louis lambert-第12章

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of　brain；　genius；　the　man　of　heart；　faith。　But；〃　he　added　sadly；
〃faith　sees　only　the　clouds　of　the　sanctuary；　the　Angel　alone　has
light。〃

So；　according　to　his　own　definitions；　Lambert　was　all　brain　and　all
heart。　It　seems　to　me　that　his　intellectual　life　was　divided　into
three　marked　phases。

Under　the　impulsion；　from　his　earliest　years；　of　a　precocious
activity；　due；　no　doubt；　to　some　maladyor　to　some　special　perfection
of　organism；　his　powers　were　concentrated　on　the　functions　of　the
inner　senses　and　a　superabundant　flow　of　nerve…　fluid。　As　a　man　of
ideas；　he　craved　to　satisfy　the　thirst　of　his　brain；　to　assimilate
every　idea。　Hence　his　reading；　and　from　his　reading；　the　reflections
that　gave　him　the　power　of　reducing　things　to　their　simplest
expression；　and　of　absorbing　them　to　study　them　in　their　essence。
Thus；　the　advantages　of　this　splendid　stage；　acquired　by　other　men
only　after　long　study；　were　achieved　by　Lambert　during　his　bodily
childhood：　a　happy　childhood；　colored　by　the　studious　joys　of　a　born
poet。

The　point　which　most　thinkers　reach　at　last　was　to　him　the　starting…
point；　whence　his　brain　was　to　set　out　one　day　in　search　of　new　worlds
of　knowledge。　Though　as　yet　he　knew　it　not；　he　had　made　for　himself
the　most　exacting　life　possible；　and　the　most　insatiably　greedy。
Merely　to　live；　was　he　not　compelled　to　be　perpetually　casting
nutriment　into　the　gulf　he　had　opened　in　himself？　Like　some　beings　who
dwell　in　the　grosser　world；　might　not　he　die　of　inanition　for　want　of
feeding　abnormal　and　disappointed　cravings？　Was　not　this　a　sort　of
debauchery　of　the　intellect　which　might　lead　to　spontaneous
combustion；　like　that　of　bodies　saturated　with　alcohol？

I　had　seen　nothing　of　this　first　phase　of　his　brain…development；　it　is
only　now；　at　a　later　day；　that　I　can　thus　give　an　account　of　its
prodigious　fruit　and　results。　Lambert　was　now　thirteen。

I　was　so　fortunate　as　to　witness　the　first　stage　of　the　second　period。
Lambert　was　cast　into　all　the　miseries　of　school…lifeand　that；
perhaps；　was　his　salvationit　absorbed　the　superabundance　of　his
thoughts。　After　passing　from　concrete　ideas　to　their　purest
expression；　from　words　to　their　ideal　import；　and　from　that　import　to
principles；　after　reducing　everything　to　the　abstract；　to　enable　him
to　live　he　yearned　for　yet　other　intellectual　creations。　Quelled　by
the　woes　of　school　and　the　critical　development　of　his　physical
constitution；　he　became　thoughtful；　dreamed　of　feeling；　and　caught　a
glimpse　of　new　sciencespositively　masses　of　ideas。　Checked　in　his
career；　and　not　yet　strong　enough　to　contemplate　the　higher　spheres；
he　contemplated　his　inmost　self。　I　then　perceived　in　him　the　struggle
of　the　Mind　reacting　on　itself；　and　trying　to　detect　the　secrets　of
its　own　nature；　like　a　physician　who　watches　the　course　of　his　own
disease。

At　this　stage　of　weakness　and　strength；　of　childish　grace　and
superhuman　powers；　Louis　Lambert　is　the　creature　who；　more　than　any
other；　gave　me　a　poetical　and　truthful　image　of　the　being　we　call　an
angel；　always　excepting　one　woman　whose　name；　whose　features；　whose
identity；　and　whose　life　I　would　fain　hide　from　all　the　world；　so　as
to　be　sole　master　of　the　secret　of　her　existence；　and　to　bury　it　in
the　depths　of　my　heart。



The　third　phase　I　was　not　destined　to　see。　It　began　when　Lambert　and　I
were　parted；　for　he　did　not　leave　college　till　he　was　eighteen；　in　the
summer　of　1815。　He　had　at　that　time　lost　his　father　and　mother　about
six　months　before。　Finding　no　member　of　his　family　with　whom　his　soul
could　sympathize；　expansive　still；　but；　since　our　parting；　thrown　back
on　himself；　he　made　his　home　with　his　uncle；　who　was　also　his
guardian；　and　who；　having　been　turned　out　of　his　benefice　as　a　priest
who　had　taken　the　oaths；　had　come　to　settle　at　Blois。　There　Louis
lived　for　some　time；　but　consumed　ere　long　by　the　desire　to　finish　his
incomplete　studies；　he　came　to　Paris　to　see　Madame　de　Stael；　and　to
drink　of　science　at　its　highest　fount。　The　old　priest；　being　very　fond
of　his　nephew；　left　Louis　free　to　spend　his　whole　little　inheritance
in　his　three　years'　stay　in　Paris；　though　he　lived　very　poorly。　This
fortune　consisted　of　but　a　few　thousand　francs。

Lambert　returned　to　Blois　at　the　beginning　of　1820；　driven　from　Paris
by　the　sufferings　to　which　the　impecunious　are　exposed　there。　He　must
often　have　been　a　victim　to　the　secret　storms；　the　terrible　rage　of
mind　by　which　artists　are　tossed　to　judge　from　the　only　fact　his　uncle
recollected；　and　the　only　letter　he　preserved　of　all　those　which　Louis
Lambert　wrote　to　him　at　that　time；　perhaps　because　it　was　the　last　and
the　longest。

To　begin　with　the　story。　Louis　one　evening　was　at　the　Theatre…
Francais；　seated　on　a　bench　in　the　upper　gallery；　near　to　one　of　the
pillars　which；　in　those　days；　divided　off　the　third　row　of　boxes。　On
rising　between　the　acts；　he　saw　a　young　woman　who　had　just　come　into
the　box　next　him。　The　sight　of　this　lady；　who　was　young；　pretty；　well
dressed；　in　a　low　bodice　no　doubt；　and　escorted　by　a　man　for　whom　her
face　beamed　with　all　the　charms　of　love；　produced　such　a　terrible
effect　on　Lambert's　soul　and　senses；　that　he　was　obliged　to　leave　the
theatre。　If　he　had　not　been　controlled　by　some　remaining　glimmer　of
reason；　which　was　not　wholly　extinguished　by　this　first　fever　of
burning　passion；　he　might　perhaps　have　yielded　to　the　most
irresistible　desire　that　came　over　him　to　kill　the　young　man　on　whom
the　lady's　looks　beamed。　Was　not　this　a　reversion；　in　the　heart　of　the
Paris　world；　to　the　savage　passion　that　regards　women　as　its　prey；　an
effect　of　animal　instinct　combining　with　the　almost　luminous　flashes
of　a　soul　crushed　under　the　weight　of　thought？　In　short；　was　it　not
the　prick　of　the　penknife　so　vividly　imagined　by　the　boy；　felt　by　the
man　as　the　thunderbolt　of　his　most　vital　cravingfor　love？

And　now；　here　is　the　letter　that　depicts　the　state　of　his　mind　as　it
was　struck　by　the　spectacle　of　Parisian　civilization。　His　feelings；
perpetually　wounded　no　doubt　in　that　whirlpool　of　self…interest；　must
always　have　suffered　there；　he　probably　had　no　friend　to　comfort　him；
no　enemy　to　give　tone　to　this　life。　Compelled　to　live　in　himself
alone；　having　no　one　to　share　his　subtle　raptures；　he　may　have　hoped
to　solve　the　problem　of　his　destiny　by　a　life　of　ecstasy；　adopting　an
almost　vegetative　attitude；　like　an　anchorite　of　the　early　Church；　and
abdicating　the　empire　of　the　intellectual　world。

This　letter　seems　to　hint　at　such　a　scheme；　which　is　a　temptation　to
all　lofty　souls　at　periods　of　social　reform。　But　is　not　this　purpose；
in　some　cases；　the　result　of　a　vocation？　Do　not　some　of　them　endeavor
to　concentrate　their　powers　by　long　silence；　so　as　to　emerge　fully
capable　of　governing　the　world　by　word　or　by　deed？　Louis　must；
assuredly；　have　found　much　bitterness　in　his　intercourse　with　men；　or
have　striven　hard　with　Society　in　terrible　irony；　without　extracting
anything　from　it；　before　uttering　so　strident　a　cry；　and　expressing；
poor　fellow；　the　desire　which　satiety　of　power　and　of　all　earthly
things　has　led　even　monarchs　to　indulge！

And　perhaps；　too；　he　went　back　to　solitude　to　carry　out　some　great
work　that　was　floating　inchoate　in　his　brain。　We　would　gladly　believe
it　as　we　read　this　fragment　of　his　thoughts；　betraying　the　struggle　of
his　soul　at　the　time　when　youth　was　ending　and　the　terrible　power　of
production　was　coming　into　being；　to　which　we　might　have　owed　the
works　of　the　man。

This　letter　connects　itself　with　the　adventure　at　the　theatre。　The
incident　and　the　letter　throw　light　on　each　other；　body　and　soul　were
tuned　to　the　same　pitch。　This　tempest　of　doubts　and　asseverations；　of
clouds　and　of　lightnings　that　flash　before　the　thunder；　ending　by　a
starved　yearning　for　heavenly　illumination；　throws　such　a　light　on　the
third　phase　of　his　education　as　enables　us　to　understand　it　perfectly。
As　we　read　these　lines；　written　at　chance　moments；　taken　up　when　the
vicissitudes　of　life　in　Paris　allowed；　may　we　not　fancy　that　we　see　an
oak　at　that　stage　of　its　growth　when　its　inner　expansion　bursts　the
tender　green　bark；　covering　it　with　wrinkles　and　cracks；　when　its
majestic　stature　is　in　preparationif　indeed　the　lightnings　of　heaven
and　the　axe　of　man　shall　spare　it？

This　letter；　then；　will　close；　alike　for　the　poet　and　the　philosopher；
this　portentous　childhood　and　unappreciated　youth。　It　finishes　off　the
outline　of　this　nature　in　its　germ。　Philosophers　will　regret　the
foliage　frost…nipped　in　the　bud；　but　they　will；　perhaps；　find　the
flowers　expanding　in　regions　far　above　the　highest　places　of　the
earth。



〃PARIS；　September…October　1819。

　　〃DEAR　UNCLE；I　shall　soon　be　leaving　this　part　of　the　world；
　　where　I　could　never　bear　to　live。　I　find　no　one　here　who　likes
　　what　I　like；　who　works　at　my　work；　or　is　amazed　at　what　amazes　me。
　　Thrown　back　on　myself；　I　eat　my　heart　out　in　misery。　My　long　and
　　patient　study　of　Society　here　has　brought　me　to　melancholy
　　conclusions；　in　which　doubt　predominates。

　　〃Here；　money　is　the　mainspring　of　everything。　Money　is
　　indispensable；　even　for　going　without　money。　But　though　that　dross
　　is　necessary　to　any　one　who　wishes　to　think　in　peace；　I　have　not
　　courage　enough　to　make　it　the　sole　motive　power　of　my　thoughts。　To
　　make　a　fortune；　I　must　take　up　a　profession；　in　two　words；　I　must；
　　by　acquiring　some　privilege　of　position　or　of　self…advertisement；　
　　either　legal　or　ingeniously　contrived；　purchase　the　right　of
　　taking　day　by　day　out　of　somebody　else's　purse　a　certain　sum
　　which；　by　the　end　of　the　year；　would　amount　to　a　small　capital；
　　and　this；　in　twenty　years；　would　hardly　secure　an　income　of　four
　　or　five　thousand　francs　to　a　man　who　deals　honestly。　An　advocate；
　　a　notary；　a　merchant；　any　recognized　professional；　has　earned　a
　　living　for　his　later　days　in　the　course　of　fifteen　or　sixteen
　　years　after　ending　his　apprenticeship。

　　〃But　I　have　never　felt　fit　for　work　of　this　kind。　I　prefer　thought
　　to　action；　an　idea　to　a　transaction；　contemplation　to　activity。　I
　　am　absolutely　devoid　of　the　constant　attention　indispensable　to
　　the　making　of　a　fortune。　Any　mercantile　venture；　any　need　for
　　using　other　people's　money　would　bring　me　to　grief；　and　I　should
　　be　ruined。　Though　I　have　nothing；　at　least　at　the　moment；　I　owe
　　nothing。　The　man　who　gives　his　life　to　the　achievement　of　great
　　things　in　the　sphere　of　intellect；　needs　very　little；　still；
　　though　twenty　sous　a　day　would　be　enough；　I　do　not　possess　that
　　small　income　for　my　laborious　idleness。　When　I　wish　to　cogitate；
　　want　drives　me　out　of　the　sanctuary　where　my　mind　has　its　being。
　　What　is　to　become　of　me？

　　〃I　am　not　frightened　at　poverty。　If　it　were　not　that　beggars　are
　　imprisoned；　branded；　scorned；　I　would　beg；　to　enable　me　to　solve
　　at　my　leisure　the　problems　that　haunt　me。　Still；　this　sublime
　　resignation；　by　which　I　might　emancipate　my　mind；　through
　　abstracting　it　from　the　body；　would　not　serve　my　end。　I　should
　　still　need　money　to　devote　myself　to　certain　experiments。　But　for
　　that；　I　would　accept　the　outward　indigence　of　a　sage　possessed　of
　　both　heaven　and　heart。