contingent causes and personal peculiarities are found, the French literature had in itself certain qualities which were rather repulsive than attractive to an aspiring youth. It was advanced in years and genteel; and by neither of these qualities can youth, which looks about for enjoyment of life and for freedom, be delighted.
Since the sixteenth century, the course of French literature had never been seen to be completely interrupted,—nay, the internal and religious disturbances, as well as the external wars, had accelerated its progress; but, as we heard generally maintained, it was a hundred years ago that it had existed in its full bloom. Through favourable circumstances, they said, an abundant harvest had at once ripened, and had been happily gathered in; so that the great talents of the eighteenth century had to be moderately contented with mere gleanings.
Meanwhile, however, much had become antiquated,—first of all comedy, which had to be freshened up to adapt itself less perfectly, indeed, but still with new interest, to actual life and manners. Of the tragedies, many had vanished from the stage; and Voltaire did not let slip the important opportunity which offered of editing Corneille's works, that he might show how defective his predecessor had been, whom, according to the general voice, he had not equalled.
And even this very Voltaire, the wonder of his time, had grown old, like the literature which for nearly a century he had animated and governed. By his side still existed and vegetated many littérateurs, in a more or less active and happy old age, who one by one disappeared. The influence of society upon authors increased more and more; for the best society, consisting of persons of birth, rank, and property, chose for one of their chief recreations literature, which thus
