the "great world," and
caused his name to figure in all the questions, the quarrels, and the
scandals of his day.

The truth is, that literature is a far more important element of society
in France than elsewhere. We seldom think of a French author, without
recalling the history and the manners of his time. In reading a French
play, though it be a tragedy of Racine or a comedy of Moliere, we are
reminded of the spectators before whom it was brought out. In reading a
French book, though it be Pascal's "Thoughts" or the "Characters" of La
Bruyere, our minds are continually diverted from the matter of the work
to the circumstances under which it was written and the public for whom
it was intended.

Generally, indeed, the author, however full of his subject, has
evidently been thinking of his readers. His tone is that of a speaker
with his audience before him. Madame de Stael actually composed in
conversation, and her works are little more than imperfect records of
her eloquent discourse. Innumerable productions have been read aloud, or
handed round in private coteries, before being revised and published.
The very excellence of the workmanship, if nothing else, shows that the
article is "custom made." Even if the matter be poor, the writing is
almost sure to be good. French literature abounds, beyond every other,
in _readable_ books,--books such as are welcomed by the mass of
cultivated persons. It excels, in short, as a literature of the _salon_,
rather than of the study.

As a natural corollary, criticism occupies a more distinct and prominent
place in the literature of France than in that of any other nation.
Every writer is sure of being heard, sure of being discussed, sure of
being judged. This may not always have been favorable to originality. A
fixed standard,--which is a necessary consequence,--though the guardian
of taste, is a bar to innovation. When, however, the bar has been
actually crossed, when encroachment has once obtained a footing, French
criticism is swift to adjust itself to the new conditions imposed upon
it, to widen its sphere and to institute fresh comparisons.

The present position of French criticism, its connection with the
general course of literature and of society from the fall of the first
Empire to the establishment of the second,--a period of remarkable
effervescence and even fertility,--will be best illustrated by a sketch
of the writings and career of M. Sainte-Beuve. He is, it is tru