love-poems of that
period: 'Le Lac, La Tristesse d'Olympio, Le Souvenir, and La Colere de
Samson'.

Lamartine's conception of love was a sort of mild ecstasy, the sacred
rapture in which the senses play no part, and noble emotions that cause
neither trouble nor remorse. He ever regarded love as a kind of sublime
and passionate religion, of which 'Le Lac' was the most beautiful hymn,
but in which the image of woman is so vague that she almost seems to be
absent.

On the other hand, what is 'La Tristesse d'Olympio' if not an admirable
but common poetic rapture, a magnificent summary of the sufferings of the
heart--a bit of lyric writing equal to the most beautiful canzoni of the
Italian masters, but wherein we find no idea of love, because all is
artificial and studied; no cry from the soul is heard,--no trace of
passion appears.

After another fashion the same criticism applies to Le Souvenir; it was
written under a stress of emotion resulting from too recent events; and
the imagination of the author, subservient to a memory relentlessly
faithful, as is often the case with those to whom passion is the chief
principle of inspiration, was far from fulfilling the duties of his high
vocation, which is to purify the passions of the poet from individual and
accidental characteristics in order to leave unhampered whatever his work
may contain that is powerful and imperishable.

Alfred de Vigny alone, of the poets of his day, in his 'Colere de
Samson', has risen to a just appreciation of woman and of love; his ideal
is grand and tragic, it is true, and reminds one of that gloomy passage
in Ecclesiastes which says: "Woman is more bitter than death, and her
arms are like chains."

It is by this character of universality, of which all his writings show
striking evidence, that Alfred de Vigny is assured of immortality. A
heedless generation neglected him because it preferred to seek subjects
in strong contrast to life of its own time. But that which was not
appreciated by his contemporaries will be welcomed by posterity. And
when, in French literature, there shall remain of true romanticism only a
slight trace and the memory of a few great names, the author of the
'Destinees' will still find an echo in all hearts.

No writer, no matter how gifted, immortalizes himself unless he has
crystallized into expressive and original phrase the eternal sentiments
and yearnings of the human heart. "A man does not deserve the name of
poe