egances, came to be known as the 'Precious' school,
and it is under that name that the satire of subsequent writers has
handed it down to the laughter of after-generations. Yet a perspicacious
eye might have seen even in these absurd and tasteless productions the
signs of a progressive movement--the possibility, at least, of a true
advance. For the contortions of the 'Precious' writers were less the
result of their inability to write well than of their desperate efforts
to do so. They were trying, as hard as they could, to wriggle themselves
into a beautiful pose; and, naturally enough, they were unsuccessful.
They were, in short, too self-conscious; but it was in this very
self-consciousness that the real hope for the future lay. The teaching
of Malherbe, if it did not influence the actual form of their work, at
least impelled them towards a deliberate effort to produce _some_ form,
and to be content no longer with the vague and the haphazard. In two
directions particularly this new self-consciousness showed itself. It
showed itself in the formation of literary _salons_--of which the chief
was the famous blue drawing-room of the Hotel de Rambouillet--where
every conceivable question of taste and art, grammar and vocabulary, was
discussed with passionate intensity; and it showed itself even more
strongly in the establishment, under the influence of Richelieu, of an
official body of literary experts--the French Academy.

How far the existence of the Academy has influenced French literature,
either for good or for evil, is an extremely dubious question. It was
formed for the purpose of giving fixity and correctness to the language,
of preserving a high standard of literary taste, and of creating an
authoritative centre from which the ablest men of letters of the day
should radiate their influence over the country. To a great extent these
ends have been attained; but they have been accompanied by corresponding
drawbacks. Such an institution must necessarily be a conservative one;
and it is possible that the value of the Academy as a centre of purity
and taste has been at least balanced by the extreme reluctance which it
has always shown to countenance any of those forms of audacity and
change without which no literature can be saved from petrifaction. All
through its history the Academy has been timid and out of date. The
result has been that some of the very greatest of French
writers--including Moliere, Diderot, and Flaub