac. Il n’en faudra pas davantage pour amener des scènes sanglantes.[699]
However, in spite of the alarm raised by Lamartine’s work, the correspondence outlines the persistence with which Aimé-Martin would continue to promote it, namely by exploiting his journalistic contacts:
J’ai vu M. Émile de Girardin. Je lui ai remis votre ode, il va la faire autographier à 100 exemplaires pour tous les journaux de province. Ces 100 exemplaires partiront ce soir, et si ces journaux ont moins peur que les nôtres, vos beaux vers retentiront dans toute la France et toucheront bien des cœurs.[700]
Indeed, Aimé-Martin is acutely aware of the constraints placed upon the Journal des Débats by its ever-prudent political stance and he, therefore, acts in response to the impossibility of securing the paper’s support.[701] Nevertheless, if such action displays both Aimé-Martin’s foresight and resourcefulness, it also seems somewhat reckless and inevitably raises questions about the mediator’s political awareness. Certainly, his prediction that Lamartine’s ‘beaux vers retentiront dans toute la France et toucheront bien des cœurs’ apparently blinds Aimé-Martin to the realities of the political situation before him as he presses forth with the dissemination of what many deemed to be an incendiary work.[702] What is more, the correspondence indicates that Aimé-Martin, short of precise instructions from his friend, was in fact acting independently in promoting Contre la peine de mort, much to Lamartine’s dismay:
Quant à la publicité, je vous remercie mille fois de vos incroyables peines; mais je vous ai dit que j’étais de l’avis du gouvernement en ce point et que si lui, le plus intéressé de tous à sauver ce moment, y voyait du danger pour ceux que nous voulions sauver, il fallait céder à ses prévisions plus éclairées que les nôtres, et étouffer au lieu de répandre.[703]
Such exchanges show us that Lamartine was far more sensitive to the proposed censorship of his poem than his correspondent, hinting at the self-assurance or perhaps even the self-righteousness of the latter. Nonetheless, it is noteworthy that extracts from Lamartine’s verse would eventually appear in La Gazette in mid-December 1830 in the midst of the trial of Charles X’s ministers.[704] Importantly, despite the appearance of the work, the explosive public reaction anticipated by the authorities would not see the day, a circumstance that could be seen both to justify Aimé-Martin’s unwavering faith in the mercifulness of the nation and to some extent to negate any accusation of his political naivety. Indeed, the ministers at the heart of the crisis would eventually be subjected to lifelong imprisonment (thus avoiding the death penalty), further attesting to the triumph of the spirit of mercy and forgiveness so obviously at the heart of Lamartine’s Contre la peine de mort, and so early celebrated by what some may consider to have been a visionary Aimé-Martin. Admittedly, it is Aimé-Martin’s liberal thinking that allows him to conceive of a society where writers such as Lamartine can safely and constructively express views that in some eyes tend towards the radical. Aimé-Martin’s liberal philosophy is such that from his earliest political campaign concerning Contre la peine de mort he is able to envisage diametrically-opposed social groups and governmental parties uniting in the name of justice, hoping to drum up support in the homes of the ordinarily republican working class and bourgeoisie of the ‘faubourg’, as well as those of the ‘corps de garde’,[705] a faction of society more easily identifiable as moderate royalists at the very least. He writes:
Au reste ce soir j’espère décider une immense publication avec M. de Martignac, une publication qui vous donnera un succès de faubourg et de corps de garde. L’honneur de la nation, la tranquillité publique, la paix de l’Europe, tout tient à ce procès. Il ne s’agit pas seulement de quatre victimes, et je persiste à croire que vos beaux vers, vos généreux sentiments seraient un grand poids dans la balance.[706]
Of course, the longevity of Aimé-Martin’s friendship with Lamartine can be explained in part by Lamartine’s sympathy with the royalist sentiments of his compatriot[707] who, for many years, would indulge in dreams of a socially-engaged constitutional monarchy. Aimé-Martin was certainly a royalist and particular works would point towards his compassion for a social class marred by the wrongs of the ancien régime, the ‘Princes’[708] forever destined to disappoint the partisans of the Republic:
Nous ne les avons encore vus que malheureux et sans puissance, et nous leur demandons la gloire de la prospérité et les actes énergiques du pouvoir. Le premier exemple qu’ils aient pu nous offrir, est celui de la constance et de la vertu: la France dont ils veulent le bonheur, les a vus calmes au milieu des traîtres qui les chargeaient de fers.[709]
It stands to reason that Aimé-Martin’s defence of the princes of the blood may have served to identify him as an ultra-royalist, especially at a time when the defining of an individual’s political affiliations was the order of the day. Importantly, we have already learned how Aimé-Martin’s nostalgic tales of the ancien régime engendered the alienation of some of his students at the Ecole Polytechnique and, furthermore, how such reminiscences would eventually lead to his estrangement from the school with the succession of a new monarch in 1830. Nevertheless, the fervency of Aimé-Martin’s royalist convictions remains difficult to determine and one cannot help but wonder if Bernardin’s disciple[710] was simply playing a tactical game in pandering to the figureheads of the Restoration era. Certainly, the outspoken beliefs that characterise Aimé-Martin’s career under the Restoration monarchy are soon quieted with the dawn of Louis-Philippe’s government. Yet, les us remember that Aimé-Martin not only enjoyed a happy childhood under Louis XVI’s reign, but also lived to witness the chaos that ensued as a result of establishing the Republic as well as the tyranny of an Emperor’s rule. Such an experience must surely have affirmed for Aimé-Martin the stability to be had exclusively under a new-age monarch, suggesting that his support of the monarchy, both under the Bourbon and Orléanist dynasties, was largely unaffected and sincere. Indeed, in light of France’s recent history, faith in the stabilising influence of a royal sovereign was widespread for much of the early nineteenth century. In 1815, following Napoleon’s failed hundred days campaign, Aimé-Martin would go as far as to argue that at no stage in the order of events had ‘La France […] abandonné le Roi’, asserting that ‘l’armée seule fut coupable’.[711] Of course, once Napoleon had been shipped off to St Helena, the Bourbon dynasty would proceed to enjoy power for some fifteen years, testament both to the support for the monarchy amongst politically-active French citizens and to the fact that, as a royalist, Aimé-Martin could and would act, not as a marginalised ultra, but as the mouthpiece for the political majority. Certainly, the nation at large was forever anxious for the stability of the regime, a concern that carried over to Louis-Philippe’s rule, as can be gleaned from Aimé-Martin’s account of the anticipated insurrection of December 1830:
Il y a dans le public une inquiétude inconcevable; les bruits les plus effrayants circulent; on dit que les faubourgs sont organisés et qu’ils doivent se porter sur le Luxembourg.[712]
Looking at the situation from Aimé-Martin’s perspective it is no wonder that Paris is possessed of ‘une inquiétude inconcevable’, much as the news of the Duke of Orléans’ death in 1842 clearly proved a ‘terrible nouvelle’[713] for both he and other royal enthusiasts of the period. However, while Aimé-Martin’s prejudices impress themselves upon his letters, this does not prevent him from invariably making some lucid remarks about the undeniably precarious state of government. There is no denying that at the end of 1830 people across France were echoing the very notions, expounded in Aimé-Martin’s letters to Lamartine, that:
La Fayette paraît avoir perdu une partie de son influence; nous sommes enfin entre la république et la royauté constitutionelle, et il est à craindre que le procès des ministres ne soit une occasion de commencer la lutte, qui dans ce moment-ci serait toute favorable à la république.[714]
Indeed, Aimé-Martin’s correspondence continually reminds us that the sovereignty of Louis-Philippe was not without its problems, his reign not only subject to the disapproving mutterings of some, but also dogged by uprisings, notably one that followed shortly after the writing of the above letter, in Lyon in 1831. Importantly, the political turmoil, the disappointed hopes of the masses, the fear of insurrection, all combined to urge Aimé-Martin to write in a more socio-political vein than ever before, as exemplified in his Education des mères de famille of 1834. However, it is interesting to discover that Aimé-Martin was writing in what he deemed to be a political context many years prior to the appearance of his prize-winning treatise. He addresses the following remark to Monsieur Fabien Pillet, along with two sample pieces of his Lettres à Sophie:
Je désirerais que vous fissiez remarquer que cet ouvrage est plein de morceaux très energiques contre la tyrannie […], et que ces morceaux ont été publiés sous Buonaparte.[715]
Indeed, it seems that Aimé-Martin uses this earlier literary effort, his thesis on the study of nature, covertly to promote his pro-royalist stance,[716] and this at a time when Bonaparte was exercising his power. In Aimé-Martin’s view, the world of politics and literature clearly did not exist apart and this is made especially evident in his inexorable efforts to have Lamartine’s political tracts published. For Aimé-Martin, Lamartine’s literature was not only of a political nature but was, more importantly, capable of initiating genuine, political change. Interestingly, Désirée, who surely observed and listened to her husband’s aspirations for both his work and that of his friend, evidently did not share his conviction in the potential of literature as a substantial, political force and, consequently, seems to have elicited the following comment from Lamartine:
Vous croyez qu’on ne fait pas de politique si l’on n’est pas au pouvoir, de là toute votre impatience. […] Les plus hautes politiques se font dans les esprits plus que dans les choses.[717]
However, if Désirée held views about the finite power of the ‘esprit’ of the littérateur, Aimé-Martin was once again, in 1840, embroiled in negotiations that would see such an ‘esprit’ rock the establishment in a challenge to the policies of the minister Adolphe Thiers. Lamartine, the exponent of a liberal Christian doctrine, was predictably pro British policy to free Syria from the clutches of the sultan Mohammed-Ali and would produce articles in favour of Syria’s independence. His views, however, were opposed to Thiers’ policies in support of the Muslim ruler and, thus, were refused publication in the Journal des Débats. In spite of the eventual withdrawal of French backing, Thiers’s foreign policy was at the outset resoundingly popular and Lamartine was clearly mistaken to have anticipated that the Journal might jeopardise its favourable relationship with the government by publishing his ‘articles […] intempestifs’.[718] Importantly, it seems that Aimé-Martin, some ten years after his friend’s last major clash with authorities, had come to appreciate the inextricable link between the worlds of politics and literature and the tentative steps the political writer must take in order to survive the machinations of the political arena, warning Lamartine that:
On ne se fait pas populaire en attaquant nos institutions, même pour en rappeler de plus libérales, et, lorsqu’on est chef des conservateurs, c’est une contradiction de montrer le moindre penchant à détruire. […] C’est beau d’être inspiré, mais il faut aussi savoir effacer. Vous auriez besoin d’un ami près de vous, pour vous forcer quelquefois à vous relire.[719]
Nonetheless, despite his correspondent’s often imprudent and inconvenient political position, Aimé-Martin believed that in Lamartine’s philosophy lay the antidote to many of the problems of society, envisioning him as the redeemer of a political and social system gone awry. In the year of 1841 Aimé-Martin would proclaim to Lamartine, ‘Votre jour approche’, lamenting that, ‘le péril croît d’heure en heure, mais que tout cela est triste, et que je verrai avec chagrin les ailes de l’ange de lumière s’agiter inutilement au milieu de ces ténèbres!’[720] However, it is likely that Aimé-Martin was referring here specifically to the impending moment where Lamartine would take to the political stage in a very literal sense[721] (though few would have predicted his (short-lived) headship of the Provisional Government of 1848), perhaps conceding then that, ultimately, tangible, historic change, though facilitated and even bolstered by activities in the literary field, had to come from the seat of government.
Aimé-Martin evidently had an avid interest in the political movements that shook and shaped Paris, often rejecting anecdotes about his personal life in letters to Lamartine in favour of news about the latest uprising or intrigue. Of course, Aimé-Martin’s observations were not the product of a casual curiosity; as a man whose career could and would be determined by the political climate, he had a vested interest in the comings and goings of government. Indeed, his observations of the political arena were indispensable in steering Aimé-Martin clear of trouble, in his capacity as a writer, but more especially as Lamartine’s mediator, as can be gleaned from the cautionary rhetoric that typifies some of his letters. One wonders if Aimé-Martin’s friendship with François-Joseph Grille, an homme de lettres of the late-eighteenth century and a long-time confidant of our subject, might have had some hand in sowing the seeds of caution in Aimé-Martin’s literary endeavours. In one letter Grille informs his friend of his ill-fated dealings with the political press:
J’ai voulu partout faire preuve d’indépendance, et j’ai vu les partis fondre sur moi comme des vautours. Je disais tout ce que je pensais, tout ce que j’apprenais, tout ce que je croyais juste, […] et autour de moi chaque matin bourdonnaient les mouches, sifflaient les serpents, rugissaient les bêtes fauves de la presse gloutonne, insatiable et enragée.[722]
Certainly, the correspondence reveals Aimé-Martin to have been a judicious character, wary of the ‘vautours’ and ‘serpents’ waiting to avenge the ill-advised and incautious meddler in politics. Importantly, Lamartine would often fall into this category, necessitating the counsel of his more politic friend. Indeed, in his letters, Aimé-Martin would display a diplomacy and discretion that smacks of a man both well-rehearsed in the art of negotiation and clearly sensitive to the ‘crisis culture’ that typified the first fifty years of the nineteenth century. When in 1842 Lamartine campaigns in favour of the ‘droit de visite’, calling for the mutual inspection of French and British slave trading posts on the African coasts, Aimé-Martin is forced to remind him that:
Je dis qu’il ne faut pas, pour un petit bien incertain, compromettre une popularité grande, et seule grande, et qui doit un jour nous tirer de l’abîme et peut-être alors donner une nouvelle et divine impulsion au genre humain.[723]
Contrary to Lamartine, Aimé-Martin is able to envision the long-term damage that could result from such a move against government policy. It is not unusual in the course of examining the correspondence to witness such foresight regarding the future possibilities of what Aimé-Martin deemed to be Lamartine’s progressive politics. Interestingly, however, Aimé-Martin seems unconcerned when the dissemination of his philosophy is considered to be inopportune. At the time of publishing his Education des mères Lamartine would bemoan his friend’s imprudence for inciting the censorship of the Catholic Church. Nevertheless, for Aimé-Martin his ‘vérité’, his message about the necessity of a new and accessible religion, was one that had to be told regardless of whether or not there would be people willing to listen to it and he was clearly prepared for the bowdlerizing of his work.
Vous savez bien, mon cher ami, que je ne suis pas homme à concessions quand il s’agit de la vérité, moi qui envie le bonheur de ceux qui sont morts pour elle. Vous savez bien que, si j’avais voulu supprimer deux chapitres de mon livre, j’aurais obtenu un succès que je ne puis plus attendre que du temps.[724]
Of course, the difference between Aimé-Martin and Lamartine lies in the former’s early acceptance of the possible boycotting of his treatise. Such acceptance can perhaps be explained by the fact that in 1834, dissimilarly to his thoughts on Lamartine, Aimé-Martin genuinely believed his own most significant and definitive social contribution had come to fruition, therefore negating any concerns over his post-publication political standing.[725]
7.3 The Cultural Entrepreneur
Importantly, Aimé-Martin’s professional decisions are indicative of a commercial awareness that secured his place as one of the leading cultural entrepreneurs of his day, so much so that Lamartine would remark to him that, ‘ma femme est enchantée de votre habileté commerciale.’[726] His appreciation of the cultural climate is undeniable and it is clear that he nurtured a genuine interest in the fashionable movements of the period. Aimé-Martin’s correspondence bears witness to his enthusiasm for the Romantic era, from his admiration of Lord Byron[727] to his idealisation of the natural world.[728] Furthermore, the letters exchanged between Aimé-Martin and Lamartine present us with two men who, at different stages in the course of their friendship, exploit one another for the purpose of commercial gain. While much of Aimé-Martin’s liberal philosophy and recourse to a distinctly Romantic style were very much in vogue during the early nineteenth century, there was clearly still much to be achieved through association with a younger and indisputably more popular proponent of the Romantic movement such as Lamartine. The correspondence is replete with the mutual calling-in of favours, though Lamartine seems to have pushed the boundaries of Aimé-Martin’s friendship at surprisingly regular intervals. Indeed, not only did Lamartine take advantage of Aimé-Martin’s entrepreneurship, calling upon his friend to secure publications and to promote his work, but he also depended upon him for financial aid[729] and for errands relating to his household, from the selling of his wine to the securing of property in the capital. Conversely, the advantages of Lamartine’s friendship for Aimé-Martin were less tangible, though, certainly in the latter’s eyes, equally indispensable. Croisille, the editor of some recent editions of Lamartine’s correspondence, suggests that Aimé-Martin was, to some extent, inspired by his compatriot, citing in particular a letter written by Aimé-Martin to Lamartine in 1839. In this exchange Aimé-Martin waxes lyrical about the people and landscape of Sweden and Croisille argues that this might be in reaction to reading Lamartine’s Voyage en Orient. He comments that:
Il a sans doute été frappé par certains aspects de la relation du Voyage en Orient de son ami, publié en 1835, où Lamartine, emporté par sa vision utopique des lieux et de leurs histoires, présente au lecteur un tableau idéalisé du monde oriental, en particulier dans le domaine de la vie rurale et des mœurs familiales, tableau qu’il n’est pas loin de proposer en modèle à une société occidentale glissant selon lui vers la décadence.[730]
Though Croisille posits a compelling and plausible explanation for Aimé-Martin’s celebratory letter, I would go much further than him by proposing that Aimé-Martin made much better use of his friend’s work. In light of his close relationship with Lamartine and in view of Lamartine’s propensity to charge Aimé-Martin with the correction of his work, it is likely that Aimé-Martin would have been acquainted with Lamartine’s Voyage en Orient in some shape or form near to the date of its publication in 1835, or very possibly before it. If Aimé-Martin had had access to a manuscript copy of Lamartine’s text in the years prior to 1835, it is then of course conceivable that this provided some of the inspiration for his Education des mères, a work that is not short of its own ‘tableau[x] idéalisé[s]’ of the ‘vie rurale et des mœurs familiales’ and that clearly offers the antithetical portrayal of a society ‘glissant selon lui vers la décadence’.[731] Admittedly, the proof of such uses (or abuses) of the alliance with Lamartine remains difficult to establish, but the likelihood that Aimé-Martin occasionally borrowed, either consciously or unconsciously, from ideas propounded in Lamartine’s texts or philosophy ought to be recognised. What is less difficult to establish in respect of Aimé-Martin’s exploitation of the relationship with Lamartine, however, is his reliance upon Lamartine in securing his election to the Académie française. In one of many such letters to Aimé-Martin, Lamartine informs his ambitious friend that:
Salvandy m’a écrit: je lui ai répondu que mon amitié pour vous passait avant tout et qu’il n’aurait que ma deuxième voix.[732]
Of course, membership of the Académie is one accolade that would never be bestowed upon Aimé-Martin, but the fact remains that, as a member of the Académie since 1829, Lamartine was well-placed to lobby in his friend’s favour and the correspondence makes clear Aimé-Martin’s insistence that this be so.
Certainly, Lamartine was not the only tool in the box of a cultural entrepreneur of Aimé-Martin’s calibre. His commercial acumen was second to none as can be gleaned from the ways in which he strove to promote his own literary projects as well as those of Lamartine. Not only did Aimé-Martin have friends of a literary persuasion review his work,[733] but he also paid particular attention to consumer trends in order that he might anticipate the most marketable material.[734] He was especially concerned about the way in which publications appeared to the public, instructing one editor thus:
Je desirerais que l’annonce fut dans l’interieur du journal et qu’il y eut quelques lignes sur l’ouvrage.[735]
Although Aimé-Martin was clearly an enthusiastic and proactive member of the literary community, some letters hint at the purely financial incentive that steered him towards projects for which he was not always especially enthused. Such is obviously the case with regard to his compilation of the Lefèvre classics collection, about which he comments to Lamartine:
Que vous êtes heureux de faire des volumes en courant, à Naples, à Rome, à Venise, tandis que votre pauvre ami se morfond sur Racine et sur Molière.[736]
Indeed, though Aimé-Martin adhered to a strict work ethic that saw him agonise over the syntax and phraseology of his texts[737] and labour tirelessly[738] he was, nonetheless, economical in his professional approach, often delegating aspects of his massive (and perhaps less stimulating) workload to Désirée and even to her sister.[739]
Certainly, Aimé-Martin’s correspondence allows us to envisage the progression of his career with considerable clarity, from his conquering of new territory with his earliest success, the Lettres à Sophie, to the early years of the 1840s when he returns to familiar ground as the principal editor of the Panthéon Littéraire series. However, if Aimé-Martin’s career did evolve (albeit in a cyclical fashion) with the passing of the years, the cultural entrepreneur was, certainly in Lamartine’s view, lacking in an evermore worldly outlook that in some measure stifled his creativity and encumbered his vision. While Lamartine travelled extensively in his capacity as diplomat, it seems that Aimé-Martin only began to travel more widely in later life when he was no longer burdened with caring for his father, whose death in November 1838 not only signalled increased freedom for his household but also saw him inherit a small fortune that facilitated the enjoyment of luxuries such as travel. When Aimé-Martin embarks on a three-month long voyage across Europe that will see him take in Denmark, Sweden and Germany, Lamartine enthuses about how such an experience will inevitably change his approach to the study of Nature:
Vous vous résumez en trois mois dix ans de vie, c’est le fait du voyage. Celui qui n’a vu que le passé de sa patrie, que sait-il? J’espère vous revoir beaucoup plus philosophe à votre retour qu’à votre départ. Votre défaut est de ne pas être assez frappé de la nature tout entière et de la voir trop dans les écrivains qui ne sont que ses miroirs. Voyez-la elle-même, et surtout ne lui refusez pas les âmes diverses et innombrables dont elles a animé toutes ses œuvres, de l’hysope au cèdre et du chien à Platon. Je ne vous connais que ce défaut.[740]
Of course, this extensive travel takes place in the years that follow Aimé-Martin’s best-known publications and, thus, might justifiably leave those of Lamartine’s school questioning the value of those works conceived in his pre-travel days. Yet, in 1839 Lamartine considers the new insights offered by his friend’s recent voyage not to have been wasted on Aimé-Martin who is now primed at a time when the French nation is still searching for some form of enlightenment:
Vous allez rapporter des notes pour un bel ouvrage. Nous en avons besoin, car il ne paraît rien qui ait le sens commun.[741]
What can be realised from an examination of the correspondence is that, in the years that followed Aimé-Martin’s trip to northern Europe, he would attempt to produce ‘un bel ouvrage’ that may well have been inspired by a new, less theoretical approach to the study of Nature and by a more sincere philosophy relating to the human condition. Interestingly, the letters hint at attempts to complete such a project in the period just prior to his long voyage, with Lamartine asking his friend in October 1838, ‘Comment va le roman philosophique?’[742] However, it would not be until June 1841 that Aimé-Martin would write to Lamartine from his residence in Saint-Denis informing him that:
[…] je me suis mis à étudier philosophiquement l’influence des sciences occultes sur le genre humain. Je me suis enfoncé dans les livres de magie, de chiromancie, et de géomancie, toutes les visions astrologiques du monde. […] Au reste, je tire de toutes ces études de bonnes réflexions pour moi-même et peut-être il en sortira un ou deux chapitres pour mon histoire de l’esprit humain qui ne seront pas inutiles, pour peu que Dieu veuille bien nous renvoyer le soleil.[743]
It seems, then, that travel abroad has had the very effect on Aimé-Martin that Lamartine predicted it might, spurring him on to studies and considerations of a new genre and dimension. However, Aimé-Martin’s recourse to ‘les livres [my emphasis] de magie, de chiromancie, de géomancie’ to inform his ‘histoire’ speaks of a man whose reliance on a previous literature is far from revolutionised by travels abroad. It is of note that Aimé-Martin would never in fact succeed in completing his ‘histoire de l’esprit humain’ and, excepting the Lefèvre publications, there is no evidence of any major literary output after the appearance of the Plan d’une bibliothèque universelle in 1837. Therefore, whatever Aimé-Martin might have been taught by the first-hand experience of landscapes and cultures beyond France’s frontiers in the latter part of his life, his most productive period and his most tangible achievements were clearly realised in spite of borrowed anecdotes and a second-hand knowledge of certain civilisations and environments during his more youthful years. Indeed, Aimé-Martin, fortified by his wide reading and impressed by the continual upheavals that epitomised the changing face of early nineteenth-century society, seemingly had all the necessary tools in 1834 to compose what many deemed to be ‘un bel ouvrage’ (namely, the Education des mères) created by Aimé-Martin to ‘renvoyer le soleil’ to a nation looking for enlightenment.
7.4 Righting social wrongs
Certainly, one aspect of Aimé-Martin’s character that is made indisputably clear from the correspondence is the writer’s benevolence and generosity of spirit, particularly in respect of his dealings with those less fortunate than himself. It is noteworthy that, in the evermore capitalistic climate of the early nineteenth century, those at the lower echelons of the social ladder were being left behind both in terms of their living standards and in respect of pedagogical concerns. Importantly, while Aimé-Martin’s most widely-read œuvres attempt in various ways to address the problems of the peasant and working-class engendered by an increasingly industrialised society, the letters make apparent his efforts also to remedy the misfortune of individuals more intimately associated with him. Interestingly, we learn that Lamartine and his friend were working together to alleviate the financial hardship of various littérateurs in their circle, with Aimé-Martin, from his base in Paris, playing a very active role in their efforts, always willing to act on Lamartine’s behalf. On one occasion he is instructed:
Un pauvre jeune homme, plein d’espoir de talent poétique et au dernier degré de misère, m’écrit et me demande secours. Il ira vous trouver. Donnez-lui 200 francs sur les 1000.[744]
In charge of a number of Lamartine’s accounts and as agent for Lamartine’s philanthropy, Aimé-Martin became the benefactor of important, material sources of support in the literary community, though it is evident that he too would make substantial donations to the destitute writers in his midst. Aimé-Martin’s care of his ailing father[745] is significant for two reasons; primarily because it further alludes to his benevolent nature but equally because the inheritance accorded Aimé-Martin at the moment of his father’s death was in part what enabled him to indulge in charitable activity of his own making,[746] activity that continued even after his death. Indeed, Désirée would write to the family doctor in the days after her second husband’s demise, clearly already busy distributing grants in his name:
J’envoie à Mr Jules une petite bourse qu’il aimera, parce que mon mari l’a porté et qu’il l’aimait.[747]
It is of note that, while Lamartine and Aimé-Martin both shared an interest in the bettering of humanity, the younger man held a very sober view of the people for whom he would write:
Je n’ai pas vos idées sur le peuple. Je le crois un élément ni bon ni mauvais: vague ou miroir selon le vent.[748]
Aimé-Martin, conversely, was not impressed by a ‘peuple […] ni bon ni mauvais’, substituting Lamartine’s dispassionate reflection on the French nation with a more optimistic belief in a people imbued with, for example, the principles of justice and freedom. If the frequently utopian tableaux that typify Aimé-Martin’s principal works do not sufficiently reflect this conviction in the fundamental goodness of the populace, his correspondence abounds with such a notion. In one letter from 1829 he laments the plight of Greek immigrants, come to France to escape persecution, but refused entry by marine authorities, and the text clearly argues in favour of his homeland’s outrage at such a show of injustice:
Je ne vous dis rien des cinquante jeunes Grecs qu’on a renvoyés sans leur permettre de toucher la terre de France où la bonté du roi les avait appelés. Quelle barbarie! Quelle inhumanité! Voilà un sujet digne de vous! Vengez la France outragée, vengez la charité, vengez l’humanité toute entière![749]
Importantly, the story of the ‘cinquante jeunes Grecs’ is seen as a topic for Lamartine’s pen by Aimé-Martin, who evidently considers himself unqualified for discussion of such an ostensibly political nature. Nonetheless, if Aimé-Martin shied away from such polemics, his indignation at the thought of such an uncharitable deed shows his concern to uphold certain values in society. This fight for a ‘right cause’ is, to some extent, tied into Aimé-Martin’s understanding of ‘vérité’, a continued theme throughout his œuvres and also a feature of his correspondence. In a letter to his friend, Mr Charles, he writes:
[…] pour vous, mon ami, rien de ce qui est vrai ne doit vous étonner, car vous etes [sic] bon, spirituel, laborieux. Dieu vous éprouve, c’est ainsi qu’il traite les bons, pour les rendre meilleurs. mais vous triompherez des hommes et de vous même […].[750]
Aimé-Martin’s truth perennially remains vague and undefined, but it is apparently attainable for the man (or woman) who lives a life that is ‘bon[ne], spirituel[le]’ and ‘laborieu[se]’. Furthermore, Aimé-Martin held that the public was at its heart susceptible to this truth and that, more importantly still, such a notion might surely be embodied in the liberal philosophy of Lamartine. In the course of his friend’s campaign for a place at the Académie in 1829, Aimé-Martin asks him:
Pensez-vous donc que, si l’Académie ne vous nommait pas, elle ne serait pas assez punie par l’opinion publique qui la condamnerait?[751]
So convinced is Aimé-Martin of the infectiousness of Lamartine’s ‘truth’, he is unable to conceive of a nation opposed or even resistant to it. Interestingly, while Aimé-Martin enthused over the enlightened ideology he shared with Lamartine, some letters from his friend suggest that such a feeling was far from mutual:
Je regrette toujours que tu vives trop en dehors de l’atmosphère du temps. Pour bien voir, il faut être quelquefois dans le milieu commun! […] Tu devrais rentrer dans les affaires ou dans le mouvement intellectuel de l’Europe.[752]
Writing his letter in 1836, Lamartine, bolstered by his experiences abroad and by his government position, was clearly possessed of a more worldly outlook than his compatriot and, thus, was arguably better equipped to comment on the issues facing society. Certainly, in 1836, this may have been a reasonable reproach to level at Aimé-Martin, a man now afflicted by the death of a mother, distracted by the failing health of a father and reposing on the laurels of his award-winning Education des mères. However, this was perhaps not the case in earlier years, notably during his professorship at the Ecole Polytechnique when he was necessarily in touch with ‘le milieu commun’ and the ‘atmosphère du temps’. Aimé-Martin was a passionate teacher who took great time and care over the preparation of his lessons, as can be gleaned from his letters to Désirée that would regularly report, ‘je prepare ma leçon’.[753] Indeed, the correspondence shows us that Aimé-Martin was especially attentive to the needs of his students and keen to accommodate the tastes of ‘une jeunesse mathématicienne’.[754] Having introduced his young students to Lamartine’s poetry, amongst which his Le Rossignol and Novissima Verba, Aimé-Martin is overcome by their positive reaction:
Après la leçon, j’ai été environné par tous les élèves. Tous parlaient, admiraient, louaient! J’étais accablé de questions! On me demandait le titre des plus belles pièces, on me faisait promettre d’en lire encore quelques-unes; j’ai tenu parole, et l’enthousiasme a toujours été le même.[755]
It is evident from such accounts that Aimé-Martin was genuinely engaging with his students at the Ecole Polytechnique, responding to their ‘enthousiasme’. There is, of course, a degree of irony in the realisation that, while occupied by his duties as a teacher at the Ecole, Aimé-Martin could not find the time to reach out to the younger generation of France on a wider scale. It is of note that in the event of his resignation several possibilities open up to him, not least the opportunity to write in the interest of this group.[756] In February 1831, Lamartine enquires as to Aimé-Martin’s post-Polytechnique steps:
Quelle sera donc votre position actuelle? Et qu’allez-vous faire? Le livre philosophique ou des articles aux Débats? ou l’un et l’autre? Ou entrer dans quelque nouvelle carrière? Soyez sûr que personne ne prendra plus de part que moi à vos chances de fortune ou d’infortune.[757]
Admittedly, it is no coincidence that Aimé-Martin’s Education des mères would appear in 1834, in the years of relative freedom that followed his departure from the school.
While, as previously discussed, his Education would be blacklisted by the Church for its unfavourable portrayal of Catholicism, Aimé-Martin clearly was not an irreligious man. He found solace in prayer[758] and went through life with an unshaken belief in the promise of the afterlife:
Ma femme prie, et moi je songe que cette vie est bien courte et que dans peu d’années nous nous retrouverons tous de l’autre côté de la rive. […] Je vous embrasse bien tendrement en attendant ce jour éternel de vérité, d’amour et de lumière.[759]
We have seen that Aimé-Martin’s desire to assuage the social problems perpetuated by an increasingly industrialised working culture had its roots in the practising of a new religion. He deemed that social reform would come from the bosom of the working or peasant class, once strengthened by the precepts of his modern and people-conscious religion. Nevertheless, it is interesting to witness through the course of the letters the way in which Aimé-Martin’s stance evolves with regard to education and the role of religion and, what is more, how his early effort impresses itself upon Lamartine. In 1842, in the decade after the Education appears, Lamartine seems to have taken his friend’s philosophy one stage further, claiming that:
Je vous envoie aujourd’hui un discours que j’ai prononcé hier à l’inauguration. […] Je veux soutenir le droit de l’État d’avoir un enseignement national et mobile au lieu de l’enseignement exclusif et immobile du clergé![760]
Certainly, the Education plants the seed of change in respect of the place of religion in the educative system, seeing it quite exclusively as providing the basis for a good and honest upbringing, while essentially uninvolved in classroom curriculum. The Education, as we have considered previously, was in many senses a forward-looking work that reflected changing attitudes towards the ‘enseignement national’, particularly that of the lower classes,[761] and administered by a state system progressively divorced from religious doctrine. It is of note that the debate over the most foundational aspect of education would also spill over into concerns relating to France’s universities, eventually culminating in the crisis of 1844. While the Catholics and Jesuits attempted to exercise power over academic institutions, Aimé-Martin and Lamartine, two men so utterly convinced of the importance of a state-controlled (though spiritually-inspired) system of instruction, would unite in a mutual show of disdain[762] for the unwelcome interference of the ecclesiastical authorities:
Rien de nouveau si ce n’est que les couvents se multiplient, et que bientôt nous aurons en France autant de moines et de moinesses qu’il y a de mots dans l’alphabet. Nous revenons au moyen-âge, et si vous ne mettez le garde des Sceaux en demeure d’exécuter les lois, je garantis qu’on nous brûlera publiquement dans dix ans, au grand contentement de la clique pieuse et religieuse qui règne.[763]
Aimé-Martin is, in 1844, evidently no less hostile to the exclusionary and unyielding doctrine of the Church than he was at the time of publishing his Education in 1834. Indeed, it seems he was always keenly aware of the potential of the Church to diminish the many possibilities of education for university students and the lower classes alike and it is noteworthy that he was engaging with such a polemic at a very early stage in its development.
5. Conclusion
Aimé-Martin was clearly a product of his Age, a man who associated with many of the most powerful and influential men of his era and who understood the challenges that faced a society incessantly nursing its wounds. However, it is significant that Aimé-Martin’s links to Bernardin de Saint-Pierre were still defining his person and his career until the time of his death in 1847, some thirty-three years after Bernardin’s demise. In 1823, when bemoaning to Aimé-Martin the tattered state of two recently-acquired works by Bernardin, Charles Nodier would make the following request:
[…] si un mot et surtout une signature de l’ami et de la veuve de Bernardin de St Pierre constatoit sur ces fragmen[-]s l’identité de l’écriture, il ne manqueroit rien à l’intensité de cette jouissance bibliomanique. Elle joindroit l’ivresse d’une passion satisfaite à la pure satisfaction d’un sentiment […].[764]
Indeed, Nodier’s reasoning was perfectly justified: the signatures of Bernardin’s two most faithful champions would undoubtedly improve the material as well as the sentimental value of any such relic. Yet, if Aimé-Martin’s fate was to live with the accompanying ghost of his master, such a destiny was obviously of his own making. While his friendship with Lamartine had been largely the result of a happy accident, chancing upon one another at the school of arms in Paris and appearing in Florence at the same period, his intimate connection to Bernardin or, rather, to his family, had been deliberate from the outset. It is clear that Aimé-Martin would wittingly begin to make in-roads into the Bernardin circle many years prior to his acquaintance with the man himself. The epithet commonly applied to the disciple of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, while certainly not used before his association with the author’s family, was principally due to his early and sustained appreciation of his mentor’s ideology. Such was Aimé-Martin’s fidelity to Bernardin’s creed that Désirée would comment on his capacity to carry it forward to future generations:
[Sainte-Beuve] ne sait pas, le jeune écrivain, qu’il n’y a point de métaphysique sans physique, mais son ignorance ne nuira jamais qu’à lui seul[,] elle n’empechera pas que les sciences et les arts ne s’avancent un jour par le noble sentier que Bernardin de St Pierre a creusé et qui vient d’être aplani par son disciple fidelle.[765]
Of course, if the ‘disciple fidelle’ immersed himself in Bernardin’s teachings, oblivious to the impending affiliation with his ménage, perhaps even stumbling upon his post as Bernardin’s secretary, there is one aspect of Aimé-Martin’s bond with his master’s family that evidently was not unplanned. Aimé-Martin’s eventual pursuit of Désirée is recorded for posterity in his correspondence and makes plain his relentless efforts to help her overcome her indecision and to secure her hand in marriage:
[…] il faut oublier le temps perdu, et ne plus perdre minute. le voulez-vous: oui ou non. nous commencerons mercredi. Si vous avez bonne volonté, volonté ferme, je vous promets un bon compagnon, une bonne humeur, un ami tendre, la paix de bonheur et tous vos desirs accomplis […].[766]
The letters to Aimé-Martin’s future wife that I have been able to consult are, in the main, undated, therefore preventing the establishing of an exact date for their official union. However, it is noteworthy that, while Désirée may have resisted marriage to Bernardin’s disciple for considerable time,[767] their eventual partnership seems to have engendered a meeting of minds, with Aimé-Martin remarking to Lamartine of his wife that, ‘Vous parler en son nom, c’est aussi vous parler au mien: vous savez que nous n’avons qu’une âme à nous deux.’[768] Indeed, the cult of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre remained a constant for both Aimé-Martin and Désirée; his name was alive in the mouths of all in their circle, in their relations with Virginie and her husband, the general Gazan, to their discussions with Lamartine and his kindred. In happening upon articles relating to his hero, Aimé-Martin would be sure to inform his wife,[769] and upon discovering unpalatable reviews about his work, would be quick to jump to his defence:
[…] ce journal est comme une furie. il faut qu’il soit bien faché que Ben de St Pierre soit un honnête homme. […] je commence à me dégouter de la gloire quand je vois ce qu’elle peut devenir entre les mains des s[c]élérats. Je voudrais bien une petite annonce dans les debats. Il faudrait dire un mot de mon essai, mais sans répondre à ces miserables. Il faut qu’ils sentent la honte en voyant mon mepris et mon silence.[770]
Aimé-Martin’s lasting tribute to Bernardin was, then, not only to care and to provide for his family but also to preserve and to protect his memory, defending his philosophy and sometimes risking his own popularity as a result. It is, thus, perhaps unsurprising that Lamartine’s lasting tribute to Aimé-Martin should recall for the reader his everlasting association with Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, pronouncing in the epitaph written for his friend:
Jean-Jacques Rousseau, sur la fin de ses jours, […] avait versé son âme dans celle de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre; à son tour, l’auteur de Paul et Virginie, dans sa vieillesse, avait versé la sienne dans le cœur d’Aimé-Martin, son plus cher disciple.[771]
As such, the man who had come to symbolise Aimé-Martin’s affiliation with nineteenth-century ideologies would, at the hour of his death, remind us of the eighteenth-century origins of his legacy.
Conclusion
This study began with two principal objectives: the first, a concern better to understand the decisions taken in the transcription of Bernardin’s manuscripts by his inaugural editor, the second, a desire to elucidate the extent of that editor’s contribution to other literary projects of his time. Guided by these objectives throughout, my examinations have revealed both those factors that drove Aimé-Martin to modify the texts he transcribed and the wide and colourful spectrum of his influence in the literary community of the early 1800s. In venturing to rationalise Aimé-Martin’s editorial choices I hope, furthermore, to have offered an alternative reading of his efforts as being of a perfunctory or selfish nature.
While the thesis clearly offers two distinct lines of enquiry, the component studies are linked by recurring references to Aimé-Martin’s relationship with Bernardin, his progeny or his intellectual legacy. Indeed, it is in a bid to lend a further sense of cohesion to my investigations that I chose to conclude with a study of the extensive correspondence exchanged between Aimé-Martin and Lamartine. In reflecting on the alliance of these two men we are necessarily reminded of that other, important union explored at the opening of my study. This earlier union between Rousseau and Bernardin would engender a transference of ideologies that would later be a feature of the association between Aimé-Martin and Lamartine. In the Discours prononcé sur la tombe d’Aimé Martin Lamartine alludes to Aimé-Martin’s affiliation with a ‘société spiritualiste’,[772] one that had its roots in the teachings of Fénelon and that would live on through the philosophy of Rousseau, Bernardin and, finally, through Aimé-Martin. That Lamartine makes no attempt in the Discours ostensibly to ally himself with this group of thinkers begs the question: to what extent did he see himself as being of that same school of thought as Aimé-Martin, as having been truly intellectually or spiritually touched by his late friend? Nonetheless, Lamartine was considered by some to have indulged in a retrospective doctrine, the scholar, Barbara Johnson, observing that, ‘Rimbaud, in an oft-cited letter, describes him as “strangled by outworn forms”’.[773] While it is not for this study to determine the innovation of Lamartine’s work, it has been necessary to outline his reliance upon the learning and moral feeling of a man of a generation that preceded his own. Certainly, this thesis has highlighted two significant projects[774] that attest to the essential part Aimé-Martin played in the realisation of just some of Lamartine’s literary creations and the correspondence demonstrates the freedom with which Aimé-Martin was able to amend articles relating to these and other of the poet’s undertakings.[775] My study having provided only the introduction to Aimé-Martin’s role both as mentor of Lamartine and as a key proofer of his publications, I hope in a future volume to be able to investigate further the veritable extent of Aimé-Martin’s influence in his friend’s work.[776]
Of course, Aimé-Martin was in the habit of assisting others in the literary community, both in a current and posthumous context. Many years before his involvement with Lamartine he had come to champion Bernardin’s cause; Bernardin having incidentally left to him not only his various manuscripts but also the promise of a wife and the responsibility of a father. That Aimé-Martin would become the perennial defendant of Bernardin’s reputation can be explained by several factors, not least of all the prevailing sense of gratitude born of his newfound domestic situation. It is ironic that in manifesting that gratitude in very tangible, public ways Aimé-Martin would both secure a major lifetime success and fuel the fire of his later opposition. I hope, in some measure, to have illustrated the due diligence with which Aimé-Martin dealt with Bernardin’s texts and to have encouraged a more nuanced reading of his efforts than allowed for in the criticisms of Souriau.[777] In offering new insights into Aime-Martin’s editorial endeavours, the intention has not been necessarily to establish his status as an iconic or irreproachable editor, but has been rather to underline the importance of reviewing his editorial work in light of the professional and cultural landscape in which it was produced.
Aimé-Martin’s contributions to the cultural landscape of his time were, in fact, manifold, his expertise transcending the editing field. His philosophy ‘était la sagesse humaine du genre humain, dépouillée des erreurs de chaque siècle et de chaque secte, datant de la raison humaine et venant se déposer de l’évangile comme dans un réservoir commun de toutes les morales’.[778] The non-prescriptive and inclusive nature of Aimé-Martin’s doctrine, in keeping with the early century’s general move away from Catholicism, found itself at the heart of the Lettres à Sophie and Raymond, in their promotion of a more personal relationship with God, of a more accessible path to spirituality. This new and enlightened religion would be integral to the conception of the mother-educator of the Education des mères, the contemporary appeal of which has already been made clear. It is noteworthy that Aimé-Martin would continue to campaign for the emancipation of the mother-educator throughout the latter part of his life, complaining to Lamartine in 1841 that:
Les femmes ont armé leurs maris; le sang a coulé pour elles. Faites donc des écoles? Élevez donc les jeunes filles afin qu’elles adoucissent la férocité des hommes? Tout l’avenir du genre humain est là. C’est là qu’il faut porter l’éducation. Je vous le dis, je vous le répète, et je mourrai en le disant: la situation actuelle des femmes du peuple et des femmes de campagne est une honte pour l’humanité.[779]
That the Education des mères has come largely to be forgotten in spite of its initial success is perhaps due to an implicit requirement for a more radical ideology. Indeed, although the treatise proposes to entrust mothers with the education of their children, this education will not only be limited in scope but, without the provision of a preliminary, formalised instruction for mothers in the first instance, will be inconsistent too.[780] Calling upon the mothers of France in the interest of social regeneration was certainly not an original concept echoing, ironically, the appeal to mothers of the First Republic to teach their progeny of republican virtues. However, in establishing the precepts of a new religion in line with the maternal revolution he envisions, Aimé-Martin succeeds in adding another dimension to an enduring idea of how best to effect social progress.
Despite Aimé-Martin’s numerous achievements, it is apparent from articles contained in his correspondence that he considered those achievements ‘mal appréciés de son entourage’.[781] It is, in fact, in ignoring the multiplicity of Aimé-Martin’s projects that commentators of this generation also run the risk of overlooking their enrichment of nineteenth-century literature. Writing to Lamartine in March 1832 Aimé-Martin worries that, ‘je n’ai encore rien fait qui puisse faire aimer ma mémoire’.[782] However, perhaps the immortality he sought through literary works ought now to be accorded him in a way that acknowledges not only his primary role in the scholarship of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, but also his more pervasive, substantial contribution to the culture of the early nineteenth century.
Bibliography
Works and articles written by Louis Aimé-Martin
Aimé-Martin, Louis, ‘De l’enseignement primaire’, Du Bulletin universel, De la société pour la propogation des sciences et de l’industrie, 7 March 1831
— Education des mères de famille ou de la civilisation du genre humain par les femmes, 2nd edn (Paris: Desrez, 1838)
— Education des mères de famille ou de la civilisation du genre humain par les femmes, 3rd edn (Paris: Charpentier, 1840)
— Louis-Aimé-Martin, ‘Esquisse d’une philosophie, par M. de Lamennais’, Journal des débats politiques et littéraires, 7 September 1841
— Essai sur la vie de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, in Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, ed. by L. Aimé-Martin, 2 vols (Paris: Ledentu, 1840), II, pp. i-lxv
—Examen critique des Réflexions ou sentences et maximes de La Rochfoucauld (n.p.: n. pub., 1822)
— Lettres à Sophie, sur la physique, la chimie et l’histoire naturelle, avec des notes par M. Patrin, de l’Institut, 2nd edn, 2 vols (Paris: H. Nicolle, 1811)
— Lettres à Sophie sur la physique, la chimie et l’histoire naturelle, avec des notes par M. Patrin, de l’Institut, 5th edn, 2 vols (Paris: H. Nicolle, 1818)
— Lettres à Sophie sur la physique, la chimie et l’histoire naturelle, rev. edn, 4 vols (Paris: Gosselin, 1822)
— Mémoire sur la vie et les ouvrages de J.-H. Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, accompagné de lettres (Paris: Ladvocat, 1826)
— Plan d’une bibliothèque universelle: Études des livres qui peuvent servir à l’histoire littéraire et philosophique du genre humain; suivi du catalogue des chefs-d’œuvre de toutes les langues (Bruxelles: Société Belge de Librairie, Hauman, Cettoir, 1837)
— Plan d’une bibliothèque universelle: Études des livres qui peuvent servir à l’histoire littéraire et philosophique du genre humain (Paris: Desrez, 1837)
— Raymond: suivi de plusieurs fragments tirés des tableaux et beautés pittoresques de la nature, ouvrage inédit du même auteur (Paris: Panckoucke, Nicolle, 1812)
— Réponse à la lettre d’un français au Roi (Paris: Nicolle, 1815)
Works edited by Louis Aimé-Martin
Aimé-Martin, Louis, ed., Catalogue d’Autographes de la collection de M. Van Sloppen (Paris: R. Merlin, 1843)
— (ed.), Catalogue d’autographes provenant Du Cabinet de M. A. Martin (Paris: R. Merlin, 1842)
— (ed.), Contes merveilleux dédiés aux mères et aux filles, 4 vols (Paris: Nicolle, 1814)
— (ed.), Correspondance de J.-H. Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, 3 vols (Paris: Ladvocat, 1826)
— (ed.), François de Salignac de la Mothe Fénelon, De l’Existence de Dieu (Avignon: Bousquet-Offray, 1827)
— (ed.), Lettres de Madame de Sévigné, avec les notes de tous les commentateurs, 6 vols (Paris: Didot Frères, 1853)
— (ed.), Mille et une nuits: Contes arabes, trans. by Galland (Paris: Desrez, 1838)
— (ed.), Mme La Baronne de Staël-Holstein, Portrait d’Attila, (Paris: La Librairie Stéréotype, 1814)
— (ed.), Moralistes anciens (Paris: Lefèvre, 1840)
— (ed.), Œuvres complètes de J. Racine, 4th edn, 7 vols (Paris: Lefèvre, 1825)
— (ed.), Œuvres de Fénelon, Archevêque de Cambrai, 3 vols (Paris: Didot, 1857)
— (ed.), Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, 2 vols (Paris: Ledentu, 1840)
— (ed.), Œuvres de l’Abbé Fleury (Paris: Delagrave, 1884)
— (ed.), Œuvres philosophiques de Descartes (Paris: Société du Panthéon Littéraire, 1843)
— (ed.), Œuvres poétiques de Boileau Despréaux (Paris: Charpentier, 1845)
— (ed.), Recueil de contes, historiettes morales, en vers et en prose, 2nd edn (Paris: Demonville, n.d.)
— (ed.), Recueil de contes, historiettes morales, en vers et en prose, 2nd edn, 4 vols (Paris: Pillet Favre, 1811)
Works written by Bernardin de Saint-Pierre
Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, Jacques-Henri, Chaumière indienne, in Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, ed. by Louis Aimé-Martin, 2 vols (Paris: Ledentu, 1840), I, 565-587
— Discours sur l’éducation des femmes, Œuvres, II, 455-470
— Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau, Œuvres, II, 434-453
— Etudes de la nature, Œuvres, I, 125-519
— Parallèle de Voltaire et de J.-J. Rousseau, Œuvres, II, 453-455
— Paul et Virginie, Œuvres, II, 520-564
— Paul et Virginie, ed. by Une Société d’ecclésiastiques, 6th edn (Tours: Ad Mame, 1846)
— Vœux pour une éducation nationale, Œuvres, I, 706-711
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[1] Alphonse de Lamartine, Cours familier de Littérature: Un entretien par mois, 28 vols (Paris: Chez l’auteur, 1868), XXV, 333.
[2] Aimé-Martin does trail clues in his work as to possible dates for his acquaintance with Bernardin. In the opening to the fifth edition of the Lettres à Sophie sur la physique, la chimie et l’histoire naturelle, issued in 1818, Aimé-Martin pronounces that, ‘C’est au Peintre de la Nature que j’offre ce faible hommage. Hélas! lorsque son indulgente amitié daignait encourager mes premiers travaux […] j’ignorais qu’il touchait au terme de sa vie […].’ (Louis Aimé-Martin, Lettres à Sophie sur la physique, la chimie et l’histoire naturelle, 5th edn, 2 vols (Paris: Nicolle, 1818), I, p. iii). In view of this account, the consensus, which settles upon a first meeting around 1813-14, is, therefore, quite accurate.
[3] Correspondance de J.-H. Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, ed. by L. Aimé-Martin, 3 vols (Paris: Ladvocat, 1826), I, p. xlv.
[4] See, for example, the biography by Fernand Maury, Étude sur la vie et les œuvres de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre (Paris: Hachette, 1892; repr. Geneva: Slatkine, 1971), or Maurice Souriau’s Bernardin de Saint-Pierre d’après ses manuscrits (Paris: Société française d’imprimerie et de librairie, 1905).
[5] Where I have transcribed articles from those manuscripts consulted as part of this enquiry, I have maintained original spelling and punctuation. Exceptions to this practice are indicated with the use of square brackets and occur only when the initial text chances to obscure our proper understanding.
[6] D. I. B. Smith, ‘Introduction’, in Editing Eighteenth-Century Texts, ed. by D. I. B. Smith (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1967), pp. 3-6 (p. 3).
[7] The Bernardin Correspondence Project is just one of many projects featured as part of the Electronic Enlightenment initiative, conceived for the transcription into electronic form of correspondence produced throughout the long-eighteenth century. To consult the electronic database individuals need to subscribe to it. The Electronic Enlightenment website can be accessed at < >.
[8] Aimé-Martin’s long-standing friend, the author, François-Joseph Grille, would write to him in 1846 to propose for his compatriot yet another biographical venture, ‘[…] mais ce qui vous attirera, je gage, c’est ce paquet de lettres de Poivre, le voyageur intrépide qui dota nos isles des épiceries. Son histoire n’est pas faite, Tessier l’a manquée, j’en ai les éléments et vous saurez un jour tout ce qu’il en coûte pour faire le bien!’ (François-Joseph Grille, Lettre à M. Aimé-Martin sur Pétrarque et Adrien le Chartreux (Angers: Cosnier et Lachèse; Paris: Techener, 1846), p. 9).
[9] It is noteworthy that some minor editorial undertakings did take place before Aimé-Martin’s involvement with Bernardin, as, for example, those pertaining to Fénelon’s De l’existence de Dieu (1810).
[10] The true extent and nature of Aimé-Martin’s editorial interventions in his publications being sometimes difficult to establish, my enquiries were necessarily drawn to editions that featured the most comprehensive self-critiques of Aimé-Martin’s methodologies. It is for this reason that the series produced by the Panthéon Littéraire, the literary society administered by Aimé-Martin, has not been accorded particular attention in this volume.
[11] Of note is the decision taken not to offer direct comparisons of editions of well-known works published by Aimé-Martin and his competitors in the literary field (Henri-Léon Curmer’s edition of Paul et Virginie (1838) might have served as one such case study). Such an approach threatened only to labour the topic and, thus, to compromise the interest of the thesis.
[12] Certainly, Aimé-Martin was not unique in his professional situation. The likes of Benjamin Constant, Alphonse de Lamartine and Victor Hugo all juggled literary careers with active roles in the political arena, for example.
[13] François-Joseph Grille, Lettre à M. Aimé-Martin, sur MM. Suard et Delambre et sur la réorganisation de l’institut, en 1816 (Paris: Bibliothèque Royale, 1848), p. 34.
[14] See Joseph-Marie Quérard, La France littéraire, ou Dictionnaire bibliographique des savants, historiens et gens de lettres de la France, 12 vols (Paris: Maisonneuve & Larose, 1964), V, 579-80.
[15] Aimé-Martin was engaged with the production of works as dissimilar as the Education des mères (1834) and the Mille et une nuits (1838). The Mille et une nuits, a collection of fictional tales that run their course against the backdrop of the exotic landscape of the Middle East, was far-removed from the concerns of the Education, conceived for the necessary regeneration of the French people. The two very different literary genres represented by these texts can be seen to be defined and reiterated by the social commentary published by Etienne de Jouy under the title, L’Hermite de la Chaussée-d’Antin. He remarks that, ‘On se demande pourquoi, dans toutes nos feuilles publiques, les articles qui concernent la France […], sont, pour l’ordinaire, les plus courts et les plus insignifians; par quelle singularité on saisit avec tant d’empressement l’occasion de parler d’une coutume chinoise, de citer les mœurs des Orientaux, de rechercher l’origine d’une invention étrangère, de disserter sur les ruines d’un monument grec ou égyptien, tandis qu’on tient si peu de compte des objets qui nous environnent, des circonstances, des événmens auxquels nous sommes les plus immédiatement intéressés.’ (V. J. Etienne de Jouy, L’Hermite de la Chaussée-d’Antin, ou observations sur les mœurs et les usages parisiens au commencement du XIXe siècle, 6th edn, 3 vols (Paris: Pillet, 1815), I, 2).
[16] Louis Aimé-Martin, Lettres à Sophie, I, p. xv.
[17] Natalie Pigeard, ‘Chemistry for Women in Nineteenth-Century France’, in Communicating Chemistry: Textbooks and Their Audiences, 1789-1939, ed. by Anders Lundgren and Bernadette Bensaude-Vincent (Canton MA: Science History Publications/USA, 2000), pp. 311-326 (p. 313).
[18] Etienne de Jouy, I, 62.
[19] L. Aimé-Martin, Éducation des mères de famille, 2nd edn (Paris: Desrez, 1838), p. viii.
[20] Since the late eighteenth century, the rise in women’s political and philanthropic activity had been provoking debate about their proper mission.
[21] The contemporaneity of the Education des mères, appearing just one year after the Loi Guizot (concerning primary instruction), cannot be overstated.
[22] See, for example, the work by Louis-Julien Larcher, Les femmes jugées par les bonnes langues dans tous les temps et dans tous les pays (Paris: Hetzel, 1859).
[23] It is noteworthy that the Légion d’honneur would be awarded to Aimé-Martin in 1822, many years before the academic prize. However, this commendation did not propel Aimé-Martin into the limelight in the way that the Education des mères managed to do.
[24] Attesting to his prevailing look back to icons of the previous century, Aimé-Martin writes to Lamartine in 1842, informing him that, ‘Je relis J. J. Rousseau tout entier.’ (Répertoire de la correspondance de Lamartine (1807-1829) et lettres inédites, ed. by Christian Croisille and Marie-Renée Morin (Clermont-Ferrand: Nizet, 1997), p. 198).
[25] Aimé-Martin died of jaundice on 21st June 1847 at Saint-Germain-en-Laye.
[26] Malcolm Cook, Bernardin de Saint-Pierre: A Life of Culture (London: Legenda, 2006), p. 50.
[27] ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, ed. by Louis Aimé-Martin, 2 vols (Paris: Ledentu, 1840), II, 427-453.
[28] Élias Régnault, ‘L’éditeur’, in Naissance de l’éditeur, ed. by Pascal Durand and Anthony Glinoer, 2nd edn (Liège: Les Impressions Nouvelles, 2008), pp. 130-146 (p. 146).
[29] Aimé-Martin is called upon by the Lefèvre publishing house to produce a series of editions for its ‘Classics Collection’, primarily overseeing an edition of Racine’s Œuvres complètes in 1820.
[30] As, for example, was the case with regard to Aimé-Martin’s edition of Bernardin’s Correspondance, first published in 1826, to be discussed in the following chapter.
[31] Bernardin de Saint-Pierre: La Vie et les ouvrages de Jean-Jacques Rousseau, ed. by Maurice Souriau (Paris : Édouard Cornély, 1907), p. vii.
[32] Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, in Bernardin Frameset [accessed 3 April 2006]. Also in Le Havre, Bibliothèque municipale, MS 98C: 155r.
[33] All manuscripts from the Bernardin Frameset will appear as above, in their original version, without additions of punctuation or any form of correction. They will be followed by their Fiche Number in brackets which consists of the Fiche and Image references. There will also be a footnote giving the Havre library reference for each first mention of a given manuscript.
[34] ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 451.
[35] Souriau, p. vii.
[36] In the ‘Préface de l’éditeur’, Aimé-Martin writes: ‘Parmi les notes qui devaient servir de matériaux à l’ouvrage de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, il en est un grand nombre que leur imperfection ne nous permet pas d’introduire dans le fragment que nous publions.’ (‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 431).
[37] ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 431.
[38] Both here and in other of Aimé-Martin’s Bernardin-related projects. See the biography by Maurice Souriau, Bernardin de Saint-Pierre d’après ses manuscrits (Paris: Société Française d’Imprimerie et de Librairie, 1905), where he analyses posthumous editions of the Harmonies de la nature and the Correspondance.
[39] Le Havre, MS 98C: 101r.
[40] Aimé-Martin informs us that, ‘Il est probable que la publication des Confessions décida Bernardin de Saint-Pierre à abandonner son ouvrage.’ (‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 429). However, the Confessions, published posthumously between 1782 and 1788, post-date the composition of Bernardin’s Essai and, thus, their appearance cannot reasonably explain the untimely forsaking of his project.
[41] ‘Nous savons d’autre part que l’affaire de la trahison de son frère Dutailli modifia les projets de Bernardin [...].’ (Souriau, p. x). Dutailly, Bernardin’s brother, accused of treason against the French crown in 1779, was consequently imprisoned in the Bastille.
[42] It is little surprise that Aimé-Martin should be reluctant to point to such a circumstance as explanation for the discontinuation of work on the Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau. His place within Bernardin’s family would often motivate the editor to censor more scandalous or unsavoury aspects of his mentor’s history, as we shall see in the course of this study.
[43] ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 429.
[44] ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 428.
[45] Cook corroborates this theory: ‘Souriau suggests, correctly in my view, that the Essai probably dates from the period immediately following Rousseau’s death in 1778 and acts as a kind of obituary.’ (Cook, p. 50).
[46] The editors make what seems to be a sensible choice for the commencement of their respective texts. Not only is the folio particularly well-presented, but the narrative is introduced with a prologue written in Latin (‘quaque potest narrat, restabant ultima flevit’), (curiously, not used in the introduction to either version of the essay), a common introductory feature to many of Bernardin’s works, and to those of many others.
[47] This will be addressed in greater detail later in the chapter.
[48] The repetitive use of text is typical of Bernardin’s mode of composition.
[49] See Chapters 2 and 3 for further discussion of Aimé-Martin’s approach to referencing.
[50] It is unclear, looking at the first heavily annotated passage of the manuscript (Fiche 159, Image 002) (Le Havre, MS 98A: 6v), who exactly has crossed through and re-ordered the passage at various stages (although it is Aimé-Martin who has added in text above the original draft):
Aimé-Martin: ‘j’étais dans le carosse de Montpellier, on nous servit, à quelques lieues de cette ville, un dîner [...]’ (‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 440).
Souriau: ‘j’etois dans le carosse de Montpellier, quelques lieues avant d’y arriver, on nous servit a l’auberge un diner [...]’ (Souriau, p. 52).
[51] Souriau, p. 19.
[52] It may sometimes appear that Souriau’s edition remains relatively neglected in my examinations. This is, however, simply because many of those changes evident in Aimé-Martin’s work do not exist in that of Souriau.
[53] See Souriau, pp. xv-xvi. He also exercises a very thorough referencing system in footnotes throughout his œuvre.
[54] Le Havre, MS 98C: 112r.
[55] ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 446.
[56] Le Havre, MS 98A: 6r.
[57] See Souriau, p. 50.
[58] Le Havre, MS 98C: 113r.
[59] ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 447.
[60] This is less an addition than a re-ordering by Aimé-Martin. He transposes (and slightly modifies) the line: ‘ces litanies de la providence sont belles’, from a phrase appropriated to Rousseau a little further down on this Fiche.
[61] ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 451.
[62] Original: Fiche 158, Image 054 (Le Havre, MS 98A: 2v); Change: ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 436.
[63] Original: Fiche 158, Image 058 (Le Havre: MS 98A: 4v); Change: ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 438.
[64] ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 448.
[65] Le Havre, MS 98C: 132v.
[66] ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 448.
[67] Souriau, p. 77.
[68] Transcribed from the folio found in Le Havre, MS 98A: 6r.
[69] Le Havre, MS 98C: 155v.
[70] See the ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 440.
[71] The two passages list several varieties of flower, with discussion of particular species overlapping :
Fiche 159, Image 001: […] le caryophile dont la racine a l’odeur du girofle, la croisette qui sent le miel, le muscari la prune [...].
Fiche 163, Image 013: [...] la croisette multitude de petites fleurs pliees en croix sentant le miel, la [blank] espece de hiacinte bleue dont les grains, l’odeur la forme la couleur [...] ressemblent a la prune, la carypholene dont la racine [a l’] odeur de girofle.
[72] ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 449.
[73] ‘Parallèle de Voltaire et de J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 454.
[74] Le Havre, 98C: 112r - 112v.
[75] The passages, both that address the customs associated with the disciplining of children of the indigenous people of America, read thus:
Fiche 161, Image 048: […] quand ils les poussent au bout, ils leur jettent un peu d’eau au visage, et cette punition leur est si sensible, qu[']une fille dit a sa mere tu n’auras plus de fille, elle s’etranglera de desespoir.
Fiche 161, Image 049: […] ordinairement la plus grande punition que les sauvages employent pour corriger leurs enfans c’est de leur jetter un peu d’eau au visage, les enfans y sont fort sensibles […] on a vu des filles s’etranglent […].
[76] See the ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 446, for inclusion of the text from Fiche 161, Image 048.
[77] ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 447.
[78] The similar description of ‘le père’ can be found under the heading of ‘Sur le caractere’ (Fiche 161, Image 049) and Aimé-Martin transcribes it in the following way: ‘[…] c’était un homme chargé par le gouvernement d’observer les peuples de l’Amérique septentrionale.’ (‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 446).
[79] Souriau comments that, ‘[…] j’ai opté pour le plan le plus logique, en supposant que Bernardin aurait fini par se rallier lui-même au système le plus rationnel.’ (Souriau, p. xiv).
[80] ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 452.
[81] ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 452.
[82] ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 452.
[83] ‘[L]e Ier pas qu’on doit faire vers la vertu est de mepriser egalement ses eloges et ses calomnies’. (Fiche 161, Image 029).
[84] Le Havre, MS 98C: 156v.
[85] See Souriau, pp. 75-79, for an amalgam of folios. The text moves from Folio 113, to Folio 171, back to Folio 113, and concludes with Folio 132. (Aimé-Martin also juggles these same folios in his version: see the ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 448-449).
[86] See the following example:
Bernardin: […] il dut en resulter qu’il dut toute sa vie se croire dans la societé en pais ennemi, ce qui le rendit timide, solitaire et méfiant, mais il resulta au moins de sa pauvre fortune qu’elle lui dona les moyens de revenir a son caractere naturel [...]. (Fiche 162, Image 026).
Aimé-Martin : Il dut résulter de ces différents contrastes, que le monde fut toujours pour lui un pays ennemi ; ce qui le rendit méfiant, timide et sauvage. D’un autre côté, son ame élevée à la vertu et frappée par l’adversité, devint supérieure à la fortune et produisit d’immortels ouvrages. Ainsi une terre préparée au printemps par le souffle du zéphyr et déchirée par le soc de la charrue reçoit dans son sein les glands que lui confie la main du laboureur, et produit des chênes qui bravent les tempêtes [my emphasis]. Il sut tirer ce fruit de sa pauvre fortune, qu’un très petit talent lui donna les moyens de revenir à la nature, et de suivre son caractère naturel. (‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 448).
All the italicised text has no clear origin. A look at the folios (132 and 171) from which Aimé-Martin is apparently transcribing this section of his essay indicates no such passage. In Aimé-Martin’s initial copy of the manuscript there are no references or markings that specify any transposing of text from elsewhere. Is it possible that Aimé-Martin wrote this extra piece as, what he believed to be, a necessary introduction to Rousseau’s ‘naturalness’? Did he consider this romantic metaphor of nature as a very apt preamble to the forthcoming lines on Rousseau’s commitment to Nature? Might he simply have been pandering to the literary preferences of his readership of a new, romantic age?
[87] ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 452. To compare with Fiche 163, Image 012 (Le Havre, MS 98C: 155r).
[88] ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 452. To compare with Fiche 163, Image 014 (Le Havre, MS 98C: 156r).
[89] ‘Rousseau l’appelait le grand peintre du malheur [Plutarch]. Il me cita la fin d’Agis, celle d’Antoine, celle de Monime [...]. Tacite, me disait-il, éloigne des hommes, mais Plutarque en rapproche.’ (‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, p. 453).
[90] ‘Ce spectacle charmant nous rappela en même temps les beaux jours de la Grèce et quelques beaux vers de Virgile.’ (‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 451).
[91] ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 427.
[92] ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 430.
[93] Souriau, p. ix.
[94] Le Havre, MS 98C: 102r.
[95] ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 450.
[96] ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 453.
[97] The Essai sur la vie de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre first appeared in 1818 and, in some circles, was met with controversy, in particular by the Didot family publishing house. In the Essai sur la vie, Aimé-Martin suggests that Bernardin had an amorous relationship with the Polish princess, Marie Miesnik, during his travels around Eastern Europe.
[98] Discussion of Bernardin’s relations with Marie Miesnik will feature in the following chapter.
[99] Chapter 2 will examine the evidence in support of Aimé-Martin’s conviction in the Bernardin-Miesnik love affair. Such a claim would be contested nonetheless by Souriau.
[100] Souriau, p. 35.
[101] ‘[…] Monsieur, nous ne nous sommes jamais vus qu’une fois, et vous commencez déja par des cadeaux: c’est être un peu pressé, ce me semble. Comme je ne suis point en état de faire des cadeaux, mon usage est, pour éviter la gêne des sociétés inégales, de ne point voir les gens qui m’en font; vous êtes le maître de laisser chez moi ce café, ou de l’envoyer reprendre, mais dans le premier cas, trouvez bon que je vous en remercie, et que nous en restions là.’ (‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 435). (This is true to the letter written by Rousseau).
[102] This modification is not a feature of the first edition of the Essai.
[103] Bernardin gives the following version of the letter: ‘[…] à peine nous nous connoissons et vous debutez par des cadeaux. c’est rendre notre societé trop inegale, ma fortune ne me permet point d’en faire, choisissez de reprendre votre caffé ou de ne nous plus voir.’ (Fiche 158, Image 053) (Le Havre, MS 98A: 2r). It is not certain why Bernardin chooses to modify the original letter from his friend. Is his less gracious transcription engendered by the offence Rousseau might have caused in refusing the coffee?
[104] ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 435. The ‘deux lettres’ refer to the aforementioned exchange, as well as to a note of thanks eventually sent to Bernardin by Rousseau, and that the editor also footnotes in his edition.
[105] ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 429-430.
[106] However, such a concern might seem rather misplaced in a work entitled the Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau.
[107] Fiche 163, Image 012.
[108] Whichever of the two makes this remark, Bernardin must have felt similarly in order to include it in his essay.
[109] Bernardin’s initial claim appears thus: ‘Dans l’envie que j’avois de ne rien perdre de la memoire de Rousseau, j’avois recueilli quelques […] anecdotes […].’ (Fiche 158, Image 054).
[110] ‘[…] fatigué de mes maitres d’ecole, je resolus de m’en aller, bien assuré qu’un courbeau viendroit m’aporter ma pitance[…].’ (Folio 150) (Le Havre, MS 98C: 150v).
[111] The tale of Bernardin’s flight from school appears in the Essai sur la vie and reads thus: ‘Le matin du jour fatal il se leva tranquillement, mit en réserve une portion de son déjeuner, et, au lieu de se rendre à l’école, il se glissa par des rues détournées et sortit de la ville […].’ (‘Essai sur la vie de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre’, Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, 2 vols (Paris: Ledentu, 1840), II, p. iii).
[112] It is unsurprising to discover phrases and motifs common to both works. Compare the following expressions that relate Bernardin’s reaction to the loss of two of those he loved:
Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau (of Rousseau): Avec quelle émotion il revenait seul dans les lieux de leurs promenades habituelles! Il croyait le voir encore le long des chemins […]. (Œuvres, II, 429).
Essai sur la vie (of Marie Miesnik): Il cherchait les lieux qu’elle avait aimés, ceux où il s’était vu près d’elle, et il ne pouvait en supporter l’aspect […]. (Œuvres, II, p. xxvi).
[113] Souriau, p. xiii.
[114] ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 452.
[115] Souriau, pp. viii-ix.
[116] Le Havre, MS 98C: 105r.
[117] ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 451.
[118] ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 451.
[119] ‘Je sais que Rousseau a écrit les mémoires de sa vie […]. Il ne me les a pas lus, quoique je lui en aie parlé quelques fois [...].’ (‘Fragments sur J.-J. Rousseau’ in the ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 434).
[120] Bernardin: Son père lui apprit a connaitre ses lettres dans Plutarque, a deux ans et demi il le faisait lire, auprès de son établi, dans la vie des hommes illustres [...]. (Fiche 158, Image 055) (Le Havre, MS 98A: 3r).
Aimé-Martin : Il apprit à connaître ses lettres dans les romans. Son père le faisait lire auprès de son établi. Vers l’âge de sept à huit ans il lui tomba entre les mains un Plutarque, qui devint sa lecture favorite. (‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 436).
[121] Bernardin: J.-J. Rousseau, à l’age de 14 ans, sans fortune, et ne sachant ou donner de la tete, s’en vint de Geneve a Lion a pied. (Fiche 158, Image 056) (Le Havre, MS 98A: 3v).
Aimé-Martin : Rousseau, vers l’âge de vingt ans, fit à pied un voyage à Paris : il y séjourne peu, se rendit de là, toujours à pied, à Chambéry, en dirigeant sa route par Lyon, qu’il désirait revoir. (‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 437).
[122] See Souriau, p. viii, for an example of this.
[123] Fiche 158, Image 054.
[124] In the body text Aimé-Martin transcribes the following phrase: ‘Il avait épousé mademoiselle Levasseur, du pays de Bresse, de la religion catholique.’ He then footnotes the reference to Bresse, explaining that, ‘C’est une légère erreur. Cette demoiselle était d’Orléans; comme on peut le voir, liv. VII des Confessions.’ (‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 439).
[125] Le Havre, MS 98A: 5r.
[126] Although, the change might equally be an indication that Bernardin thought better of including a blatant untruth in his biography.
[127] Souriau, p. xii.
[128] It is telling that Bernardin does not instead affirm the existence of Rousseau’s children. He obviously considers this to be one of the darker aspects of his friend’s life and resolves to ignore the issue entirely.
[129] Souriau, p. 46.
[130] Aimé-Martin does not include the initial text.
[131] Aimé-Martin explains that, ‘[s]ans doute, il a commis des fautes, et nous sommes loin de vouloir les dissimuler […].’ (‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 428). Nonetheless, when Aimé-Martin can justifiably avoid mention of such a shameful aspect of Rousseau’s past as the rejection of his children, he does so.
[132] Aimé-Martin professes that, ‘au moment où J.-J. Rousseau livrait son ame à tous les charmes de cette amitié, il abandonnait la société des Diderot […].’ (‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 428).
[133] Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Les Confessions, ed. by Michel Launay, 2 vols (Paris: Garnier-Flammarion, 1968), II, 30.
[134] ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 427.
[135] Charles-Augustin Sainte-Beuve, Causeries du lundi, 15 vols (Paris: Garnier Frères, n.d.), VI, 530.
[136] One needs only to look at the wealth of footnotes in his work.
[137] Bernardin: […] la liberté dans son habitation et dans le paysage la vue du toit d’un ami. (Fiche 158, Image 058).
Souriau : [...] dans son habitation la liberté, et dans le paysage la vue d’un toit d’un ami. (p. 45).
[138] ‘J’ai établi ce nouveau texte d’après la suite du manuscrit original qui figure au même dossier […].’ (Souriau, p. 67).
[139] Souriau acknowledges in a footnote that, ‘Sur une vingtaine de lignes le bord du manuscrit est rongé, diminué à peu près d’un demi-centimètre: je mets entre crochets les mots que j’ai dû compléter.’ (Souriau, p. 39). Despite the impossibility of reading some words on the manuscript, Souriau produces the same solutions as Aimé-Martin before him. Is it not probable that Souriau uses the editor’s version to fill in the gaps of Bernardin’s damaged draft?
[140] Élias Régnault, pp. 130-146 (p. 146).
[141] Souriau, p. ix.
[142] Let us not forget the discrepancy between the professional ambitions of Aimé-Martin and Souriau. While Souriau was a scholar first and foremost, Aimé-Martin, having previously produced and published his own work, aspired to a literary career beyond the editorial realm. It is little wonder, then, that the author’s creative flair impresses itself even upon projects of an editorial nature. That the two men handled the Rousseau manuscripts so oppositely can be explained in part by this recognition of their differing, professional history and long-term, vocational goals.
[143] See also Fernand Maury, Etude sur la vie et les œuvres de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre (Paris: Hachette, 1892; repr. Geneva: Slatkine, 1971).
[144] Bernardin writes, ‘[...] je présente a tous les homes la statue de Rousseau battue aux vents de l’adversité, nue, rude, mutilée, n’ayant rien de l’elegance moderne, mais, a la grandeur de ses proportions, on verra que c’est une antique [...].’ (Fiche 214, Image 040) (Le Havre, MS 124: 6r).
[145] Pascal Durand and Anthony Glinoer, ‘Qu’est-ce qu’un Éditeur?’, in Naissance de l’éditeur, ed. by Pascal Durand and Anthony Glinoer, 2nd edn (Liège: Les Impressions Nouvelles, 2008), pp. 17-23 (p. 22).
[146] Souriau, p. x.
[147] ‘[…] l’âme d’Aimé Martin avait contracté parenté avec les âmes de Fénelon, de J.-J. Rousseau et de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre.’ (Jean Chrétien Ferdinand Hœfer, Nouvelle biographie universelle, 46 vols (Paris: Didot, 1852), XXXIV, 49).
[148] Le Havre, MS 98A: 9r.
[149] The Mémoires et Correspondance de Madame d’Épinay, edited by J. C. Brunet were published in 1818.
[150] Decroix’s edition of the memoirs of Voltaire first appeared in 1826.
[151] The Correspondance de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre was first released in 1826.
[152] L. Aimé-Martin, Mémoire sur la vie et les ouvrages de J.-H. Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, accompagné de lettres (Paris: Ladvocat, 1826), p. 428. This work will be referred to throughout this chapter as the Mémoire.
[153] Correspondance de Jacques-Henri Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, ed. by Louis Aimé-Martin, 3 vols (Paris: Ladvocat, 1826), I, p. i.
[154] See Souriau’s comments in his study Bernardin de Saint-Pierre d’après ses manuscrits (Paris: Société Française d’Imprimerie et de Librairie, 1905), pp. xxi-xxv.
[155] In Bernardin de Saint-Pierre: A Life of Culture, Malcolm Cook states, ‘From our early work on the correspondence it is evident that Aimé-Martin changed very little, even though he omitted letters that he knew existed and cut passages from some of the letters he published. But, it remains generally true that Aimé-Martin’s published versions are very close to the manuscript sources, and in this respect Souriau’s criticism of his editorial practices, at least as far as the correspondence is concerned, is unfair.’ ((London: Legenda, 2006), p. 2).
[156] Charles-Augustin Sainte-Beuve, Causeries du lundi, 4th edn, 15 vols (Paris: Garnier Frères, n.d.), VI, 420.
[157] In 1826 the couple would most probably have been married for two or three years.
[158] Souriau, Bernardin, p. xxi.
[159] Souriau, Bernardin, p. viii.
[160] Souriau, Bernardin, p. 277.
[161] The letters to and from Hennin dominate volumes I and II of the Correspondance. There are some very rare exceptions to this rule as, for example, with Letter 131 to be found in volume II, sent to Bernardin by Blouin.
[162] As mentioned in my introduction, this project aims to create a comprehensive electronic edition of the entire correspondence of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, transcribing letters from the archives of Le Havre library and the Institut. The venture forms part of the Electronic Enlightenment research project, initiated by the Voltaire Foundation. Contributors include Malcolm Cook, Simon Davies, Mark Waddicor, Katherine Astbury and others. The Correspondance de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre is now online at .
[163] Letter 122: ‘On me fournit actuellement une feuille nouvelle chaque jour; il faut la corriger, préparer le manuscrit, y faire des réformes et des additions, aller chez le graveur, etc.’ (Correspondance, II, 198).
[164] See Fernand Maury, Etude sur la vie et les œuvres de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre (Paris: Hachette, 1892; repr. Geneva: Slatkine, 1971).
[165] It is not until 1891-1892 that the first official editing body, the Syndicat national des éditeurs, would be created.
[166] Correspondance, I, 8.
[167] Mémoire, p. 428.
[168] Mémoire, p. 428.
[169] Correspondance, I, 2.
[170] Letter 102: ‘Je fais ce que je puis pour intéresser M. le comte de V. à votre sort. Je lui ai prêté votre ouvrage; il a commencé à le lire, mais le temps lui manque.’ (Correspondance, II, 108).
[171] Letter 123: ‘Ne vous inquiétez pas, Monsieur et ancien ami, de mes 600 livres. Vous me donnerez des exemplaires pour cette somme, et j’espère pouvoir m’en défaire.’ (Correspondance, II, 199).
[172] Those letters transcribed as part of the ‘Bernardin Correspondence Project’ will appear in this chapter with their BSP Inventory Number. This number can be used to search for correspondence posted on the online database.
[173] Letter 0678: ‘[…] des qu’on touche cette corde (autrement dit, le baron de Breteuil) vous devenez soupconneux et injuste.’
[174] Mémoire, p. 428.
[175] The relative irregularity of Hennin’s letters might, of course, be explained by the fact that the postal service was still very much in its infancy at the end of the eighteenth century, occasioning the misdirection and loss of some post. It could also be attributable to the busy lifestyle Hennin led at the centre of politics or, indeed, to the fact that, eventually, Hennin lost patience with his ever-imploring friend.
[176] Used with many letters in the Correspondance.
[177] Letter 0075: ‘J’envoye cette lettre a M. Moreau Commis au Bureau des affaires etrangeres, mon ami, qui aura soin de la vous faire remettre.’ The editor of this letter comments in footnote 22 that, ‘Ce paragraphe est en effet supprimé par A.-M. dans son édition. S’il ne l’avait pas supprimé, la lettre aurait sûrement fini en haut de la page 99, repoussant la lettre 26 à la page suivante, au lieu que la suppression permet que la lettre 25 se termine sagement en bas de la page 98.’
[178] Letter 0010.
[179] ‘Relation’, Correspondance, III, 65.
[180] ‘Relation’, Correspondance, III, 81-82.
[181] Cook remarks that, ‘Given the close working relationship between Bernardin and his secretary, it must be a fair assumption that during the course of their discussions Bernardin would talk about his youth […].’ (Cook, p. 10).
[182] In the last ten years of his life Bernardin lived near Pontoise in the small, quiet town of Eragny, some distance from Paris.
[183] Michælis, along with Bernardin, is commissioned by the Polish princess, Marie Miesnik, to defend Poland’s borders against the Russians.
[184] Letter 0010.
[185] ‘Relation’, Correspondance, III, 65.
[186] Correspondance, I, p. lxi.
[187] Sainte-Beuve alludes to the exaggerated account of Bernardin’s time in Russia and Poland as recounted in the Essai sur la vie de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, an account corroborated by the Correspondance: ‘Ses aventures en Russie et, au sortir de là, en Pologne, ont été singulièrement arrangées et romancées par son biographe, M. Aimé-Martin […].’ (Sainte-Beuve, VI, 419).
[188] Theodore Besterman, ‘Twenty Thousand Voltaire Letters’, in Editing Eighteenth-Century Texts, ed. by D.I.B.Smith (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1967), pp.7-24 (p. 17).
[189] Letter 0423.
[190] ‘Letter 79’, Correspondance, II, 27.
[191] ‘Letter 85’, Correspondance, II, 47.
[192] ‘Letter 143’, Correspondance, II, 276.
[193] ‘Letter 165’, Correspondance, III, 10. In the original this reads, ‘[…] ces occupations jointes à celles de secretaire’.
[194] We know that, in later years, Bernardin would have enough financial stability to employ a secretary as this is how Aimé-Martin would infiltrate the author’s intimate circle.
[195] A good example of this can be found in Letter 36 of the Correspondance (taken from Letter 0113) concerning the confusion of the term ‘volontaire’. Listing those people involved in an expedition to Madagascar, Bernardin includes a reference to: ‘Mrs de la Richardie et fitgéac volontaire, un chirurgien, &c.’ It would seem that Aimé-Martin mistakenly reads ‘volontaire’, not as an adjective to describe ‘fitgéac’, but as a grammar mistake (in other words, he believes Bernardin to have omitted the ‘s’, which he adds) as he in fact considers ‘volontaire’ an adjective relating to both ‘Mrs de la Richardie et fitgéac’.
[196] Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, ed. by L. Aimé-Martin, 2 vols (Paris: Ledentu, 1840), II, p. xxxix.
[197] In spite of concerns raised by Aimé-Martin’s transcriptions of Bernardin’s letters, one should be aware that the material previously discussed is only a small fraction of a huge body of work.
[198] ‘Letter 163’, Correspondance, III, 3.
[199] This is apparent in the proliferation of letters addressed to Hennin, particularly as Bernardin grows desperate for funds.
[200] Such is Bernardin’s charm that his impromptu hosts during his travels in Germany ‘souhaitaient avoir une fille pour me la donner en mariage’. (‘Letter 15’, Correspondance, I, 60).
[201] At the Polish court in 1764, Bernardin claims to find himself ‘dans un tourbillon de jeunes princesses’. (‘Relation’, Correspondance, III, 84).
[202] See Letters 2, 3 and others in the Correspondance.
[203] He also sometimes calls her ‘madame la princesse M…’ (See Letter 14 in the Correspondance).
[204] Letter 0010.
[205] As, for example, the letter from Bernardin to his friend Duval, a Swiss jeweller, in which he enthuses, ‘Je vous dirai Mon cher ami, car je ne vous cache rien, que j[']ai fait ici [à Varsovie] une inclination qui pourrait meritter le nom de passion. […] il y auroit de quoi flatter mon amour propre, si je vous nommois l’objet de mes feux mais vous scavez que j’ai plus de delicatesse que de vanité.’ (From a private collection).
[206] Love affairs, particularly those of a disreputable or illicit nature, have long been and likely always will be guaranteed to capture the public’s interest, as evidenced by the popularity of works such as the Liaisons Dangereuses (1782) of Laclos or the Adolphe (1816) of Constant.
[207] Aimé-Martin uses this description in the Essai sur la vie too. (See the Œuvres, I, p. xxiii).
[208] Bernardin informs Hennin of his impending trip to the Ile-de-France (now Mauritius), commenting that, ‘J’écris à tous mes amis pour leur faire mes adieux; c’est un grand déplaisir de partir sans recevoir de réponse de la plupart. J’en ai en Russie, en Pologne, en Saxe, en Prusse. Quand les reverrai-je? où en trouver de semblables?’ (‘Letter 31’, Correspondance, I, 121-122).
[209] Bernardin requests of Hennin that, ‘Vous me ferez le plaisir de me parler de la princesse M…et de la Pologne.’ (‘Letter 35’, Correspondance, I, 137).
[210] ‘Letter 104’, Correspondance, II, 120.
[211] And in a letter to Duval, dated December 1768, Bernardin reminisces thus, ‘[…] la Pologne, où…Mais à quoi sert de renouveler de vieilles douleurs! Laissons là les Sarmates et leurs inconstantes beautés.’ (Sainte-Beuve, VI, 529-530).
[212] Wife of the politician, Jacques Necker.
[213] Let us not forget that the princess appointed Bernardin (and Michælis) to attempt a coup against the Russians.
[214] Souriau samples some of the letters from Marie to Bernardin and, upon citing them, makes such observations as, ‘[…] cette lettre nous paraît assez ordinaire, et l’éloge qu’en fait Bernardin semble bien disproportionné avec sa valeur […].’ (Souriau, Bernardin, p. 82).
[215] Philip Robinson, ‘Mme Poivre’s Letters to Bernardin de Saint-Pierre: Biography between the Lines’, in The Enterprise of Enlightenment, ed. by David McCallam and Terry Pratt (Oxford: Peter Lang, 2004), p. 115-124 (p. 115).
[216] Madame Poivre was the wife of M. Poivre, the quartermaster in Mauritius at the time of Bernardin’s stay on the island. According to Philip Robinson’s study, Bernardin had pursued her unsuccessfully. Interestingly, Aimé-Martin’s Essai sur la vie makes no mention of this affair, alluding only to a rift between M. Poivre and Bernardin which he considers to be the result of ‘quelque calomnie’ (Œuvres, II, p. xxxviii). Can we interpret this ‘calomnie’ to have resulted from possible rumours of an affair with the wife of Monsieur Poivre?
[217] Souriau, Bernardin, p. xxi.
[218] Compare Letter 0022 with Aimé-Martin’s Letter 6. The missing text reads thus, ‘Enfin, Monsieur, nous nous sommes défaits de vos chevaux qui n’ont été vendus que trente neuf ducats. encore en faut il deduire trois ou quatre ducats pour les fourages et les quatre ducats que j’ai donnés à charles. je vous envoyerois à présent un état des depenses faittes pour vous avec la notte de l’argent que me reste entre les mains, mais il faut tarir auparavant les frais de la poste. j’ai payé il y a huit jours pour 155 florins de port de lettres, car toutes les personnes qui vous ecrivent et toutte la suite de l’ambassadeur de france qui attendoit des lettres ici les font mettre sous votre adresse et elles retournent à leur destination et à vos frais par la voye de M.r Kunt. c’est un abus auquel je ne peux remedier. le cocher demande un demy mois de gages pour avoir eu soin des chevaux. vous me ferés scavoir là dessus vos intentions. il me sera facile à près cela de vous envoyer avec la liste des effets que vous avès laissés les billets de l’argent receu et depensè pour vous. mais faittes moi sçavoir avant si vous entendès par occasion sure quelque’autre que celle de la poste.’
[219] As, for example, is the case with Letter 0023.
[220] The omission reads: ‘je vous envoye Monsieur, la notte des effets qui vous apartiennent avec l’etat de l’argent que j’ai receu et dépensé pour vous. il s’est trouvé quatre bouteilles de cassées sur les 95 qui vous restoient. j’ai été chés M.r le Marquis de confllans le lendemain de son arrivée[.] il m’a remis deux pacquets de votre part avec deux lettres pour moi. tout a été remis à son adresse. il paroit que M.r de Conflans passera quelque temps ici. c’est l’homme du jour.’ (Letter 0029).
[221] ‘Letter 9’, Correspondance, I, 35.
[222] ‘Letter 8’, Correspondance, I, 33.
[223] Examples are Letters 0171 and 0178.
[224] ‘Letter 42’, Correspondance, I, 164-165.
[225] Letter 93 in his edition.
[226] Letter 0578.
[227] This is also remarked in footnote 12 of Letter 0578.
[228] Bernardin asks Hennin of the postal arrangements for copies of his Etudes de la nature, due to be delivered to the Conte de Vergennes and the Baron de Breteuil, ‘est ce que je dois payer l’emballage et le port de ces brochures[?]’ (Letter 0615).
[229] Bernardin writes, ‘M.de Didot m’a dit que Mr le M.quis de Méjanne de votre connaissance etoit venu chés elle et n’avoit voulu donner que neuf livres de mon ouvrage disant qu’il n’avoit tenu qu’a lui de l’avoir chés vous à ce prix, ce qui l’avoit determinée á le lui laisser à neuf francs en feuille. elle ma fait observer que ces differences de prix hors de chés elle faisoient murmurer les acheteurs. pour moi je croyois bien certainement que vous ne les donniés pas a moins de dix livres ainsi que M.de Mèsnard. si vous les donnés à neuf, je n’en retirerai gueres plus de 8lt 10.S puisque je dois payer encore le port et les frais de brochure[.] d’ailleurs le prix est marqué dessus à dix livres. ayés égard je vous prie á ces petittes considerations. dieu merci la vente va fort bien chés mon libraire a 10lt dont il me revient 9lt net. il y en a deja 240 de vendus. la vente augmente de semaine en semaine. vendredy dernier dix huit dans la journée.’ (Letter 0653).
[230] Bernardin reasons, ‘Mr le Controleur General me continue les secours que jai recus jusqu’a present. je suis quelquefois tenté de croire que ce sera une raison de moins puisque ces secours m’ont été accordés par son departement pour subvenir à ceux que ne me donnoient pas mes services. quoi qu’il en soit je crois que je dois profiter de ce vent favorable pour tenter d’obtenir quelque chose d’assuré de la marine que j’ai servie jose dire a mes depens […].’ (Letter 0629).
[231] ‘Letter 133’, Correspondance, II, 230.
[232] Sainte-Beuve, VI, 538 - 539.
[233] After listing his various sources of financial aid, Bernardin implores Hennin to continue campaigning on his behalf, namely by talking to the ‘prévôt des marchands’: ‘Si vous le connaissez, je vous prie de lui en dire deux mots.’ (‘Letter 165’, Correspondance, III, 11).
[234] Letter 0399.
[235] ‘Letter 69’, Correspondance, I, 251.
[236] Letter 0434.
[237] See the thesis by Denise Tahhan Bittar, ‘La Correspondance de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre: Inventaire critique’ (unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Paris, 1970).
[238] Note to Letter 0617.
[239] Letter 145 of the Correspondance is modified to exclude the following passage: ‘j’ecris aux Ministres qui m’ont fait du bien. […] 2.o à Mr le b.on de breteuil pour l’engager à porter la pension de mon frere a 8 cents livres sans quoi j’aurai toujours quelque reliquat de dette â payer pour lui ainsi que je l’ai fait cette année.’ (Letter 0705). Bernardin, now paying off the debts of his brother, is eager to secure a more substantial pension for him in order that he might use the money to compensate for his own losses.
[240] See Letter 124 of the Correspondance (II, pp. 201-204).
[241] Correspondance, II, 203.
[242] Correspondance, II, 245.
[243] Œuvres, II, p. xxv.
[244] Michael Hunter, Robert Boyle (1627-91): Scrupulosity and Science (Woolridge: The Boydell Press, 2000), p. 264.
[245] Louis Barthou, ‘Lamartine et Aimé Martin’, La Revue de Paris, 5 (1925), 481-489 (pp. 481- 482).
[246] While the criticisms of many of Aimé-Martin’s successors were substantive it ought to be recognised that the editor was in many ways exceptional, producing a work that was typographically sound and that was markedly superior to some of the like publications of the nineteenth century, notably Valentine’s Correspondance générale that with ‘une absence de méthode’ was leagues behind Aimé-Martin’s well-considered collection.
[247] That is to say in 1826.
[248] Correspondance, I, p. v.
[249] Souriau, Bernardin, p. xiv.
[250] Mémoire, p. 415.
[251] From Durosoir, to Curmer, to Sainte-Beuve, to Souriau.
[252] To be studied in the following chapter.
[253] This can be explained largely by increased literacy levels and accessibility to books, thus creating more demand for printed material and more need for people to oversee its production.
[254] Hénri-Léon Curmer, ‘Note présentée à MM. les membres du Jury central de l’Exposition des produits de l’industrie française sur la profession d’éditeur et le développement de cette industrie dans le commerce de la librairie française’ in Naissance de l’éditeur, ed. by Pascal Durand and Anthony Glinoer , 2nd edn (Liège: Les Impressions Nouvelles, 2008), pp. 124-126 (p. 126).
[255] Aimé-Martin was born in Lyon on 21st April 1782.
[256] Jean Chrétien Ferdinand Hœfer, Nouvelle biographie universelle, 46 vols (Paris: Didot, 1852), XXXIV, 49.
[257] The Lettres à Sophie sur la physique, la chimie et l’histoire naturelle, appearing first in 1810, is considered to be his earliest literary success.
[258] Hœfer, XXXIV, 49.
[259] François-Jean Badouin, Charles Crapelet and Gabrielle Henri Nicolle are just some noteworthy editors to emerge from the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries in France.
[260] Plato, Montaigne, Descartes, Racine and Molière are just some examples of the influential personalities treated in various biographies and Œuvres complètes of the early nineteenth century.
[261] One must not forget that France, in the early part of the nineteenth century, was still reeling from years of fear and uncertainty at the hands of the revolutionaries and the effects of the Napoleonic wars and, thus, it is perhaps unsurprising that its people sought refuge from this reality through remembrance of better, and relatively more stable, epochs.
[262] Pascal Durand and Anthony Glinoer, ‘Qu’est-ce qu’un Éditeur?’, in Naissance de l’éditeur, ed. by Pascal Durand and Anthony Glinoer, 2nd edn (Liège: Les Impressions Nouvelles, 2008), pp. 17-23 (p. 21).
[263] Many of the publications of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries appeared in luxury editions that truly indulged the ‘jouissance esthétique individuelle’, as implicit in the collaborative projects between Girodet and Didot, for example. Several of Aimé-Martin’s works were produced in line with the more opulent tastes of the period, bound in Morocco leather embossed with gold-leaf, and complete with illustrations by the likes of Pierre-Jérôme Lordon. Nonetheless, while the physical appearance and mise en page of the editor’s œuvres warrant study, my focus in this chapter is aimed exclusively at the science behind the editing process and not at a consideration of the physical product of the book.
[264] Correspondance générale de Sainte-Beuve, ed. by J. Bonnerot, 19 vols (Paris: Stock, 1935), I, 426.
[265] The editor’s literary achievements will be dealt with in later chapters.
[266] Aimé-Martin edited considerably more works than he actually wrote.
[267] Charles-Augustin Sainte-Beuve, Œuvres, ed. by Maxime Leroy, 2 vols (Paris: Gallimard, 1949-51), I, 105.
[268] Sainte-Beuve, Œuvres, I, 105.
[269] For this study, we will be referring to the following edition of the complete works: Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, ed. by Louis Aimé-Martin, 2 vols (Paris: Ledentu, 1840).
[270] Marcel Proust, in his Contre Sainte-Beuve (likely written at the turn of the twentieth century, but not discovered until 1954), would attack Sainte-Beuve’s conviction in the parallels to be drawn between the artist and his creation: ‘L’œuvre de Sainte-Beuve n’est pas une œuvre profonde. La fameuse méthode, qui en fait, selon Taine, selon M. Paul Bourget et tant d’autres, le maître inégalable de la critique au XIXe, cette méthode qui consiste à ne pas séparer l’homme et l’œuvre, à considérer qu’il n’est pas indifférent pour juger l’auteur d’un livre, si ce livre n’est pas ‘un traité de géométrie pure’, d’avoir d’abord répondu aux questions qui paraissent le plus étrangères à son œuvre (comment se comportait-il…), à s’entourer de tous les renseignements possibles sur un écrivain, à collationner ses correspondances, à interroger les hommes qui l’ont connu, en causant avec eux s’ils vivent encore, en lisant ce qu’ils ont pu écrire sur lui s’ils sont morts, cette méthode méconnaît ce qu’une fréquentation un peu profonde avec nous-même nous apprend: qu’un livre est le produit d’un autre moi que celui que nous manifestons dans nos habitudes, dans la société, dans nos vices.’ (Marcel Proust, Contre Sainte-Beuve (Paris: Gallimard, 1971), pp. 221-222). Furthermore, Roland Barthes, writing in the mid-twentieth century, was particularly instrumental in subverting this practice of associating the writer’s work and his private life.
[271] Malcolm Cook, Bernardin de Saint-Pierre: A Life of Culture (London: Legenda, 2006), p. 175.
[272] Aimé-Martin was also known to edit manuscripts on an unofficial basis, proof-reading and correcting draft copies submitted to him by friends from the literary community. He writes to a Mr Techener (the letter is undated), having seemingly checked some samples of his work, telling him, ‘Votre [word illegible] est bien mal fait. Venez de -1 acte [word illegible]. Je vous donnerai plusieurs bons conseils.’ (Lyon, Bibliothèque municipale, MS Coste 1128). His correspondence with Lamartine would also lend itself to a detailed consideration of this little-acknowledged work, though this chapter will not be exploring such avenues.
[273] Namely the Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau and the Correspondance de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre.
[274] As, for example, Sainte-Beuve, Maury and Arvède Barine.
[275] Though, granted, the ‘Avis’ do not perform quite the same function as footnotes.
[276] For an example of the kind of controversy raised by certain Bernardin-related works published by Aimé-Martin, see the article, to be considered as part of this chapter, by Pierre-François Didot, La Vérité, en réponse aux calomnies répandues dans un écrit intitulé: Essai sur la vie et les ouvrages de Bernardin de Saint Pierre, par L. Aimé-Martin (Paris: Lelong, 1821).
[277] Of course, as Bernardin’s primary editor, Aimé-Martin was not buoyed up by other authorities on the author’s life and work, but nor was he challenged by them. When tackling editions of the work of playwrights and philosophers such as Racine and Descartes, for the worth of his editions to be recognised, Aimé-Martin was obliged to better even the most thorough footnoting and most comprehensive transcription of previous attempts.
[278] Œuvres, I, 1.
[279] The biographer, Arvède Barine, observes the modern-day failure to acknowledge Bernardin’s contribution to the philosophy of writers such as Chateaubriand and Lamartine: ‘La réputation de l’auteur des Études de la Nature s’est dissipée de nos jours comme une fumée, si bien qu’en établissant la filiation littéraire de Chateaubriand et de Lamartine, on supprime d’ordinaire leur précurseur direct; on saute par-dessus, jusqu’à J.-J. Rousseau.’ (Arvède Barine, Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, 2nd edn (Paris: Hachette, 1904), p. 185).
[280] Charles-Augustin Sainte-Beuve, Causeries du Lundi, 4th edn, 15 vols (Paris: Garnier Frères, n.d.), VI, 515.
[281] Œuvres, II, p. i.
[282] Cook, p. 10.
[283] Œuvres, II, p. xxv.
[284] See citation above: Œuvres, II, p. i.
[285] Souriau, Bernardin, p. xv.
[286] Cook, p. 10.
[287] Michael Hunter, Robert Boyle (1627-91): Scrupulosity and Science (Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 2000), p. 259.
[288] Pierre-François Didot, La Vérité, en réponse aux calomnies répandues dans un écrit intitulé: Essai sur la vie et les ouvrages de Bernardin de Saint Pierre, par L. Aimé-Martin (Paris: Lelong, 1821), p. 5.
[289] We read that, ‘Ce qui importe à cette famille, c’est de demander compte à M. Aimé-Martin des diffamations qu’il est permises contre elle […].’ (Didot, p. 5).
[290] Michael Hunter, pp. 254-255.
[291] Œuvres de l’Abbé Fleury, ed. by M. Aimé-Martin (Paris: Delagrave, 1884), p. xii.
[292] Aimé-Martin was a partisan of that school of thinkers who believed in the inescapable, necessary relationship between the artist and his creation, as best exemplified in his many editions of complete works. In one of the essays of Lamartine’s Cours familier de littérature, he comments of Aimé-Martin that, ‘Il comprit l’unité de l’auteur et de l’ouvrage, comme nous l’avions comprise depuis; il étudia Molière comme homme avant de nous le révéler comme écrivain.’ (Alphonse de Lamartine, Cours familier de littérature, 28 vols (Paris: Chez l’auteur, 1868), XXV, p. 339).
[293] In Bernardin’s ‘Etude Première’ he claims that ‘pilotins’ (small fish) guide the shark to his prey. Aimé-Martin refutes this theory in a footnote stating that: ‘Le pilotin accompagne le requin, mais il ne le guide pas; c’est la finesse de l’odorat qui compense dans ce poisson la faiblesse de la vue.’ (Œuvres, I, 135).
[294] The Etudes having been first published in 1784.
[295] ‘Avis’ to Etudes, Œuvres, I, 125.
[296] Souriau attests that, ‘Bernardin, qui avait été fervent royaliste jusqu’en 1791, patriote jusqu’en 1802, était devenu, par la grâce des circonstances, un ardent bonapartiste.’ (Souriau, Bernardin, p. 370).
[297] ‘Préface de l’éditeur’, Œuvres, I, 749.
[298] Sainte-Beuve, Causeries du Lundi, VI, 415-416.
[299] We read, ‘Quant aux notes, il eut été facile de les multiplier davantage; mais l’éditeur a cru devoir se borner à celles qui pouvaient servir à l’intelligence des faits, ou à l’histoire de la science. […]Peut-être [l’auteur s’est] trompé quelquefois dans les détails, mas il ne s’est jamais trompé sur ses principes; et lors même qu’il lui arrive de mal interpréter les desseins de la Providence, il fait voir que cette Providence existe, il force les incrédules à la reconnaître […].’ (‘Avis’ to Etudes, Œuvres, I, 125).
[300] Œuvres, II, 608-609.
[301] ‘Proposition faite à l’Institut’, Œuvres, II, 608-609.
[302] One of the disciples of Pierre-Jean-Georges Cabanis, a physiologist and enthusiast of the French Revolution, had seemingly published an article claiming Bernardin as insincere in his religious convictions (and prone to aggressive behaviour).
[303] ‘Proposition faite à l’Institut’, Œuvres, II, 609.
[304] The following is taken from Aimé-Martin’s ‘Avis’ to La Pierre d’Abraham, which, despite Bernardin’s seeming preference to the contrary, does in fact feature in the Œuvres: ‘Bernardin de Saint-Pierre affectionnait particulièrement cet ouvrage, composé plusieurs années avant Paul et Virginie. Il ne le lisait qu’à un petit nombre d’amis, refusant de faire imprimer ce qu’il appelait le secret de ses mœurs, de ses goûts et de ses opinions ; craignant enfin de mettre le public dans la confidence d’un bonheur si peu fait pour lui plaire. Mon ame [sic] est dans cet ouvrage, disait-il quelquefois ; je ne l’ai pas écrit pour des indifférents [...].’ (Œuvres, II, 578).
[305] Barine, p. 183.
[306] Désirée did transcribe many of Bernardin’s manuscripts, but modifications are generally featured in the handwriting of Bernardin or Aimé-Martin.
[307] From the editor’s preface to the ‘Fragments du second et du troisième livre de l’Arcadie’. (Œuvres, II, 470).
[308] ‘Avis’ to Etudes, Œuvres, I, 125.
[309] Barine, p. 177.
[310] This comment is particularly interesting in light of the fact that Aimé-Martin, a man of letters, had also attempted his own quasi-scientific work in 1810 with the Lettres à Sophie.
[311] ‘Préface de l’éditeur’ to L’Arcadie, Œuvres, II, 473.
[312] Souriau, Bernardin, p. vii.
[313] Souriau, Bernardin, p. xii.
[314] ‘Lettre de Napoléon’, Œuvres, II, 622.
[315] ‘Avis’ to Etudes, Œuvres, I, 126.
[316] Sainte-Beuve, performing his editorial duties in the mid-nineteenth century, writes that, ‘Bernardin écrit des choisnes: je me permets en quelques endroits de rectifier son orthographe, qui n’est pas plus mauvaise, d’ailleurs, que celle de beaucoup d’écrivains distingués et d’académiciens à sa date.’ (Sainte-Beuve, Causeries du Lundi, VI, 515-516).
[317] It was not unusual for Bernardin to draft several copies of text that was fundamentally the same. His work on the Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau and the correspondence detailing his revisions of the Etudes de la nature are evidence of this tendency.
[318] Cook, p. 63.
[319] In a footnote to the ‘Lettre de madame la baronne de Krudner à Bernardin de Saint-Pierre’ (Œuvres, II, 620).
[320] Cook, p. 18.
[321] Souriau, Bernardin, pp. 323-324.
[322] Cook, p. 133.
[323] It is highly unlikely that Aimé-Martin would have consciously set out to portray Bernardin as a Catholic. The editor revealed himself anti-Catholic in his 1834 treatise, the Education des mères de famille.
[324] J.-H. Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, Paul et Virginie, ed. by Une Société d’ecclésiastiques, 6th edn (Tours: Ad Mame, 1846), p. 13.
[325] Cook, p. 2.
[326] Herman Northrop-Frye quoted by D.I.B. Smith, ‘Introduction’, in Editing Eighteenth-Century Texts, ed. by D.I.B. Smith (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1967), pp. 3-6 (p. 3).
[327] Œuvres philosophiques de Descartes, ed. by M. Louis Aimé-Martin (Paris: Société du Panthéon Littéraire, 1843), p. ii.
[328] Œuvres complètes de J. Racine, ed. by L. Aimé-Martin, 4th edn, 7 vols (Paris: Lefèvre, 1825), I, 13.
[329] Œuvres complètes de J. Racine, I, 8.
[330] Œuvres de l’Abbé Fleury, p. xi.
[331] Œuvres poétiques de Boileau Despréaux, ed. by M. Aimé-Martin (Paris: Charpentier, 1845), p. vii.
[332] Œuvres philosophiques de Descartes, p. ii.
[333] Aimé-Martin writes : ‘[...] on conçoit un pareil travail exécuté sur un écrivain comme Montaigne, dont l’esprit, tour à tour gracieux ou sérieux, ne développe aucun principe, n’établit aucune théorie [...].’. (Œuvres philosophiques de Descartes, p. ii).
[334] In the ‘Avis des éditions de 1843’ of the Lettres de Madame de Sévigné, avec les notes de tous les commentateurs, ed. by L. Aimé-Martin, 6 vols (Paris: Didot, 1853), I, p. iii.
[335] Aimé-Martin’s long-time friend, François Grille, would write to him in 1846, observing that, ‘Si j’entre chez Techener ou chez Lefèvre, je vous verrai, car c’est là que vous êtes, enfoui et absorbé dans vos incessantes éditions. Vous vivez avec Corneille, Racine, Molière, avec Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, Fleury, Lafontaine […].’ (François-Joseph Grille, Lettre à M. Aimé-Martin sur Pétrarque et Adrien le Chartreux (Paris: Techener, 1846), p. 8).
[336] Œuvres complètes de J. Racine, I, 17.
[337] Lettres de Madame de Sévigné, I, p. iii.
[338] Œuvres complètes de J. Racine, I, 48.
[339] Œuvres poétiques de Boileau Despréaux, p. vi.
[340] Œuvres philosophiques de Descartes, p. 476.
[341] The passage in question appears as follows on page 30, and again on page 35: ‘ “Voici les leçons que j’ai apprises de M. De Cambrai; s’il y a quelque chose de bon dans ce discours, je le tiens de lui; je n’ai fait que raconter ce qu’il m’a dit souvent. Cette analyse de ses principes manquait à son hisstoire.ˮ ’ Œuvres de Fénelon, Archevêque de Cambrai, ed. by M. Aimé-Martin, 3 vols (Paris: Didot, 1857), I, 30-35).
[342] Œuvres philosophiques de Descartes, p. iii.
[343] Œuvres de l’Abbé Fleury, p. xi.
[344] François de Salignac de la Mothe Fénelon, De l’Existence de Dieu, ed. by Louis Aimé-Martin (Avignon: Bousquet-Offray, 1827), p. vii.
[345] Œuvres de l’Abbé Fleury, p. xxxviii.
[346] Œuvres poétiques de Boileau Despréaux, p. ii.
[347] Œuvres philosophiques de Descartes, p. i.
[348] Louis Aimé-Martin, ‘A la mémoire de Henri-Joseph-Joachim Lainé’, in Œuvres de l’Abbé Fleury, title page.
[349] Le Panthéon Littéraire was a literary society established by Aimé-Martin. The ‘society’ made its authorial debut in 1837 with the Plan d’une bibliothèque universelle, a work intended to challenge and eclipse many of the claims of Diderot’s Encyclopédie.
[350] Œuvres complètes de J. Racine, I, 25.
[351] Louis Racine does this in several ways, not far-removed from those methods employed by Aimé-Martin in his attempts to bolster Bernardin’s reputation. One such example, concerning the unlawful staging of Racine’s play Alexandre, is cited above.
[352] Grille, Lettre à M. Aimé-Martin sur Pétrarque, p. 9.
[353] The Livre des cent et un was imagined by the publisher, Ladvocat, in 1831 in a bid to remain financially afloat. The Livre comprised a collection of articles on various topics but was essentially intended to depict Paris as the literary, cultural hub of the land.
[354] Why Aimé-Martin’s essay does not feature in the Livre is uncertain. Might it be that he was merely acting in his capacity as editor to one of the other contributors (perhaps his friend Charles Nodier, or Lamartine)? Or is it possible that he abandoned writing for the Livre to focus instead on the composition of his Education des mères de famille that would appear in 1834?
[355] Aileen Fyfe, ‘Young readers and the sciences’ in Books and the Sciences in History, ed. by Marina Frasca-Spada and Nick Jardine (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), pp. 276-90 (p. 289).
[356] For evidence of the sciences used in this context, see, for example, Sarah Trimmer’s An easy introduction to the knowledge of nature, and reading the holy scriptures (1780), Anna Barbauld’s Evenings at Home (1793), and, in France, Chateaubriand’s Génie du christianisme (1802), in particular the ‘Existence de Dieu prouvée par les merveilles de la nature’.
[357] This is a project that would remain close to Aimé-Martin’s heart throughout his life and that we see reflected in his many works dating after the publication of the Lettres à Sophie in 1810, and that tend to depict his goals with more clarity. In 1837 he is still pondering ways to alleviate the moral crisis of his country, as we read in his Plan d’une bibliothèque universelle: ‘Le mal est grand sans doute, mais il n’est point incurable, né d’une fausse science et d’un mauvais système d’éducation, il peut être effacé par des réformes et par de bons ouvrages.’ (Louis Aimé-Martin, Plan d’une bibliothèque universelle: Études des livres qui peuvent servir à l’histoire littéraire et philosophique du genre humain; suivi du catalogue des chefs-d’œuvre de toutes les langues (Bruxelles: Société Belge de Librairie, Hauman, Cettoir, 1837), p. 5).
[358] Louis Aimé-Martin, Lettres à Sophie sur la physique, la chimie et l’histoire naturelle, 5th edn, 2 vols (Paris: Nicolle, 1818), I, p. xxvii.
[359] The earliest being the Etrennes à la jeunesse, first published in 1809.
[360] To be explored in Chapter 6.
[361] Is this indicative of Aimé-Martin embarking on his lifelong quest to educate the lower, peasant classes? Sophie, however, is obviously literate and can converse quite ably with Aimé-Martin, therefore creating a rather ambivalent picture of her education to date and of her social standing.
[362] Lettres à Sophie, I, 5-6.
[363] Such concerns were also at the heart of Bernardin’s La Chaumière Indienne of 1791. In the avant-propos to the short novel he alludes to ‘la vérité’ (bound up in Christian doctrine) so often denied by the emerging scientific theories of the period. ‘Je proteste ici que je n’ai eu aucune intention de jeter quelque ridicule sur les académies, quoique j’aie beaucoup à m’en plaindre, non par rapport à ma personne, mais à cause des intérêts de la vérité, qu’elles persécutent souvent quand elle[s] contrarie[nt] leurs systèmes.’ (Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, ed. by Louis Aimé-Martin, 2 vols (Paris: Ledentu, 1840), I, p. 565).
[364] Demoustier has much in common with Aimé-Martin besides the Lettres. An introductory biography by Hourdou in the 1828 edition of Demoustier’s Lettres à Emilie reveals the writer’s esteem for those same thinkers who inspired Aimé-Martin: ‘On regrette que la mort soit venue l’interrompre lorsqu’il s’occupait de lettres nouvelles sur la botanique: soutenu de Jean-Jacques et de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, il ne pouvait que rendre cette étude agréable et attrayante.’ (Charles-Albert Demoustier, Lettres à Emilie sur la mythologie, 2 vols (Paris: Froment, 1828), I, p. vii).
[365] We need only look at the successes of Rousseau’s Julie, ou la nouvelle Héloïse (1761) or Laclos’ Les Liaisons dangereuses (1782) to know this to be true.
[366] Lettres à Sophie, I, xxv.
[367] Joseph-Marie Quérard, La France littéraire: ou dictionnaire bibliographique des savants, historiens et gens de lettres, 12 vols (Paris: Maisonneuve et Larose, 1964), V, p. 580.
[368] We will discuss Aimé-Martin’s literary style in more detail later in the chapter.
[369] M. Mouton-Fontenille, Réponse à M. Louis-Aimé Martin sur sa critique du Traité Élémentaire d’Ornithologie de M. Mouton-Fontenille (Lyon: Etienne Cabin; Paris: Brunot Labbe, 1812), p. 60.
[370] Contrary to Mouton-Fontenille, another contemporary observer would warn against the imitative process, in his Epître à M. Aimé-Martin, de l’Académie de Lyon, Auteur des lettres à Sophie, advising instead: ‘Ceindre le front du jeune auteur,/Qui suivit, à peine majeur,/Dumoustier, séduisant modèle,/Au bon goût, par fois infidèle,/mais plein d’esprit et de fraîcheur!/Or toutefois quittez vos traces,/Un tel patron porte malheur:/On connoît les longues disgraces,/De maint poète imitateur;/Offrez aux véritables graces [sic]/Quelques regrets pour cette erreur.’ (Lyon, Bibliothèque municipale, MS Cote 351709).
[371] Encyclopédie, ou Dictionnaire raisonné des sciences, des arts et des métiers, par une société de gens de lettres, 35 vols (Paris: Briasson, David, Le Breton, Durand, 1755; repr. Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt: Friedrich Frommann Verlag, 1966), xiv, p. 788.
[372] See the treatises issued by Rousseau (Du Contrat social (1762), Voltaire (Traité sur la tolérance (1763), Madame de Staël (De la littérature considérée dans ses rapports avec les institutions sociales (1800), to name but a few.
[373] Demoustier, ii, 1.
[374] Jean-Baptiste Biot, ‘Lettres à Sophie sur la physique, la chimie et l’histoire naturelle’, in Mélanges scientifiques et littéraires, ed. by Jean-Baptiste Biot, 3 vols (Paris: Lévy Frères, 1858), II, pp. 243-255 (p. 243).
[375] Lettres à Sophie, I, 1.
[376] Plan d’une bibliothèque universelle, p. 137.
[377] Lettres à Sophie, I, 137.
[378] Lettres à Sophie, I, 129.
[379] Bernardin, dismissive of evolutionary theory, makes similar claims about the ever-existent harmony of Nature in his Etude sixième: ‘La nature seule ne produit que les accords raisonnables, et n’assortit dans les animaux et dans les fleurs que des parties convenables aux lieux, à l’air, aux éléments et aux usages auxquels elle les destine.’ (Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, ed. by Louis Aimé-Martin, 2 vols (Paris: Ledentu, 1840), I, 209).
[380] It was not unusual for writers of a Christian persuasion to deny theories that contradicted or destabilised anything set out in the Bible. Aimé-Martin chooses his collaborator for the Lettres à Sophie carefully, seeking a scientist who would endorse his own religious beliefs. A good example of this can be seen in the following passage by M. Patrin: ‘D’un autre côté, Newton pensait que la lumière peut se transformer en toute espèce de corps, et que, réciproquement, tous les corps qui existent peuvent se transformer en lumière. (Optique, quest., p.531.) D’où il résulte que Newton aurait considéré la lumière (ou le fluide qui la manifeste), comme cette matière unique, principe de tous les êtres. Il me semble même, si j’osais mêler les oracles sacrés avec les opinions des hommes, qu’on pourrait appuyer cette idée par le livre même de la Genèse, où il est dit que la lumière fut le premier résultat du grand acte de la création: ce fut le premier jour que l’Eternel prononça ce mot: que la lumière soit. […] L’opinion de Newton me semblerait donc tout-à-fait conforme à l’esprit de la Genèse, et dès-lors parfaitement vrai.’ (Lettres à Sophie, I, 269).
[381] Lettres à Sophie, I, 146.
[382] François de Salignac de la Mothe Fénélon, De L’Existence de Dieu, ed. by Louis Aimé-Martin (Avignon: Bousquet-Offray, 1827), p. x.
[383] Aimé-Martin would later observe the same agenda in the methodologies of Bernardin, remarking in the ‘Apologie’ that accompanies the Correspondance, ‘Emule de ces grands hommes [Linné, Réaumur, Bonnet], Bernardin de Saint-Pierre embrassa toutes les sciences, non pour les rattacher à de nouveaux systèmes, mais pour les ramener à la nature et à Dieu.’ (Correspondance de J.-H. Bernardin De Saint-Pierre, ed. by Louis Aimé-Martin, 3 vols (Paris: Ladvocat, 1826), I, p. lxxxvii).
[384] Biot, II, 251.
[385] Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, I, 125.
[386] Malcolm Cook, Bernardin de Saint-Pierre: A Life of Culture (London: Legenda, 2006), p. 92.
[387] Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, I, 128.
[388] Lettres à Sophie, I, 11.
[389] Plan d’une bibliothèque universelle, p. 218.
[390] Lettres à Sophie, I, p. xiii.
[391] If an astute observation rated highly in Aimé-Martin’s new science that, of course, did not imply that the recognition of its merits was itself original and pioneering. Other writers were claiming the benefits of an observant eye for general study and improvement of the mind in the decades preceding the appearance of the Lettres à Sophie. The education conceived by Madame d’Epinay in the Lettres à mon fils (1759) and the Conversations d’Emilie (1774), for example, held observation of the natural world as one of its central principles: ‘Il s’agit essentiellement d’une éducation morale par l’étude livresque, l’observation de la nature [my emphasis], la conversation et l’endurcissement physique.’ (Michèle Bissière, ‘Louise d’Epinay et l’éducation des filles: Les Conversations d’Emilie de 1774 et 1782’, Studies on Voltaire and the Eighteenth Century [SVEC], 01 (2003), 297-310 (p. 299).
[392] Lettres à Sophie, I, 8.
[393] It is surely unsurprising that Aimé-Martin chooses to ignore other of Buffon’s qualities as a scientist. Let us not forget that he propounded the notion that Man derived from organic matter, thus challenging Christian doctrine about the origin of humankind.
[394] Bernardin wrote: ‘Je ne détruis en rien l’action de la lune sur les mers; mais, au lieu de la faire agir sur les mers gelées des pôles, par la chaleur réfléchie du soleil, reconnue des anciens, démontrée aujourd’hui par les modernes, et dont l’expérience peut se faire avec un verre d’eau.’ (‘Avis de l’auteur’, Etudes de la natures, Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, I, 126).
[395] Biot, II, 249.
[396] One wonders how the reading of this work might have come to impress itself upon the relationship between Bernardin and Aimé-Martin. Although we have yet to establish an exact date for the first meeting of the two men, we know that they knew one another some time before Bernardin’s death in 1814. The short biography by Lamartine informs us that Aimé-Martin, ‘s’attacha comme secrétaire, à la fin du premier Empire, à un vieillard éminent […] c’etait Bernardin de Saint-Pierre’. (M. de Lamartine, Cours familier de littérature: Un entretien par mois, 28 vols (Paris: Chez l’auteur, 1868), XXV, p. 333).
[397] Lettres à Sophie, I, p. xiv.
[398] Lettres à Sophie, II, 229.
[399] Bernardin observes of the ‘animaux de proie’ that, ‘Ils ont des caractères saillants qui les annoncent avant même qu’on puisse les apercevoir. […] [ils] ont des couleurs tranchées, qui s’aperçoivent à de grandes distances sur la couleur fauve de leur peau […].’ (Etude septième, Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, I, 218).
[400] Lettres à Sophie, I, 134.
[401] One reaction to Aimé-Martin’s work came in the form of the Lettre de Sophie à Aimé Martin in which the author poses the following question: ‘Ah! Mon cher professeur, si vous êtes né poëte, pourquoi vouloir être chimiste?’ (D. Ph. Mutel et U. De St…, Lettre de Sophie à Aimé Martin (Paris: Locard et Davi, et Delauney, 1818), p. 18). Of course, such questions alert us to the long-standing problem of establishing effective science writing in France at the turn of the nineteenth century. While the majority lacked the knowledge necessary to the production of a truly plausible and objective scientific text, those with significant understanding of science had not the impulsion and, often, nor the communicative skill to share that understanding with a wider, non-specialist audience.
[402] In 1855, Maxime Du Camp, in Les Chants modernes, would attempt to de-mystify science for his literary audience.
[403] Mouton-Fontenille, pp. 49-50.
[404] In spite of some claims to the contrary, there can be no denying that many of Aimé-Martin’s teachings seek to convey ideas that are both complex and sophisticated. Select contemporaries would argue not that his work was devoid of challenging scientific content, but that his romantic and sometimes fantastical lexicon would prove a major handicap in the communication of his lessons: ‘J’ai dit que sous les apparences d’un frivole badinage, l’auteur cachoit un[e] science véritable, une méthode sure et lumineuse. Les divisions qu’il a établies sont simples, et cependant leur ensemble compose un plan immense, dans lequel est renfermée l’explication des phénomènes de la nature les plus grands et les plus intéressans.’ (P., ‘Lettres à Sophie, sur la physique, la chimie et l’histoire naturelle, par Louis Aimé Martin’, Journal de l’Empire, 11 August 1810, pp. 1-2).
[405] Lettres à Sophie, I, 84.
[406] Lettres à Sophie, I, 85-86.
[407] Though other theories about evolution existed before this time, none were as conclusive and as widely accepted as that of Charles Darwin.
[408] Aimé-Martin’s opposition to evolutionary theories can also be observed in his 1837 work, Plan d’une bibliothèque universelle: ‘Un résultat aussi bizarre devait éclairer le naturaliste. L’homme n’est point un objet de simple curiosité qu’on puisse ranger dans un cabinet d’histoire naturelle entre le baboin et la roussette. Il n’est pas le maître du monde parce qu’il est mieux vêtu que l’hermine, mieux armé que le tigre […]. Il est le maître du monde parce qu’il n’est pas de ce monde. La cause de sa supériorité échappe à toutes les classifications systématiques, et lorsque Linné trouve dans ses dents incisives et canines le caractère animal qui le rapproche du singe et de la chauve-souris, nous, nous trouvons dans son âme, qui voit Dieu, le caractère sublime, indélébile, unique, qui, en l’arrachant à la terre, le sépare de la création.’ (p. 182).
[409] This is how Aimé-Martin would reconcile his Christian faith with those aspects of natural science that were apparently opposed to it. In England in the preceding century, Sarah Trimmer had encountered the same problematic at the meeting of geology with Scripture. Aileen Fyfe remarks that, ‘She also had qualms about geology. As Wakefield’s Mental Improvement showed, geology and Scripture could be reconciled, as when the discovery of fossils on top of mountains is described as ‘a convincing proof of the truth of the history of the deluge’ (49). But such reconciliations had to be made explicitly, or Trimmer feared that geology would appear to contradict the Bible.’ (Aileen Fyfe, p. 286).
[410] It is perhaps surprising, then, to note Aimé-Martin’s admiration of the natural philosopher Buffon, given his somewhat liberal claims about the evolution of mammals. Buffon carried out various experiments that eventually allowed him to conclude that mammals derived from ancestors with far more complex digestive systems. Such theories were clearly in line with those of the Darwinian school of thought so obviously contrary to the teachings of the Bible.
[411] In the Lettres à Sophie Aimé-Martin concludes that the ivy growing on the exposed wall of a cottage can be explained by the necessity to protect the dwelling from the elements: ‘O Nature! C’est ainsi que tes beautés cachent toujours quelques bienfaits! En faisant ce qui est beau, tu fais ce qui est utile. J’ai admiré le vêtement de verdure et de fleurs que tu donnes à la cabane exposée aux outrages de l’hiver, afin d’en garantir le pauvre qui l’habite.’ (II, 58). However, this explanation dismisses a number of other possibilities for the growth of the ivy.
[412] Lettres à Sophie, I, 90.
[413] The New Caxton Encyclopedia, 20 vols (London: Caxton Publications, 1979), VIII, 55.
[414] Mutel, p. 14.
[415] Mutel, p. 19.
[416] There are several explanations for this, most importantly perhaps the number of other activities Aimé-Martin was engaged in from 1811 onwards. Let us not forget that as well as writing at least thirteen works after 1811, Aimé-Martin was also employed by the Ecole Polytechnique, and then went on to employment at other institutions, notably the Bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève. In addition, he was involved with the literary projects of the publishing house of Lefèvre (namely with their aforementioned Classics collection) and also wrote many articles for cultural journals of the early nineteenth century as, for example, the Journal des Débats.
[417] In this collection of essays he repeats, for example, the tale of the flower, ‘souvenez-vous de moi’, featured in the Lettres (Lettres à Sophie, I, 35).
[418] Compare the following passages on the composition of air: ‘Ce fluide qui échappe à tous les regards, n’a pu échapper au genie de l’homme; ses élémens ont été trouvés, et il a été tour-à-tour décomposé et récomposé.’ (De L’Existence de Dieu, p. 77). And: ‘L’air ne doit plus être placé parmi les éléments: ce fluide, qui échappe à tous les regards, n’a pu échapper au génie de Lavoisier; ses principes ont été trouvés; il a été tour-à-tour décomposé et récomposé, et ses divers phénomènes sont devenus le sujet des plus précieuses découvertes.’ (Lettres à Sophie, I, 148).
[419] Lyon, Bibliothèque municipale, MS Coste 16048-16095/MS Coste 1131. Letter from Sassiron to M. Tezenas, dated 8 May 1811.
[420] Lettres à Sophie, I, pp. xxiii-xxiv.
[421] There are various explanations for this fact, most likely that Aimé-Martin was preoccupied with other projects, as previously highlighted.
[422] Lettres à Sophie, I, p. xxiv.
[423] Lettres à Sophie, I, p. xxv.
[424] Lettres à Sophie, I, 120-121.
[425] Lettres à Sophie, II, 43-44.
[426] The Encyclopédie features an article on Physics that celebrates the ever-changing face of science: ‘Combien de découvertes modernes dont les anciens n’avoient pas même l’idée! Combien de découvertes perdues que nous contesterions trop légerement! Et combien d’autres que nous jugerions impossibles, sont reservées pour notre postérité!’ (Encyclopédie, XII, 540).
[427] Lettres à Sophie, I, 142.
[428] Lettres à Sophie, I, 156.
[429] Lettres à Sophie, II, 78-79.
[430] Natalie Pigeard argues that, in spite of the superficial affinities between Marcet’s Conversations on Chemistry and Aimé-Martin’s Lettres à Sophie, Marcet’s work sets itself apart from the Lettres with its decidedly more scientific tone: ‘[…] we find here the presentation of several experiments that are easily performed in the kitchen. Indeed, compared with Martin’s Lettres à Sophie and the other chemistry texts aimed at women before 1836, this work seems positively scientific.’ (Natalie Pigeard, ‘Chemistry for Women in Nineteenth-Century France’, in Communicating Chemistry: Textbooks and Their Audiences, 1789-1939, ed. by Anders Lundgren and Bernadette Bensaude-Vincent (Canton MA: Science History Publications/USA, 2000), pp. 311-326 (p. 314).
[431] Lettres à Sophie, I, p. xvi.
[432] Mouton-Fontenille, p. 29.
[433] Louis Aimé-Martin, Lettres à Sophie, sur la physique, la chimie et l’histoire naturelle, avec des notes par M. Patrin, de l’Institut, 2nd edn, 2 vols (Paris: Nicolle, 1811), I, p. ix. This edition of the Lettres will appear in later references with an abbreviated version of the title, followed by ‘1811’ in brackets.
[434] Lettres à Sophie, I, p. xix.
[435] Aimé-Martin comments on a colony of bees that, ‘L’ordre invariable établi dans ces petits gouvernements; l’activité avec laquelle chaque individu travaille au bonheur de tous, offrent un ensemble parfait. Le génie de Montesquieu n’a pas été plus loin. Tous les rêves de nos philosophes qui font des révolutions, leurs plans imaginaires, se réalisent ici.’ (Lettres à Sophie, I, 59). It is, of course, very possible that such an observation found its inspiration in a reading of Bernard de Mandeville’s Fable of the Bees (first published in 1705 but re-worked throughout the early eighteenth century). Importantly, however, while Mandeville uses his bee colony as a metaphor for the satirising of the English nation, Aimé-Martin, in lauding an insect community that thrives on its altruism, actually inverts the eventual argument posited by Mandeville that individualism is integral to the efficient workings of society.
[436] Lettres à Sophie, I, 38.
[437] Lettres à Sophie, I, 130.
[438] In one letter Aimé-Martin refers thus to the ‘love’ present in Nature: ‘Le mouvement des plantes pour suivre le cours du soleil; l’amour de la vigne pour l’ormeau, et du lierre pour le chêne; l’excroissance des stalagmites et des stalactites […]. Trop portés peut-être à généraliser; il se crurent dans un monde d’amour; ils aimaient, et tout aima autour d’eux: l’histoire de la Nature fut celle des nymphes et des dieux […].’ (Lettres à Sophie, I, 32).
[439] Mouton-Fontenille, p. 47.
[440] Mutel, p. 20.
[441] Lettres à Sophie, I, pp. xv-xvi.
[442] He states: ‘[…] je fis un grand nombre d’essais, je me nourris de la lecture des bons auteurs.’ (Lettres à Sophie, I, p. xvi).
[443] Lettres à Sophie, I, p. xvi.
[444] Madame D’Epinay had made similar observations about the obstacles to learning for women born out of an exclusionary social and educational conditioning. Bissière remarks, ‘D’Epinay déplore […] le manque de débouchés pour les femmes, et pas leur manque d’aptitude pour l’étude.’ (Bissière, p. 304).
[445] Women hailing from a particular social milieu were expected to converse on such fashionable topics as science. Thus, Aimé-Martin could hope to capture the interest of both genuine enthusiasts for the study of science and of those society ladies anxious to hold their own in a conversation that might possibly turn to the discussion of phenomena of the natural world. Pigeard makes the pertinent comment that, ‘[…] we are in the Romantic period, when the salons of wealthy ladies were once again opening their doors. In this context, it was appropriate to be acquainted with a handful of scientific notions in order to shine in society.’ (Pigeard, p. 313).
[446] Lettres à Sophie, I, 83-84.
[447] Aimé-Martin writes, ‘Il semble que la terre exerce sur tous les corps une attraction semblable à celle de l’aimant sur le fer. En effet, il existe une force invincible qui passe tous les corps en bas. Si la fleur entrelacée à vos cheveux se détache, elle tombe: voilà ce qu’on nomme la pesanteur.’ (Lettres à Sophie, I, 68).
[448] Lettres à Sophie, I, 197.
[449] Lettres à Sophie, II, 200.
[450] It ought to be noted that the Lettres à Sophie was not modelled as a work on the moral conditioning of young women, as was the case for the Lettres of Demoustier. In this text we find several examples of the author attempting to instill morality and decorum in his readership: ‘Vous jugez bien, Émilie, que l’éducation de Vénus ne ressembla point à celle de nos Parisiennes. Être belle sans orgueil, aimable sans coquetterie, instruite sans prétentions, amie discrete, amante fidèle, épouse vertueuse et bonne mere, ce fut là tout ce que l’on exigea d’elle.’ (Lettres à Émilie, I, 143).
[451] Lettres à Sophie, I, 67.
[452] There remain, of course, different explanations for the popularity of the Lettres à Sophie. Might it be that women themselves were investing in the study of science, or were men (fathers and husbands) encouraging them to pursue such a course? What is more, as Pigeard reasons, ‘one could equally well suppose that the men who bought these books for their wives or daughters preferred to cultivate their literary taste, rather than to initiate them into science.’ (Pigeard, p. 315). Indeed, for many critics the lessons in science promoted by the Lettres à Sophie were merely an ill-informed by-product of Aimé-Martin’s eloquent and entertaining prose and it is very possible that those fathers, husbands and, indeed, daughters and wives of a more traditional persuasion were purchasing the Lettres à Sophie specifically for their literary merits rather than for their scientific content.
[453] Lettres à Sophie, I, p. xiv.
[454] Mutel, p. 8.
[455] He informs the reader that he will finish his œuvre ‘par donner quelques idées nouvelles sur le système du monde.’ (Lettres à Sophie, I, p. xxi.).
[456] Lettres à Sophie, II, 206-207.
[457] This project would really come to fruition with the Education des mères of 1834.
[458] François-Xavier de Feller, Biographie Universelle des hommes qui se sont fait un nom par leur génie, leurs talents, leurs vertus, leurs erreurs ou leurs crimes, 8 vols (Lyon: Pelagaud, 1851), V, p. 592.
[459] One contemporary informs a friend, ‘C’est M. de St. Victor qui a rendu compte dans le journal de l’Empire de cette seconde édition des Lettres à Sophie et les vers qu’il a cités et qui sont réellement de Martin ne sont point indignes des éloges qu’il leur a donnés.’ (Lyon, Bibliothèque municipale, MS Coste 16048-16095/MS Coste 1131 (Letter from Sassiron to M. Tezenas, dated 8 May 1811)).
[460] Aimé-Martin writes: ‘Il me reste à remercier MM. les Journalistes de la bienveillance qu’ils ont montrée en rendant compte de mon Ouvrage; j’ai cru ne pouvoir mieux leur prouver ma reconnaissance qu’en rendant ces Lettres plus dignes des éloges qu’ils ont bien voulu leur donner.’ (Lettres à Sophie, I, p. x).
[461] Harvard, Houghton Library, MS Fr 382, (1).
[462] He sets to work in light of criticisms of his first edition: ‘Cette Édition aurait paru trois mois plus tôt, si elle n’avait été arrêtée par les nombreuses corrections auxquelles je travallais. J’étais devenu d’autant plus difficile que l’indulgence du Public avait été plus grande à mon égard; je voulais rendre mon Ouvrage le plus digne possible du succes qu’il avait obtenu, et profiter de toutes les critiques faites à sa naissance […]. (Lettres à Sophie (1811), I, p. v).
[463] In 1818 the Lettres à Sophie had already run up six editions and would go on to a twelfth edition of which I am aware.
[464] Lettres à Sophie, I, 178.
[465] François-Joseph Grille, Miettes littéraires, biographiques et morales livrées au public avec des explications, 3 vols (Paris: Ledoyen, 1853), I, 252.
[466] This was, seemingly, the only edition of the work.
[467] Louis Aimé-Martin, Raymond: suivi de plusieurs fragments tirés des tableaux et beautés pittoresques de la nature, ouvrage inédit du même auteur (Paris: Panckoucke, Nicolle, 1812), p. Inside cover.
[468] Such a turn of phrase serves to recall for the reader Aimé-Martin’s debt to Bernardin’s Etudes de la nature.
[469] Raymond, p. vii.
[470] It is noteworthy that Raymond was not promoted as a text exclusively for women. Of course, the appeal to both sexes here might arguably be born of Aimé-Martin’s commercial cunning. Galvanised by the recent success of the Lettres it is reasonable to imagine that he might at this point have been attempting to universalise his brand of pedagogy by drawing men, as well as women, into his following.
[471] Raymond, p. vii.
[472] The critic, Mutel, in his parody of the Lettres has Sophie exclaim to her incompetent teacher that, ‘A vous parler franchement, j’entrevois dans tout ce que vous dites un galimatias qui brouille les propriétés des chimistes […].’ (D. Ph. Mutel et U. De St…, Lettre de Sophie à Aimé Martin (Paris: Locard et Davi, et Delauney, 1818), p. 26).
[473] Raymond, p. 192.
[474] Of course, Aimé-Martin is here referring to the description of the bee colony he gives in the Lettres: ‘L’ordre invariable établi dans ces petits gouvernements; l’activité avec laquelle chaque individu travaille au bonheur de tous, offrent un ensemble parfait.’ (Louis Aimé-Martin, Lettres à Sophie sur la physique, la chimie et l’histoire naturelle, 5th edn, 2 vols (Paris: Nicolle, 1818), I, 59).
[475] Raymond, pp. x-xi.
[476] This said it appears that some reviewers may have been more admiring of the science propagated by Raymond than we might otherwise anticipate. One journalist concedes that, ‘Ce Raymond est suivi de plusieurs fragmens [sic] intitulés: Tableaux et Beautés pittoresques de la Nature; ils sont très supérieurs au roman qui les précède. L’auteur y développe ses connoissances en botanique et en histoire naturelle; ses descriptions ont de la grace et de la justesse, et il les varie d’une manière très agréable.’ (Un-named author, ‘Raymond, par Louis-Aimé Martin (1); suivi de plusieurs fragmens tirés des Tableaux et Beautés pittoresques de la Nature, ouvrage inédit du même auteur’, Journal de l’Empire, 31 August 1812, p. 4).
[477] We discover that Raymond was once a young man who, in spite of a life blessed with dear friends, good health and love, is driven to leave home only later to return there disillusioned and extremely unhappy.
[478] Although Raymond is a bucolic tale it escapes classification as the sort of eglogue as that described in the Encyclopédie, for example. While Raymond portrays a rural community, the narrative is nevertheless imbued with realist elements, pertinent for contemporary readers and clearly at odds with the idyllic vision of country-life conjured by the traditional eglogue: ‘Quoique la poésie bucolique ait pour but d’imiter ce qui se passe & ce qui se dit entre les bergers, elle ne doit pas s’en tenir à la simple représentation du vrai réel qui rarement seroit agréable; elle doit s’élever jusqu’au vrai idéal qui tend à embellir le vrai tel qu’il est dans la nature, & qui produit soit en poésie, soit en peinture, le dernier point de perfection.’ (Encyclopédie, ou Dictionnaire raisonné des sciences, des arts et des métiers, par une société de gens de lettres, 35 vols (Paris: Briasson, David, Le Breton, Durand, 1755; repr. Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt: Friedrich Frommann Verlag, 1966), v, 426).
[479] We learn midway through the novel that Raymond’s father died while he was still young, thus, rendering the circumstances of Raymond and Camille ever more similar to those of Bernardin’s hero and heroine.
[480] Raymond, p. 12.
[481] Raymond, p. v.
[482] In the introduction to the study of Aimé-Martin’s correspondence with Lamartine carried out by Croisille and Morin, we read of Aimé-Martin that, ‘Sa famille le destinait au barreau, mais le jeune homme avait le goût des lettres […], il vint s’installer à Paris contre le désir de ses parents.’ (Répertoire de la correspondance de Lamartine (1807-1829) et lettres inédites, ed. by Christian Croisille and Marie-Renée Morin (Clermont-Ferrand: Nizet, 1997), p. 147).
[483] François-Joseph Grille, Miettes littéraires, biographiques et morales livrées au public avec des explications, 3 vols (Paris: Ledoyen, 1853), I, 255-256.
[484] Raymond, p. xvii.
[485] Raymond, p. xvii.
[486] The use of the novel form to communicate his message about the undesirability of a premature departure from the paternal home is interesting. While Aimé-Martin happily posits his theories on natural history in the essays of the Tableaux, the more sensitive issue of quitting the family abode is considered using a less dogmatic approach. As outlined by Cook in one article on the cultural politics of the French Revolution there existed two possibilities for the inculcation of a moral agenda: ‘[…] a distinction must clearly be made between the treatise which persuaded by force of argument and reason and fiction which convinced by the efficacity of the action described.’ (Malcolm Cook, ‘Politics in the fiction of the French Revolution, 1789-1794’, Studies on Voltaire and the Eighteenth Century, 201 (1982), 290-310 (p. 296)). What Raymond does is to apply two distinct modes of persuasion (embodied in the essay and the novel form) to two distinct moral dilemmas: reconciling God and science, and curtailing the impulsion to abandon one’s home.
[487] Raymond, pp. xviii-xix.
[488] Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, ‘Paul et Virginie’, in Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, ed. by L. Aimé-Martin, 2 vols (Paris: Ledentu, 1840), I, 520.
[489] ‘Paul et Virginie’, I, 520.
[490] At this stage in his life, Aimé-Martin is yet to embark on his discovery of central Europe and Scandinavia.
[491] Having never been to America, Aimé-Martin would have had little choice but, in the main, to gloss over detailed description of its landscape. One review in the Journal de l’Empire would bemoan the lack of specificity in Raymond: ‘En moins de six semaines ils arrivent, et jettent l’ancre à l’embouchure d’un grand fleuve. Pourquoi ne pas le nommer? Depuis la rivière de Savanah jusqu’au Saint-Laurent, tous les fleuves des Etats-Unis ont un nom; mais M. Martin aime tant à laisser du vague dans ses récits, qu’il désigne aucune rivière, aucune ville, aucune contrée, et pas même la bataille dans laquelle Raymond a le bras cassé et les yeux crevés d’un coup de feu.’ (‘Raymond, par Louis-Aimé Martin (1); suivi de plusieurs fragmens tirés des Tableaux et Beautés pittoresques de la Nature, ouvrage inédit du même auteur’, Journal de l’Empire, 31 August 1812, p. 4).
[492] Raymond, p. xvi.
[493] Raymond, p. xix.
[494] Raymond, p. 9.
[495] Raymond, p. 8.
[496] Raymond anticipates Aimé-Martin’s later work, the Education des mères de famille, published in 1834 for the first time. This work, alluded to in previous chapters, posits the theory that social reform can only come from the mother-educator. Of course, such a scheme presupposes that children will remain at home long enough for the required education to take place and the events of Raymond show us that this might not always be possible.
[497] In the Bibliographie du genre romanesque français 1751-1800 (ed. by Angus Martin, Richard Frautschi and Vivienne G. Mylne), we discover a host of works pertaining to the rise and fall of the ambitious members of the peasant class. Of note is Le Paysan perverti ou les dangers de la ville, authored by Nicolas-Edme Rétif de la Bretonne, which first appeared in 1776.
[498] Pierre Carlet de Chamblain de Marivaux, Le Paysan parvenu, ed. by Michel Gilot (Paris: Garnier-Flammarion, 1965), p. 379.
[499] Raymond, p. 40.
[500] Raymond, p. 43.
[501] Indeed, alone in the city, Raymond not only risks to be misguided by external influences in this new, urban world but, in his isolation, he may also fall victim to destabilising emotions manifest within him. The likelihood that Raymond will be consumed by irrational feelings is clearly illustrated in the narrative and is reflective of socio-cultural trends at the end of the eighteenth and the opening of the nineteenth centuries. That Aimé-Martin warns against distemperate thoughts and behaviours born of a life of solitude allies him with his contemporary, Chateaubriand, who, in the 1805 preface to Atala-René, complained that, ‘C’est J.-J. Rousseau qui introduisit le premier parmi nous ces rêveries si désastreuses et si coupables. En s’isolant des hommes, en s’abandonnant à ses songes, il a fait croire à une foule de jeunes gens, qu’il est beau de se jeter ainsi dans le vague de la vie. Le roman de Werther a développé depuis ce germe de poison. L’auteur du Génie du Christianisme […] a voulu dénoncer cette espèce de vice nouveau, et peindre les funestes conséquences de l’amour outré de la solitude.’ (François-René de Chateaubriand, Atala, René, Les Aventures du dernier abencérage (Paris: Flammarion, 1996), p. 83).
[502] Raymond, p. 9.
[503] Raymond, p. 10.
[504] Raymond, p. 13.
[505] Raymond, p. 13.
[506] Although Paul et Virginie was published in 1788, it appears from Bernardin’s correspondence that a version of the novel was already written by 1773.
[507] Although Paul et Virginie and, especially, Raymond are not pastoral tales in the strictest sense of the word, there are, nonetheless, several aspects of the works that situate them in this tradition, in particular their depiction of the blossoming romance between their protagonists. In Florian’s ‘Essai sur la pastorale’ he stresses that, ‘Il faut que l’amour des pasteurs soit aussi pur que le cristal de leurs fontaines; et comme la plus belle bergère perdroit tous ses attraits en perdant la pudeur, de même le principal charme d’une pastorale doit être d’inspirer la vertu.’ (M. de Florian, Estelle: Roman Pastoral (Paris: Bruxelles: Emmanuel Flon, 1788), p. xviii).
[508] Raymond, pp. 20-21.
[509] In Paul et Virginie, Paul, seeing that Virginie enjoys spending time in ‘their’ clearing, close to the fountain, decides to adorn the trees there with birds’ nests: ‘Paul, voyant que ce lieu était aimé de Virginie, y apporta de la forêt voisine des nids de toute sorte d’oiseaux.’ (‘Paul et Virginie’, I, 531).
[510] Aimé-Martin expands on his predecessor’s account of the birds’ nests in the clearing, having Raymond relate that, one day, ‘J’allai couper des baguettes flexibles et des roseaux verds, et j’essayai de bâtir un nid comme celui des petits oiseaux. Dès que je l’eus achevé, Camille le garnit de mousse, et l’environna de fleurs; je le portai à la cime de ce vieux chêne que vous voyez sur le penchant de la montagne. Nous nous y placâmes tous deux; un léger zéphyr agita le feuillage, et nos cris de joie attirèrent nos mères, qui nous virent avec surprise dans ce berceau d’une nouvelle invention.’ (Raymond, pp. 15-16).
[511] Aimé-Martin’s borrowing from Bernardin’s text may at first seem rather bold and ungracious, but such instances of imitation are not unusual in literature and the recycling of motifs was certainly not uncommon in the pastoral tradition which sought to portray a very specific social class in a particular way. In Florian’s ‘Essai sur la pastorale’, he remarks that pastoral works, due to their analogous nature, are often perceived as tiresome and without interest, ‘[…] dès que l’on annonce un ouvrage, dont les héros sont des bergers, il semble que ce nom seul donne envie de dormir.’ (Florian, p. iii).
[512] Raymond, p. 34.
[513] We learn that while Raymond’s desire to leave the valley was primarily motivated by a persistent feeling of unrest, it was further compounded by his growing jealousy over the friendship of Camille and a local boy, Albert.
[514] Raymond, p. 108.
[515] Raymond, p. 5.
[516] Raymond, p. 4.
[517] Jean-Michel Racault, Etudes sur Paul et Virginie et l’œuvre de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre (Paris: Publications de l’Université de la Réunion, 1986), p. 197.
[518] ‘Paul et Virginie’, I, 520.
[519] ‘Paul et Virginie’, I, 520.
[520] ‘Paul et Virginie’, I, 520.
[521] Raymond, p. 5.
[522] Raymond, p. 103.
[523] Raymond, p. 73.
[524] Raymond, p. 73.
[525] Raymond, p. 113.
[526] In the early nineteenth century, ignorance was conceived of in similar terms to the way in which we regard it today. The fifth edition of the Dictionnaire de L’Académie française published in 1798 defines Ignorance thus: ‘Defaut de connoissance, manque de savoir’. ( [accessed 15 March 2009]).
[527] Rousseau also writes about a ‘necessary ignorance’, or, as he terms it, an ‘ignorance raisonnable’. Such ignorance, in the same vein as that later envisaged by Bernardin or Aimé-Martin, allows Man to find contentment in his social circumstance, as articulated by Rousseau: ‘Il y a une autre sorte d’ignorance raisonnable, qui consiste à borner sa curiosité à l’étendue des facultés qu’on a reçues; une ignorance modeste, qui naît d’un vif amour pour la vertu, et n’inspire qu’indifférence sur toutes les choses qui ne sont point dignes de remplir le cœur de l’homme […].’ (Rousseau, Discours sur les sciences et les arts; Discours sur l’origine et les fondements de l’inégalité parmi les hommes (Paris: Flammarion, 1971) p. 93).
[528] ‘Paul et Virginie’, I, 523.
[529] In the Contes moraux of Marmontel, ‘la bergère des Alpes’ expresses this very notion when she comments that, ‘Mon état a ses douceurs pour qui n’en connaît pas d’autres […].’ (Jean-François Marmontel, Contes moraux, 3 vols (Paris: J. Merlin, 1765), II, 46).
[530] ‘Paul et Virginie’, I, 529.
[531] In Bernardin’s novel the primary education of Paul and Virginie is through readings of the bible by Madame de La Tour. Further instruction only comes when the lovers are separated and the necessity for certain skills is forced upon them. It is important to note that Paul, who will continue to live as a farmer while Virginie is away, is only interested in reading those ‘romans’ that depict ‘situations pareilles à la sienne’ (‘Paul et Virginie’, I, 544). This, of course, is in stark contrast to the extensive curriculum prescribed for Virginie who will be thrust into the world of the aristocracy, a world divorced from the practical concerns of those who toil the land.
[532] Aimé-Martin’s definition of a primary education is not made clear. It appears from reading Raymond that the eponymous protagonist has at some stage learned to write. Indeed, it would seem either that the primary education Aimé-Martin envisions does extend to lessons in how to write or that the author has resolved to exercise poetic licence in the interest of plot. On leaving for America Raymond informs his audience that, ‘A peine me laissa-t-il [Fernand] le tems d’écrire à ma mère, pour l’instruire de mon sort.’ (Raymond, p. 74). Of course, even though Raymond might have attended the village school, this would not necessarily account for his ability to write. The historian, Annie Moulin, observes of provincial schools in the years before 1789 that, ‘In addition to the low level of attendance, the impoverished nature of the curriculum must be noted. In many schools, following clerical guidance, only reading ability would be taught. Writing and mathematics, introduced rather later, required a much longer exposure to school than was the case for many children, who would be required to join the workforce, full-time, by the age of twelve.’ (Annie Moulin, Peasantry and society in France since 1789, trans. by M. C. and M. F. Cleary (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), p. 21).
[533] Raymond, p. 22.
[534] Nevertheless, if Aimé-Martin’s ideal was too impractical and too utopian for the economic climate of 1811 (or the decades preceding it), it seems that by the mid-nineteenth century resistance to such a vision, in some circles, may have been falling away, Adolphe Desbarolles, the chiromancer, arguing that, ‘C’est par l’instruction que notre peuple conservera le premier rang parmi les nations qui vont toujours en avant. Les hommes de génie sont rares; mais la Providence, qui ne connaît ni le rang ni la fortune, les sème au hasard. Elle secoue au-dessus de nos têtes ses rayons de feu, et ils tombent où les emporte le vent. Mais si l’un de ces rayons vient briser la vitre d’une chaumière, pourquoi voulez-vous que le paysan qu’il illumine à son entrée dans le monde n’arrive pas plus tôt (car le génie arrive toujours) à l’aide de ces misérables livraisons à quatre sous, le prix d’un petit verre! Et dites-moi, en passant, quand bien même ces livres remplaceraient un peu le petit verre, y aurait-il donc si grand mal?’ (Adolphe Desbarolles, ‘Des livraisons à 20 centimes’, in Naissance de l’éditeur, ed. by Pascal Durand and Anthony Glinoer, 2nd edn (Liège: Les Impressions Nouvelles, 2008), pp. 177-181 (p. 180)).
[535] Significantly, Aimé-Martin cannot be accused of ignoring or underestimating the economic hardships of the lower classes. His novel is particularly realist in its reference to the seasonal migration of peasant workers to the mountains. Raymond tells those listening to his tale, ‘Vous connoissez sans doute l’usage où sont les habitants de la Provence, d’envoyer leurs troupeaux sur les Alpes. Chaque printems, les Bergers s’assemblent dans ce vallon, nomment des bailes, ou chefs, pour surveiller les jeunes pasteurs, célèbrent des jeux, puis se mettent en marche, et arrivent, en chantant, sur les hautes montagnes.’ (Raymond, p. 45). As Moulin informs us, rural dwellers would often be compelled to find employment beyond their community through financial necessity: ‘The burden of [various] charges meant that complementary sources of income were required for most peasant families. Seasonal or temporary migration of part of the population was the preferred solution in areas of poor land, especially the uplands. Several hundreds of thousands of men would leave the high mountains of the Massif Central, the Alps and the Pyrénées each year to work as labourers in the surrounding lowlands. In such regions as many as one-third of all adult males would be absent for upwards of half the year. They worked as stone masons, log-sawers, flax-combers, knife-grinders, rag-and-bone men, chimney-sweeps, door-to-door sellers, animal herders, and, on occasion, beggars.’ (Moulin, p. 15).
[536] Raymond, p. 22.
[537] Raymond, p. 89.
[538] Raymond, p. 91.
[539] By contrast with this positive view of what it meant to better one’s mind, the ‘Vieillard’ of Bernardin’s Paul et Virginie tells the young Paul, ‘Vous servirez les hommes, dites-vous: mais celui qui fait produire à un terrain une gerbe de blé de plus leur rend un plus grand service que celui qui leur donne un livre.’ (‘Paul et Virginie’, I, 550). Though Aimé-Martin is not explicitly deviating from this philosophy, in an age when education is coming increasingly under scrutiny, he offers a more nuanced ideal of learning for the peasant classes. Indeed, Raymond teaches us that while education of the poor ought to be pertinent to their lifestyle, thus somewhat curbing its potential as an enlightening force, it nonetheless recognises as desirable the spurring on of the lower classes to more elevated thinking.
[540] Raymond, pp. 92-93.
[541] Raymond, p. 94.
[542] Raymond, pp. 96-97.
[543] ‘Paul et Virginie’, I, 532.
[544] Raymond, p. xviii.
[545] Louis Aimé-Martin, ‘Essai sur la vie de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre’, in Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, ed. by Louis Aimé-Martin, 2 vols (Paris: Ledentu, 1840), II, 271.
[546] Raymond, p. xvii.
[547] Raymond, p. xvii.
[548] Répertoire de la correspondance de Lamartine (1807-1829) et lettres inédites, ed. by Christian Croisille and Marie-Renée Morin (Clermont-Ferrand: Nizet, 1997), p. 182.
[549] Lamartine congratulates the author of the Education des mères in a letter believed to date from 29th July 1835: ‘Enfin félicitations pour le Prix, même partagé. Je trouve comme tout le monde que, vu les intrigues et les oppositions, c’est un beau et bon triomphe.’ (Alphonse de Lamartine, Correspondance générale de 1830 à 1848, ed. by Maurice Levaillant, 2 vols (Paris: Droz, 1943), II, 133).
[550] Louis Aimé-Martin, Education des mères de famille ou de la civilisation du genre humain par les femmes, 3rd edn (Paris: Charpentier, 1840), p. 15.
[551] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 17.
[552] Roger Price, A Concise History of France (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), p. 167.
[553] This ‘major law’ refers, of course, to the Loi Guizot. This law, passed on the 28th June 1833, stipulated that any man over the age of eighteen and in receipt of a brevet de capacité could work as a primary school teacher. It also stated that any community of more than 500 inhabitants had a duty to establish a primary school and to employ a teacher to oversee it. The learning to take place in the school should, under the new legislation, comprise religious and moral instruction, reading, writing, numeracy and elements of the French language. Significantly, the Loi Guizot did not specifically address the education of girls.
[554] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 18.
[555] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 18.
[556] Aimé-Martin wrote many articles as well as longer publications intended for the instruction of children. The most famous, excepting the Education, is probably the Etrennes à la jeunesse that first appeared in 1809.
[557] Paris, Ecole Polytechnique (EP), Archives, Registre des fonctionnaires, professeurs et employés (1816-1843), II, p. 22.
[558] Gaston Pinet, ‘L’enseignement littéraire à l’Ecole Polytechnique’, Revue politique et littéraire: Revue Bleue, 26 May 1894, p. 642.
[559] Pinet, p. 642.
[560] Pinet, p. 642.
[561] Pinet, p. 643.
[562] Paris, Archives Nationales (AN), fonds anciens, F/17/1381 Dossier 7.
[563] EP, Archives, Dossier: Cours de Belles-Lettres, 1817-1818, ‘Motifs de changements, 1824’.
[564] While, of course, Aimé-Martin was keen to promote the study of literature for reasons of educational value, we cannot rule out the possibility that his motivations also derived from a desire for personal success. Let us not forget that, while teaching at the Ecole, Aimé-Martin was also trying to carve out a career as an homme de lettres.
[565] A répétiteur was an assistant teacher who would revise with pupils what the professeur had previously taught them.
[566] EP, Archives, ‘Lettres et observations presentés par Aimé-Martin, 1817’.
[567] EP, Archives, ‘Lettre du Duc de Doudeauville’.
[568] Pinet, p. 643.
[569] Aimé-Martin’s relationship with the Catholic Church will be discussed further later in this chapter.
[570] Pinet, p. 643.
[571] Pinet, p. 643.
[572] In his 1837 work, the Plan d’une bibliothèque universelle, Aimé-Martin is still striving to help the nation overcome the obstacles to enlightenment presented by science. He writes, ‘[…] la France meurt faute d’idées générales et de principes communs, elle meurt au pied de l’arbre de la science dont on ne lui présente que les mauvais fruits; elle meurt dans les familles à qui on refuse la vie morale et religieuse […].’ (Louis Aimé-Martin, Plan d’une bibliothèque universelle: Etudes des livres qui peuvent servir à l’histoire littéraire et philosophique du genre humain (Paris: Desrez, 1837), p. 5).
[573] Souriau would make the following comment about the situation at the Institut de France following Bernardin’s well-documented speech to its members in 1795: ‘C’était maintenant à l’Institut, entre Bernardin et le parti des athées, une guerre déclarée, guerre où il fut vaincu non par les raisonnements, mais par le nombre […].’ (Maurice Souriau, Bernardin de Saint-Pierre d’après ses manuscrits (Paris: Société française d’imprimerie et de librairie, 1905), p. 334).
[574] Writing to his friend on 28th June 1830, the mutual excitement of teacher and pupils upon one recital of Lamartine’s poetry is very apparent: ‘Après la leçon, j’ai été environné par tous les élèves! Tous parlaient, admiraient, louaient! J’étais accablé de questions!’ (Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 158).
[575] We learn from the biography by François Grille that, with the change of regime in 1830, Aimé-Martin was to have his salary reduced from 5000 to 1000 ecus (nineteenth-century currency), thus, compelling Aimé-Martin to search for alternative employment. He eventually left the school for a position as conservateur at the Bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève where he remained until his death in 1847. (Francois-Joseph Grille, Miettes littéraires, biographiques et morales livrées au public avec des explications, 3 vols (Paris: Ledoyen, 1853), I, 254).
[576] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 55.
[577] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 99.
[578] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 100.
[579] Pedagogues had been trying to manage effectively children’s learning for centuries. Jean-Baptiste de la Salle was one such figure, producing manuals of etiquette aimed at the betterment of a young audience. His Règles de la bienséance et de la civilité chrétienne was in circulation through the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and was still being re-printed well into the nineteenth.
[580] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 100.
[581] Œuvres de Fénelon, Archevêque de Cambrai, ed. by M. Aimé-Martin, 3 vols (Paris: Didot, 1857), II, 508.
[582] Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, ‘Etude quatorzième’, Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, ed. by Louis Aimé-Martin, 2 vols (Paris: Ledentu, 1840), I, 464.
[583] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 102.
[584] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 107.
[585] ‘Etude quatorzième’, Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, I, 462.
[586] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 110.
[587] In proposing a primary education for ‘toute la France’ and in explicitly incorporating rural communities into his vision, Aimé-Martin set his Education apart from the recent, official legislation of the Loi Guizot. The law of 1833 went as far as to stipulate that towns of over 500 inhabitatants would be responsible for the maintenance of a school and teacher, but the non-specific rhetoric of the Education, replete with plans to roll out learning to ‘toute la France’, infers a much more progressive ideology than that which had inspired Guizot.
[588] Louis Aimé-Martin, ‘De l’enseignement primaire’, Du Bulletin universel, De la société pour la propogation des sciences et de l’industrie, 7 March 1831, p. 7.
[589] Aimé-Martin projects that to, ‘Instruire les jeunes filles, c’est faire une école de chaque maison’. (Education, p. 110).
[590] Aimé-Martin, Du Bulletin universel, p. 1.
[591] This same philosophy is reflected in the dialogue between Paul and the vieillard in Bernardin’s Paul et Virginie. The old man advises Paul thus, ‘Contentez-vous de remplir votre devoir dans l’état où la Providence vous a mis; bénissez votre sort […].’ (‘Paul et Virginie’, Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, I, 550).
[592] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 113.
[593] Aimé-Martin, Du Bulletin universel, p. 2.
[594] It would not be for another two years after the appearance of the Education that France would see a genuine, political move towards the provision of girl’s education in the form of the Loi Pelet. The law was passed in June 1836 and stated that each district provide at least one primary school for girls.
[595] In examining the veritable achievement of the Education the writer, Ferdinand Buisson, ascertains that, ‘Ce livre a le mérite d'avoir [été] hautement revendiqué, au lendemain de la loi de 1833, qui n'avait pas statué sur la question des écoles de filles, la part prépondérante de la femme dans le relèvement des classes populaires et de toutes les classes sociales par l'éducation. “Quand on élève un garçon, disait Jules Simon, en 1867, à la Société pour l'instruction élémentaire, et que d'un ignorant on fait un lettré, qu'est-ce qui en résulte? Il en résulte un lettré. Quand on élève une fille, et que d'une ignorante on fait une lettrée, qu'est-ce qui en résulte? Il en résulte une institutrice, c'est-à-dire qu'au lieu d'avoir enseigné à une fille, vous avez enseigné à toute une famille.” Plus de trente ans avant Jules Simon, Aimé Martin avait développé cette même thèse.’ (Nouveau dictionnaire de pédagogie et de l’instruction primaire, ed. by Ferdinand Buisson (n.p.: n. pub., 1911) [accessed 19 May 2009]).
[596] Industry-specific training was not an original concept. In the mid to late eighteenth century suggestions of work-based schooling were already coming to the fore. We read in the study of the educative system by Philippe Ariès that, in the 1760s in France, ‘[…] there also appeared the modern idea of adapting a child’s studies to his future trade or profession. Cardinal de Bernis wrote in his memoirs: “[…] I should like everyone to be educated according to his station, and in relation to the function he is due to perform in society.ˮ’ (Philippe Ariès, Centuries of Childhood (Middlesex: Penguin, 1973), p. 298).
[597] In Bernardin’s ‘Vœux pour une éducation nationale’ he identifies the study of the natural world as an essential component of any school syllabus, prioritising it above the practically defunct ancient languages of Greek and Latin, as Aimé-Martin would also go on to do. He concludes, ‘On substituera donc à une partie de nos études grammairiennes de l’antiquité, celles des sciences qui nous approchent de Dieu et nous rendent utiles aux hommes, telles que la connaissance du globe, des [sic] ses climats […].’ (Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, I, 710).
[598] Recueil de contes, historiettes morales, en vers et en prose, ed. by Louis Aimé-Martin, 2nd edn, 4 vols (Paris: Pillet Favre, 1811), I, p. iii.
[599] The style of his observation of migratory birds, for example, would later be echoed in the Lettres à Sophie: ‘Aimables enfans de l’air, ils peuplent nos vallons et nos montagnes; chaque prairie, chaque ruisseau, chaque arbre a son musicien: les uns s’élancent dans l’atmosphère comme des flèches rapides; les autres volent en tourbillonnant et en rasant la surface des lacs […].’ (Recueil de contes historiettes morales, en vers et en prose, ed. by Louis Aimé-Martin, 2nd edn (Paris: Demonville, n.d.), pp. 9-10).
[600] Pinet, p. 643.
[601] Pinet, p. 644.
[602] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 34.
[603] ‘Etude treizième’, Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, I, 460.
[604] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 88.
[605] James F. McMillan, France and Women 1789-1914: Gender, Society and Politics (London and New York: Routledge, 2000), p. 50.
[606] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 83.
[607] This noted, the father’s role was still comparatively remote when considered alongside that of the mother. In Aimé-Martin’s vision the father has no active part to play in the education of his daughter, making his concept of the family dynamic not that dissimilar to the one proffered by Louis-François Jauffret in his Les charmes de l’enfance, et les plaisirs de l’amour maternel. In his account of ‘La jouissance paternel’, he describes the scene after a father, having been approached by one of his children, re-directs that child to its mother, ‘Ah! Qui pourroit peindre leur touchante entrevue? Millefois la bonne mère presse l’aimable fils contre son sein, et couvre de deux baisers son beau visage. De loin, le père partagea leur félicité; de loin, il contempla le plus attendrissant de tous les spectacles, et ses yeux se mouillèrent de larmes de joie.’ (Louis-François Jauffret, Les charmes de l’enfance, et les plaisirs de l’amour maternel (Paris: Didot jeune, 1796), p. 78).
[608] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 96.
[609] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 44.
[610] Hannah More, ‘Strictures on the Modern System of Female Education’, in Women in the eighteenth century: Constructions of femininity, ed. by Vivien Jones (London and New York: Routledge, 1990), pp. 131-139 (p. 137).
[611] Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Émile ou de l’éducation, ed. by J.-L. Lecercle (Paris: Editions sociales, 1958), p. 233.
[612] Curiously, Aimé-Martin never provides the sort of detail about the articles of woman’s education that can be gleaned from a reading of Fénelon or Rousseau, for example. Nevertheless, his intentions for womankind as an inspiring, instructional force in their children’s lives and as the central pivot of home life, impress upon the reader the necessity for women’s practical learning.
[613] Jean-Jacques Rousseau, p. 219.
[614] Madame de Genlis, Adèle et Théodore ou Lettres sur l’éducation, 6th edn, 4 vols (Paris: Lecointe et Durey, 1827), I, 74-75.
[615] In Bernardin’s ‘Discours sur l’éducation des femmes’, he asserts that, ‘Il faut donc bannir de la conversation les satires, les épigrammes, les anecdotes malignes et si piquantes.’ (Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, II, 466).
[616] Vera Lee, The Reign of Women in Eighteenth-century France (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Schenkman, 1975), pp. 70-71.
[617] François-Joseph Grille, Lettre à M. Aimé-Martin, sur MM. Suard et Delambre et sur la réorganisation de l’institut, en 1816 (Paris: Bibliothèque Royale, 1848), p. 2.
[618] Aimé-Martin, Education, pp. 76-77.
[619] Jean-Jacques Rousseau, p. 223.
[620] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 111.
[621] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 87.
[622] Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, ‘Discours sur l’éducation des femmes’, Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, II, 468.
[623] Jean-Jacques Rousseau, p. 220.
[624] Vivien Jones, ‘Education’, in Women in the eighteenth century: Constructions of femininity, ed. by Vivien Jones, pp. 98-101 (p. 99).
[625] Aimé-Martin, Education, pp. 310-311.
[626] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 311.
[627] ‘Etude quatorzième’, Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, I, p. 477.
[628] McMillan, p. 55.
[629] Jean-Jacques Rousseau, p. 230.
[630] Aimé-Martin, Education, pp. 63-64.
[631] Jean-Jacques Rosseau, p. 242.
[632] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 40.
[633] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 70.
[634] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 69.
[635] Hazel Mills, ‘Negotiating the Divide: Women, Philanthropy and the ‘Public Sphere’ in Nineteenth-Century France’, in Religion, Society and Politics in France since 1789, ed. by Frank Tallett and Nicholas Atkin (London: The Hambledon Press, 1999), pp. 29-54 (p. 30).
[636] Laclos, Œuvres complètes, ed. by Laurent Versini (Dijon: Gallimard, 1979), p. 419.
[637] Aimé-Martin notes in his Education that, in the past, the father has always been portrayed as a ruthless figure.
[638] Taken from the following quotation.
[639] ‘Discours sur l’éducation des femmes’, Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, II, 464.
[640] Moralistes anciens, ed. by L. Aimé-Martin (Paris: Lefèvre, 1840), p. 566.
[641] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 26.
[642] Jean-Jacques Rousseau, p. 230.
[643] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 23.
[644] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 26.
[645] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 200.
[646] Fénelon also held the view of the importance of the earliest possible education for the young. In his De l’éducation des filles he asserts that, ‘Les premières images gravées pendant que le cerveau est encore mou, et que rien n’y est écrit, sont les plus profondes.’ (Œuvres de Fénelon, ed. by M. Aimé-Martin, 3 vols (Paris: Didot, 1857), II, 478).
[647] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 34.
[648] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 80.
[649] Aimé-Martin, Education, pp. 71-72.
[650] Madame de Genlis, I, pp. xvii-xviii.
[651] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. iii.
[652] In the Introduction to the Education, Aimé-Martin ascertains that, ‘dans les hameaux, il n’y a plus que les femmes qui aillent à l’église.’ (p. 9).
[653] Le Comte de Resie, Du Catholicisme et de l’enseignement universitaire (Paris: Jacques Lecoffre, 1846), p. 63.
[654] Aimé-Martin, Education, pp. 77-78.
[655] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 4.
[656] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. viii.
[657] Mme La Baronne de Staël-Holstein, Portrait d’Attila, ed. by Louis Aimé-Martin (Paris: La Librairie Stéréotype, 1814), p. 21.
[658] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 446.
[659] Resie, p. 5.
[660] Resie, p. 7.
[661] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 453.
[662] Louis Barthou, ‘Lettres de Lamartine à Aimé Martin’, La Revue de Paris, 5 (1925), 741-761 (p. 754).
[663] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 448.
[664] Louis-Aimé-Martin, ‘Esquisse d’une philosophie, par M. de Lamennais’, Journal des débats politiques et littéraires, 7 September 1841, p. 3.
[665] Resie, p. 13.
[666] Resie, p. 52.
[667] Louis Aimé-Martin, Examen critique des Réflexions ou sentences et maximes de La Rochefoucauld (n.p.: n. pub., 1822), p. 28.
[668] Jules Michelet, the anti-clerical historian.
[669] In his article Resie notes that Michelet seeks to stigmatise the act of confession by observing that it cultivates intimate relations between the priest and family members, eventually creating an emotional and spiritual gulf between husband and wife.
[670] Aimé-Martin, Education, pp. 458-459.
[671] Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 448.
[672] Resie, p. 38.
[673] Corinthians 1. 32-34.
[674] Resie, p. 55.
[675] That said, where parallels can be drawn between Aimé-Martin and his predecessors, we can often observe discrepancies that distinguish him as a relatively more liberal thinker. One such instance is in the comparison of Bernardin and Aimé-Martin in their intention to open up learning to a wider public. When, during his post as intendant of the Jardin royal, Bernardin proposes to enrich the garden for the people of Paris by transporting there artefacts from their remote and exclusive location at Versailles, his projected ‘public’ is clearly that same, already-educated cohort for whom he ordinarily writes. Bernardin wishes to bring culture to Parisian society but his educative designs, neither here nor in his literary work, do not extend to the poorest classes. Aimé-Martin, conversely, both in the Education and elsewhere, is clearly preoccupied with instigating change that would markedly impact on the lowest of classes. His staunch belief in improving the moral make-up of a community in starting with fundamental, educative change from below sets Aimé-Martin apart from those eighteenth-century philosophers who conceived of education as a purely middle-class enterprise.
[676] The tale of ‘La Chatte blanche’, for example, recounts the story of a beautiful princess, transformed into a small, white cat, and imprisoned in a tower. The cat-princess is only released from the spell once discovered by a prince, thus identifying her as a passive figure, reliant upon man for her salvation. (See ‘La Chatte blanche’, in Contes merveilleux dédiés aux mères et aux filles par Mmes D’Aulnay, Villeneuve, L’Héritier […], ed. by L. Aimé-Martin, 4 vols (Paris: Nicolle, 1814), I, 5-87).
[677] Such ends might be attained through the introduction of a female-oriented ‘instruction intermédiaire’ or through the more active involvement of the father in his daughter’s education.
[678] Harvard, Houghton Library, MS Fr 382 (2).
[679] In a letter to Lamartine in 1841, Aimé-Martin comments to his friend of the continued success of the Education, ‘Il paraît donc que l’ouvrage va son train malgré les prêtres, les bigots et les philosophistes’, thus, alluding to the feeling of resistance to his ideology amongst those from more traditional schools of thought. (Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 195).
[680] Not only was the Education being translated into other languages, it was also spawning new-age deliberations throughout the anglophone world, as far afield as America. We discover that, ‘Marion […] Reid […] wrote an impassioned tract for women’s rights, A Plea for Women, in answer to Sarah Lewis’s Woman’s Mission (1839). An adaptation and translation of Rousseau’s disciple Louis Aimé-Martin, Woman’s Mission was a popular and influential treatise defining woman’s moral superiority and her special duties; Lewis thus embraced the ideology of “separate spheres”. […] Marion Reid answered Lewis in terms of equal rights; she called for women’s right to gain financial independence and to have political equality by means of the vote.’ (Margaret McFadden, Golden cables of sympathy: the transatlantic sources of nineteenth-century feminism (Kentucky: University Press of Kentucky, 1999), p. 20).
[681] Aimé-Martin, Education, pp. 476-477.
[682] Aimé-Martin having entrusted mothers with certain educative duties in his Education, this perhaps negates the requirement for his friend, Lamartine, to address the mother’s role and contribution in his own work.
[683] Alphonse de Lamartine, ‘L’Etat, l’église et l’enseignement’, in Œuvres de M. A De Lamartine: Tribune de M. De Lamartine ou Études oratoires ou politiques, 14 vols (Paris: Didot, 1849), II, pp. 128-171 (p. 171).
[684] Catalogue d’Autographes de la collection de M. Van Sloppen, ed. by Aimé-Martin (Paris: R. Merlin, 1843), pp. 1-2.
[685] In Sainte-Beuve’s Correspondance générale there is included one letter addressed to Aimé-Martin that reads, ‘Monsieur, J’ai à la fois le regret de ne vous avoir pas vu le jour où vous avez pris la peine de passer chez moi et de ne pouvoir accepter votre aimable invitation de jeudi. Je dois dîner chez M. Crémieux.’ (Charles-Augustin Sainte-Beuve, Correspondance générale, ed. by Jean Bonnerot, 19 vols (Paris: Stock, 1935), I, 426).
[686] See the earlier chapter on Aimé-Martin’s role as editor for examples of his argument regarding the relationship between an author’s biography and his literary output.
[687] The philosophy of which would later be contested by Marcel Proust, followed by Roland Barthes some fifty years on.
[688] Charles-Augustin Sainte-Beuve, Nouveaux Lundis, 4th edn, 13 vols (Paris: Calmann Lévy, 1884), III, 15.
[689] In the biography by François-Joseph Grille he informs us that, ‘J’ai d['][Aimé-Martin] et de sa femme beaucoup de lettres que je publierais si j’avais un éditeur.’ (François-Joseph Grille, Miettes littéraires, biographiques et morales livrées au public avec les explications, 3 vols (Paris: Ledoyen, 1853), I, 251). We do not know whether this correspondence constitutes those same letters we have examined as part of this study or whether they now belong to a private collector.
[690] These include Désirée de Saint-Pierre, the widow of his mentor and his future wife.
[691] Henri de Lacretelle, Lamartine et ses amis (Paris: Maurice Dreyfous, n.d.), p. 11.
[692] Marius-François Guyard, ‘Lamartine et “Paul et Virginie” ’, Revue d’Histoire Littéraire de la France: Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, 5 (1989), 891-99 (p. 891).
[693] Lamartine informs us that, ‘On allait le voir avec enthousiasme lutter avantageusement avec la première épée de Paris. […]. Ce fut dans ces joutes que je fis connaissance avec lui.’ (M. de Lamartine, Cours familier de littérature: Un entretien par mois, 28 vols (Paris: Chez l’auteur, 1868), XXV, p. 31).
[694] Louis Barthou, ‘Lamartine et Aimé Martin’, Revue de Paris, 5 (1925), 481-489 (p. 484).
[695] See, above all, the introduction to the chapter entitled, ‘Un correspondant privilégié de Lamartine: Louis Aimé-Martin’ in Répertoire de la correspondance de Lamartine (1807-1829) et lettres inédites, ed. by Christian Croisille and Marie-Renée Morin (Clermont-Ferrand: Nizet, 1997), pp. 147-151.
[696] One of the early Romantic writers. He shared Aimé-Martin’s interest in natural history as well as his royalist sentiments.
[697] An economist by profession, Jules Lechevalier had published several works on social science.
[698] Eventually published, in part, in 1830.
[699] Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 169.
[700] Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 170.
[701] Lamartine, unlike Aimé-Martin, could not appreciate the motivations for the newspaper’s refusal to publish some of his more controversial material. He writes with regard to the reluctance of the Débats to accept his three articles entitled De la Reconstitution des 221: ‘Comment un journal comme les Débats ne s’élève-t-il pas au-dessus des petites considérations qui tuent les grandes?’. (Correspondance d’Alphonse de Lamartine, ed. by Christian Croisille with Marie-Renée Morin, 7 vols (Paris: Champion, 2001), III, 339).
[702] In that it ostensibly sided with the ultra-royalists of the preceding regime.
[703] La Revue de Paris, 741-761, (p. 745).
[704] The Journal des Débats would only venture as far as advertising Lamartine’s Contre la peine de mort.
[705] Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 170.
[706] Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 170.
[707] Lamartine’s political position is difficult to establish in spite of his headship of the provisional government of 1848. The poet-politician hailed from an aristocratic, provincial background that bought him favour with Royalists, while his adopting of liberal views secured his popularity with Socialists. It is interesting that, while defined as a Republican by the time of his presidency of the Second Republic, Lamartine was forever loathe to stipulate his political affiliations, preaching a philosophy of brotherhood and remaining largely independent of governmental parties. Even his Histoire des Girondins, published in 1847, the year of Aimé-Martin’s death, did little to determine his political alliances, with one biographer observing the many possible readings offered by it: ‘The most curious readers were students of the political scene, but they had difficulty in pinpointing the exact position of the poet-politician. While commending the underlying principles of the revolution, Lamartine deplored its attendant bloodshed. Louis XVI, a symbol of basic faults of the monarchy, appeared to be an innocent bystander. With the variety of opinions inserted by Lamartine, readers could choose their own interpretation according to their convictions – Monarchist, Republican, or Socialist.’ (Charles M. Lombard, Lamartine (New York: Twayne, 1973), p. 56). The ambivalent nature of Lamartine’s political philosophy meant that he could reasonably sympathise with Aimé-Martin’s often more right-wing views without compromising his own beliefs.
[708] Louis Aimé-Martin, Réponse à la lettre d’un français au Roi (Paris: Nicolle, 1815), p. 6.
[709] Réponse à la lettre, p. 7.
[710] Let us not forget that Bernardin was wont to adapt his doctrine to suit the political leader of the day.
[711] Réponse à la lettre, p. 9.
[712] Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 172.
[713] Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 199.
[714] Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 172.
[715] Letter to ‘Monsieur Fabien Pillet, homme de lettres’ signed by Louis Aimé-Martin, from a private collection. Undated, though likely to have been written sometime between 1810-1811 in the months preceding the publication of the Lettres à Sophie.
[716] In the preface to the Lettres à Sophie, Aimé-Martin alludes to various politically-motivated features of his work, as for example when he writes, ‘[La lettre] sur le génie de l’homme est augmentée de moitié, ainsi que celle sur l’influence des bruits du vent, que j’ai terminée par un hommage aux victimes illustres du siége de Lyon.’ (L. Aimé-Martin, Lettres à Sophie sur la physique, la chimie et l’histoire naturelle, rev. edn, 4 vols (Paris: Gosselin, 1822), I, pp. vi-vii). Aimé-Martin refers here to the siege of Lyon that took place in the spring of 1793, when the city’s people were beleaguered by the Armée des Alpes. Paying homage to the victims of the incident would have been particularly controversial during the time of the Empire since many of those killed were liberal royalists.
[717] Letter from Lamartine to Désirée, written 7 December 1842. (Croisille with Morin, Correspondance, IV, 153).
[718] Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 189.
[719] Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 190.
[720] Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, pp. 196-197.
[721] Lamartine was, of course, already active in politics at this stage, but Aimé-Martin, who idolised his friend, always anticipated bigger and better things for him.
[722] François-Joseph Grille, Lettre à M. Aimé-Martin, sur MM. Suard et Delambre et sur la réorgaisation de l’institut, en 1816 (Paris: Bibliothèque Royale, 1848), p. 33.
[723] Croisille with Morin, Correspondance, IV, 35.
[724] Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 194.
[725] In 1832 Aimé-Martin expresses such notions about his forthcoming Education des mères in a letter to his friend: ‘Je ne sais si je me trompe, mais il me semble que mon livre serait utile à mon pays, et, avec cette pensée, je ne quitterais pas la vie sans regret.’ (Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 177).
[726] La Revue de Paris, 741-761 (p. 755).
[727] Writing to Lamartine, he laments Byron’s death: ‘Ce pauvre Lord Byron, sa mort m’a touché vivement. À une telle âme, il faut l’immortalité, l’immensité, et un infini de bonheur!’ (Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 175).
[728] After a trip to Germany where Aimé-Martin comes to observe the splendour of a landscape pleasingly different to that of his native France, he tells his friend, ‘Maintenant me voici à Berlin, loin des utopies. J’ai quitté des bergers pour des soldats, les jardins pour les manufactures, l’idéal pour le positif.’ (Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 184).
[729] In one letter from Lamartine to Aimé-Martin we learn that the latter has been lending money: ‘Puisque vous pouvez me prêter les 2000 francs, envoyez-les pour moi chez M. Durant […].’ (La Revue de Paris, 490-505 (p. 504)). This is one of many instances where Lamartine would request substantial loans from his friend.
[730] Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 182.
[731] In his Education des mères Aimé-Martin eulogises about the harmony to be found in married life: ‘L’homme, heureux par sa compagne, sent croître ses facultés avec ses devoirs; il administre les affaires du dehors, participe aux charges du citoyen, cultive ses terres […]. La femme, plus retirée, préside à l’arrangement de la maison; elle y règne sur son mari, elle y répand la joie au milieu de l’ordre et de l’abondance […].’ (L. Aimé-Martin, Education des mères de famille, 2nd edn (Paris: Desrez, 1838), p. 22).
[732] Alphonse de Lamartine, Correspondance générale de 1830 à 1848, ed. by Maurice Levaillant, 2 vols (Paris: Droz, 1943), II, 70.
[733] In the letter to Fabien Pillet (previously cited) he asks, ‘Si vous voyez que l’episode de Gottin fait ce qu’on a fait de meilleur sur ce sujet faites moi l’amitié de le dire. C’était l’avis de Mr Delille et c’est celui de Sr victor […].’
[734] In light of the growing trend for collecting manuscripts attributed to famous authors, Aimé-Martin sees fit to advertise his own collection: ‘Le goût des autographes a fait, dans ces derniers temps, en France, d’immenses progrès. […] A côté de ces brillantes archives oserai-je mentionner ma modeste collection?’ (M. A. Martin, Catalogue d’autographes provenant Du Cabinet de M. A. Martin (Paris: R. Merlin, 1842), p. 3).
[735] Also in the letter to Fabien Pillet.
[736] Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 201.
[737] He writes to Désirée in 1821: ‘Tout va bien sauf la phrase qui peut devenir très bonne en devenant claire.’ (Harvard, Houghton Library, MS Fr 382 (3)).
[738] Désirée informs ‘Docteur Godard’ that: ‘[…] mon mari est toujours un peu languissant[,] il est vrai qu’il travaille comme quatre et vouloir l’en empecher, ce seroit un sourd precher.’ (Extract from an undated letter from a private collection).
[739] He instructs Désirée thus: ‘Je vais travailler à La Rochefoucauld [.] prenez notes des pensées 20-28-44-55 et 64- je crois qu[']elles sont dignes de vos observations et vous les avez oubliées.’ (Houghton, MS Fr 382 (3)).
[740] Croisille with Morin, Correspondance, IV, 250-251.
[741] Croisille with Morin, Correspondance, IV, 251.
[742] Croisille with Morin, Correspondance, III, 128.
[743] Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 192.
[744] La Revue de Paris, 741-761, (p. 746).
[745] François-Joseph Grille informs us that, ‘Il eut l’héritage de son vieux et vénérable père, qu’il avait si bien soigné, mais qui mourut enfin.’ (Miettes littéraires, I, 255-256).
[746] Aimé-Martin, who surely enjoyed a more affluent lifestyle and better financial stability than many of those who would seek assistance from him, was not immune to monetary troubles, confessing to Lamartine in 1843 that: ‘Mon déménagement m’a ruiné: je suis en arriéré de 6 000 f. et il est très difficile de les gagner. Ma présence est donc indispensable ici. J’attends quelque entreprise de librairie qui me tire d’embarras.’ (Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 200). At such times it is likely that Aimé-Martin’s philanthropic activity would have dried up.
[747] From a letter (one of a private collection) dated ‘26 juin 1847’ and addressed to ‘Mon cher Docteur’.
[748] Levaillant, I, 77.
[749] Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 155.
[750] Extract from a letter to Mr Charles, undated. (From a private collection).
[751] Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 156.
[752] Levaillant, II, 242.
[753] Houghton, MS Fr 382 (3)
[754] Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 159.
[755] Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 158.
[756] As highlighted in the preceding chapter.
[757] La Revue de Paris, 741-761, (p. 750).
[758] In the event of his mother’s death in 1834, Aimé-Martin turns to God for comfort: ‘J’ai versé bien des larmes, mais j’ai éprouvé l’efficacité de la prière, et jamais je n’ai mieux compris comment notre âme peut s’approcher de Dieu que depuis cette grande douleur.’ (Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 180).
[759] Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, pp. 192-193.
[760] Croisille with Morin, Correspondance, IV, 138.
[761] As already noted in the previous chapter, on the 28th June 1833, François Guizot, the then Minister of Education, established laws on the organisation of a primary education system, attesting to reforming attitudes in respect of the nation’s instruction.
[762] Lamartine, who in 1843 accomplishes his L’Etat, l’Eglise, l’Enseignement, tells Aimé-Martin in 1844: ‘Vos idées sur l’éducation, l’envahissement du clergé sont les miennes.’ (Croisille with Morin, Correspondance, II, 485).
[763] Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 201.
[764] Paris, Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal, MS fonds anciens 15050/71.
[765] Undated letter to Madame de Lamartine, signed ‘A.M.’ [Désirée], from a private collection.
[766] Houghton, MS Fr 382 (3).
[767] In one letter Aimé-Martin resolves never to see Désirée again, having listened to her ‘declaration’: ‘Si Madame de St Pierre a qque chose à me dire elle peut venir un instant. Je la recevrai avec plaisir. quant à moi, après sa declaration d’hier soir je suis bien décidé a ne plus remettre les pieds chez elle, et a ne plus l[']embarrasser de ma presence.’ (Houghton, MS Fr 382 (3)).
[768] Excerpt of a letter to Lamartine. (Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 178).
[769] He tells Désirée: ‘il y a dans la quotidienne un article sur Ben de St Pierre.-lisez jugez.’ (Houghton, MS Fr 382 (3)).
[770] Houghton, MS Fr 382 (3).
[771] Alphonse de Lamartine, ‘Discours prononcé sur la tombe d’Aimé Martin’ in La France Parlementaire (1834-1851), ed. by Louis Ulbach, 6 vols (Paris: Lacroix, Verboeckhoven, 1865), V, 24-26 (p. 25).
[772] Alphonse de Lamartine, ‘Discours prononcé sur la tombe d’Aimé Martin’ in La France Parlementaire (1834-1851), ed. by Louis Ulbach, 6 vols (Paris: Lacroix, Verboeckhoven, 1865), V, 24-26 (p. 25).
[773] Barbara Johnson, ‘The Lady in the Lake’, in A New History of French Literature, ed. by Denis Hollier and others (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1989), pp. 627-632 (p. 628).
[774] I refer to Aimé-Martin’s involvement in the somewhat protracted publication of Contre la peine de mort (1830) and the inspiration given by him to Lamartine’s L’Etat, l’Eglise, l’Enseignement (1843).
[775] Late in 1830, Lamartine writes to Aimé-Martin, who is in the midst of making corrections to a final copy of Contre la peine de mort, advising him that, ‘J’aimerais à voir l’épreuve à cause des distances et des ponctuations, si importantes en poésie. Mais si le temps matériel n’y est pas, suppléez vous-même à mon coup d’œil.’ (Louis Barthou, ‘Lettres de Lamartine à Aimé Martin’, La Revue de Paris, 5 (1925), 741-761 (p. 744)). The instruction makes plain Lamartine’s faith in Aimé-Martin’s ability.
[776] In the collection of letters edited by Christian Croisille and Marie-Renée Morin, we read of Aimé-Martin’s contribution to Lamartine’s Histoire des Girondins (1847). ‘[…] les lettres que Lamartine […] adresse [à Aimé-Martin] entre 1842 et sa mort en 1847 sont d’une grande importance pour nous […]. D’abord parce qu’elles coïncident avec la rédaction de l’Histoire des Girondins, dans la genèse de laquelle Aimé-Martin a joué au départ, un peu par hasard, un rôle déterminant.’ (Correspondance d’Alphonse de Lamartine, ed. by Christian Croisille with Marie-Renée Morin, 7 vols (Paris: Champion, 2001), III, 714).
[777] Malcolm Cook, in the biography Bernardin de Saint-Pierre: A Life of Culture, highlights Souriau’s sometimes unjustified objections to Aimé-Martin’s transcription of Bernardin’s work. See in particular the ‘Introduction’ to the biography (pp. 1-7). (Malcolm Cook, Bernardin de Saint-Pierre: A Life of Culture (London: Legenda, 2006)).
[778] La France parlementaire, V, 24-26 (p. 25).
[779]Répertoire de la correspondance de Lamartine (1807-1829) et lettres inédites, ed. by Christian Croisille and Marie-Renée Morin (Clermont-Ferrand: Nizet, 1997), pp. 194-95.
[780] And, this, just one of several problematic or impracticable proposals.
[781] Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 149.
[782] Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 177.
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