1
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.
(signature)…………………………………………………………
2
Portrait of Louis Aimé-Martin
(Lyon, Bibliothèque municipale, MS Coste 14415)
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Abstract
This thesis offers a new perspective on the cultural contribution of Louis AiméMartin, 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.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Portrait of Louis Aimé-Martin
Abstract
Table of Contents
Table of Illustrations
Acknowledgements
1
2
3
4
6
7
Introduction
8
1.
2.
3.
Masters and disciples: Bernardin’s Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau
18
1.1
1.2
1.3
1.4
1.5
18
19
21
29
44
Addressing the Correspondence of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre:
The editing of his letters to Pierre-Michel Hennin
48
2.1
2.2
2.3
2.4
2.5
48
51
55
57
68
Introduction
Sidelining Hennin
The power of punctuation
A life in letters
Conclusion
Methodologies to define the man:
Aimé-Martin in his role as editor
3.1
3.2
3.3
3.4
4.
Introduction
Maurice Souriau
The preparation of the Essai
Significant changes
Conclusion
Introduction
The Bernardin Enterprise
Expanding his editorial empire:
Aimé-Martin and his other subjects
Conclusion
71
71
75
89
96
Searching for science in the Lettres à Sophie
99
4.1
4.2
4.3
4.4
4.5
99
104
111
121
125
Introduction
The Lettres à Sophie as witness to God’s existence
The scientific textbook
Writing for the fairer sex
Conclusion
5
5.
6.
7.
Raymond: The Great Imitation?
130
5.1
5.2
5.3
5.4
5.5
5.6
130
132
138
141
144
150
Introduction
The dilemma of youth
Young lovers
Man and Nature
Necessary ignorance and the path to faith
Conclusion
Educating a nation
152
6.1
6.2
6.3
6.4
6.5
152
156
167
181
187
Introduction
In the classroom
Words for Women
The Holy War
Conclusion
Interpreting the letters of Louis Aimé-Martin
192
7.1
7.2
7.3
7.4
7.5
192
196
205
210
216
Introduction
The Political Arena
The Cultural Entrepreneur
Righting social wrongs
Conclusion
Conclusion
219
Bibliography
223
6
Table of Illustrations
1
Portrait of Louis Aimé-Martin
2
2
Manuscript image
25
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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.
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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 SaintPierre 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, AiméMartin 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
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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, AiméMartin 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
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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, fortyfive 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 AiméMartin’s best-known editorial project: the publication of the Œuvres de J.-H. Bernardin
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.
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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 SaintPierre. 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
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 < http://www.e-enlightenment.com>.
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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 days9 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
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.
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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
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
14
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
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 XIX e
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).
15
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
18
19
Etienne de Jouy, I, 62.
L. Aimé-Martin, Éducation des mères de famille, 2nd edn (Paris: Desrez, 1838), p. viii.
16
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
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).
20
17
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 school24 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.
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 (ClermontFerrand: Nizet, 1997), p. 198).
25
Aimé-Martin died of jaundice on 21st June 1847 at Saint-Germain-en-Laye.
23
18
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.1
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,2 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’,3
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,4 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
1
Malcolm Cook, Bernardin de Saint-Pierre: A Life of Culture (London: Legenda, 2006), p. 50.
‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, ed. by Louis AiméMartin, 2 vols (Paris: Ledentu, 1840), II, 427-453.
3
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).
4
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.
2
19
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 indepth 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.5 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’.6 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:
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.
6
Bernardin de Saint-Pierre: La Vie et les ouvrages de Jean-Jacques Rousseau, ed. by Maurice Souriau
(Paris : Édouard Cornély, 1907), p. vii.
5
20
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).7 8
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.9
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 [...].10
The hypocrisy implicit in such a comment cannot be ignored, denying as it does AiméMartin’s praiseworthy efforts to defend his choices to his readership11 and neglectful of
the fact that such apparent ‘dédain des éléments informes’ arguably also surfaces in
Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, in Bernardin Frameset
<http://www.projects.ex.ac.uk/bsp/frameset.htm> [accessed 3 April 2006]. Also in Le Havre,
Bibliothèque municipale, MS 98C: 155r.
8
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.
9
‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 451.
10
Souriau, p. vii.
11
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).
7
21
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.12
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.13
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), 14 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,15 the other
‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 431.
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.
14
Le Havre, MS 98C: 101r.
15
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.
12
13
22
suggesting the Dutailly affair.16
17
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.18
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’:19 in its turn, a selective
compilation of those fragments penned by Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, probably between
1778 and 1779.20 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
‘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.
17
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.
18
‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 429.
19
‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 428.
20
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).
16
23
entire œuvre.21 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.22 23
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.24 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.
21
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.
22
This will be addressed in greater detail later in the chapter.
23
The repetitive use of text is typical of Bernardin’s mode of composition.
24
See Chapters 2 and 3 for further discussion of Aimé-Martin’s approach to referencing.
24
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).25 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.’26 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,27 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.
25
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).
26
Souriau, p. 19.
27
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.
25
FIG. 1.1
Le Havre, Bibilothèque municipale, MS 98A: 6v
26
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,28 AiméMartin 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).29
Aimé-Martin:
D’où viennent donc ces admirables qualités de la nature, auxquelles ils laissent
le temps de se développer?30
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 AiméMartin’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).31 Bernardin crosses through those
words italicised above, but they maintain their place in Souriau’s La Vie et les
ouvrages.32 Such interference with Bernardin’s writing style, nonetheless, is easier to
28
See Souriau, pp. xv-xvi. He also exercises a very thorough referencing system in footnotes throughout
his œuvre.
29
Le Havre, MS 98C: 112r.
30
‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 446.
31
Le Havre, MS 98A: 6r.
32
See Souriau, p. 50.
27
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).33
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 [...].34
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.35 Nous entrâmes justement au moment où l’on
prononçait ces mots: Providence qui avez soin des empires ! Providence qui
avez soin des voyageurs!36
33
Le Havre, MS 98C: 113r.
‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 447.
35
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.
36
‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 451.
34
28
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’;37 ‘axiomes’ to ‘traits’)38 there are some small changes that stand out as
deliberately misleading. Such is the case in Aimé-Martin’s description of Rousseau as
‘sauvage’39 when, in the original, he is described simply as ‘solitaire’ (Fiche 162, Image
026).40 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.41
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.42
Original: Fiche 158, Image 054 (Le Havre, MS 98A: 2v); Change: ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres,
II, 436.
38
Original: Fiche 158, Image 058 (Le Havre: MS 98A: 4v); Change: ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres,
II, 438.
39
‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 448.
40
Le Havre, MS 98C: 132v.
41
‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 448.
42
Souriau, p. 77.
37
29
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 50-5143 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)44 on page 111 of his La Vie et les ouvrages. Aimé-Martin deals with this situation
by retaining that same paragraph,45 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? 46 Aimé43
Transcribed from the folio found in Le Havre, MS 98A: 6r.
Le Havre, MS 98C: 155v.
45
See the ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 440.
46
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 [...].
44
30
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.47
Parallèle:
C’est la réflexion qui le rend méchant, son premier mouvement est d’être bon,
disait Rousseau.48
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)49 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.50
51
Indeed, Aimé-Martin appears fastidious about this issue of
repetition, extending it to even the smallest of references. A mention of ‘le P.
Charlevoix’,52 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
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.
47
‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 449.
48
‘Parallèle de Voltaire et de J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 454.
49
Le Havre, 98C: 112r - 112v.
50
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 […].
51
See the ‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 446, for inclusion of the text from Fiche 161, Image 048.
52
‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 447.
31
fact that, as is often the case, a near-identical phrase appears elsewhere in the
manuscripts and is accordingly utilised in the Essai.53 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,54 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 [...].55
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
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).
54
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).
55
‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 452.
53
32
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’56 (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].57
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 101,58 though
it actually derives from Folio 156:
‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 452.
‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 452.
58
‘[L]e Ier pas qu’on doit faire vers la vertu est de mepriser egalement ses eloges et ses calomnies’.
(Fiche 161, Image 029).
56
57
33
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).59
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.60 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,61 others seem to be fabricated
59
Le Havre, MS 98C: 156v.
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).
61
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).
60
34
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’;62 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’.63 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;64 and the supplement65 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.66
And, a little further on, he informs us that, ‘on est presque étonné de voir qu’ils étaient
hommes!’67 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
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?
62
‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 452. To compare with Fiche 163, Image 012 (Le Havre, MS
98C: 155r).
63
‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 452. To compare with Fiche 163, Image 014 (Le Havre, MS
98C: 156r).
64
‘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).
65
‘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).
66
‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 427.
67
‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 430.
35
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.’68 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).69
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.70
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
68
Souriau, p. ix.
Le Havre, MS 98C: 102r.
70
‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 450.
69
36
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.71
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 SaintPierre.72 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,73 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.74 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, 75 Aimé-Martin
sees fit to insert instead a transcription of that very letter as written by Rousseau
‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 453.
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.
73
Discussion of Bernardin’s relations with Marie Miesnik will feature in the following chapter.
74
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.
75
Souriau, p. 35.
71
72
37
himself.76
77
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).78 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’.79 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:
‘[…] 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).
77
This modification is not a feature of the first edition of the Essai.
78
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?
79
‘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.
76
38
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.80
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.81
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’:82
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)83
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 AiméMartin’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.
‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 429-430.
However, such a concern might seem rather misplaced in a work entitled the Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau.
82
Fiche 163, Image 012.
83
Whichever of the two makes this remark, Bernardin must have felt similarly in order to include it in his
essay.
80
81
39
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 essay84 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.85 It is probable that such tangents in Bernardin’s work were rejected by AiméMartin, 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.86
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.87 Yet, while AiméMartin’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 SaintPierre, puisqu’elles sont simplement des idées à côté du sujet.88
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
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).
85
‘[…] 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).
86
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).
87
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).
88
Souriau, p. xiii.
84
40
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, AiméMartin’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, AiméMartin 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.89
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,90 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:
89
90
‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 452.
Souriau, pp. viii-ix.
41
Bernardin:
[…] je dis à mes voisins, n’en parlez pas, voilà M. R. Il se fit une barrière.
(Fiche 161, Image 038).91
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 elledite, qu’il se fit un grand silence. On le considérait respectueusement [...].92
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.’93 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 essay94 and this occasions a string of misinformation to be written into the
91
Le Havre, MS 98C: 105r.
‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 451.
93
‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 451.
94
‘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).
92
42
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,95 or of the arrival in Lyon.96 Souriau
criticises Aimé-Martin’s multiple revisions,97 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’.98 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),99 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).100 Interestingly, Bernardin rejects all the text marked in italics.
Souriau suggests the initial assertion is an innocent mistake:101
95
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).
96
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).
97
See Souriau, p. viii, for an example of this.
98
Fiche 158, Image 054.
99
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).
100
Le Havre, MS 98A: 5r.
101
Although, the change might equally be an indication that Bernardin thought better of including a
blatant untruth in his biography.
43
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.102 103
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;104
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).105 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.106
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.107 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’.108
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’.109 Indeed, Aimé-Martin implies a sudden blossoming of the
102
Souriau, p. xii.
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.
104
Souriau, p. 46.
105
Aimé-Martin does not include the initial text.
106
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.
107
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).
108
Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Les Confessions, ed. by Michel Launay, 2 vols (Paris: Garnier-Flammarion,
1968), II, 30.
109
‘Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau’, Œuvres, II, 427.
103
44
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].110
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,111 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).112 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 œuvre113 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).114 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
110
Charles-Augustin Sainte-Beuve, Causeries du lundi, 15 vols (Paris: Garnier Frères, n.d.), VI, 530.
One needs only to look at the wealth of footnotes in his work.
112
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).
113
‘J’ai établi ce nouveau texte d’après la suite du manuscrit original qui figure au même dossier […].’
(Souriau, p. 67).
114
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?
111
45
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.115
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 AiméMartin’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:
115
Élias Régnault, pp. 130-146 (p. 146).
46
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.116
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 AiméMartin 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, AiméMartin 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. 117 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.118
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.119 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:
116
Souriau, p. ix.
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.
118
See also Fernand Maury, Etude sur la vie et les œuvres de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre (Paris: Hachette,
1892; repr. Geneva: Slatkine, 1971).
119
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).
117
47
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 […].120
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.’121 Significantly, there is evidence of
Aimé-Martin’s genuine desire to fulfil this very goal to ‘défendre la mémoire de JeanJacques’ throughout the essay. Indeed, it is worth noting that Aimé-Martin was widely
considered to be a disciple of both Bernardin and Rousseau.122 Bernardin asserts that ‘le
sort d’un homme de lettres est donc bien a plaindre en France’ (Fiche 159, Image
007)123 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.
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).
121
Souriau, p. x.
122
‘[…] 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).
123
Le Havre, MS 98A: 9r.
120
48
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’Épinay1 and Voltaire2 and, certainly, the editor of Bernardin’s
correspondence3 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.4
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!’5 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,6 for a
The Mémoires et Correspondance de Madame d’Épinay, edited by J. C. Brunet were published in 1818.
Decroix’s edition of the memoirs of Voltaire first appeared in 1826.
3
The Correspondance de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre was first released in 1826.
4
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.
5
Correspondance de Jacques-Henri Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, ed. by Louis Aimé-Martin, 3 vols (Paris:
Ladvocat, 1826), I, p. i.
6
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.
1
2
49
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,7
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.8
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
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).
8
Charles-Augustin Sainte-Beuve, Causeries du lundi, 4th edn, 15 vols (Paris: Garnier Frères, n.d.), VI,
420.
7
50
new wife,9 his position as editor complicated by more profound factors than those of
mere ‘instances’ and ‘larmes’. Indeed, modifications to Bernardin’s letters were farreaching, extending to areas beyond his domestic situation. Maurice Souriau would
allude to the number of ‘importantes coupures’10 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’11 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 […].12
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.13 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
9
In 1826 the couple would most probably have been married for two or three years.
Souriau, Bernardin, p. xxi.
11
Souriau, Bernardin, p. viii.
12
Souriau, Bernardin, p. 277.
13
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.
10
51
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’14 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); 15 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 Maury16 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.17 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).
14
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
<www.e-enlightenment.com>.
15
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).
16
See Fernand Maury, Etude sur la vie et les œuvres de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre (Paris: Hachette, 1892;
repr. Geneva: Slatkine, 1971).
17
It is not until 1891-1892 that the first official editing body, the Syndicat national des éditeurs, would be
created.
52
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.18
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’.19 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’,20 while in the footnote to the first letter
of the Correspondance he describes the relationship between the two men as ‘la plus
tendre amitié’.21 Though it remains possible that Hennin’s letters were banal,
18
Correspondance, I, 8.
Mémoire, p. 428.
20
Mémoire, p. 428.
21
Correspondance, I, 2.
19
53
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;22 and Letter 123, highlighting the
arrangements for the repayment of Bernardin’s loan).23 It is also noteworthy that some
of Hennin’s letters are extremely critical of Bernardin, as in Letter 0678 24 where there is
a hint at Bernardin’s paranoia,25 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’26 in the addresses to his friend, he was also an undeniably irregular
correspondent27 (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
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).
23
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).
24
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.
25
Letter 0678: ‘[…] des qu’on touche cette corde (autrement dit, le baron de Breteuil) vous devenez
soupconneux et injuste.’
26
Mémoire, p. 428.
27
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.
22
54
Paris’),28 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)29 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 original30 to ‘j’aperçus à travers
la porte sept ou huit’31 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’.32 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.33 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
28
Used with many letters in the Correspondance.
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.’
30
Letter 0010.
31
‘Relation’, Correspondance, III, 65.
32
‘Relation’, Correspondance, III, 81-82.
33
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).
29
55
Bernardin as a reclusive,34 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,35 (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 […].36
Aimé-Martin: […] nous nous hâtames de brûler nos papiers […].37
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.’ 38 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.39
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:
34
In the last ten years of his life Bernardin lived near Pontoise in the small, quiet town of Eragny, some
distance from Paris.
35
Michælis, along with Bernardin, is commissioned by the Polish princess, Marie Miesnik, to defend
Poland’s borders against the Russians.
36
Letter 0010.
37
‘Relation’, Correspondance, III, 65.
38
Correspondance, I, p. lxi.
39
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).
56
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 […].40
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’41 to ‘cette équité qu’on lui attribue’)42 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!’43 and (with regard to the impending
convalescence of Dutailly) ‘Enfin Dieu m’a délivré de cette longue et cruelle peine!’).44
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]’.45 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.46 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
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).
41
Letter 0423.
42
‘Letter 79’, Correspondance, II, 27.
43
‘Letter 85’, Correspondance, II, 47.
44
‘Letter 143’, Correspondance, II, 276.
45
‘Letter 165’, Correspondance, III, 10. In the original this reads, ‘[…] ces occupations jointes à celles de
secretaire’.
46
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.
40
57
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.47
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.48
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? 49
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
47
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’.
48
Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, ed. by L. Aimé-Martin, 2 vols (Paris: Ledentu,
1840), II, p. xxxix.
49
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.
58
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’), 50 and his increasing
impatience with and manipulation of Hennin51 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 AiméMartin, further enforcing the image of the charismatic bachelor, Bernardin, who had
been simmering under the surface of earlier, select letters in the Correspondance52
(notably during his early popularity in the Polish courts).53 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
‘Letter 163’, Correspondance, III, 3.
This is apparent in the proliferation of letters addressed to Hennin, particularly as Bernardin grows
desperate for funds.
52
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).
53
At the Polish court in 1764, Bernardin claims to find himself ‘dans un tourbillon de jeunes princesses’.
(‘Relation’, Correspondance, III, 84).
50
51
59
princesse M’.54 55 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’.56 Sources that have become
apparent to the modern-day reader corroborate tales of an intimate relationship between
Bernardin and Marie Miesnik,57 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 intrigues58 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’59 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;60 and it is noteworthy that Aimé-Martin, who omits a number of
postscripts in the Correspondance, chooses to retain one enquiring after Marie.61
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
54
See Letters 2, 3 and others in the Correspondance.
He also sometimes calls her ‘madame la princesse M…’ (See Letter 14 in the Correspondance).
56
Letter 0010.
57
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).
58
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.
59
Aimé-Martin uses this description in the Essai sur la vie too. (See the Œuvres, I, p. xxiii).
60
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).
61
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).
55
60
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’.62
63
Footnote 23 in the corresponding
archive Letter 0545 suggests this comment is with reference to Madame Necker, 64 but
could it reveal a bitter memory of Marie Mesnik and of Bernardin’s frustrations at the
risks he took for her65 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;66 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’67 (as with the later pursuit of Madame Poivre)68 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
‘Letter 104’, Correspondance, II, 120.
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).
64
Wife of the politician, Jacques Necker.
65
Let us not forget that the princess appointed Bernardin (and Michælis) to attempt a coup against the
Russians.
66
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).
67
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).
68
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?
62
63
61
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’69 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,70 in others he discards entire letters.71 Why AiméMartin 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),72 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 Aimé69
Souriau, Bernardin, p. xxi.
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.’
71
As, for example, is the case with Letter 0023.
72
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).
70
62
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’.73 And
again in Letter 8, from Bernardin: ‘je vous prie de m’instruire (…) des derniers
arrangemens qui regardent vos effets’.74 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.75
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.76
Importantly, when Bernardin proposes some rather unconventional and undignified
methods for settling his debt with Hennin, Aimé-Martin makes certain to conceal such
‘Letter 9’, Correspondance, I, 35.
‘Letter 8’, Correspondance, I, 33.
75
Examples are Letters 0171 and 0178.
76
‘Letter 42’, Correspondance, I, 164-165.
73
74
63
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.77 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, AiméMartin’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.78
Testament to Bernardin’s unreasonable aspirations for governmental favours, it comes
as no surprise that this letter is omitted from Aimé-Martin’s collection.79 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
77
Letter 93 in his edition.
Letter 0578.
79
This is also remarked in footnote 12 of Letter 0578.
78
64
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 0615,80 the counting of petty costs in Letter
0653,81 and his dissatisfaction and apparent greed in Letter 0629, 82 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’)83 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.84
80
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).
81
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 8 lt 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 10 lt 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).
82
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).
83
‘Letter 133’, Correspondance, II, 230.
84
Sainte-Beuve, VI, 538 - 539.
65
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.85 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.86
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 […].87
85
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).
86
Letter 0399.
87
‘Letter 69’, Correspondance, I, 251.
66
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 wellconsidered 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’.88 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 Bittar89 that, at one time, might
have been in Aimé-Martin’s possession. Such letters (along with one containing some
‘détails pécuniaires’,90 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
88
Letter 0434.
See the thesis by Denise Tahhan Bittar, ‘La Correspondance de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre: Inventaire
critique’ (unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Paris, 1970).
90
Note to Letter 0617.
89
67
to spend so much on Dutailly’s maintenance,91 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.92
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’,93 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
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.
92
See Letter 124 of the Correspondance (II, pp. 201-204).
93
Correspondance, II, 203.
91
68
faire manquer les plus riches mariages; il le persécutait, il le menaçait, et se
moquait de sa misère et de ses travaux.94
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 SaintPierre n’étant ni une confession ni un roman, nous pouvons nous croire libres de garder
le silence sur ses faiblesses’,95 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 crossreference 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
94
95
Correspondance, II, 245.
Œuvres, II, p. xxv.
69
a subject’s renown. In Michael Hunter’s study of Robert Boyle, he alludes to a ‘positive
censorship’96 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.97 98
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 letters99 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 AiméMartin’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 SaintPierre’.100 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
96
Michael Hunter, Robert Boyle (1627-91): Scrupulosity and Science (Woolridge: The Boydell Press,
2000), p. 264.
97
Louis Barthou, ‘Lamartine et Aimé Martin’, La Revue de Paris, 5 (1925), 481-489 (pp. 481- 482).
98
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 wellconsidered collection.
99
That is to say in 1826.
100
Correspondance, I, p. v.
70
biographe’101 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.’102 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,103 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.104 Indeed, that the profession was growing increasingly competitive and
regulated throughout the nineteenth century cannot be denied,105 with Henri-Léon
Curmer asserting in 1839 that, ‘Cette profession est plus qu’un métier, elle est devenue
un art difficile à exercer’.106 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.
101
Souriau, Bernardin, p. xiv.
Mémoire, p. 415.
103
From Durosoir, to Curmer, to Sainte-Beuve, to Souriau.
104
To be studied in the following chapter.
105
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.
106
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).
102
71
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,1 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.2
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 publications3 to his later appointment as ‘professeur de belles-lettres, de morale et
d’histoire’4 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,5 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.6
7
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:
1
Aimé-Martin was born in Lyon on 21st April 1782.
Jean Chrétien Ferdinand Hœfer, Nouvelle biographie universelle, 46 vols (Paris: Didot, 1852), XXXIV,
49.
3
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.
4
Hœfer, XXXIV, 49.
5
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.
6
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.
7
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.
2
72
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.8 9
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.’10 If
this was, in fact, the case,11 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.12
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:
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).
9
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.
10
Correspondance générale de Sainte-Beuve, ed. by J. Bonnerot, 19 vols (Paris: Stock, 1935), I, 426.
11
The editor’s literary achievements will be dealt with in later chapters.
12
Aimé-Martin edited considerably more works than he actually wrote.
8
73
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.13
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.14
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,15 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.16 Editors thought
Charles-Augustin Sainte-Beuve, Œuvres, ed. by Maxime Leroy, 2 vols (Paris: Gallimard, 1949-51), I,
105.
14
Sainte-Beuve, Œuvres, I, 105.
15
For this study, we will be referring to the following edition of the complete works: Œuvres de JacquesHenri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, ed. by Louis Aimé-Martin, 2 vols (Paris: Ledentu, 1840).
16
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
13
74
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 reassessments 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.’17 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 AiméMartin’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
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 XIX e,
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. 221222). 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.
17
Malcolm Cook, Bernardin de Saint-Pierre: A Life of Culture (London: Legenda, 2006), p. 175.
75
France’s cultural heritage.18 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.19 What is certainly true of many of the criticisms levelled at Aimé-Martin by
Souriau and a host of other critics20 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.21 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,22 which prompts a more
thorough treatment of the works and the biographies of personalities considered in his
18
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.
19
Namely the Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau and the Correspondance de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de SaintPierre.
20
As, for example, Sainte-Beuve, Maury and Arvède Barine.
21
Though, granted, the ‘Avis’ do not perform quite the same function as footnotes.
22
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).
76
later projects.23 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’.24 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.25 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 midnineteenth 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.26
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.
24
Œuvres, I, 1.
25
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 pardessus, jusqu’à J.-J. Rousseau.’ (Arvède Barine, Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, 2nd edn (Paris: Hachette,
1904), p. 185).
26
Charles-Augustin Sainte-Beuve, Causeries du Lundi, 4th edn, 15 vols (Paris: Garnier Frères, n.d.), VI,
515.
23
77
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.’27 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 AiméMartin’s account.28
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’)29 that Aimé-Martin is guilty of some speculation. Indeed, for many critics
Aimé-Martin is far from ‘toujours vrai’30 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.31
Œuvres, II, p. i.
Cook, p. 10.
29
Œuvres, II, p. xxv.
30
See citation above: Œuvres, II, p. i.
31
Souriau, Bernardin, p. xv.
27
28
78
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 […].32
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” ’.33
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 […].34
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.35 The Didot article, entitled La
32
Cook, p. 10.
Michael Hunter, Robert Boyle (1627-91): Scrupulosity and Science (Woodbridge: The Boydell Press,
2000), p. 259.
34
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.
35
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).
33
79
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’.36
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
36
Michael Hunter, pp. 254-255.
80
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 luimême a fait de sa morale.37
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;38 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-
Œuvres de l’Abbé Fleury, ed. by M. Aimé-Martin (Paris: Delagrave, 1884), p. xii.
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).
37
38
81
Martin corrects some of the writer’s more questionable theories,39 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.40 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.41
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,42 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.43
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.44
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.45 This is certainly contrary
In Bernardin’s ‘Etude Première’ he claims that ‘pilotins’ (small fish) guide the shark to his prey. AiméMartin 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).
40
The Etudes having been first published in 1784.
41
‘Avis’ to Etudes, Œuvres, I, 125.
42
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).
43
‘Préface de l’éditeur’, Œuvres, I, 749.
44
Sainte-Beuve, Causeries du Lundi, VI, 415-416.
45
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
39
82
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)’,46
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’;47
48
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.49
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 private50 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
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).
46
Œuvres, II, 608-609.
47
‘Proposition faite à l’Institut’, Œuvres, II, 608-609.
48
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).
49
‘Proposition faite à l’Institut’, Œuvres, II, 609.
50
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).
83
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.51
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.52 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’);53 and our study of the Essai sur J.-J. Rousseau is evidence
51
Barine, p. 183.
Désirée did transcribe many of Bernardin’s manuscripts, but modifications are generally featured in the
handwriting of Bernardin or Aimé-Martin.
53
From the editor’s preface to the ‘Fragments du second et du troisième livre de l’Arcadie’. (Œuvres, II,
470).
52
84
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.’54 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.55 56
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.57
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:
‘Avis’ to Etudes, Œuvres, I, 125.
Barine, p. 177.
56
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.
57
‘Préface de l’éditeur’ to L’Arcadie, Œuvres, II, 473.
54
55
85
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.58
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.’59 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 SaintPierre.)60
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
58
Souriau, Bernardin, p. vii.
Souriau, Bernardin, p. xii.
60
‘Lettre de Napoléon’, Œuvres, II, 622.
59
86
l’estime publique: ainsi j’ai corrigé les fautes de style’.61 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.62 That Bernardin subjected his work to multiple
revisions of his own63 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.’64 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.’65 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.’66 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).
‘Avis’ to Etudes, Œuvres, I, 126.
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.’ (SainteBeuve, Causeries du Lundi, VI, 515-516).
63
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.
64
Cook, p. 63.
65
In a footnote to the ‘Lettre de madame la baronne de Krudner à Bernardin de Saint-Pierre’ (Œuvres, II,
620).
66
Cook, p. 18.
61
62
87
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 AiméMartin 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.’67 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’; 68 and, if
Aimé-Martin attempts to prove otherwise he does not do so by labelling Bernardin a
Catholic.69 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.’ 70 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.71
67
Souriau, Bernardin, pp. 323-324.
Cook, p. 133.
69
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.
70
J.-H. Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, Paul et Virginie, ed. by Une Société d’ecclésiastiques, 6th edn (Tours:
Ad Mame, 1846), p. 13.
71
Cook, p. 2.
68
88
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.72
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-HenriBernardin de Saint-Pierre, is clearly at work in the studies that followed Aimé-Martin’s
editorial debut.
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).
72
89
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.73
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.’74
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.’75
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
Œuvres philosophiques de Descartes, ed. by M. Louis Aimé-Martin (Paris: Société du Panthéon
Littéraire, 1843), p. ii.
74
Œuvres complètes de J. Racine, ed. by L. Aimé-Martin, 4th edn, 7 vols (Paris: Lefèvre, 1825), I, 13.
75
Œuvres complètes de J. Racine, I, 8.
73
90
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.76
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.77
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.78
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, AiméMartin 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.79 What he suggests is that, when selecting material for
Œuvres de l’Abbé Fleury, p. xi.
Œuvres poétiques de Boileau Despréaux, ed. by M. Aimé-Martin (Paris: Charpentier, 1845), p. vii.
78
Œuvres philosophiques de Descartes, p. ii.
79
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).
76
77
91
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.80
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.81
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.82
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:
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.
81
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).
82
Œuvres complètes de J. Racine, I, 17.
80
92
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 [...].83
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.84
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 AiméMartin 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.
83
84
Lettres de Madame de Sévigné, I, p. iii.
Œuvres complètes de J. Racine, I, 48.
93
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’;85 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’.86 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’,87 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
Œuvres poétiques de Boileau Despréaux, p. vi.
Œuvres philosophiques de Descartes, p. 476.
87
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 histoire.ˮ ’
Œuvres de Fénelon, Archevêque de Cambrai, ed. by M. Aimé-Martin, 3 vols (Paris: Didot, 1857), I, 3035).
85
86
94
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 [...].88
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 [...].89
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?’.90 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-
Œuvres philosophiques de Descartes, p. iii.
Œuvres de l’Abbé Fleury, p. xi.
90
François de Salignac de la Mothe Fénelon, De l’Existence de Dieu, ed. by Louis Aimé-Martin
(Avignon: Bousquet-Offray, 1827), p. vii.
88
89
95
Pierre, et vous recueillerez, de leur bouche, la double révelation des lois de la
Nature et de l’Evangile.91
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 selfserving, 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 [...].92
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.93
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.’94 Certainly, much
Œuvres de l’Abbé Fleury, p. xxxviii.
Œuvres poétiques de Boileau Despréaux, p. ii.
93
Œuvres philosophiques de Descartes, p. i.
94
Louis Aimé-Martin, ‘A la mémoire de Henri-Joseph-Joachim Lainé’, in Œuvres de l’Abbé Fleury, title
page.
91
92
96
like the ends he hoped to achieve through his work with Le Panthéon Littéraire,95
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.’96 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.97
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.
96
Œuvres complètes de J. Racine, I, 25.
97
Louis Racine does this in several ways, not far-removed from those methods employed by AiméMartin in his attempts to bolster Bernardin’s reputation. One such example, concerning the unlawful
staging of Racine’s play Alexandre, is cited above.
95
97
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 AiméMartin 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.98
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.99 While Aimé-Martin’s exact contribution to the Livre
remains unclear,100 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
98
Grille, Lettre à M. Aimé-Martin sur Pétrarque, p. 9.
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.
100
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?
99
98
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.
99
Searching for science in the Lettres à Sophie
4.1
Introduction
Whilst the Education des mères de famille (1834) was popularly celebrated as AiméMartin’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’1 that had become the leitmotif of many of the texts
of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries published in and outside of France. 2
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.3 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!4
Certainly, the Lettres à Sophie, the second of Aimé-Martin’s more widely read literary
efforts,5 seem in many respects to be unconsciously laying the foundation for the
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).
2
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’.
3
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).
4
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.
5
The earliest being the Etrennes à la jeunesse, first published in 1809.
1
100
Education des mères,6 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,7
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.8
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.
9
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.
6
To be explored in Chapter 6.
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.
8
Lettres à Sophie, I, 5-6.
9
Such concerns were also at the heart of Bernardin’s La Chaumière Indienne of 1791. In the avantpropos 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).
7
101
The Lettres à Sophie owe much both to Bernardin’s Etudes de la nature and to the work
of Charles Albert Demoustier,10 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 century11 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.12
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.13
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
10
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).
11
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.
12
Lettres à Sophie, I, xxv.
13
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.
102
this is plainly because both men are concerned to entertain their respective readers, to
‘voil[er] l’érudition par la grâce’.14 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?15 16
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 AiméMartin 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
We will discuss Aimé-Martin’s literary style in more detail later in the chapter.
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.
16
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).
14
15
103
lettres lui-même, du-moins dans le corps de la nation, qu’elles y donnent le ton
aux ouvrages de littérature.17
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,18 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.19
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
17
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.
18
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.
19
Demoustier, II, 1.
104
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?20
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 chefd’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 […].21
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).
21
Lettres à Sophie, I, 1.
20
105
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!22
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?23
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:
22
23
Plan d’une bibliothèque universelle, p. 137.
Lettres à Sophie, I, 137.
106
prévoyance qui décèle la main d’un Créateur intelligent, et qui embarrasse
singulièrement les incrédules.24 25
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.26 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 […].27
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 AiméMartin’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
24
Lettres à Sophie, I, 129.
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 AiméMartin, 2 vols (Paris: Ledentu, 1840), I, 209).
26
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).
27
Lettres à Sophie, I, 146.
25
107
l’Univers nous rencontrons quelques lois qui nous semblent en contradiction
avec la sagesse divine, nous nous garderons bien de les juger […].28
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.29 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.30
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
François de Salignac de la Mothe Fénélon, De L’Existence de Dieu, ed. by Louis Aimé-Martin
(Avignon: Bousquet-Offray, 1827), p. x.
29
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 SaintPierre, ed. by Louis Aimé-Martin, 3 vols (Paris: Ladvocat, 1826), I, p. lxxxvii).
30
Biot, II, 251.
28
108
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.’31 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.32
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
[…].33
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.34
Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, I, 125.
Malcolm Cook, Bernardin de Saint-Pierre: A Life of Culture (London: Legenda, 2006), p. 92.
33
Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, I, 128.
34
Lettres à Sophie, I, 11.
31
32
109
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.35
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.36
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:37
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.38
It is noteworthy that Aimé-Martin’s praise of Buffon, whom he sets alongside
Bernardin, centres almost exclusively on his powers of observation.39
Plan d’une bibliothèque universelle, p. 218.
Lettres à Sophie, I, p. xiii.
37
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).
38
Lettres à Sophie, I, 8.
39
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.
35
36
110
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 tides40 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.41
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:42
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 […].43
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
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).
41
Biot, II, 249.
42
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).
43
Lettres à Sophie, I, p. xiv.
40
111
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?44
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,45 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 wellsuited to the successful communication of his text:
44
Lettres à Sophie, II, 229.
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-HenriBernardin de Saint-Pierre, I, 218).
45
112
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?46
Many of Aimé-Martin’s generation would ask why a man hailing from a literary
background would want to try his hand at science,47 but there is no doubt that AiméMartin judged himself suitably qualified for the task.48 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 AiméMartin’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.49
What is more, Aimé-Martin posits some rather confusing theories as a result of his lack
of a truly scientific discourse.50 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
46
Lettres à Sophie, I, 134.
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.
48
In 1855, Maxime Du Camp, in Les Chants modernes, would attempt to de-mystify science for his
literary audience.
49
Mouton-Fontenille, pp. 49-50.
50
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).
47
113
s’unir à une nouvelle substance qu’elle préfère: c’est un choix.’51 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, AiméMartin 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.52
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.53 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.54
Importantly, if Aimé-Martin was expounding the notion of an ‘evolving’ natural world,
51
Lettres à Sophie, I, 84.
Lettres à Sophie, I, 85-86.
53
Though other theories about evolution existed before this time, none were as conclusive and as widely
accepted as that of Charles Darwin.
54
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).
52
114
the elective processes happening in it were nonetheless predetermined by a sublime
being and according to a foreordained plan.55 56
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, reductive57 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.58
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).59
55
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).
56
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.
57
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.
58
Lettres à Sophie, I, 90.
59
The New Caxton Encyclopedia, 20 vols (London: Caxton Publications, 1979), VIII, 55.
115
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’:60
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.61
Such glaring oversights in the Lettres à Sophie could reasonably be excused if AiméMartin 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.62 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),63 and he is also seen to
recycle sections of his earlier work, De L’Existence de Dieu, in the Lettres à Sophie, 64 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
60
Mutel, p. 14.
Mutel, p. 19.
62
There are several explanations for this, most importantly perhaps the number of other activities AiméMartin 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.
63
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).
64
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).
61
116
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.65
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.66
Aimé-Martin does not actually succeed in writing his work on physics, 67 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:
65
Lyon, Bibliothèque municipale, MS Coste 16048-16095/MS Coste 1131. Letter from Sassiron to M.
Tezenas, dated 8 May 1811.
66
Lettres à Sophie, I, pp. xxiii-xxiv.
67
There are various explanations for this fact, most likely that Aimé-Martin was preoccupied with other
projects, as previously highlighted.
117
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.68
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.69
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
68
69
Lettres à Sophie, I, p. xxiv.
Lettres à Sophie, I, p. xxv.
118
corps, et les ensevelit sous terre, où les petits éclosent, et se nourrissent du
cadavre qui les renferme.70
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 […].71
Moreover, he also alludes to the mutability of scientific discovery, expressing thoughts
that echo the words of the philosophes over fifty years previously:72
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.73
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
70
Lettres à Sophie, I, 120-121.
Lettres à Sophie, II, 43-44.
72
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).
73
Lettres à Sophie, I, 142.
71
119
des corps sonores […] font dans l’air de pareilles vagues qui, en s’agrandissant,
se communiquent le son […].74
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.75
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. 76 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:
74
Lettres à Sophie, I, 156.
Lettres à Sophie, II, 78-79.
76
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).
75
120
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.77
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.78
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 […].79
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.
77
Lettres à Sophie, I, p. xvi.
Mouton-Fontenille, p. 29.
79
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.
78
121
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’.80 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.81 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.82
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:
80
Lettres à Sophie, I, p. xix.
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.
82
Lettres à Sophie, I, 38.
81
122
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.83
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. 84 The critic, MoutonFontenille, 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.85
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 […].86
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:
83
Lettres à Sophie, I, 130.
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).
85
Mouton-Fontenille, p. 47.
86
Mutel, p. 20.
84
123
J’eus beau lui représenter qu’une partie des connaissances nécessaires me
manquaient; que, pour lui faciliter l’étude des sciences, je serais obligé moimême à des études considérables; Sophie ne voulut rien entendre, et tout-à-coup,
comme le pauvre Sganarelle, je fus reconnu savant malgré moi.87
Aimé-Martin informs us that his preparation for the formidable task he sets himself is to
read and write about science,88 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’.89 One might argue that Aimé-Martin’s insistence on the necessity to ‘rendre
amusantes’ abstract concepts for his female audience, merely serves to reinforce longstanding 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.90 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 science91 and, thus, his collection aims to facilitate learning about its
various components, to shake free the shackles of centuries of prejudice about the
87
Lettres à Sophie, I, pp. xv-xvi.
He states: ‘[…] je fis un grand nombre d’essais, je me nourris de la lecture des bons auteurs.’ (Lettres à
Sophie, I, p. xvi).
89
Lettres à Sophie, I, p. xvi.
90
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).
91
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).
88
124
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.92
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 imagery93 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’),94 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.95
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:96
92
Lettres à Sophie, I, 83-84.
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).
94
Lettres à Sophie, I, 197.
95
Lettres à Sophie, II, 200.
96
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).
93
125
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.97
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.98
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.99
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 AiméMartin 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
97
Lettres à Sophie, I, 67.
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 AiméMartin’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.
99
Lettres à Sophie, I, p. xiv.
98
126
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.100
Certainly, Aimé-Martin hopes to instill the ‘goût de la science’ in his reader, but his
pretensions to be a scientist,101 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.102
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 AiméMartin’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.
100
Mutel, p. 8.
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.).
102
Lettres à Sophie, II, 206-207.
101
127
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.103 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.104
Indeed, it seems that the Lettres à Sophie enjoyed favourable reviews when they first
appeared to the French public105 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.106 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.107
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
103
This project would really come to fruition with the Education des mères of 1834.
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.
105
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)).
106
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).
107
Harvard, Houghton Library, MS Fr 382, (1).
104
128
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, 108
many contemporaries continued to insist on the inadequacies and irrelevancies of his
teachings.
In view of the multiple editions of the Lettres à Sophie109 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.110
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
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).
109
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.
110
Lettres à Sophie, I, 178.
108
129
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.111
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.
111
François-Joseph Grille, Miettes littéraires, biographiques et morales livrées au public avec des
explications, 3 vols (Paris: Ledoyen, 1853), I, 252.
130
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,1 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.2
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,3 j’ai osé esquisser quelques uns de ses
tableaux.4
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:
1
This was, seemingly, the only edition of the work.
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.
3
Such a turn of phrase serves to recall for the reader Aimé-Martin’s debt to Bernardin’s Etudes de la
nature.
4
Raymond, p. vii.
2
131
[…] aussi est-ce moins pour l’instruction de mes lecteurs5 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.6
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,7 Raymond does not, by any stretch of the imagination, attempt to answer AiméMartin’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.8 9
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?10
5
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.
6
Raymond, p. vii.
7
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).
8
Raymond, p. 192.
9
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).
10
Raymond, pp. x-xi.
132
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.11
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,12 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 extradiegetic 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.13 We learn from him that the protagonist grew up with his parents14 in a forgotten
11
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).
12
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.
13
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
133
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’.15 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.16
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. 17 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:
société de gens de lettres, 35 vols (Paris: Briasson, David, Le Breton, Durand, 1755; repr. Stuttgart-Bad
Cannstatt: Friedrich Frommann Verlag, 1966), V, 426).
14
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.
15
Raymond, p. 12.
16
Raymond, p. v.
17
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 MarieRenée Morin (Clermont-Ferrand: Nizet, 1997), p. 147).
134
Il eut l’héritage de son vieux et vénérable père, qu’il avait si bien soigné, mais
qui mourut enfin.18
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’,19 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 selfindulgent, 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.20
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.21 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.22
18
François-Joseph Grille, Miettes littéraires, biographiques et morales livrées au public avec des
explications, 3 vols (Paris: Ledoyen, 1853), I, 255-256.
19
Raymond, p. xvii.
20
Raymond, p. xvii.
21
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.
22
Raymond, pp. xviii-xix.
135
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’.23 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’.24 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,25 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’.26 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.27
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:
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.
24
‘Paul et Virginie’, I, 520.
25
At this stage in his life, Aimé-Martin is yet to embark on his discovery of central Europe and
Scandinavia.
26
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).
27
Raymond, p. xvi.
23
136
[…] 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.28
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.29
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’.30 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.31 Certainly, Raymond seems to echo many of the precepts
of the pastoral tales made popular in the eighteenth century.32 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:
28
Raymond, p. xix.
Raymond, p. 9.
30
Raymond, p. 8.
31
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.
32
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.
29
137
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.33
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’34 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?35
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:36
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!37
33
Pierre Carlet de Chamblain de Marivaux, Le Paysan parvenu, ed. by Michel Gilot (Paris: GarnierFlammarion, 1965), p. 379.
34
Raymond, p. 40.
35
Raymond, p. 43.
36
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).
37
Raymond, p. 9.
138
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 […].38
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 […].39
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
38
39
Raymond, p. 10.
Raymond, p. 13.
139
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.40
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,41 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 compromised42 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.43
Furthermore, the accounts of their watching birds together, the building of their own
‘nest’, both features common to Paul et Virginie44 and to Raymond,45 are suggestive of
that next stage in their relationship, when they will settle down and raise their own
40
Raymond, p. 13.
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.
42
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).
43
Raymond, pp. 20-21.
44
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).
45
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).
41
140
family.46 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.47
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).48
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
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).
47
Raymond, p. 34.
48
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.
46
141
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.’49 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’50 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:
49
50
Raymond, p. 108.
Raymond, p. 5.
142
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.51
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.52
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’.53 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. 54
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.55
51
Raymond, p. 4.
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.
53
‘Paul et Virginie’, I, 520.
54
‘Paul et Virginie’, I, 520.
55
‘Paul et Virginie’, I, 520.
52
143
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.56
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 […].57
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:
56
57
Raymond, p. 5.
Raymond, p. 103.
144
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 […].58
That Aimé-Martin envisioned America as a land ‘déja vieille dans le crime’ is not
difficult to explain. The allusions to ‘Wasington’59 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.60
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,61 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.
58
Raymond, p. 73.
Raymond, p. 73.
60
Raymond, p. 113.
61
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’. (<http://artflx.uchicago.edu/cgibin/dicos/pubdico1look.pl?strippedhw=ignorance> [accessed 15 March 2009]).
59
145
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.62 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?’,63 and the answer is
implicit in the happy condition of those characters who live contrarily to social norms.
For them, ignorance really is bliss.64 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.65
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 farremoved 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
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).
63
‘Paul et Virginie’, I, 523.
64
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).
65
‘Paul et Virginie’, I, 529.
62
146
Paul et Virginie. Admittedly, this could be a reflection of the new age in which AiméMartin 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 Virginie66 and Raymond alike. In the latter
Aimé-Martin is keen to underline the importance of a universal system of primary
education67 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.68
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.69
70
However, in spite of these complications and obstacles, were such an ideal
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.
67
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).
68
Raymond, p. 22.
69
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
66
147
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, AiméMartin 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.71
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.72
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, 2 nd edn
(Liège: Les Impressions Nouvelles, 2008), pp. 177-181 (p. 180)).
70
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).
71
Raymond, p. 22.
72
Raymond, p. 89.
148
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; sontils 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?73 74
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 nonbelievers 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?75
The explanation offered by Raymond (who operates here as the mouthpiece for AiméMartin’s own views) for the indiscriminate persecution of all living things is perhaps
73
Raymond, p. 91.
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.
75
Raymond, pp. 92-93.
74
149
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.76
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.77
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 nonprescriptive 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.78
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
76
Raymond, p. 94.
Raymond, pp. 96-97.
78
‘Paul et Virginie’, I, 532.
77
150
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.79
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!80
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,
79
Raymond, p. xviii.
Louis Aimé-Martin, ‘Essai sur la vie de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre’, in Œuvres de Jacques-HenriBernardin de Saint-Pierre, ed. by Louis Aimé-Martin, 2 vols (Paris: Ledentu, 1840), II, 271.
80
151
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.81
In fact, much of the work, ‘huit ou dix pages’ to be precise, is attributed to ‘une
brochure allemande’.82 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 AiméMartin 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.
81
82
Raymond, p. xvii.
Raymond, p. xvii.
152
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.1
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 1835.2 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
1
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.
2
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).
153
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 AiméMartin’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.3
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 AiméMartin 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.4
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
3
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.
4
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 17.
154
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.5 6
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.7
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!8
5
Roger Price, A Concise History of France (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), p. 167.
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.
7
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 18.
8
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 18.
6
155
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,9 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’10 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.11
The established approach to literature as a ‘délassement’12 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:
9
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.
10
Paris, Ecole Polytechnique (EP), Archives, Registre des fonctionnaires, professeurs et employés (18161843), II, p. 22.
11
Gaston Pinet, ‘L’enseignement littéraire à l’Ecole Polytechnique’, Revue politique et littéraire: Revue
Bleue, 26 May 1894, p. 642.
12
Pinet, p. 642.
156
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.13
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 belleslettres 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.14
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
13
14
Pinet, p. 642.
Pinet, p. 643.
157
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’.15 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.16
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 literature17 and, therefore, of
his role meant that he spent considerable time petitioning for use of a répétiteur at the
Ecole.18 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’19 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:
15
Paris, Archives Nationales (AN), fonds anciens, F/17/1381 Dossier 7.
EP, Archives, Dossier: Cours de Belles-Lettres, 1817-1818, ‘Motifs de changements, 1824’.
17
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.
18
A répétiteur was an assistant teacher who would revise with pupils what the professeur had previously
taught them.
19
EP, Archives, ‘Lettres et observations presentés par Aimé-Martin, 1817’.
16
158
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.20
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 […].21
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 man22 and biographers, in
comparing him with Andrieux, have commented that he was ‘plus croyant ou du moins
appréciant mieux la nécessité de la foi’.23 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.24
EP, Archives, ‘Lettre du Duc de Doudeauville’.
Pinet, p. 643.
22
Aimé-Martin’s relationship with the Catholic Church will be discussed further later in this chapter.
23
Pinet, p. 643.
24
Pinet, p. 643.
20
21
159
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.25 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,26
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.27 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.28
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).
26
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).
27
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).
28
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. (FrancoisJoseph Grille, Miettes littéraires, biographiques et morales livrées au public avec des explications, 3 vols
(Paris: Ledoyen, 1853), I, 254).
25
160
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’),29 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 […]).30 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 […].31 32
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 reeducate 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:
29
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 55.
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 99.
31
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 100.
32
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.
30
161
[…] 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.33
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.34
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.35
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
33
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 100.
Œuvres de Fénelon, Archevêque de Cambrai, ed. by M. Aimé-Martin, 3 vols (Paris: Didot, 1857), II,
508.
35
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.
34
162
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.36
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 AiméMartin’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.37
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’.38
However, Aimé-Martin was eager to make his programme more accessible both from a
36
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 102.
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 107.
38
‘Etude quatorzième’, Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, I, 462.
37
163
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 […].’39 Making the
opportunity for learning readily available to country dwellers was integral to AiméMartin’s project as he maintained that an education was owed them as a necessary
recognition of their social contribution.40 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.41
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. 42 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.43
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
39
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 110.
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.
41
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.
42
Aimé-Martin projects that to, ‘Instruire les jeunes filles, c’est faire une école de chaque maison’.
(Education, p. 110).
43
Aimé-Martin, Du Bulletin universel, p. 1.
40
164
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:44
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.45
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.46
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.47 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,48 but maybe also for its
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).
45
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 113.
46
Aimé-Martin, Du Bulletin universel, p. 2.
47
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.
48
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,
44
165
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
Modern history with focus on French
Ancient history
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.49 The specification of the study of modern languages is indicative of AiméMartin’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.50 As discussed in the
chapter on the Lettres à Sophie, Aimé-Martin practises a science informed by principles
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) <http://www.inrp.fr/edition-electronique/lodel/dictionnaireferdinand-buisson/document.php?id=3134> [accessed 19 May 2009]).
49
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).
50
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).
166
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.51
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.52 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!’,53 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.54
51
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.
52
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).
53
Pinet, p. 643.
54
Pinet, p. 644.
167
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’.55
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’.56 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’.57 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.58
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
55
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 34.
‘Etude treizième’, Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, I, 460.
57
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 88.
58
James F. McMillan, France and Women 1789-1914: Gender, Society and Politics (London and New
York: Routledge, 2000), p. 50.
56
168
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.59
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.60 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’.61 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
59
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 83.
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).
61
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 96.
60
169
à coup puissante et souveraine’.62 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.63
As Rousseau recognises that ‘leurs études doivent se rapporter toutes à la pratique’64 so
too does Aimé-Martin.65 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’.66 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:
62
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 44.
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).
64
Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Émile ou de l’éducation, ed. by J.-L. Lecercle (Paris: Editions sociales, 1958),
p. 233.
65
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.
66
Jean-Jacques Rousseau, p. 219.
63
170
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.67
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,68 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.69
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.70
Madame de Genlis, Adèle et Théodore ou Lettres sur l’éducation, 6th edn, 4 vols (Paris: Lecointe et
Durey, 1827), I, 74-75.
68
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 JacquesHenri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, II, 466).
69
Vera Lee, The Reign of Women in Eighteenth-century France (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Schenkman,
1975), pp. 70-71.
67
171
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.71
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’),72 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 consentiraientelles à leur avilissement si elles avaient un peu plus de lumières?73
70
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.
71
Aimé-Martin, Education, pp. 76-77.
72
Jean-Jacques Rousseau, p. 223.
73
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 111.
172
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.74
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.75
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 […].76
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
74
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 87.
Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, ‘Discours sur l’éducation des femmes’, Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin
de Saint-Pierre, II, 468.
76
Jean-Jacques Rousseau, p. 220.
75
173
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.77
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.78
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.79
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
Vivien Jones, ‘Education’, in Women in the eighteenth century: Constructions of femininity, ed. by
Vivien Jones, pp. 98-101 (p. 99).
78
Aimé-Martin, Education, pp. 310-311.
79
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 311.
77
174
n’est qu’à religion que nos femmes doivent la liberté dont elles jouissent en Europe’, 80
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.81
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’.82 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.83
‘Etude quatorzième’, Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, I, p. 477.
McMillan, p. 55.
82
Jean-Jacques Rousseau, p. 230.
83
Aimé-Martin, Education, pp. 63-64.
80
81
175
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 […].84
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.85
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’,86 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 […].87
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
84
Jean-Jacques Rosseau, p. 242.
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 40.
86
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 70.
87
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 69.
85
176
sexe was, we are frequently reminded, represented as possessing the virtues and
nature appropriate for duties which are quintessentially ‘private’.88
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.’ 89 Notions of the
tyrannical figure of man90 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.91 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.92
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.93
Hazel Mills, ‘Negotiating the Divide: Women, Philanthropy and the ‘Public Sphere’ in NineteenthCentury 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).
89
Laclos, Œuvres complètes, ed. by Laurent Versini (Dijon: Gallimard, 1979), p. 419.
90
Aimé-Martin notes in his Education that, in the past, the father has always been portrayed as a ruthless
figure.
91
Taken from the following quotation.
92
‘Discours sur l’éducation des femmes’, Œuvres de Jacques-Henri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, II, 464.
93
Moralistes anciens, ed. by L. Aimé-Martin (Paris: Lefèvre, 1840), p. 566.
88
177
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.94
While Rousseau writes of the ‘tendresse et les soins’95 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!96
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?97
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.
94
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 26.
Jean-Jacques Rousseau, p. 230.
96
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 23.
97
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 26.
95
178
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 […].98 99
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.100
98
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 200.
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).
100
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 34.
99
179
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.101
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, JeanJacques, 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.102
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:
101
102
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 80.
Aimé-Martin, Education, pp. 71-72.
180
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.103
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.104
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. 105 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.106
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
103
Madame de Genlis, I, pp. xvii-xviii.
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. iii.
105
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).
106
Le Comte de Resie, Du Catholicisme et de l’enseignement universitaire (Paris: Jacques Lecoffre,
1846), p. 63.
104
181
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.107
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.108
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:
107
108
Aimé-Martin, Education, pp. 77-78.
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 4.
182
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?109
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.110
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’.111 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
109
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. viii.
Mme La Baronne de Staël-Holstein, Portrait d’Attila, ed. by Louis Aimé-Martin (Paris: La Librairie
Stéréotype, 1814), p. 21.
111
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 446.
110
183
leur donne notre sotte faiblesse et d’autre force que celle qu’ils acquièrent par
notre propre inertie.112
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’113 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.114
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.115
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:
112
Resie, p. 5.
Resie, p. 7.
114
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 453.
115
Louis Barthou, ‘Lettres de Lamartine à Aimé Martin’, La Revue de Paris, 5 (1925), 741-761 (p. 754).
113
184
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.116
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.117
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 AiméMartin’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
116
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 448.
Louis-Aimé-Martin, ‘Esquisse d’une philosophie, par M. de Lamennais’, Journal des débats politiques
et littéraires, 7 September 1841, p. 3.
117
185
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.118
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.119
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.120
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,121 of unmarried priests’ conscious attempts to divide
families,122 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:
118
Resie, p. 13.
Resie, p. 52.
120
Louis Aimé-Martin, Examen critique des Réflexions ou sentences et maximes de La Rochefoucauld
(n.p.: n. pub., 1822), p. 28.
121
Jules Michelet, the anti-clerical historian.
122
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.
119
186
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.123
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.124
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’.125 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.126
123
Aimé-Martin, Education, pp. 458-459.
Aimé-Martin, Education, p. 448.
125
Resie, p. 38.
126
Corinthians 1. 32-34.
124
187
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.127
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.128 Furthermore, in Aimé-Martin’s
127
Resie, p. 55.
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
128
188
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.129
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 resocialisation of the people.130
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 nonprescriptive because he understood that the social and political institutions of his day
‘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.
129
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).
130
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.
189
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.131
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.132 What is more, his
Education would go on to appear in at least three different languages 133 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 AiméMartin 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
131
Harvard, Houghton Library, MS Fr 382 (2).
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).
133
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).
132
190
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!134
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-Martin135
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.136
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
134
Aimé-Martin, Education, pp. 476-477.
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.
136
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. 128171 (p. 171).
135
191
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.
192
Interpreting the letters of Louis Aimé-Martin
7.1
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].1
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,2 AiméMartin 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
Catalogue d’Autographes de la collection de M. Van Sloppen, ed. by Aimé-Martin (Paris: R. Merlin,
1843), pp. 1-2.
2
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).
1
193
preface to several ‘complete works’ edited by him for the Lefèvre Classics Collection.3
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’,4 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.5
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 AiméMartin, 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,6 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.
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.
4
The philosophy of which would later be contested by Marcel Proust, followed by Roland Barthes some
fifty years on.
5
Charles-Augustin Sainte-Beuve, Nouveaux Lundis, 4th edn, 13 vols (Paris: Calmann Lévy, 1884), III, 15.
6
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.
3
194
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,7 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.8
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.9
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
7
These include Désirée de Saint-Pierre, the widow of his mentor and his future wife.
Henri de Lacretelle, Lamartine et ses amis (Paris: Maurice Dreyfous, n.d.), p. 11.
9
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).
8
195
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,10 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.’11
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.12 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 Nodier13 to Jules Lechevalier,14 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 wellconnected 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
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).
11
Louis Barthou, ‘Lamartine et Aimé Martin’, Revue de Paris, 5 (1925), 481-489 (p. 484).
12
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.
13
One of the early Romantic writers. He shared Aimé-Martin’s interest in natural history as well as his
royalist sentiments.
14
An economist by profession, Jules Lechevalier had published several works on social science.
10
196
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.
7.2
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.15 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:
15
Eventually published, in part, in 1830.
197
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.16
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.17
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.18 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.19 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
16
Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 169.
Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 170.
18
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).
19
In that it ostensibly sided with the ultra-royalists of the preceding regime.
17
198
nous voulions sauver, il fallait céder à ses prévisions plus éclairées que les
nôtres, et étouffer au lieu de répandre.20
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.21 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’,22 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.23
20
La Revue de Paris, 741-761, (p. 745).
The Journal des Débats would only venture as far as advertising Lamartine’s Contre la peine de mort.
22
Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 170.
23
Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 170.
21
199
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 compatriot24 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’25
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.26
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 disciple27 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
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.
25
Louis Aimé-Martin, Réponse à la lettre d’un français au Roi (Paris: Nicolle, 1815), p. 6.
26
Réponse à la lettre, p. 7.
27
Let us not forget that Bernardin was wont to adapt his doctrine to suit the political leader of the day.
24
200
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’.28 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.29
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’30 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 AiméMartin’s letters to Lamartine, that:
28
Réponse à la lettre, p. 9.
Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 172.
30
Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 199.
29
201
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.31
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.32
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,33 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
31
Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 172.
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.
33
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.
32
202
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.34
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’.35
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.36
Nonetheless, despite his correspondent’s often imprudent and inconvenient political
position, Aimé-Martin believed that in Lamartine’s philosophy lay the antidote to many
34
Letter from Lamartine to Désirée, written 7 December 1842. (Croisille with Morin, Correspondance,
IV, 153).
35
Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 189.
36
Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 190.
203
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!’37 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 sense38 (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, AiméMartin’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 longtime 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 illfated 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.39
37
Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, pp. 196-197.
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.
39
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.
38
204
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.40
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.41
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
40
41
Croisille with Morin, Correspondance, IV, 35.
Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 194.
205
explained by the fact that in 1834, dissimilarly to his thoughts on Lamartine, AiméMartin genuinely believed his own most significant and definitive social contribution
had come to fruition, therefore negating any concerns over his post-publication political
standing.42
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.’43 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 Byron44 to his idealisation of the natural world.45
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 AiméMartin’s entrepreneurship, calling upon his friend to secure publications and to promote
his work, but he also depended upon him for financial aid46 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
42
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).
43
La Revue de Paris, 741-761 (p. 755).
44
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).
45
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).
46
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.
206
tangible, though, certainly in the latter’s eyes, equally indispensable. Croisille, the
editor of some recent editions of Lamartine’s correspondence, suggests that AiméMartin 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.47
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’.48 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,
47
Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 182.
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).
48
207
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.49
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,50 but he also paid particular attention to consumer trends in order that
he might anticipate the most marketable material.51 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.52
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:
49
Alphonse de Lamartine, Correspondance générale de 1830 à 1848, ed. by Maurice Levaillant, 2 vols
(Paris: Droz, 1943), II, 70.
50
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 […].’
51
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).
52
Also in the letter to Fabien Pillet.
208
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.53
Indeed, though Aimé-Martin adhered to a strict work ethic that saw him agonise over
the syntax and phraseology of his texts54 and labour tirelessly55 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.56
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
53
Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 201.
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)).
55
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).
56
He instructs Désirée thus: ‘Je vais travailler à La Rochefoucauld [.] prenez notes des pensées 20-28-4455 et 64- je crois qu[']elles sont dignes de vos observations et vous les avez oubliées.’ (Houghton, MS Fr
382 (3)).
54
209
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.57
Of course, this extensive travel takes place in the years that follow Aimé-Martin’s bestknown 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.58
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?’59 However, it would not be until June 1841 that AiméMartin 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.60
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
57
Croisille with Morin, Correspondance, IV, 250-251.
Croisille with Morin, Correspondance, IV, 251.
59
Croisille with Morin, Correspondance, III, 128.
60
Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 192.
58
210
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 AiméMartin 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:
211
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 1000.61
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 father62 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,63 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.64
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.65
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
61
La Revue de Paris, 741-761, (p. 746).
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).
63
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.
64
From a letter (one of a private collection) dated ‘26 juin 1847’ and addressed to ‘Mon cher Docteur’.
65
Levaillant, I, 77.
62
212
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!66
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 […].67
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:
66
67
Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 155.
Extract from a letter to Mr Charles, undated. (From a private collection).
213
Pensez-vous donc que, si l’Académie ne vous nommait pas, elle ne serait pas
assez punie par l’opinion publique qui la condamnerait?68
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.69
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 AiméMartin, 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’.70 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’.71 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
68
Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 156.
Levaillant, II, 242.
70
Houghton, MS Fr 382 (3)
71
Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 159.
69
214
pièces, on me faisait promettre d’en lire encore quelques-unes; j’ai tenu parole,
et l’enthousiasme a toujours été le même.72
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.73 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.74
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 prayer75 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.76
72
Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 158.
As highlighted in the preceding chapter.
74
La Revue de Paris, 741-761, (p. 750).
75
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).
76
Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, pp. 192-193.
73
215
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!77
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,78 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 disdain79 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
77
Croisille with Morin, Correspondance, IV, 138.
As already noted in the previous chapter, on the 28 th 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.
79
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).
78
216
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.80
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.
7.5
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 AiméMartin’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 […].81
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
80
81
Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 201.
Paris, Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal, MS fonds anciens 15050/71.
217
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 AiméMartin’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.82
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 […].83
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,84 their eventual partnership seems to have
engendered a meeting of minds, with Aimé-Martin remarking to Lamartine of his wife
Undated letter to Madame de Lamartine, signed ‘A.M.’ [Désirée], from a private collection.
Houghton, MS Fr 382 (3).
84
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)).
82
83
218
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.’85 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,86 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.87
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.88
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
85
origins
of
his
legacy.
Excerpt of a letter to Lamartine. (Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 178).
He tells Désirée: ‘il y a dans la quotidienne un article sur B en de St Pierre.-lisez jugez.’ (Houghton, MS
Fr 382 (3)).
87
Houghton, MS Fr 382 (3).
88
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).
86
219
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’,1 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”’.2 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
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).
2
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).
1
220
projects3 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.4 My study having provided only the introduction to AiméMartin’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 AiméMartin’s influence in his friend’s work.5
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.6 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.
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).
4
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.
5
In the collection of letters edited by Christian Croisille and Marie-Renée Morin, we read of AiméMartin’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).
6
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)).
3
221
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’.7 The non-prescriptive and inclusive nature of AiméMartin’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.8
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.9 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, AiméMartin succeeds in adding another dimension to an enduring idea of how best to effect
social progress.
7
La France parlementaire, V, 24-26 (p. 25).
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.
9
And, this, just one of several problematic or impracticable proposals.
8
222
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’.10 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’. 11 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.
10
11
Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 149.
Croisille and Morin, Répertoire, p. 177.
223
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-HenriBernardin 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)
224
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 JacquesHenri-Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, ed. by Louis Aimé-Martin, 2 vols (Paris: Ledentu,
1840), I, 565-587
225
— 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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<http://www.inrp.fr/edition-electronique/lodel/dictionnaire-ferdinandbuisson/document.php?id=3134>