I hear that not long ago, as the result of an extensive vote taken among the subscribers of a leading French periodical, it was found that Chateaubriand was the most popular of all French writers of fiction of the present century. Certainly this is a surprising result when such names as Balzac, Hugo, and Daudet are considered as competitors, and one’s first impression is that those who gave their suffrages in favor of Chateaubriand must have been sentimental rather than judicious readers.
And yet a careful perusal of “Atala,” the short romance by which Chateaubriand won his literary spurs, will perhaps give the author a higher rank in fiction than is generally accorded to him by our colder and less impressionable race. The plot is simplicity itself. Atala is an Indian maiden, although a Christian, and is supposed to be the daughter of Simaghan the chief. Her real father, however, is Lopez, a Spaniard. Her mother before her death required from her a vow of perpetual celibacy. Chactas, a young brave of the tribe of the Natchez, who has lived among the Spaniards at St. Augustine, is captured by Simaghan and is to be burned alive. Atala releases him from his bonds, they flee together, and wander long through the forest. Their love is so great that Atala, fearing she would break her vow, takes poison and dies under the care of the good Father Aubry, a missionary, who administers the last consolations of religion.
This story has been called an epic in prose, but its predominant feature is hardly the heroic. It is rather a pastoral, if that word can be applied to a description of primitive life where there are neither flocks nor shepherds. “Atala” follows somewhat the same lines as “Paul and Virginia,” and although it is supposed to contain incongruities in attributing the qualities of civilization to savages, yet perhaps Chateaubriand, who had had considerable personal experience with American Indians, may not have been so wide of the mark as we think. Moreover, Atala was part Spaniard; Chactas had been brought up among the whites, and the counterpart of the old priest actually existed in Jogues the Jesuit father. And if it were not so, why may not the poet create such children of his fancy as he will, and give them what garb and conversation and surroundings he may please, so long as they are really human and beautiful? Atala is certainly an interesting and natural character, the consolations of the priest are filled with tender pathos, the style of the book is simple yet highly poetical, and there are descriptions of nature—of the forest, the mountains, the storm—of great beauty and vividness,—pictures that sometimes make us wish to betake ourselves to the wilderness.
The moralizing of Chateaubriand is by no means so tedious as that of St. Pierre, and there is nothing in Atala so essentially devoid of common sense as the conduct of the artificial creatures who have been “living according to Nature,” in the Ile de France.
Let us say, then, that Chateaubriand, if not preëminent, is entitled to an honorable rank among the masters of fiction.
PRIDE AND PREJUDICE
JANE AUSTEN
The narrow horizon of Jane Austen’s life was perhaps one of the reasons why her perception of human nature was so keen and accurate in the matters which fell under her observation. Her novels contain no extraordinary types nor incidents, but she makes the most of the average and the commonplace, which become more than usually interesting under her treatment. He who reads “Pride and Prejudice” will get a faithful picture, not only of English country life, but of a great deal that belongs to life everywhere. None of the characters are exaggerated; they are entirely human and natural. The conversation is not too brilliant to be lifelike. When bright things are said they are introduced in a spontaneous and almost inevitable manner. All through the book we recognize in the author a quiet yet acute observer of actual occurrences, who has culled largely from her own recollection many of the most attractive incidents and has grouped them together with simple yet effective art. The satire is so unobtrusive that sometimes it appears unconscious.
The Bennet household is well described. “Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humor, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three and twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character. Her mind was less difficult to develop. She was a woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper. When she was discontented she fancied herself nervous. The business of her life was to get her daughters married; its solace was visiting and news.”
And again: “Her husband was very little otherwise indebted to her than as her ignorance and folly contributed to his amusement. This is not the sort of happiness which a man would in general wish to owe to his wife, but where other powers of entertainment are wanting, the true philosopher will derive benefit from such as are given.”
There are five daughters in the family, whose characters are excellently set off by comparison with one another,—Jane, the eldest, beautiful, gracious, kindly, sweet-tempered, always believing the best of everybody; Elizabeth, high-spirited, brilliant, and decidedly the most attractive, although by no means so charitable as her sister in her judgment of others. The three other sisters, Mary, Kitty, and Lydia, are as empty-headed as their mother. Lydia, the youngest, in particular, is a wild, giddy girl, continually running after the officers with their fine coats.