Love
of Nature, that strong feeling of enthusiasm which leads to
profound admiration of the whole works of creation, belongs, it may
be presumed, to a certain peculiarity of organization, and has, no
doubt, existed in different individuals from the beginning of the
world. The old poets and philosophers, romance writers, and
troubadours, had all looked upon Nature with observing and admiring
eyes. They have most of them given incidentally charming pictures
of spring, of the setting sun, of particular spots, and of
favourite flowers.
There are few writers of note, of
any country, or of any age, from whom quotations might not be made
in proof of the love with which they regarded Nature. And this
remark applies as much to religious and philosophic writers as to
poets,—equally to Plato, St. François de Sales, Bacon, and Fenelon,
as to Shakespeare, Racine, Calderon, or Burns; for from no really
philosophic or religious doctrine can the love of the works of
Nature be excluded.
But before the days of Jean
Jacques Rousseau, Buffon, and Bernardin de St. Pierre, this love of
Nature had not been expressed in all its intensity. Until their
day, it had not been written on exclusively. The lovers of Nature
were not, till then, as they may perhaps since be considered, a
sect apart. Though perfectly sincere in all the adorations they
offered, they were less entirely, and certainly less diligently and
constantly, her adorers.
It is the great praise of
Bernardin de St. Pierre, that coming immediately after Rousseau and
Buffon, and being one of the most proficient writers of the same
school, he was in no degree their imitator, but perfectly original
and new. He intuitively perceived the immensity of the subject he
intended to explore, and has told us that no day of his life passed
without his collecting some valuable materials for his writings. In
the divine works of Nature, he diligently sought to discover her
laws. It was his early intention not to begin to write until he had
ceased to observe; but he found observation endless, and that he
was "like a child who with a shell digs a hole in the sand to
receive the waters of the ocean." He elsewhere humbly says, that
not only the general history of Nature, but even that of the
smallest plant, was far beyond his ability. Before, however,
speaking further of him as an author, it will be necessary to
recapitulate the chief events of his life.
HENRI-JACQUES BERNARDIN DE ST.
PIERRE, was born at Havre in 1737. He always considered himself
descended from that Eustache de St. Pierre, who is said by
Froissart, (and I believe by Froissart only), to have so generously
offered himself as a victim to appease the wrath of Edward the
Third against Calais. He, with his companions in virtue, it is also
said, was saved by the intercession of Queen Philippa. In one of
his smaller works, Bernardin asserts this descent, and it was
certainly one of which he might be proud. Many anecdotes are
related of his childhood, indicative of the youthful author,—of his
strong love of Nature, and his humanity to animals.
That "the child is the father of
the man," has been seldom more strongly illustrated. There is a
story of a cat, which, when related by him many years afterwards to
Rousseau, caused that philosopher to shed tears. At eight years of
age, he took the greatest pleasure in the regular culture of his
garden; and possibly then stored up some of the ideas which
afterwards appeared in the "Fraisier." His sympathy with all living
things was extreme.
In "Paul and Virginia," he
praises, with evident satisfaction, their meal of milk and eggs,
which had not cost any animal its life. It has been remarked, and
possibly with truth, that every tenderly disposed heart, deeply
imbued with a love of Nature, is at times somewhat Braminical. St.
Pierre's certainly was.
When quite young, he advanced
with a clenched fist towards a carter who was ill-treating a horse.
And when taken for the first time, by his father, to Rouen, having
the towers of the cathedral pointed out to him, he exclaimed, "My
God! how high they fly." Every one present naturally laughed.
Bernardin had only noticed the flight of some swallows who had
built their nests there. He thus early revealed those instincts
which afterwards became the guidance of his life: the strength of
which possibly occasioned his too great indifference to all
monuments of art. The love of study and of solitude were also
characteristics of his childhood. His temper is said to have been
moody, impetuous, and intractable. Whether this faulty temper may
not have been produced or rendered worse by mismanagement, cannot
not be ascertained. It, undoubtedly became afterwards, to St.
Pierre a fruitful source of misfortune and of woe.
The reading of voyages was with
him, even in childhood, almost a passion. At twelve years of age,
his whole soul was occupied by Robinson Crusoe and his island. His
romantic love of adventure seeming to his parents to announce a
predilection in favour of the sea, he was sent by them with one of
his uncles to Martinique. But St. Pierre had not sufficiently
practised the virtue of obedience to submit, as was necessary, to
the discipline of a ship. He was afterwards placed with the Jesuits
at Caen, with whom he made immense progress in his studies. But, it
is to be feared, he did not conform too well to the regulations of
the college, for he conceived, from that time, the greatest
detestation for places of public education. And this aversion he
has frequently testified in his writings. While devoted to his
books of travels, he in turn anticipated being a Jesuit, a
missionary or a martyr; but his family at length succeeded in
establishing him at Rouen, where he completed his studies with
brilliant success, in 1757. He soon after obtained a commission as
an engineer, with a salary of one hundred louis. In this capacity
he was sent (1760) to Dusseldorf, under the command of Count St.
Germain. This was a career in which he might have acquired both
honour and fortune; but, most unhappily for St. Pierre, he looked
upon the useful and necessary etiquettes of life as so many
unworthy prejudices. Instead of conforming to them, he sought to
trample on them. In addition, he evinced some disposition to rebel
against his commander, and was unsocial with his equals. It is not,
therefore, to be wondered at, that at this unfortunate period of
his existence, he made himself enemies; or that, notwithstanding
his great talents, or the coolness he had exhibited in moments of
danger, he should have been sent back to France. Unwelcome, under
these circumstances, to his family, he was ill received by
all.
It is a lesson yet to be learned,
that genius gives no charter for the indulgence of error,—a truth
yet to be remembered, that only a small portion of the world will
look with leniency on the failings of the highly-gifted; and, that
from themselves, the consequences of their own actions can never be
averted. It is yet, alas! to be added to the convictions of the
ardent in mind, that no degree of excellence in science or
literature, not even the immortality of a name can exempt its
possessor from obedience to moral discipline; or give him
happiness, unless "temper's image" be stamped on his daily words
and actions. St. Pierre's life was sadly embittered by his own
conduct. The adventurous life he led after his return from
Dusseldorf, some of the circumstances of which exhibited him in an
unfavourable light to others, tended, perhaps, to tinge his
imagination with that wild and tender melancholy so prevalent in
his writings. A prize in the lottery had just doubled his very
slender means of existence, when he obtained the appointment of
geographical engineer, and was sent to Malta. The Knights of the
Order were at this time expecting to be attacked by the Turks.
Having already been in the service, it was singular that St. Pierre
should have had the imprudence to sail without his commission. He
thus subjected himself to a thousand disagreeables, for the
officers would not recognize him as one of themselves. The effects
of their neglect on his mind were tremendous; his reason for a time
seemed almost disturbed by the mortifications he suffered. After
receiving an insufficient indemnity for the expenses of his voyage,
St. Pierre returned to France, there to endure fresh
misfortunes.
Not being able to obtain any
assistance from the ministry or his family, he resolved on giving
lessons in the mathematics. But St. Pierre was less adapted than
most others for succeeding in the apparently easy, but really
ingenious and difficult, art of teaching. When education is better
understood, it will be more generally acknowledged, that, to impart
instruction with success, a teacher must possess deeper
intelligence than is implied by the profoundest skill in any one
branch of science or of art. All minds, even to the youngest,
require, while being taught, the utmost compliance and
consideration; and these qualities can scarcely be properly
exercised without a true knowledge of the human heart, united to
much practical patience. St. Pierre, at this period of his life,
certainly did not possess them. It is probable that Rousseau, when
he attempted in his youth to give lessons in music, not knowing any
thing whatever of music, was scarcely less fitted for the task of
instruction, than St. Pierre with all his mathematical knowledge.
The pressure of poverty drove him to Holland. He was well received
at Amsterdam, by a French refugee named Mustel, who edited a
popular journal there, and who procured him employment, with
handsome remuneration. St. Pierre did not, however, remain long
satisfied with this quiet mode of existence. Allured by the
encouraging reception given by Catherine II. to foreigners, he set
out for St. Petersburg. Here, until he obtained the protection of
the Marechal de Munich, and the friendship of Duval, he had again
to contend with poverty. The latter generously opened to him his
purse and by the Marechal he was introduced to Villebois, the Grand
Master of Artillery, and by him presented to the Empress. St.
Pierre was so handsome, that by some of his friends it was
supposed, perhaps, too, hoped, that he would supersede Orloff in
the favor of Catherine. But more honourable illusions, though they
were but illusions, occupied his own mind. He neither sought nor
wished to captivate the Empress. His ambition was to establish a
republic on the shores of the lake Aral, of which in imitation of
Plato or Rousseau, he was to be the legislator. Pre-occupied with
the reformation of despotism, he did not sufficiently look into his
own heart, or seek to avoid a repetition of the same errors that
had already changed friends into enemies, and been such a terrible
barrier to his success in life. His mind was already morbid, and in
fancying that others did not understand him, he forgot that he did
not understand others. The Empress, with the rank of captain,
bestowed on him a grant of fifteen hundred francs; but when General
Dubosquet proposed to take him with him to examine the military
position of Finland, his only anxiety seemed to be to return to
France: still he went to Finland; and his own notes of his
occupations and experiments on that expedition prove, that he gave
himself up in all diligence to considerations of attack and
defence. He, who loved Nature so intently, seems only to have seen
in the extensive and majestic forests of the north, a theatre of
war. In this instance, he appears to have stifled every emotion of
admiration, and to have beheld, alike, cities and countries in his
character of military surveyor.
On his return to St. Petersburg,
he found his protector Villebois, disgraced. St. Pierre then
resolved on espousing the cause of the Poles. He went into Poland
with a high reputation,—that of having refused the favours of
despotism, to aid the cause of liberty. But it was his private
life, rather than his public career, that was affected by his
residence in Poland. The Princess Mary fell in love with him, and,
forgetful of all considerations, quitted her family to reside with
him. Yielding, however, at length, to the entreaties of her mother,
she returned to her home. St. Pierre, filled with regret, resorted
to Vienna; but, unable to support the sadness which oppressed him,
and imagining that sadness to be shared by the Princess, he soon
went back to Poland. His return was still more sad than his
departure; for he found himself regarded by her who had once loved
him, as an intruder. It is to this attachment he alludes so
touchingly in one of his letters. "Adieu! friends dearer than the
treasures of India! Adieu! forests of the North, that I shall never
see again!—tender friendship, and the still dearer sentiment which
surpassed it!—days of intoxication and of happiness adeiu! adieu!
We live but for a day, to die during a whole life!"
This letter appears to one of St.
Pierre's most partial biographers, as if steeped in tears; and he
speaks of his romantic and unfortunate adventure in Poland, as the
ideal of a poet's love.
"To be," says M. Sainte-Beuve, "a
great poet, and loved before he had thought of glory! To exhale the
first perfume of a soul of genius, believing himself only a lover!
To reveal himself, for the first time, entirely, but in
mystery!"
In his enthusiasm, M.
Sainte-Beuve loses sight of the melancholy sequel, which must have
left so sad a remembrance in St. Pierre's own mind. His suffering,
from this circumstance, may perhaps have conduced to his making
Virginia so good and true, and so incapable of giving pain.
In 1766, he returned to Havre;
but his relations were by this time dead or dispersed, and after
six years of exile, he found himself once more in his own country,
without employment and destitute of pecuniary resources.
The Baron de Breteuil at length
obtained for him a commission as Engineer to the Isle of France,
whence he returned in 1771. In this interval, his heart and
imagination doubtless received the germs of his immortal works.
Many of the events, indeed, of the "Voyage à l'Ile de France," are
to be found modified by imagined circumstances in "Paul and
Virginia." He returned to Paris poor in purse, but rich in
observation and mental resources, and resolved to devote himself to
literature. By the Baron de Breteuil he was recommended to
D'Alembert, who procured a publisher for his "Voyage," and also
introduced him to Mlle. de l'Espinasse. But no one, in spite of his
great beauty, was so ill calculated to shine or please in society
as St. Pierre. His manners were timid and embarrassed, and, unless
to those with whom he was very intimate, he scarcely appeared
intelligent.
It is sad to think, that
misunderstanding should prevail to such an extent, and heart so
seldom really speak to heart, in the intercourse of the world, that
the most humane may appear cruel, and the sympathizing indifferent.
Judging of Mlle. de l'Espinasse from her letters, and the testimony
of her contemporaries, it seems quite impossible that she could
have given pain to any one, more particularly to a man possessing
St. Pierre's extraordinary talent and profound sensibility. Both
she and D'Alembert were capable of appreciating him; but the
society in which they moved laughed at his timidity, and the tone
of raillery in which they often indulged was not understood by him.
It is certain that he withdrew from their circle with wounded and
mortified feelings, and, in spite of an explanatory letter from
D'Alembert, did not return to it. The inflictors of all this pain,
in the meantime, were possibly as unconscious of the meaning
attached to their words, as were the birds of old of the augury
drawn from their flight.
St. Pierre, in his "Préambule de
l'Arcadie," has pathetically and eloquently described the
deplorable state of his health and feelings, after frequent
humiliating disputes and disappointments had driven him from
society; or rather, when, like Rousseau, he was "self-banished"
from it.
"I was struck," he says, "with an
extraordinary malady. Streams of fire, like lightning, flashed
before my eyes; every object appeared to me double, or in motion:
like Œdipus, I saw two suns. . . In the finest day of summer, I
could not cross the Seine in a boat without experiencing
intolerable anxiety. If, in a public garden, I merely passed by a
piece of water, I suffered from spasms and a feeling of horror. I
could not cross a garden in which many people were collected: if
they looked at me, I immediately imagined they were speaking ill of
me." It was during this state of suffering, that he devoted himself
with ardour to collecting and making use of materials for that work
which was to give glory to his name.
It was only by perseverance, and
disregarding many rough and discouraging receptions, that he
succeeded in making acquaintance with Rousseau, whom he so much
resembled. St. Pierre devoted himself to his society with
enthusiasm, visiting him frequently and constantly, till Rousseau
departed for Ermenonville. It is not unworthy of remark, that both
these men, such enthusiastic admirers of Nature and the natural in
all things, should have possessed factitious rather than practical
virtue, and a wisdom wholly unfitted for the world. St. Pierre
asked Rousseau, in one of their frequent rambles, if, in
delineating St. Preux, he had not intended to represent himself.
"No," replied Rousseau, "St. Preux is not what I have been, but
what I wished to be." St. Pierre would most likely have given the
same answer, had a similar question been put to him with regard to
the Colonel in "Paul and Virginia." This at least, appears the sort
of old age he loved to contemplate, and wished to realize.