"Julia, or New Eloise"(fr. Julie ou la Nouvelle Héloise listen)) is a novel in letters in the direction of sentimentalism, written by Jean-Jacques Rousseau in 1757-1760. The first edition appeared in Amsterdam in February 1761 at Rey's printing house. The second part of the title refers the reader to the medieval love story of Eloise and Abelard, which is similar to the fate of the main characters of the novel by Julia d'Etange and Saint Preux. The novel was a huge success among contemporaries. For the first 40 years " New Eloise"only officially reprinted 70 times - a success that no other work of the French literature XVIII century.
History of creation
Sonnet CCCXXXVIII
The title of the novel is followed by the subtitle: “Letters from two lovers living in a small town at the foot of the Alps. Collected and published by J.-J. Rousseau." In this way, Rousseau gave greater credibility to the story being told, acting not as a writer, but as a friend of the characters, who collected and published from the letter.
A few days after the novel's first release, on February 18, 1761, Rousseau separately published a "Second Preface" to the novel, written in the form of a dialogue between author and publisher.
The Paris edition of 1764 added a "List of Letters" with a summary of each. Rousseau himself did not take part in this, but later approved the idea, and in complete editions novel it is usually included.
The “Plots of Engravings” became a standard part of the editions, in which Rousseau describes in detail the plots and requirements for the execution of all 12 engravings for the first edition.
On the contrary, Rousseau excluded from his lifetime publications the insert novel “ Love story my lord Edward Bomston," because he considered that in her tone she contradicted general style novel and the "touching simplicity" of its plot. The novella was first published after Rousseau's death in the Geneva edition of 1780.
"New Eloise" in Russia
The first edition in Russian was published in 1769 in a translation by P. S. Potemkin. In 1792 another, anonymous, translation was published.
In the 19th century, the novel was translated twice: by A. A. Palitsyn in 1803-1804 (second edition in 1820-1821) and by P. P. Konchalovsky in 1892.
In Soviet times, an academic edition of the novel with appendices and extensive comments was included in the second volume of Rousseau's Selected Works ( Jean-Jacques Rousseau. Selected writings. - M .: Goslitizdat, 1961. - T. 2.). Parts I-III were translated by A. A. Khudadova, parts IV-VI were translated by N. I. Nemchinova. The same translation was used in the 2008 anthology.
Main heroes
Plot
Saint Preux, a gifted young man of noble birth, works as a house teacher for the daughter of the Baron d'Etange.
Influence on the development of world literature
Image gallery
JulieNouvelleHeloise.jpg
Julia and Saint Preux.
Illustration for the 1878 French edition.
04 Einsamkeit.jpg
Saint Preux on the lake.
German edition of 1840.
Julie d"Étanges.jpg
Julia reads Saint Preux's letter.
German edition of 1840.
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Notes
Comments
Links to sources
Literature
- Jean-Jacques Rousseau. Selected writings. - M .: Goslitizdat, 1961. - T. 2.
- Voltaire, Denis Diderot, Jean-Jacques Rousseau. Literature of the French Enlightenment. - M .: Bustard, 2008. - (Library of foreign classics). - ISBN 9785358029880.
Links
- (fr.). open library. Retrieved October 28, 2011. .
An excerpt characterizing Julia, or the New Eloise
Is it because I was known as the famous Vidunya, and he considered me his worst enemy?.. After all, it didn’t matter to him what they called me, for the “Grand Inquisitor” I was just a witch, and he burned witches at the stake ...I strongly and wholeheartedly loved Life! And I, like every normal person, really wanted it to last as long as possible. After all, even the most notorious scoundrel, who may have taken the lives of others, cherishes every minute lived, every day lived of his precious life for him! .. But it was at that moment that I suddenly realized very clearly that it was he, Karaffa, and will take her away, my short and such a valuable, unlived life for me...
- A great spirit is born in a small body, Madonna Isidora. Even holy Jesus was once a child. I will be very glad to visit you! - and bowing gracefully, Caraffa left.
The world was collapsing... It crumbled into small pieces, each of which reflected a predatory, thin, intelligent face....
I tried to somehow calm down and not panic, but for some reason it did not work. This time my usual self-confidence and in my abilities let me down, and this made it even more terrible. The day was as sunny and bright as just a few minutes ago, but darkness settled in my soul. As it turned out, I had been waiting for the appearance of this man for a long time. And all my nightmarish visions about fires were only a premonition... to today's meeting with him.
Returning home, I immediately persuaded my husband to take little Anna and take her somewhere far away, where the evil tentacles of Karaffa could not get her. And she herself began to prepare for the worst, because she knew for sure that his arrival would not be long in coming. And I wasn't wrong...
A few days later, my beloved black maid Kay (at that time it was very fashionable to have black servants in rich houses) reported that "His Eminence, the Cardinal, is waiting for me in the pink drawing room." And I felt that something was going to happen right now...
I was wearing a light yellow silk dress and I knew that this color suits me very well. But if there was one single person in the world in front of whom I did not want to look attractive, then it was certainly Caraffa. But there was no time left for changing clothes, and I had to go out just like that.
He was waiting, calmly leaning back in his chair, studying some old manuscript, of which there were a myriad of in our house. I put on a pleasant smile and went down to the living room. Seeing me, Caraffa for some reason froze without uttering a word. The silence dragged on, and it seemed to me that the cardinal was about to hear my frightened heart beating treacherously loudly ... But then, finally, his enthusiastic, hoarse voice rang out:
- You are amazing, Madonna Isidora! Even this sunny morning loses next to you!
“I never thought cardinals were allowed to compliment ladies!” - with the greatest effort, continuing to smile, I squeezed out.
- Cardinals are people too, Madonna, and they know how to distinguish beauty from simplicity ... And where is your wonderful daughter? Will I be able to enjoy double beauty today?
“She is not in Venice, Your Eminence. She and her father went to Florence to visit her sick cousin.
- As far as I know, this moment there are no patients in your family. Who fell ill so suddenly, Madonna Isidora? There was an undisguised threat in his voice...
Caraffa began to play openly. And I had no choice but to meet the danger face to face ...
“What do you want from me, Your Eminence?” Wouldn't it be easier to say it directly, saving us both from this unnecessary, cheap game? We are enough smart people so that, even with a difference of views, they can respect each other.
My legs were trembling with horror, but for some reason Caraffa did not notice this. He glared at my face with a burning gaze, not answering and not noticing anything around. I could not understand what was happening, and all this dangerous comedy frightened me more and more ... But then something completely unforeseen happened, something completely beyond the usual framework ... Caraffa came very close to me, everything in the same way, without taking his burning eyes off, and almost without breathing, he whispered:
– You cannot be from God... You are too beautiful! You are a witch!!! A woman has no right to be so beautiful! You are from the Devil!
And turning around, he rushed out of the house without looking back, as if Satan himself was chasing him ... I stood in complete shock, still expecting to hear his steps, but nothing happened. Gradually coming to my senses, and finally managing to relax my stiff body, I took a deep breath and... lost consciousness. I woke up in bed, drinking hot wine from the hands of my sweet maid Kei. But then, remembering what had happened, she jumped to her feet and began to rush around the room, not really understanding what to do ... Time passed, and I had to do something, think of something in order to somehow protect myself and his family from this bipedal monster. I knew for sure that now every game was over, that the war had begun. But our forces, to my great regret, were very, very unequal... Naturally, I could defeat him in my own way... I could even just stop his bloodthirsty heart. And all these horrors would immediately end. But the fact is that, even at thirty-six, I was still too pure and kind to kill ... I never took life, on the contrary - very often gave it back. And even this scary person what Caraffa was, she could not yet execute ...
The next morning there was a loud knock on the door. My heart has stopped. I knew it was the Inquisition... They took me away, accusing me of "verbiage and witchcraft, intoxicating honest citizens with false predictions and heresy"... That was the end.
The room in which I was settled was very damp and dark, but for some reason it seemed to me that I would not stay in it for a long time. Caraffa came at noon...
- Oh, I beg your pardon, Madonna Isidora, you have been given someone else's room. It's not for you, of course.
"What's the point of all this play, monsignor?" - proudly (as it seemed to me) throwing up my head, I asked. “I would rather just tell the truth, and I would like to know what they are really accusing me of. My family, as you know, is very respected and loved in Venice, and it would be better for you if the accusations were true.
Caraffa never found out how much effort it took me to look proud then! .. I knew perfectly well that hardly anyone or anything could help me. But I couldn't let him see my fear. And so she continued, trying to get him out of that calmly ironic state, which apparently was his kind of protection. And which I couldn't stand at all.
“Will you deign to tell me what my fault is, or will you leave this pleasure to your faithful “vassals” ?!.
“I do not advise you to boil, Madonna Isidora,” Caraffa said calmly. - As far as I know, all your beloved Venice knows that you are a Witch. And besides, the strongest that ever lived. You didn't hide it, did you?
Suddenly, I was completely calm. Yes, it was true - I never hid my abilities ... I was proud of them, like my mother. So now, in front of this crazy fanatic, I will betray my soul and renounce who I am ?!.
“You are right, Your Eminence, I am a Witch. But I'm not from the Devil, nor from God. I am free in my soul, I KNOW... And you will never be able to take that away from me. You can only kill me. But even then I will remain who I am ... Only, in that case, you will never see me again ...
I blindly delivered a weak blow ... There was no certainty that it would work. But Caraffa suddenly turned pale, and I realized that I was right. No matter how much you hate female half this unpredictable man, he had a strange and dangerous feeling which I haven't been able to pinpoint yet. But the main thing - it was! And that was the only thing that mattered so far. And it was possible to figure it out later, if now Karaff manages to “catch” this simple female bait ... But I didn’t know then how strong the will of this unusual person... The confusion disappeared as quickly as it had come. Before me again stood the cold and calm cardinal.
“It would be a huge loss for anyone who appreciates beauty, Madonna. But too much beauty can be dangerous, as it destroys pure souls. And yours will definitely not leave anyone indifferent, so it would be better if it simply ceases to exist ...
Caraffa left. And my hair stood on end - so strong he instilled horror in my tired lonely soul ... I was alone. All my loved ones and relatives were somewhere on the other side of these stone walls, and I was by no means sure that I would ever see them again ... My dearly beloved little Anna huddled in Florence near the Medici, and I really hoped that Caraffa did not know where and with whom she was. My husband, who adored me, was with her at my request and did not know that I was captured. I didn't have any hope. I was truly all alone.
Since that ill-fated day, endless trials began against the famous "Venetian Witch", that is, over me ... But Venice was a truly free city and did not allow her children to be destroyed so easily. The Inquisition was hated by everyone, and Caraffe had to reckon with this. Therefore, I was judged by the “supreme tribunal of the Inquisition”, which accused me of all possible vices, most of which I had never even heard of. The only light that happened during all this nightmarish time was the unexpected and very strong support of friends, which forced Caraffa to be much more careful in his accusations, but this did not help me escape from his dangerous clutches.
Time passed, and I knew that a dangerous moment was coming when Caraffa would launch an attack. So far, it has been just a "not very beautiful performance" that has been going on for more than a year, almost every day. And this, according to their concepts, apparently should have somehow calmed me down or even given some false tiny hope that all this will someday end, and that I might even “happily go home” ... Me for some reason "put to sleep", wanting, apparently, to hit even harder. But Caraffa was wrong. I knew he was just waiting. Just didn't know what yet.
“I observed the customs of my time and published these letters,” the author writes in the “Preface” to this philosophical and lyrical novel.
Small Swiss town. The educated and sensitive commoner Saint-Preux, like Abelard, falls in love with his student Julia, daughter of the Baron d'Etange. And although the harsh fate of a medieval philosopher does not threaten him, he knows that the baron will never agree to marry his daughter to an unborn person.
Julia responds to Saint-Preux with the same ardent love. However, brought up in strict rules, she does not imagine love without marriage, and marriage - without the consent of her parents. “Take vain power, my friend, but leave honor to me. I am ready to become your slave, but to live in innocence, I do not want to gain dominance over you at the cost of my dishonor, ”Julia writes to her beloved. “The more I am fascinated by you, the higher my feelings become,” he replies to her. Every day, with every letter, Julia becomes more and more attached to Saint-Preux, and he "languishes and burns", the fire flowing through his veins, "nothing can either extinguish or quench." Clara, Julia's cousin, patronizes lovers. In her presence, Saint-Preux plucks a delightful kiss from Julia's lips, from which he "will never be healed." “Oh Julia, Julia! Is our union impossible! Is it possible that our life will flow apart and we are destined for eternal separation? he exclaims.
Julia learns that her father has chosen her husband - his old friend, Mr. de Volmar, and in desperation calls her lover to her. Saint Preux persuades the girl to run away with him, but she refuses: her escape will "stab a dagger in her mother's chest" and "grieve the best of fathers." Torn apart by conflicting feelings, Julia, in a fit of passion, becomes Saint-Preux's mistress, and immediately regrets it bitterly. “Not understanding what I was doing, I chose my own death. I forgot about everything, I thought only about my love. I slipped into the abyss of shame, from where there is no return for a girl, ”she confides in Clara. Clara comforts her friend, reminding her that her sacrifice has been made on the altar of pure love.
Saint-Preux suffers - from the suffering of Julia. He is offended by the repentance of his beloved. “So I am only worthy of contempt, if you despise yourself for being united with me, if the joy of my life is torment for you?” he asks. Julia finally admits that only "love is cornerstone all of our lives." “There is no more chaste bond in the world than the bond of true love. Only love, its divine fire, can purify our natural inclinations, concentrating all thoughts on a beloved subject. The flame of love ennobles and purifies love caresses; decency and decency accompany her even in the bosom of voluptuous bliss, and only she knows how to combine all this with ardent desires, but without violating modesty. Unable to fight the passion any longer, Julia calls on Saint-Preux for a date night.
Dates are repeated, Saint-Preux is happy, he revels in the love of his "unearthly angel." But in society, the impregnable beauty Julia is liked by many men, including the noble English traveler Edward Bomston; my lord constantly praises her. Once, in a male company, Sir Bomston, heated up by wine, speaks especially passionately about Julia, which causes strong displeasure of Saint Preux. Julia's lover challenges the Englishman to a duel.
Mr. d'Orb, who is in love with Clara, tells the lady of his heart about what happened, and she tells Julia. Julia begs her lover to refuse the duel: the Englishman is a dangerous and formidable opponent, besides, in the eyes of society, Saint-Preux has no right to act as Julia's defender, his behavior can cast a shadow on her and reveal their secret. Julia also writes to Sir Edward: she confesses to him that Saint Preux is her lover and she "adores him". If he kills Saint Preux, he will kill two at once, for she "will not live a day" after the death of her lover.
The noble Sir Edward, in front of witnesses, apologizes to Saint Preux. Bomston and Saint Preux become friends. An Englishman with participation refers to the troubles of lovers. Having met Yulia's father in the company, he tries to convince him that marriage ties with the unknown, but talented and noble Saint-Preux do not infringe on the noble dignity of the d'Etange family. However, the baron is adamant; moreover, he forbids his daughter to see Saint-Preux. In order to avoid a scandal, Sir Edward takes his friend on a trip without even letting him say goodbye to Julia.
Bomston is outraged: the immaculate bonds of love are created by nature itself, and they cannot be sacrificed to social prejudices. “For the sake of universal justice, such abuse of power should be eradicated, it is the duty of every person to oppose violence, to promote order. And if it depended on me to unite our lovers, against the will of the absurd old man, I would, of course, complete the predestination from above, regardless of the opinion of the world, ”he writes to Clara.
Saint-Preux is in despair; Julia is confused. She envies Clara: her feelings for Mr. d'Orbu are calm and even, and her father is not going to oppose her daughter's choice.
Saint Preux parted ways with Sir Edward and went to Paris. From there, he sends Julia lengthy descriptions of the mores of Parisian society, which by no means serve to the honor of the latter. Yielding to the general pursuit of pleasure, Saint-Preux cheats on Julia and writes her a letter of repentance. Julia forgives her lover, but warns him: it is easy to step on the path of debauchery, but it is impossible to leave it.
Unexpectedly, Yulia's mother discovers her daughter's correspondence with her lover. The good Madame d'Etange has nothing against Saint Preux, but knowing that Julia's father will never give his consent to her daughter's marriage to a "rootless vagabond", she is tormented by remorse that she failed to save her daughter, and soon dies. Julia, considering herself the culprit of her mother's death, dutifully agrees to become Volmar's wife. “The time has come to abandon the delusions of youth and deceitful hopes; I will never belong to you,” she informs Saint Preux. "O love! Is it possible to avenge you for the loss of loved ones! - exclaims Saint-Preux in a woeful letter to Clara, who has become Madame d'Orbe.
Reasonable Clara asks Saint-Prex not to write to Julia anymore: she "married and will make a decent man happy, who wished to unite his fate with her fate." Moreover, Madame d'Orb believes that, having married, Julia saved both lovers - "herself from disgrace, and you, who deprived her of honor, from repentance."
Julia returns to the bosom of virtue. She again sees "all the abomination of sin", a love for prudence awakens in her, she praises her father for having given her under the protection of a worthy spouse, "endowed with a meek disposition and pleasantness." “Monsieur de Volmar is about fifty years old. Thanks to a calm, measured life and spiritual serenity, he retained his health and freshness - you can’t even give him forty in appearance ... His appearance is noble and disposing, his manner is simple and sincere; he speaks little, and his speeches are full deep meaning”, Yulia describes her husband. Wolmar loves his wife, but his passion is “smooth and restrained,” for he always acts as “reason tells him.”
Saint-Preux goes on a voyage around the world, and for several years there is no news of him. Returning, he immediately writes to Clara, announcing his desire to see her and, of course, Julia, for "nowhere in the whole world" he met anyone "who could console a loving heart" ...
The closer Switzerland and the village of Clarens, where Julia now lives, the more worried Saint-Preux. And finally - the long-awaited meeting. Julia, an exemplary wife and mother, introduces her two sons to Saint Preux. Wolmar himself escorts the guest to the apartments allotted to him and, seeing his embarrassment, instructs: “Our friendship begins, here are her dear bonds. Hug Julia. The more intimate your relationship becomes, the better opinion I will have of you. But when you are alone with her, act as if I were with you, or in my presence, act as if I were not around you. That's all I ask of you." Saint-Preux begins to comprehend the "sweet charm" of innocent friendships.
The longer Saint-Preux stays in the house of the Wolmars, the more he respects his hosts. Everything in the house breathes virtue; the family lives prosperously, but without luxury, the servants are respectful and devoted to their masters, the workers are diligent thanks to a special system of rewards, in a word, no one is "bored by idleness and idleness" and "the pleasant is combined with the useful." The owners take part in rural festivities, go into all the details of housekeeping, lead a measured lifestyle and pay great attention to healthy eating.
Clara, who lost her husband a few years ago, having listened to the requests of her friend, moves to the Wolmars - Julia has long decided to take up the upbringing of her little daughter. At the same time, Mr. de Volmar offers Saint-Preux to become a mentor to his sons - boys should be raised by a man. After much mental anguish, Saint Preux agrees - he feels that he will be able to justify the trust placed in him. But before embarking on his new duties, he goes to Italy to Sir Edward. Bomston has fallen in love with a former courtesan and is going to marry her, thereby giving up a brilliant prospect for the future. Saint Preux, filled with tall moral principles, saves a friend from a fatal step, convincing the girl, for the sake of love for Sir Edward, to reject his offer and go to the monastery. Duty and virtue triumph.
Wolmar approves of Saint Preux's act, Julia is proud of her former lover and rejoices in the friendship that unites them "as an unprecedented transformation of feelings." “Let us dare to praise ourselves for the fact that we have enough strength not to stray from the straight path,” she writes to Saint Preux.
So, all the heroes are waiting for a quiet and cloudless happiness, passions are driven away, my lord Edward receives an invitation to settle in Claran with his friends. However, the ways of fate are inscrutable. While walking younger son Julia falls into the river, she rushes to his aid and pulls him out, but, having caught a cold, she falls ill and soon dies. In your last hour she writes to Saint-Preux that her death is a boon from heaven, for "thus it saved us from terrible disasters" - who knows how everything could change if she and Saint-Prex again began to live under the same roof. Julia admits that the first feeling, which became the meaning of life for her, only hid in her heart: in the name of duty, she did everything that depended on her will, but in her heart she is not free, and if it belongs to Saint-Pre, then this its torment, not sin. “I thought I was afraid for you, but no doubt I was afraid for myself. For many years I lived happily and virtuously. That's enough. And what is the joy of my life now? Let the sky take my life, I have nothing to regret about it, and even my honor will be saved. “I buy at the price of life the right to love you with eternal love, in which there is no sin, and the right to say in last time: "Love you".
Composition
Sentimentalism originated in the late 1920s. 18th century in England, remaining in the 20-50s. closely associated with Enlightenment classicism and with the Enlightenment novel of Richardson's sentimentalism.
French sentimentalism reaches its full development in the epistolary novel by J. J. Rousseau The New Eloise. The subjective-emotional nature of the letters was an innovation in French literature.
The novel "Julia, or New Eloise":
1) The bias of the work.
Published for the first time in Holland in 1761, the novel "Julia, or New Eloise" has the subtitle: "Letters of two lovers living in a small town at the foot of the Alps." And something else is said on the title page: "Collected and published by Jean-Jacques Rousseau." The purpose of this simple hoax is to create the illusion of complete authenticity of the story. Posing as a publisher, and not as a writer, Rousseau provides some pages with footnotes (there are 164 in total), with which he argues with his heroes, fixing their delusions due to violent experiences of love, corrects their views on issues of morality, art, poetry. In the shell of mild irony, the top of objectivity: the author allegedly has nothing in common with the characters in the novel, he is only an observer, an impartial judge standing over them. And at first, Rousseau got his way: he was asked whether these letters were really found, whether it was true or fiction, although he himself gave himself out as an epigraph to the novel and verse by Petrarch.
"New Eloise" consists of 163 letters, divided into six parts. There are relatively few episodes in the novel compared to the huge add-on, consisting of lengthy discussions on a variety of topics: about a duel, about suicide, about whether a wealthy woman can help her beloved man with money, about housekeeping and social organization, about religion and helping the poor , about the upbringing of children, about opera and dance. Rousseau's novel is filled with maxims, instructive aphorisms, and, in addition, there are too many tears and sighs, kisses and hugs, unnecessary complaints and inappropriate sympathies. In the 18th century, it was loved, at least in a certain environment; it seems to us today old-fashioned and often ridiculous. To read from beginning to end "New Eloise" with all the deviations from the plot, you need to have a fair dose of patience, but Rousseau's book is distinguished by its deep content. The "New Eloise" was studied with unflagging attention by such demanding thinkers and artists of the word as N. G. Chernyshevsky and L. N. Tolstoy. Tolstoy said of Rousseau's novel: "This beautiful book makes you think"
2) The plot.
"family drama in the house of the Baron d'Etange in the village of Clarans, at first it is perceived as a hackneyed motive for the seduction of an innocent girl, the daughter of respected parents. At the heart of such a plot is a useful edification: girls, be careful, do not succumb to the external charm of vice; Parents keep an eye on their kids! And now this banal plot of Rousseau turned inside out: the “fall” of a girl becomes her rise, the “corruptor” is tragic, the norms of patriarchal morality reveal their dogmatism, even inhumanity.
The action of the novel refers to the 30s of the XVIII century. A modest twenty-four-year-old teacher, a poor man and a wanderer, Madame d'Etange invited to her daughter. The name of the home teacher is Saint-Pre, which means: a brave man, a valiant person, virtuous and courageous. In Julia Saint-Preux he found virtues that delighted him: sensitivity, intelligence, aesthetic taste, besides, she is pretty. And something happened that often happens in such cases: Saint Preux fell in love with Julia. A dreamer by nature, Saint-Preux idealizes the object of his love, discovering in Julia "signs of a deity." The sighs suppressed by Saint Preux serve as proof to Julia of his unrest. From the restrained tone of Julia Saint-Preux comes to despair and seriously decides to commit suicide. The blinded Saint-Preux does not see his happiness: after all, Julia reciprocates, and if, being alone with him, she addresses him in an icy tone, and in the presence of other people - playfully, then she does this because of the difficulty of the situation: the more she gives him freedom, the more necessary will be his removal.
Julia once had a dear old governess, Shelio. A fragment of the courtly frivolity of morals, she willingly told Julia about the obscene adventures of her youth. But Chaillot did not manage to weaken Yulia's fidelity to virtue even by a drop. To some extent, conversations with Shelyo were even useful for Julia, introducing her to the wrong side of social life. But no matter how reasonable Julia is, she is by nature created for strong love, and no matter how much prudence is in her, she cannot "tame her passions." Feeling some kind of mental weakness, Yulia summons her faithful friend, cousin Clara, in whose person she has long acquired a confidante. Raised by parents in the spirit strict morality, Julia begins to realize that her virtue is losing power over her. She fell in love, and there would be nothing terrible in this if her lover was not a commoner. Ruthless law, based on stupid prejudice, says that the noblewoman Julia cannot marry the philistine Saint-Preux. A deep feeling ran into obstacles, and Julia - no less than Saint-Preux - was confused. The happiness of lovers is impossible because of the class prejudices of the Baron d'Etange, for whom the fetish of family honor is more precious than his own daughter. Arriving home after 30 years of military service, Mr. d'Etange gets acquainted with his daughter's success in the sciences. He could have been quite pleased if one trifle had not caught his eye: Saint-Preux despises heraldry, and Julia was imbued with his ideas. In addition, Saint-Preux refused to pay. The usual contempt of a nobleman for a plebeian who receives money for his work gives way to suspicion. Human dignity and honesty mean little to the baron - he considers these words "ambiguous". How can a nobleman be indebted to a common man, even an honest one?
Confusion seized Julia and Saint-Preux. "Get me out," he pleads with her. "Protect me from myself," she answers him. And then one day, when Clara was absent, Julia, in love, gave herself to her beloved Saint Preux. Reflecting further, she considered this act her moral "fall".
A) historical Eloise and echoes of the Richardsonian tradition
Eloise is the 17-year-old niece of Canon Fulber, who lived in the 12th century. Heloise was seduced by her theologian teacher Pierre Abelard. When Eloise's uncle found out about this, he was furious, and his servants mutilated Abelard, so that he could no longer be either a lover or a secret spouse of Eloise. In the convent he founded, he imprisoned his beloved there. Abelard's autobiography, The History of My Troubles, is full of tears and anger, greed for carnal life and repentant asceticism. From this autobiography comes the not very attractive appearance of a gifted, selfish, ambitious and fanatic who called himself a "pathetic little man." But the appearance of Eloise is unusually tragic and charming. Out of devotion to the despotic Abelard, she condemned herself to monasticism. "Thirsty for love, motherhood, happiness, Eloise submitted to Abelard's religious mania, but - a nun against her will - she could not and did not want to hide her sufferings, turmoil of the soul, fluctuations between the painful thirst for earthly happiness and the humility of the mission of the abbess. In letters to She wrote to Abelard about her "passion, the ardor of youth kindled by the experience of the most pleasant pleasures." Not for the sake of the Lord, Eloise admitted, she went to the monastery, for she loves him, Abelard, more than God. [cm. 2]
Despite the novel's title, The New Eloise, Saint Preux and Julia have little in common with true heroes 12th century Saint-Preux and Julie are equally deprived of the "experience of the passions"; love fell upon them like an element, and when it happened, they became ideal lovers. Not only Julia is chaste and extremely bashful - this can also be said about Saint-Preux. Consequently, Rousseau is also far from Richardson, in whose novel the situation is melodramatic and can easily be reduced to the formula: "Innocence is the victim of vice." In fact, Richardson's Lovlas dishonored Clarissa by cunning and violence: he is cynical, while in Saint-Preux love is all his pathos. If Descartes said: "I think, therefore I am", then Saint Preux, as it were, paraphrased this aphorism in the words addressed to Julia. "Do I still love you? What a doubt! Have I ceased to exist." If Saint Preux and Julia had not loved each other so much, they would never have become close before marriage. For both of them, the word marriage is a symbol of purity and holiness. Saint Preux hates the very thought of adultery. Let the feelings of Saint-Pere and Julia, after their relationship has lost its innocent character, become temporarily calmer, but there is more cordiality and variety in them, because friendship is now mixed with them, "moderating the ardor of passion." But Saint Preux still calls Julia with thousands of tender words: mistress, wife, sister, friend, angelic beauty, heavenly soul ...
Unfortunately, Saint-Preux's ability to fight for his happiness is far inferior to his ability to eloquently express his overwhelming feelings.
3) Sensitivity and sensuality.
In the love of Saint Preux and Julia, not only sensitivity is manifested, in the sense of tenderness, responsiveness, the ability to give any sympathy a sublime character; in this love there is also a heightened sensitivity, which Rousseau emphasizes with a number of details. In Saint Preux's love for Julia, sensitivity and sensuality are so merged that it is impossible to separate them from each other. Nothing in common with the boudoir eroticism of the XVIII century have those episodes of the novel, where the kiss of Saint-Preux in the grove causes Julia to faint or where Saint-Preux admires the contour of Julia's breasts, recalling the joys of a recent intimate meeting. In Saint Preux, sensuality gives love the power of a huge, tormenting passion, while the playful aristocratic poetry of the Rococo turned it into a frivolous trifle, into a fleeting pleasure. Love fell on Julia and Saint-Preux like a storm, before which self-control would have been just a sign of the pettiness of nature. No, this is not a momentary whim of a salon "heartthrob", but a deep, strong irresistible passion. Can a love that shocks, ignites the blood, feverish, be perceived by such chaste beings as Julia and Saint-Preux, separately from her spiritual, or from her physical side? The moment Julia, and then Saint-Preux, begin to oppose these sides to each other, their happiness will end, turn into continuous suffering, into a lie, into internal discord.
A) Saint Preux
Saint-Preux is a philistine, but how complex is the inner world of this "simple" person. Saint Preux is controversial. Experiencing everything painfully sharply, he, a lover of everything natural and healthy, enthusiastically treats Yulia when he sees her touchingly pale and languid, when he notices anxiety in her. He is timid and impudent, ardent and submissive, shy to the point of fury, indefatigable in the thirst for possession, he is impulsive and unbridled, more often melancholy than overwhelmed with joy, unusually susceptible to life's deformities, as well as to everything beautiful; add to that - educated and talented. Saint Preux is very uneven in his moods: despondency is often replaced by anger, apathy by irascibility. He is always immersed in his experiences and thoughts, distracted and almost blind to others, sometimes amazingly observant and subtle in his judgments. Any little thing can upset his balance. The sensibility of Saint-Preux manifests itself in an innumerable number of nuances. His emotionality is also the principle of his thinking, which is why he cannot stand philosophy so much, considering its empty phrases, "threatening passions from afar," to be boastful. But precisely because Saint-Preux is so impulsive, he needs a leader, he lacks judgment, and the fragile, tender Julia often turns out to be stronger than him. It would seem that all Saint-Preux's thoughts are turned to his favorite drama, however, this is not so: he is in deep conflict with the social environment, or rather, the drama of his love is intertwined with this conflict.
B) Julia
Rousseau put his most ideal aspirations into the image of Julia. Her subtlety of taste and depth of mind, sensitivity and responsiveness suggest the possibility of delicate, sincere, soft relations between people, which, according to Rousseau, will someday be established in society.
Julia has a very developed sense of duty, but it requires not heroic deeds, but continuous suffering.
Jean Jacques Rousseau
JULIA, or NEW ELOISE
Non la conobbe il mondo, mentre l "ebbe:
Conobill "io ch" a pianger qui rimasi.
FOREWORD
big cities spectacles are needed, corrupt peoples need novels. I observed the customs of my time and published these letters. Why do I not live in an age when I should have put them on fire!
I act as a publisher, but I will not hide the fact that there is a share of my work in the book. Or maybe I composed everything myself, and this correspondence is only a figment of the imagination? What do you care, secular people! For you, all this is really just a figment of the imagination.
Every decent person should be responsible for the books he publishes. So I put my name on the front page of this collection of letters, not at all as a compiler, but as a sign that I am ready to answer for them. If there is bad here, let them condemn me, if there is good, then I am not going to ascribe this honor to myself. If the book is bad, I am all the more obliged to recognize it as mine: I do not want to be thought better of me than I deserve.
Regarding the reliability of events, I assure you that I have been to the homeland of two lovers many times and have heard absolutely nothing about Baron d'Etange, nor about his daughter, nor about Mr. d'Orb, nor about my lord Edward Bomston, nor about Mr. de Wolmar. I would also note that a lot of gross errors were made in the description of the region: either the author wanted to confuse readers, or he himself did not know the region properly. That's all I can say. Let everyone think what he wants.
This book is not of the kind to be widely distributed in the world, it will appeal to very few. Its style will repel people with exacting taste, the subject will scare away the guardians of morality, and the feelings will seem unnatural to those who do not believe in virtue. Of course, it will not please pious people, freethinkers, or philosophers; she, of course, will not be to the taste of frivolous women, and decent women will be indignant. So, who will like the book? Yes, perhaps only to myself; but she will not leave anyone indifferent.
And the one who dares to read these letters, let him patiently endure the mistakes of the language, the pompous and sluggish style, unremarkable thoughts, clothed in ornate phrases; let him know in advance that they were not written by the French, not by salon wits, not by academicians, not by philosophers, but by provincials, strangers living in the wilderness, young creatures, almost children, enthusiastic dreamers who mistake their noble extravagance for philosophy.
Why not say what I think? This collection of letters in old-fashioned style will be more useful to women than philosophical writings. Perhaps it will even benefit other women who have retained at least the desire for decency, despite the immoral lifestyle. Otherwise, the situation is with the girls. The chaste girl does not read novels, but I have preceded this novel with a sufficiently clear title, so that everyone, opening the book, would know what is in front of him. And if, contrary to the title, the girl dares to read at least a page, then she is a dead creature; if only he does not attribute his death to this book - the evil happened earlier. But since she started reading, let her read to the end - she has nothing to lose.
If a zealot of morality, after leafing through the collection, feels disgust from its very first parts and throws the book in his hearts, indignant at the publisher, such an injustice will not outrage me in the least: perhaps I myself would have done so in his place. But if someone reads the book to the end and condemns me for having published it, then let him, if he pleases, trumpet it to the whole world, but he does not tell me anything: I feel that I am not capable of respectfully treat such a person.
Part one
There is no doubt, I must run away from you, madam! In vain have I hesitated, or rather, in vain have I met you! What should I do? How to be? You promised me friendship; see how confused I am, and support me with advice.
As you know, I appeared in your house only at the behest of your mother. Knowing that I had succeeded in developing some useful abilities in myself, she reasoned that this would not be superfluous for the education of her adored daughter, since teachers are not to be found in these parts. But I began to think with pride that I would help your rich nature to flourish, and boldly undertook a dangerous mission, not foreseeing the slightest threat to myself, or rather not fearing it. I will keep silent about the fact that I am already beginning to pay for my arrogance. Believe me, I will never allow myself to forget and I will not make speeches that you should not listen to, I will remember that you must respect your virtue - even more than your origin and your beauty. Suffering, I console myself with the thought that I suffer alone, and would not want to achieve my happiness at the cost of yours.
However, we meet daily, and you involuntarily, without any intention, aggravate my torment; however, you cannot sympathize with them, and it is not fitting for you to even know about them. True, I know what prudence commands in cases where there can be no hope. And I would have to obey him if I knew how to reconcile prudence with decency. But under what convenient excuse to move away from the house where I was invited by the hostess herself, who favors me and believes that I will be of benefit to her most dear being in the world? Do I have the right to deprive the tender mother of joy, who dreams of surprising her husband with your success in teaching, which she has so far withheld from him? Should I say goodbye so impolitely, without any explanation? Shall I open myself to her in everything, and shall my confessions not offend her, if neither my name nor my means allow me even to dream of you?
There is only one way out of this painful situation: let the hand that plunged me into it free me, let the punishment, like my fault, come from you; please, at least out of compassion, refuse me the house yourself. Give this letter to your parents; tell me to close the doors in front of me, drive me away, under any pretext; I will accept everything from you, but I myself cannot leave you.
How! You - to drive me away, me - to run away from you? But why? Why is it criminal to have tender feelings for what is worthy, and to love what deserves respect? No, this is not criminal, beautiful Julia - your charm has blinded me, then it would never have captivated my heart, if not for a more powerful spell. A touching combination of ardent sensitivity and invariable meekness; tender participation in someone else's grief; a clear mind, combined with a sense of grace, as pure as your heart - in a word, your spiritual charm delights me even more than your beauty. I admit that it is possible to imagine you even more beautiful, but to imagine you more sweeter, more worthy of the heart of a decent person, oh, no, Julia, this is not in my power!
Sometimes I boldly amuse myself with the thought that by the will of heaven there is a secret correspondence between our feelings, as well as between our tastes and age. We are both so young that our innate tendencies are not yet perverted, our inclinations are alike in every way. We have not yet submitted to the same conventions of the world, and we have the same feelings and views - so am I not entitled to imagine that the same agreement reigns in our hearts as reigns in our judgments? Sometimes our eyes meet; sometimes we sigh at the same time or furtively wipe away tears ... Oh Julia! What if such an affinity is sent down from above... destined by heaven itself... No human strength... Oh, forgive me! My mind is clouded: I take dreams for hopes, ardent passion beckons unrealizable.
I see with horror what torments my heart is doomed to. I don't want to exalt my suffering at all; I would like to hate them ... Judge how pure my feelings are - you know what kindness I ask of you. Destroy, if possible, the poisonous source that feeds me - waters, but also kills. I long for one thing - healing or death, and I pray for cruelty as one prays for mutual love.
Yes, I promise, I swear to you to do everything to regain your mind or to imprison confused feelings in the depths of your heart - but be merciful, turn your gaze away from me, the gentle gaze that brings me death; hide from me your lovely features, face, arms, shoulders, blond hair, all your light figure, deceive my impudent, insatiable eyes; muffle the penetrating sounds of your voice, because it cannot be heard without excitement; become different, and my heart will find peace again.
Do you want me to confess? During the hours of games generated by evening leisure, you behave so at ease in front of everyone, cruelly tormenting me, behave with me, as with any other.
Just yesterday, when I was assigned a forfeit, I almost kissed you: after all, you hardly resisted. Luckily, I didn't insist. I felt that my excitement was growing, that I was losing my head, and walked away. Oh! Why did I not enjoy your intoxicating kiss; it would merge with mine last breath and I would die the happiest of mortals!
I beg you, do not start such games - their consequences are disastrous. And each, even the most childish, is dangerous in its own way. Every time I'm afraid to touch your hand; I don't know why, but our hands always meet. Whenever you touch my hand, I startle; this game throws me into a fever, or rather, I lose my mind; I no longer see anything, I feel nothing, and, seized with a frenzy, I don’t know what to do, what to say, where to run, how to maintain power over myself.
As we read, another cause for concern arises. When we are alone for a moment, without your mother or cousin, you immediately change, assume such importance, such a chilling cold, that for fear of not pleasing you, I lose my presence of mind and common sense and, trembling, I can hardly mutter the words of the lesson. , - even you, with your gift to grasp everything on the fly, are unlikely to understand them. Your accentuated arrogance does not benefit you or me: you bring me to despair, and you yourself do not learn the lesson. I cannot comprehend why such a sensible girl has such a change of mood. I dare to ask, how is it that you, such a frisky in society, suddenly become so strict when we are left alone? It would seem, on the contrary, that one should be more restrained in public. Alone with me you are stiff, in front of everyone you are cheerful, but I am embarrassed by both. Please behave more evenly, and I may not be so tormented.
From the pity of noble souls, take pity on the unfortunate, for whom, I dare to believe, you have some respect! Behave differently, and you will make it easier for him, help him endure both the torments of silence and the torments of love. If his restraint and his feelings do not touch you and you want to use your right and destroy him, to your fullest, he will not grumble: he prefers to die at your command than to fall in your eyes, forgetting himself in a fit of passion. In a word, no matter how you dispose of my fate, at least I will not have to reproach myself for reckless hopes; having read this letter, you have fulfilled everything that I would dare to ask - whatever it is, you will not refuse me this!
How wrong I was, madam, when I wrote you my first letter. There is no appeasement for my sorrows - on the contrary, I have multiplied them by exposing myself to your disfavor; yes, I feel that the worst has happened - I have angered you. Your silence, coldness, isolation are all too clear signs of my misfortune. By fulfilling my request only half, you thereby punished me even more:
E poi ch "amor di me vi fece accorta,
Fur i blondi capelli allor velati,
E l "amoroso sguardo in se raccolto.1
You no longer allow innocent liberties in front of others - but I, a madman, complained about them; but you are even more severe when you are alone with me; you are subtly cruel both in condescension and in severity.
If you knew how your coldness torments me, you would understand that I am punished beyond measure. I wish I could bring back the past and make sure you don't see it. fatal letter. Yes, for fear of offending you again, I would not write more if it were not for the first letter - I do not want to aggravate my mistake, but I want to correct it. Perhaps, for the sake of your reassurance, to say that I was mistaken? To assure me that I have no love for you?.. How! Shall I utter such blasphemous words? Is this vile lie proper to the heart where you reign? Ah, let me be unhappy, if I am destined to be so, but, guilty of recklessness, I do not want to cowardly resort to lies - and if my heart has committed a crime, my pen will not renounce it.
I feel in advance the strength of your anger and await its consequences as the only mercy that is available to me, because the passion that consumes me deserves punishment, not neglect. Please don't leave me to my own devices. Please at least decide my fate. Express your will. I will obey your every command. Will you sentence me to eternal silence? Well, I will force myself to be silent. Get me out of my sight? Well, I swear you won't see me again. Will you die? Ah, this is far from the most difficult! I will obey all your orders, except for one - stop loving you; however, even this I would submit to, if only I could.
A hundred times a day I am ready to throw myself at your feet, sprinkle them with tears, beg for a death sentence or forgiveness. But mortal horror freezes my heart every time, my knees tremble, do not bend; words freeze on the lips, and the soul loses courage, fearing your wrath.
Can a more painful state of mind be imagined? My heart feels all its guilt, but it cannot help itself, and criminal thoughts and remorse torment me. Not yet knowing my fate, I am full of unbearable doubts, and now I trust in mercy, now I fear punishment.
But no, I do not hope for anything, I have no right to hope. Hasten the execution - that's the only mercy I'm waiting for. Get your revenge. I myself beg you about this - that's how great my suffering is! Punish me, it is your duty; but if there is pity in you, do not be so cold, so displeased, do not drive me to despair - when a criminal is led to execution, he no longer shows anger.
LETTER III
Be patient, sir! I pester you for the last time.
When my feeling for you was still in its infancy, I did not even suspect what torments I had in store for myself. At first, only hopeless love tormented me, but reason could overcome it in time; then I experienced stronger torments - because of your indifference; I am now experiencing the most severe torments, realizing that you, too, are suffering. Oh Julia! I see with bitterness that my complaints disturb your peace. You are stubbornly silent, but with my wary heart I catch your secret worries. Your gaze has become gloomy, thoughtful, it is fixed on the ground - you only occasionally glance at me in confusion; the bright blush has faded, a pallor unusual for you covers the cheeks; gaiety has left you; you are oppressed by mortal longing; and only unchanging meekness moderates the anxiety that darkens your soul.
Whether the excitement of feelings, contempt or pity for my torment, but something torments you, I can see it. I am afraid that I am not the cause of your sorrows, and this fear depresses me more than it pleases the hope that I could foresee for myself - for either I am mistaken, or your happiness is dearer to me than my own. Meanwhile, thinking about myself, I begin to understand how badly I judged my heart, and I see, although too late, that the feeling that seemed to me a fleeting flash of passion will be my lot for life. And the sadder you are, the weaker I am in the struggle with myself. Never, oh, never did the fire of your eyes, the freshness of colors, the charm of your mind, all the charm of your former gaiety, have had such an effect on me as your despondency has. Trust me on this, O divine Julia. If you only knew what kind of flames engulfed my soul during this agonizing week, you yourself would be horrified at how much suffering you caused me. From now on, there is no healing for them, and I, in despair, feel that the fire that consumes me will go out only in the grave.
There is no need! If happiness is not destined for me, then at least I can become worthy of it, and I will achieve that you will respect the person to whom you did not even deign to answer. I am young and will have time to win the respect that I do not yet deserve. In the meantime, you need to return to you the peace that disappeared for me forever, and you lost by my grace. Justice requires that I alone bear the burden of an offense if I alone am to blame. Farewell, oh wondrous Julia, live serenely, may your former gaiety return to you; We won't see each other again from tomorrow. But know that my ardent and pure love, the flame that burns me, will not go out for the rest of my life. Heart, full of love to such a worthy creature, never humiliate for another love; from now on, it will be devoted only to you and virtue, and will never defile with alien fire the altar that served to worship Julia.
Do not inspire yourself with the idea that your departure is inevitable. A virtuous heart will find the strength to overcome itself or be silent, and perhaps even become harsh. You... you can stay.
I was silent for a long time; your coldness finally made me speak. You can overcome yourself in the name of virtue, but the contempt of the one you love is unbearable. I must leave.
SECOND NOTE
No, sir, if the feelings in which you revealed yourself to me, the words that you dared to express, were not pretense, then they oblige a person like you to more; leaving is not enough.
The pretense was only that the passion was supposedly tamed in my desperate heart. Tomorrow you will be content, and whatever you say, it is easier for me to do so than to leave.
THIRD NOTE
Madman! If my life is dear to you, beware of encroaching on yours. I am being watched relentlessly, I can neither speak to you nor write to you until tomorrow. Wait.
And so I finally have to confess the fatal secret that I so awkwardly concealed. How many times have I sworn to myself that she would leave my heart only with life! But your life is in danger and it makes me open up; I betray a secret and lose honor. Alas! I was too persistent - after all, the loss of honor is more terrible than death!
What can I say? How to break such a painful silence? Haven't I told you everything and you didn't understand everything? Oh, you saw everything too well, and you, of course, guessed everything! I become more and more entangled in the nets of the vile seducer, I cannot stop and see that I am heading into a terrible abyss. Insidious! My love, not yours, gives you courage! You see the confusion of my heart, you, to my death, take over it; through your fault, I am worthy of contempt, but in spite of myself I am forced to despise you, and this is my most grievous grief. Oh, villain, I had respect for you, and you bring dishonor on me! But believe me, if your heart could peacefully taste the joy of victory, it would never win it.
You know - and this should increase the reproaches of your conscience - that there were no vicious inclinations in my soul. Modesty and honesty were kind to me. I raised them by living a simple and hardworking lifestyle. But what is all the effort, if the sky rejected them? Since the day I, to my misfortune, first saw you, a putrid poison has penetrated my heart and mind; I understood it at first sight; and your eyes, feelings, speeches, your criminal pen every day make the poison more deadly.
What did I not do to stop this disastrous, ever-growing passion! I had no strength to resist, and I tried to protect myself from the attack, but your harassment deceived my vain caution. Hundreds of times I tried to fall at the feet of those to whom I owe my birth, hundreds of times I tried to open my heart to them, but they did not understand what was going on in it; they will resort to ordinary medicines, and the disease is incurable; my mother is weak and unrequited, I know my father's inexorably tough temper, and I will achieve only one thing: I will die, disgracing myself, my family and you. My girlfriend left, I lost my brother; and in the whole world I can not find a protector from the enemy who is pursuing me; in vain I appeal to the sky, - the sky is deaf to the pleas of the weak. Everything kindles the passion that consumes me; I am left to myself, or rather, given to your will; nature itself seems to want to become your accomplice; all efforts are in vain; I love you beyond myself. My heart could not resist when it was full of strength, is it now only half surrendered to feeling? Can it be that a heart that cannot hide anything does not fully admit to you its weakness! Ah, I shouldn't have taken the first, most dangerous step... how can I keep myself from others now? Yes, from the very first step I felt that I was rushing into the abyss, and you have the power to aggravate, if you wish, my misfortune.
My situation is terrible, I can only resort to the one who brought me to this; for my salvation, you must become my only protector from you. I know I could not admit my despair just yet. I could hide my shame for some time and, gradually yielding, deceive myself. Useless tricks - they would only flatter my vanity, but would not save honor. Full! I see well, I understand too well where the first mistake leads me, although I do not strive towards death, but away from it.
However, if you are not the most contemptible of people, if a spark of virtue smolders in your soul, if noble feelings are still preserved in it, which, it seemed to me, you were filled with, - can I think that you are a base person and will use fatal evil a confession torn from my chest by madness? No, I know you: you will strengthen my strength, become my protector, protect me from my own heart.
Your virtue is the last refuge of my innocence. I dare to entrust my honor to yours - you cannot keep one without the other. Oh, my noble friend, save both and have pity on me, if only out of love for yourself.
Oh my God! Are all these humiliations not enough? I am writing to you, my friend, on my knees, I irrigate the letter with tears, I offer you a timid prayer. And yet do not think that I do not know that supplications could be offered to me and that I would bend you to my will, if only I yielded to you with an art worthy of contempt. Take vain power, my friend, leave honor to me. I am ready to become your slave, but to live in innocence, I do not want to gain dominion over you at the cost of my dishonor. If it pleases you to heed my request, then with what love, what respect will the one to whom you restore life return to you! How much charm in the tender union of two pure souls! Conquered desires will become the source of your happiness, and these sweet pleasures will be worthy of angels.
I believe, I hope, that the heart, which, it seems to me, deserves the undivided affection of my heart, will not deceive my expectations and will be generous; and I hope that if, on the contrary, it were able, in its baseness, to abuse my confusion and the confessions that it forced from me, then a feeling of contempt and indignation would restore my reason; I have not yet fallen so low that a beloved is dangerous for me, for whom I would have to blush. You will keep virtue or become worthy of contempt; I will keep my self-respect or be healed. Here she is, the only hope I have left, except for myself. last resort- die.
God Almighty! You gave me a soul to suffer. Grant me a soul for bliss! Love, this life of the soul, came to support its weakening forces. The inexpressible charm of virtue, the indescribable charm of the voice of a beloved being, bliss, joys, delights - oh, how accurately your arrows strike! Who can resist them! Oh, how to cope with the flood of intoxicating joys that rushed into my heart! Oh, how to atone for the anxiety of my timid beloved! Julia ... no - my Julia! .. - on her knees! My Julia is shedding tears!.. She, before whom the universe should revere, implores the man who adores her not to offend her, not to dishonor himself. If I could be angry with you, I would be angry, for your fears humiliate us. O pure, heavenly beauty! you should know better what your power is. I'm crazy about your charms precisely because they reflect a pure soul, breathing life into them, and on all your features lies its divine seal. You are afraid that you will succumb to my harassment, but what kind of harassment should be feared by one who can only inspire a feeling of noble and respectful? Is there such a scoundrel on earth who would dare to offend you?
Let me, let me enjoy unexpected happiness - to be loved, loved by that ... Oh, what power over the whole universe before this! An infinite number of times I am ready to re-read your wonderful letter - love and all feelings are, as it were, burned into it with fiery letters, and, despite the excitement of the heart, I see with delight how in noble soul even the most ardent passions take on the heavenly appearance of virtue... Only a monster, having read your touching letter, would have abused your state and showed a deep disrespect for himself by his impudent act. No, dear, no, my beloved, trust your friend - he will not deceive you. Let me lose my mind forever, let the confusion of my feelings grow, from now on you are for me not only the most desirable, but also the most forbidden shrine ever entrusted to a mortal. My passion and its object will forever remain unsullied purity. Before an attack on your chaste beauty, I myself would shudder more than before the most vile incest; and you are as safe near your beloved as you are near your father. Oh, if alone with you, a happy lover is ever forgotten, it means that Julia’s beloved has a low soul! .. No, if I renounce love for virtue, I will stop loving you; and I myself want you to stop loving me at the first immoral act.
Calm down, I conjure you in the name of our pure and tender love; she is the key to her restraint and respect for you. You are responsible for her to herself. Why do you extend your fears further than I extend my thoughts? What other happiness can I dream of, if my heart can hardly contain the one that it now enjoys? We're both young, it's true; we love for the first, only time in our lives, and we have no experience in matters of love: yes, but can honor, which guides us, show us the wrong path? Does she need that dubious experience that comes with vice? Perhaps I am deceiving myself, but it seems to me that the most honest feelings live in the depths of my heart. I am not at all a vile seducer, as you call me in despair - I am a simple-hearted and sensitive person, I directly express my feelings and do not experience such feelings for which I should blush. In a word, my hatred of crime is even stronger in me than my love for Yulia. And I don’t know, truly I don’t know how the love inspired by you is compatible with the oblivion of virtue, how a dishonorable person can feel all your charm. The more I am fascinated by you, the higher my feelings become. Before I would have done any good deed in the name of good, but now I would do it in order to become worthy of you. Oh, please, believe the passion that you inspired and ennobled me! Know that I adore you, and that is enough for me to always honor the treasure you have entrusted to me. Oh, what a heart will belong to me! True happiness - the honor of the one you love, the triumph of love, proud of its purity - how precious you are than all love pleasures!
To Clara from Julia
Do you really want, dear cousin, to mourn your poor Chaillot all your life, do you really, thinking about the dead, have to forget about the living? Your sorrow is understandable and I share it; But you can't be sad forever! True, from the day you lost your mother, she brought you up with vigilant care; she was more your friend than your governess. She dearly loved you, and she loved me because you love me; she always inspired us with only reasonable and high rules. All this I know, darling, all this I readily admit. But you also admit that our good teacher was not very careful; she unnecessarily indulged in very immodest confessions, endlessly occupied us with conversation about the art of winning hearts, about her adventures in her youth, about the tricks of lovers - and although, trying to protect us from the networks set by men, she did not teach us to set these networks ourselves. , but on the other hand, she taught us a lot about which a girl should not even hear about. Take comfort in your loss - this misfortune has a good side: at our age, the lessons of Chaillot became dangerous, and perhaps heaven took her from us at the moment when her presence could harm us. Remember what you said when I lost the best brother in the world. Is Shio dearer to you? Do you have more reason to mourn her?
Come back dear; she doesn't need you anymore. Alas! How dare you waste time, shedding tears in vain and not thinking that another misfortune may befall! How are you not afraid, knowing the state of my soul, to leave a friend in the midst of dangers that your presence would eliminate? Oh, how many things have happened since your departure! You will be horrified to learn how much I have been threatened by my recklessness. I hope I have got rid of her now; but I depend on the good will of another, and you must return me to myself. So come quickly! I did not ask for anything, as long as poor Chaillot needed your care, I would be the first to convince you not to leave her. But since the time when she was gone, your duty is to surround her family with care; you will more easily accomplish this here, together with me, than alone in the village, and you will fulfill your duty, prompted by gratitude, without compromising anything and the duty of friendship.
Since the day my father left, we have returned to the old way of life, and my mother now leaves me less often. But this is done more out of habit than out of distrust. Secular duties still take up a lot of her time, but she does not want me to miss classes, and sometimes she is replaced by a very negligent Babi. Indeed, I find that my good mother is too sure of me, but still I do not dare to warn her; I would so much like to get rid of the dangers without losing her respect - and only you can settle all this. Come, my dear Clara, come quickly. I'm sorry you miss the lessons I'm taking without you and I'm afraid to learn too much. Our teacher is not only a worthy person, but also a virtuous one, which is even more dangerous. I am too pleased with him, and therefore dissatisfied with myself. Both he and we are at such an age that no matter how virtuous a man is, but if he is not deprived of pleasantness, then it is better for two girls to be in his company than one.
LETTER VII
I listen to you and am horrified. However, I do not believe that the danger is as close as you paint. Indeed, your fear moderates my fears; but still the future frightens me, and if you fail to win over yourself, I foresee only misfortunes. Alas! How many times has poor Chaillot predicted that the first impulse of your heart will determine your destiny for life! Ah, sister, is your fate really already decided - after all, you are still so young! How we will miss the experienced mentor, although you say that this loss is for our good. Perhaps we should have fallen into more reliable hands from the very beginning; in her hands we have become too knowledgeable to now allow others to control us, although not so knowledgeable as to control ourselves; she alone could protect us from the dangers to which she herself exposed. She taught us a lot; and I think we thought a lot for our age. Warm and tender friendship, which has united us almost from the cradle, has, as it were, enlightened our hearts from a young age as far as human passions are concerned. We know their signs and effects quite well; we lack only the art of suppressing them. God grant that your young philosopher knows this art better than we do.
For you understand that when I say "we" I mainly mean you: our dear Chaillot has always said that frivolity replaces my common sense, that I will never have enough seriousness to know true love, that I am too reckless for a reckless passions. Julia, my soul, beware: the more Shio appreciated your mind, the more she feared for your heart. However, do not lose heart: I know that your heart will do everything that chastity and honor are capable of, but mine will do everything that friendship, for its part, is capable of. Although you and I are too knowledgeable for our age, such knowledge did not in the least damage our morality. Really, dear, there are many more naive girls in the world, far from being as decent as we are, but you and I are decent only because we want to be like that, and. believe me, it is a surer path to moral perfection. However, after your involuntary confession, I will not find a moment of peace until I am next to you, because since you are afraid of danger, it means that it is not entirely imaginary. It is also true that it is easy to avoid it: two words to your mother, and this is over, but I understand you - you do not want to resort to such drastic measures; you want to get rid of the danger of falling, but not from the honor of victory. Ah, poor sister! .. If there were even the slightest ray of hope ... But how is it possible for Baron d "Etange to agree to give his daughter, his only child to a man without family and tribe! .. Do you really hope? .. On what are you hoping for?... What are you trying to achieve? Poor, poor sister! Do not be afraid of me at any rate. A friendly soul will keep your secret. Many would think it more honest to expose it; and, perhaps, they would be right. But I, although I am not a great clever girl, I do not tolerate such decency that betrays friendship, faith; in my opinion, for all human relations, for all ages there are rules, their duties and a swap of virtues; what for others is prudence, for me - betrayal, and by listening to those who do not understand this, we will not become reasonable, but become evil.
If your love is not strong, we will overcome it; if it has reached an extreme degree, then to act abruptly means to lead to tragedy, and friendship should only be tried by those means for which it is responsible. But you will have to follow the line when you get under my protection. Wait, you'll see what an eighteen-year-old duenna is!
I live away from you, you yourself know, not for fun. And spring in the countryside is not as pleasant as it seems to you: you suffer from both cold and heat, you won’t find shade anywhere on a walk, you need to heat stoves in the house. Even my father, although he is busy with his buildings, keeps complaining that the newspaper is delivered here late, not like in the city. Thus, we only dream of returning, and I hope that in four or five days you will hug me. But it worries me that there are so many hours in four or five days, and that not a few of them will belong to your philosopher. Do you understand, sister? Just think, because every hour will be favorable to him!
Please don't blush and keep your eyes down. Do not assume importance - it does not go to your features. After all, you know that I laugh, even when I shed tears, but this does not mean that I am not sensitive, I do not yearn in separation from you; does not mean that I do not mourn the death of poor Chaillot. I am infinitely grateful to you for wanting to share with me the cares of her loved ones, I will not leave them until the end of my life, but you would betray yourself, losing the opportunity for a good deed. I agree, our glorious Chaillot was a talker, led free conversations, was not very restrained in the presence of girls and liked to talk about her past. Therefore, I lament not so much about the qualities of her mind, although among them, along with the bad ones, there were excellent ones, - I mourn her kind heart, selfless affection for me, a combination of maternal tenderness and sisterly gullibility. She replaced my family - I barely remember my mother, my father loves me as much as he is able to love; we have lost your dear brother, I almost never see my own. I'm like an abandoned orphan. My dear, now I have you alone in the world, for your kind mother and you are one. However, you are right. After all, I still have you, and I cried! I just lost my mind - why should I cry!
P.S. I am afraid of accidents and address the letter to our teacher - this way it will reach more likely.
LETTER VIII2
How whimsical love is, oh beautiful Julia! My heart has been given more than it expected, but it is still dissatisfied! You love me, you tell me about it, and I sigh! An ungrateful heart dares to desire more when there is nothing left to desire; his whims torment me and do not allow me to enjoy happiness. Do not think that I have forgotten the laws prescribed for me, or that I am unwilling to keep them; no, but a secret annoyance excites me when I see that these laws are heavy for me alone, and you, the one who assured me of your weakness, you are now so strong; for it is not enough for me to struggle with myself, for you forestall every occasion for this.
How you have changed in two months, although nothing has changed except you! Languority has disappeared, there is no trace of a bad mood or despondency; your whole being breathes with former charm; all your charms have been resurrected - a blossoming rose is not as fresh as you; again you shine with wit; joke with everyone, even playful with me, as before; and what is most annoying of all - you swear to me so cheerfully eternal love like you're talking about the funniest thing in the world.
Tell me, anemone, tell me, does this testify to an all-conquering passion, forced to fight with itself, and would not the need to suppress in yourself even the most insignificant whim darken your cheerful mood? Oh, you used to be much nicer, though not so wonderfully good. I am sorry for the past touching pallor, this priceless guarantee of happiness for the one who loves, I hate the healthy blush that covered your cheeks, to the detriment of my peace. Yes I would rather see you exhausted by illness rather than looking at your contented face, shining eyes, fresh colors and feeling severe pain in your heart. So you no longer remember what you were like when you begged me for mercy! Oh Julia, Julia! How quickly your ardent love calmed down!
But what offends me even more is that, having surrendered to my will, you seem to beware of me and avoid dangers, as if you were still afraid of them. So you respect my restraint!
Did I deserve such resentment for my reverence? After your father's departure, not only do we not enjoy greater freedom, but, on the contrary, now we hardly see each other alone. You are inseparable from your cousin, she does not leave you a single step. So we will return, perhaps, to our former way of life and beware of everything in the old way, with the only difference that before it was a burden to you, but now you like it.
What reward for my impeccable deference shall I receive if you have no respect for me! Why condemn oneself to an eternal and voluntary renunciation of the joys of life, if the one who demands it is so ungrateful? Oh, I'm tired of needless suffering, from the fact that I doomed myself to cruel hardships, not hoping for a reward. How! Will you be prettier and despise me with impunity? Am I really only destined to devour your charms with my eyes, not daring to touch them with my lips? Must I, finally, give up all hope myself and not even deserve respect for such a painful sacrifice? No, since you do not rely on my word, I do not want to keep it anymore: it is not fair that my honestly, and your precautions. Either you are too ungrateful, or I am too scrupulous. I do not want to refuse any more happy accidents, bestowed by fate, you cannot prevent it. And finally, come what may, I feel that I have taken on an unbearable burden. So, Julia, take care of yourselves, I am not responsible for a treasure that has become too much a temptation for its faithful keeper, and it will not be so difficult for your heart to keep it as you said in feigned fear.
Yes, I'm not kidding: from now on, rely on yourself - or else drive me away, in other words, take my life. I made a reckless commitment. And I'm truly surprised that it took so long to do it. I know that I must continue to do so in the future, but, really, I cannot do it. Anyone who has taken on such a dangerous burden is doomed to fall. Believe me, dear and tender Julia, believe my sensitive heart, which beats only for you; it will always worship you. But I am afraid to lose my head in the rapture of passion, to commit villainy, which I would be horrified myself, having gained composure. Happy that I do not deceive your expectations, I fought with myself for two months, and I deserve a reward from you for two whole centuries of suffering.
I understand: to enjoy vicious pleasures, but to be known as virtuous - that's when you would be satisfied! Is this your morality? Generosity quickly bored you, my friend! What was it, if not a pretense! A strange manifestation of affection - you complain that I am healthy! Or did you hope that insane passion would eventually exhaust me, waiting for me to beg you to save my life? Or maybe, having calculated everything, you decided to respect me only as long as I am impregnable, but to refuse respect when I become more amiable? I see no merit in such sacrifices.
It is unfair to reproach me for trying to save you from a hard struggle with yourself, you should, on the contrary, only thank me. At the same time, by renouncing the obligations that you have assumed, you refer to their overwhelming difficulty. So, in the same letter you complain both that your hardships are too great, and that they are being made easier for you. Think carefully about all this and try to avoid contradictions with yourself, give your imaginary sorrows at least a less absurd shade. And best of all, leave such pretense, it is not characteristic of your nature. Whatever you say, your heart is pleased with mine, though it does not show it. Ungrateful, you know well that mine will never offend you! Your letter itself, by its playfulness, convicts you, and you would not be so witty if you were worried about yourself; but, perhaps, enough vain reproaches at your expense, let's move on to those that apply to me and at first glance seem to be better founded.
serene and quiet life, which we have been conducting for two months now, does not agree with my confession, and, frankly speaking, this contradiction strikes you not without reason. At first you saw how desperate I was; now you find that I am too calm. That is why you accuse me that my feelings are superficial, that my heart is changeable. Ah, my friend, are you too harsh? It takes more than one day to find out all this. Wait - perhaps you will consider that the heart that loves you is worthy of yours.
If you could understand how frightened I was by the first manifestations of my feelings for you, you could judge the confusion that seized me. I was brought up in such strict rules that the purest love seemed to me the height of dishonor. Everyone taught me, everyone suggested that a sensitive girl died if even a word of love flies from her lips. In my confused imagination, sin and tender confession merged into one, this first step inspired such horror in me that, according to my concepts, it would immediately lead to last step. Self-doubt multiplied my anxieties, in the voice of modesty I heard the command of chastity. I was tormented by the desire to speak out, and I took these torments for flashes of passionate attraction. I thought that I would die as soon as I uttered the words of recognition, but I had to confess, otherwise I would have lost you. And so, unable to hide my feelings, I appealed to the nobility of your feelings and, relying more on you than on myself, decided to call on your honor for help and gain strength, which, as it seemed to me, I was deprived of.
I was convinced that it was self-deception. After my confession, I felt better, and as soon as you answered me, I completely calmed down. Two months of trials showed that if my tender heart needs love, then my feelings do not need a lover at all. Judge for yourself - you are such an admirer of virtue! How glad I was to have this happy discovery. I have emerged from the abyss of shame into which my fears have cast me, and I am reveling in the delightful delight of pure love. This state is the joy of my life; it affected both my mood and health. Nothing sweeter can be conceived - the harmony between love and innocence seems to me bliss earthly paradise.
Since then, I have ceased to be afraid of you, but I try not to be alone with you - not only for my own sake, but also for your sake, for your glances and sighs testify to impulses of passion, and not to prudence; and if you have forgotten the voluntary vow, I will never forget it.
Oh, my friend, why can't I breathe into your soul the bliss and peace that reign in my soul! Why can't I teach you to enjoy this most gratifying state serenely! All the charm of the union of hearts for us is combined with the charm of innocence. Nothing - neither fear nor shame - confuses our bliss; tasting the true joys of love, we can talk about virtue without blushing:
E v "and il piacer con l" onestadeaccanto.3
But some kind of sad presentiment oppresses my chest and insists that heaven has judged us to taste happiness only in these few days. I foresee in the future only storms, separation, anxiety and obstacles. Any change in our present position, in my opinion, will not lead to good. And if more tender ties united us forever, I am afraid that such an excess of happiness would soon dispel happiness itself into dust! The moment of possession is a decisive moment, and any changes are dangerous for our love: we can only lose it.
I conjure you, my gentle and only friend, tame your vain crazy desires, because they are always followed by regret, remorse, longing. Let us serenely enjoy our present position. It is a pleasure for you to study science with me, and you know very well how pleased I am with your lessons. Let them become even more often, we will be separated only for the sake of decency. Those moments when we cannot see each other, we will devote to our correspondence. Let's not waste precious time - perhaps someday we will regret that it has passed. Ah, may it all remain so until the end of our days! The mind becomes more sophisticated, judgments are clearer, the soul is strengthened, the heart is blissful! What do we need to be happy?
You are right, Julia, I don't know you at all! It seemed to me that I knew all the treasures of your soul, but I endlessly discover new ones. Is there a woman in the world who, like you, would combine tenderness and virtue and, tempering one with the other, would give them such charm? There is something captivating, something irresistible in this prudence that crushes me, and you brighten up the hardships to which you doom me so sweetly that they almost become dear to me.
Every day I feel more and more strongly that your love is the greatest good; there is nothing equal to it and cannot be; and even if I had to choose between your heart and the right to possess you, lovely Julia, I would not hesitate for a second - yes, not a second. But what could possibly necessitate making this woeful choice? Why consider incompatible what nature itself has connected? Time is precious, let us rejoice at what we have, you say, there is no need to impatiently disturb its calm flow. Well, let the days pass and be serene! But, rejoicing in one's pleasant lot, should one forget about a better lot and prefer peace to the highest bliss? Aren't you wasting your time by not knowing how to make better use of it? Oh, if you want to live a thousand years in a quarter of an hour, why bother counting the remaining days?
No doubt, you are right in saying that we are now in a happy position. I admit that we should be happy, but meanwhile I do not feel happy! Your mouth speaks prudence, but in vain! - the voice of nature is louder. How to resist him when he is in tune with the voice of the heart? Nothing, nothing in the world, except for you alone, is capable of capturing my soul and feelings: no, without you, nature is nothing to me, but its power is in your eyes, and here it is invincible.
You look at the world differently, divine Julia! You captivate the feelings of others, but you don't have to fight your own. Obviously, such an exalted soul is inaccessible to human passions; you are beautiful as an angel - and angelically pure. Oh, purity, before which I, murmuring, bow! Why, Julia, can't I make you come down from your heights, can't I rise up to you myself! But no, my eternal destiny is to crawl on the earth, and yours is to shine in the sky. Oh, be happy breaking my peace; enjoy your virtues, and let the despicable mortal perish if he encroaches on one of them. Be happy; I will try not to think about how pathetic I am, and our happiness will ease my suffering. Yes, dear beloved, it seems to me that my love is as perfect as the object of her adoration; all my desires, inflamed by your charms, fade away, they are subdued by the perfections of your soul; because she is so serene that I do not dare to disturb her peace. Whenever, succumbing to temptation, I am ready to steal a fleeting caress from you, I am restrained not only by the fear of offending you, but my heart is even more afraid to violate such immaculate bliss. I think only of what the joys I long for will cost you, and, not knowing how to combine my happiness with yours, I renounce mine - judge for yourself how much I love you!
The novel “Julia, or the New Eloise,” was written, according to Rousseau himself, in order to show the direct application of the main ideas of his crowned writings (see Rousseau’s articles “Did the revival of the sciences and arts contribute to the purification of morals” - a summary, Rousseau “On the Origin inequalities" - summary, Rousseau "The Social Contract" - summary and analysis) and the concepts arising from them, show how his ideas about man and humanity, about love and nature, about morality, religion, life should be reflected in life. The romance part proper is the least important part of this novel; the main thing in it is letters inserted into a romantic plot; here Rousseau expresses his opinions, expresses that passion and those feelings that he knew from experience. Being part of the novel, these arguments gained more readers and more influence than they would have had they been written as a separate book. The influence of the "New Eloise" was all the stronger because at that time, one novel was not quickly replaced by another, one impression by another, as it is now. From novels Richardson And Fielding The "New Eloise" is different in that Fielding, depicting the most brutal reality, goes little into moral reasoning, while Richardson moralizes in the usual way of his church and his nation. On the contrary, Rousseau creates his own original system of morality and presents to the reader only what he himself felt and experienced.
Rousseau's "Julia, or New Eloise" had such a strong influence on humanity that no novel has ever had. The main reason was that Rousseau is not here a sophist or orator, but speaks from the fullness of sincere conviction. With the power of influence of the "New Eloise" can only be compared with the effect that "Werther" Goethe once had on Germany. Not only the defenders of antiquity, but also the sophists of new ideas armed themselves against Rousseau's novel; numerous adherents of a high-class, brilliant and voluptuous civilization also all revolted against an enthusiast who preached a doctrine so contrary to their interests. On the other hand, this book became the dogmatic book of its time for the best people of all classes, For everyone who felt the need for reform in morals, in life, in government. This determines the meaning of the "New Eloise". It introduced into the ranks of the opponents of the old order people who were not at all like admirers of Voltaire and Diderot. Noble people with warm hearts shunned Voltaire and others, who, with bitter jokes and sarcasm, seemed to demand only destruction; but in that era of awakening to a new life, honest people wanted to expel corruption and artificiality from life, to bring people closer to nature; they were attracted by the "New Eloise", the author of which proclaimed instead of ascetic and gloomy dogma the religion of the heart, instead of the old morality of the Catholic catechism - the virtue of sincere feeling. It must be said, however, that The New Eloise gave rise (especially in Germany) to many bad imitations, a whole deluge of cheesy sentimental novels and dramas, which aroused and maintained for thirty years a painful game of feelings, stupid chatter about nature and life in nature. The faces that Rousseau depicts in "Julia, or New Eloise" are not commoners, but noble people more light; thus, he portrays in his novel the best side of the then fashionable civilization. She is drawn in him artificial, unnatural, and in contrast to her, he exposes the idyllic charm of a simple life and sincere feeling. In order to show more clearly the purpose and manner of Rousseau, we will point out some of the details of the novel and their significance for life.
Jean Jacques Rousseau
At one point in the novel, to create a contrast between artificiality and naturalness, Rousseau depicts the prim tension of life, in which all relationships are determined by etiquette and countless forms. He represents all the emptiness and unnaturalness of that graceful education that prevails in so-called good society, and to deduce the ideal of a practical philosopher, landowner and noble householder - all this is depicted so vividly that his picture has done more good than entire libraries of sermons. Then he shows the tension and depravity of the life of his contemporaries in the tightness, rigidity and tastelessness of their dresses, in the artificiality of the arrangement of their houses, in the pretentiousness of the fashionable haircut of the then gardens, disfiguring nature, and immediately awakens love for nature and its beauties with charming descriptions. These few details prove enough how influential Rousseau's book must have been. After the "New Eloise" all this changed. All those who wanted to be people of the new world came close to nature. This novel contributed to the victory of classical architecture over the cunning, ornate style of court architects; gardens have shed their deadness, the gardener's scissors have ceased to deform trees by cutting them into strange shapes; the beds of tulips and shells have disappeared; - gardens began to be planted in the English taste, close to nature. Only the royal court, with everything that belonged to it, remained true to the old etiquette, strained ceremonial, ridiculous forms of room decoration and dress, gardens in the old French style and Dutch tulips; this made the gulf separating the classes even wider, and the pretensions of the aristocrats began to seem even more ridiculous.
The other side of "Julia, or New Heloise" is especially important for Switzerland and for Germany, where the influence of Rousseau's sentimentality did not disappear so quickly from the conventional social life as in France. The former system of education, despotism in the relationship of parents to children, the harsh severity with which the original Adam's sin was persecuted in children, the distance in which they were kept, the outward reverence that parents demanded of them for themselves - all this is put in an unfavorable contrast by Rousseau. with an idyllic family life, and it turned out to be so difficult and uncomfortable for her that this side of life completely changed. In Germany, the change was helped by Basedow, Campe and other teachers who applied the ideas of Rousseau to the conditions of German life; she was also assisted by Claudius, Foss, Gölti and other poets, who tuned their lyres to the tone set by Rousseau. As a result, in Germany, domestic life became brighter and softer, and the enjoyment of nature became - first a fashion, then a real need.
