Article VII May 31, 2007

Philosophy disguised as novels, Part II: La Nouvelle Heloise

By the editor

Eloise and Abelard was the quintessential love story, second only perhaps to the fictional Romeo and Juliet. Pierre Abelard was a famous philosopher whose autobiographical HISTORIA CALAMITATUM (the story of my misforttunes) written in the 12th century contains the details of his tragic love affair with his student, Heloise. Hence Rouseau sets out to write ‘the new Eloise’ Julie, ou La Nouvelle Heloîse. As the title hints, this is also a tragic love story between a teacher and student, this time between a tutour, Saint Preux, and his pupil, the wealthy Julie.

This novel was a guilty pleasure among the higher classes all throughout Europe. It was often found on the bookshelves of those who dismissed novels as mindless drivel, and condemned Rousseau in general for his revolutionary ideas. Read as a novel, it is a very passionate and even overwrought portrayal of unlicensed love. Saint-Preux and Julie could not marry because her parents rejected him as unworthy, and because her father had already destined her for the wife of one of his friends. The language is as flowery and romantic as you will find in the 18th century.

Heavenly powers! I had one soul for sorrow, give me another for happiness. Love, spirit of my existence, come sustain me as I grow faint. How inexpressible is the charm of virtue, how invincible the power of the loved one’s voice! Happiness, pleasures, ecstasies, how poignant your impressions are! Who can withstand them? Oh, how shall I be equal to the torrent of delights which has just flooded my heart! How shall I dispel the apprehension of a fearful girl? Julie…. no, not my Julie on her knees! My Julie shedding tears!.... She, to whom the universe should pay its respects, begging a man who adores her not to insult her, not to dishonour himself! IF I could become indignant with you, I would , because of your fears which debase us. Pure and celestial beauty, be a better judge of the nature of your conquest! Oh, if I adore your physical charms, is it not above all the imprint of that spotless soul which animates them, the divine mark of which is evident in all your features? Do you fear succumbing to my designs? But what designs can she dread who stamps all the feelings she inspires with respect and honour? Is there in the world a man vile enough to dare to be bold with you?

After reading this excerpt (chosen to demonstrate the style), everyone will exclaim with wonder to learn that Saint-Preux seduces Julie. If this was an English novel, Julie would die of a wasting disease or kill herself, but since it is French, she only seriously contemplates suicide. I say this humourously, but it is worth noting the differences between the two countries when it came to the loss of virtue in a woman. In England, it was unredeemable, while in France it was something worse than un-ideal.

The lovers are forced to seperate. Saint-Preux wanders and Julie is eventually forced to obey her parents and marry the friend of her father. The book has several unlikely moments: Saint-Preux confesses in a letter that he unknowingly found himself in a house of ill-repute, and could not resist the temptation. Julie replies that he dishonours himself more than her by choosing friends who bring him to such places, but otherwise seems to be able to tame her passion into indifference for this betrayal. Now what man wouldn’t expect a mild lecture about his friends after he sleeping with a prostitute when he accidently finds himself in a brothel? Rousseau’s own conduct (reveals it in his Autobiography Confessions) gives a possible motive for portraying Saint-Preux’s infidelity as only mildly objectionable.

At any rate, Julie’s new husband invites Saint-Preux to stay with he and Julie when he returns after several years in foreign lands. The lovers resist temptation and Rousseau gives us a 30 page lecture on good-housekeeping, demonstrated by Julie and her husband.

Since the master and mistress of this house have fixed it as their residence, they have put to use all that formerly served only for ornament; it is no longer a house made to be seen but to be lived in. They have shut up long series of rooms to change the inconvenient situation of the doors; they have cut up excessively large rooms to have better distributed apartments. For old and rich furniture they have substituted simple and comfortable things. Everything here is pleasant and cheerful. Everything breathes an air of plenty and propriety; nothing savors of pomp and luxury. There is not a single room in which one may not recognize that he is in the country and yet in which he may not find all the conveniences of the city. They same changes are to be observed outside…

The philosophical meaning of this novel might not seem immediately obvious. Some readers will know that Rousseau generally believed that the laws of society should be subjugated to the laws of nature. In the case of Julie and Saint-Preux, ‘nature’ made them for each-other, they naturally loved and desired one-another and therefore they were right to overlook their societies general prohibition against sex before marriage. Once Julie becomes a wife, however, it is no longer a victimless transgression. Julie has taken an oath and in Rousseau’s view, both Julie and Saint-Preux would be wrong to continue the affair begun before her marriage. In short, laws of nature trump those of society, but one must keep ones obligations.

Rousseau’s idea, which for the most part we now accept to be true, was not practical in the context of his time and society. The ‘new Eloise’ was an ideal suited for an ideal world. What man or woman could not, after all, claim that nature had made them for one another, and that in the beginning at least, they believed that they loved each-other? If such guidelines were to replace those of abstinence and virtue in the 18th century, hardly a family would be untouched by the consequences. Samuel Johnson was one of his harshest critics, as James Boswell records in his Life of Johnson:

Our next meeting at the Mitre was on Saturday the 15th of February, when I presented to him my old and most intimate friend, the Reverend Mr. Temple, then of Cambridge. I having mentioned that I had passed some time with Rousseau in his wild retreat, and having quoted some remark made by Mr. Wilkes, with whom I had spent many pleasant hours in Italy, Johnson said (sarcastically,) ‘It seems, Sir, you have kept very good company abroad, Rousseau and Wilkes!’ Thinking it enough to defend one at a time, I said nothing as to my gay friend, but answered with a smile, ‘My dear Sir, you don’t call Rousseau bad company. Do you really think him a bad man?’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, if you are talking jestingly of this, I don’t talk with you. If you mean to be serious, I think him one of the worst of men; a rascal who ought to be hunted out of society, as he has been. Three or four nations have expelled him; and it is a shame that he is protected in this country.’ BOSWELL. ‘I don’t deny, Sir, but that his novel [31, Julie, ou la Nouvelle Heloise] may, perhaps, do harm; but I cannot think his intention was bad.’ JOHNSON. ‘Sir, that will not do. We cannot prove any man’s intention to be bad. You may shoot a man through the head, and say you intended to miss him; but the Judge will order you to be hanged. An alleged want of intention, when evil is committed, will not be allowed in a court of justice. Rousseau, Sir, is a very bad man. I would sooner sign a sentence for his transportation, than that of any felon who has gone from the Old Bailey these many years. Yes, I should like to have him work in the plantations.’ BOSWELL. ‘Sir, do you think him as bad a man as Voltaire?’ JOHNSON. ‘Why, Sir, it is difficult to settle the proportion of iniquity between them.’

Next week… Philosophy disguised as novels Part III: Rasselas

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Previous 4 Ramblings:

• Jane Austen vs Fanny Burney, Part II
• Jane Austen vs Fanny Burney, Part III
• Pamela, Shamela and the Universities
• Philosophy disguised as novels, Part I: Candide

See all Ramblings