Read Ebook: Widger's Quotations from Project Gutenberg Edition of French Immortals Series by Widger David Editor

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 223 lines and 22989 words, and 5 pages

Apr 2003 Entire PG Edition of The French Immortals 4000 Apr 2003 Entire An "Attic" Philosopher by Souvestre 3999 Apr 2003 An "Attic" Philosopher by E. Souvestre, v3 3998 Apr 2003 An "Attic" Philosopher by E. Souvestre, v2 3997 Apr 2003 An "Attic" Philosopher by E. Souvestre, v1 3996

Apr 2003 The Entire Madame Chrysantheme by Loti 3995 Apr 2003 Madame Chrysantheme by Pierre Loti, v4 3994 Apr 2003 Madame Chrysantheme by Pierre Loti, v3 3993 Apr 2003 Madame Chrysantheme by Pierre Loti, v2 3992 Apr 2003 Madame Chrysantheme by Pierre Loti, v1 3991

Apr 2003 The Entire Conscience by Hector Malot 3990 Apr 2003 Conscience by Hector Malot, v4 3989 Apr 2003 Conscience by Hector Malot, v3 3988 Apr 2003 Conscience by Hector Malot, v2 3987 Apr 2003 Conscience by Hector Malot, v1 3986

Apr 2003 The Entire Gerfaut by Charles de Bernard 3885 Apr 2003 Gerfaut by Charles de Bernard, v4 3984 Apr 2003 Gerfaut by Charles de Bernard, v3 3983 Apr 2003 Gerfaut by Charles de Bernard, v2 3982 Apr 2003 Gerfaut by Charles de Bernard, v1 3981

Apr 2003 The Entire Fromont and Risler, by Daudet 3980 Apr 2003 Fromont and Risler by Alphonse Daudet, v4 3979 Apr 2003 Fromont and Risler by Alphonse Daudet, v3 3978 Apr 2003 Fromont and Risler by Alphonse Daudet, v2 3977 Apr 2003 Fromont and Risler by Alphonse Daudet, v1 3976

Apr 2003 Entire The Ink-Stain by Rene Bazin 3975 Apr 2003 The Ink-Stain by Rene Bazin, v3 3974 Apr 2003 The Ink-Stain by Rene Bazin, v2 3973 Apr 2003 The Ink-Stain by Rene Bazin, v1 3972

Apr 2003 Entire Jacqueline by Bentzon 3971 Apr 2003 Jacqueline by Th. Bentzon , v3 3970 Apr 2003 Jacqueline by Th. Bentzon , v2 3969 Apr 2003 Jacqueline by Th. Bentzon , v1 3968

Apr 2003 Entire Cosmopolis by Paul Bourget 3967 Apr 2003 Cosmopolis by Paul Bourget, v4 3966 Apr 2003 Cosmopolis by Paul Bourget, v3 3965 Apr 2003 Cosmopolis by Paul Bourget, v2 3964 Apr 2003 Cosmopolis by Paul Bourget, v1 3963

Apr 2003 Entire Romance of Youth by Francois Coppee 3962 Apr 2003 A Romance of Youth by Francois Coppee, v4 3961 Apr 2003 A Romance of Youth by Francois Coppee, v3 3960 Apr 2003 A Romance of Youth by Francois Coppee, v2 3959 Apr 2003 A Romance of Youth by Francois Coppee, v1 3958

Apr 2003 Entire L'Abbe Constantin by Ludovic Halevy 3957 Apr 2003 L'Abbe Constantin by Ludovic Halevy, v3 3956 Apr 2003 L'Abbe Constantin by Ludovic Halevy, v2 3955 Apr 2003 L'Abbe Constantin by Ludovic Halevy, v1 3954

Apr 2003 The Entire Cinq Mars, by Alfred de Vigny 3953 Apr 2003 Cinq Mars, by Alfred de Vigny, v6 3952 Apr 2003 Cinq Mars, by Alfred de Vigny, v5 3951 Apr 2003 Cinq Mars, by Alfred de Vigny, v4 3950 Apr 2003 Cinq Mars, by Alfred de Vigny, v3 3949 Apr 2003 Cinq Mars, by Alfred de Vigny, v2 3948 Apr 2003 Cinq Mars, by Alfred de Vigny, v1 3947

Apr 2003 Entire Monsieur de Camors by Oct. Feuillet 3946 Apr 2003 Monsieur de Camors by Octave Feuillet, v3 3945 Apr 2003 Monsieur de Camors by Octave Feuillet, v2 3944 Apr 2003 Monsieur de Camors by Octave Feuillet, v1 3943

Apr 2003 Entire Child of a Century, Alfred de Musset3942 Apr 2003 Child of a Century, Alfred de Musset, v3 3941 Apr 2003 Child of a Century, Alfred de Musset, v2 3940 Apr 2003 Child of a Century, Alfred de Musset, v1 3939

Apr 2003 Entire A Woodland Queen, by Andre Theuriet 3938 Apr 2003 A Woodland Queen, by Andre Theuriet, v3 3937 Apr 2003 A Woodland Queen, by Andre Theuriet, v2 3936 Apr 2003 A Woodland Queen, by Andre Theuriet, v1 3935

Apr 2003 The Entire Zebiline by Phillipe de Masa 3934 Apr 2003 Zebiline by Phillipe de Masa, v3 3933 Apr 2003 Zebiline by Phillipe de Masa, v2 3932 Apr 2003 Zebiline by Phillipe de Masa, v1 3931

Apr 2003 The Entire Prince Zilah by Jules Claretie 3930 Apr 2003 Prince Zilah, by Jules Claretie, v3 3929 Apr 2003 Prince Zilah, by Jules Claretie, v2 3928 Apr 2003 Prince Zilah, by Jules Claretie, v1 3927

Apr 2003 The Entire MM.and Bebe by Gustave Droz 3926 Apr 2003 MM.and Bebe by Gustave Droz, v3 3925 Apr 2003 MM.and Bebe by Gustave Droz, v2 3924 Apr 2003 MM.and Bebe by Gustave Droz, v1 3923

Apr 2003 Entire The Red Lily, by Anatole France 3922 Apr 2003 The Red Lily, by Anatole France, v3 3921 Apr 2003 The Red Lily, by Anatole France, v2 3920 Apr 2003 The Red Lily, by Anatole France, v1 3919

Apr 2003 The Entire Serge Panine, by Georges Ohnet 3918 Apr 2003 Serge Panine, by Georges Ohnet, v4 3917 Apr 2003 Serge Panine, by Georges Ohnet, v3 3916 Apr 2003 Serge Panine, by Georges Ohnet, v2 3915 Apr 2003 Serge Panine, by Georges Ohnet, v1 3914

GENERAL INTRODUCTION TO THE SERIES BY GASTON BOISSIER, SECRETAIRE PERPETUEL DE L'ACADEMIE FRANCAISE.

The editor-in-chief of the Maison Mazarin--a man of letters who cherishes an enthusiastic yet discriminating love for the literary and artistic glories of France--formed within the last two pears the great project of collecting and presenting to the vast numbers of intelligent readers of whom New World boasts a series of those great and undying romances which, since 1784, have received the crown of merit awarded by the French Academy--that coveted assurance of immortality in letters and in art.

In the presentation of this serious enterprise for the criticism and official sanction of The Academy, 'en seance', was included a request that, if possible, the task of writing a preface to the series should be undertaken by me. Official sanction having been bestowed upon the plan, I, as the accredited officer of the French Academy, convey to you its hearty appreciation, endorsement, and sympathy with a project so nobly artistic. It is also my duty, privilege, and pleasure to point out, at the request of my brethren, the peculiar importance and lasting value of this series to all who would know the inner life of a people whose greatness no turns of fortune have been able to diminish.

In the last hundred years France has experienced the most terrible vicissitudes, but, vanquished or victorious, triumphant or abased, never has she lost her peculiar gift of attracting the curiosity of the world. She interests every living being, and even those who do not love her desire to know her. To this peculiar attraction which radiates from her, artists and men of letters can well bear witness, since it is to literature and to the arts, before all, that France owes such living and lasting power. In every quarter of the civilized world there are distinguished writers, painters, and eminent musicians, but in France they exist in greater numbers than elsewhere. Moreover, it is universally conceded that French writers and artists have this particular and praiseworthy quality: they are most accessible to people of other countries. Without losing their national characteristics, they possess the happy gift of universality. To speak of letters alone: the books that Frenchmen write are read, translated, dramatized, and imitated everywhere; so it is not strange that these books give to foreigners a desire for a nearer and more intimate acquaintance with France.

Men preserve an almost innate habit of resorting to Paris from almost every quarter of the globe. For many years American visitors have been more numerous than others, although the journey from the United States is long and costly. But I am sure that when for the first time they see Paris--its palaces, its churches, its museums--and visit Versailles, Fontainebleau, and Chantilly, they do not regret the travail they have undergone. Meanwhile, however, I ask myself whether such sightseeing is all that, in coming hither, they wish to accomplish. Intelligent travellers--and, as a rule, it is the intelligent class that feels the need of the educative influence of travel--look at our beautiful monuments, wander through the streets and squares among the crowds that fill them, and, observing them, I ask myself again: Do not such people desire to study at closer range these persons who elbow them as they pass; do they not wish to enter the houses of which they see but the facades; do they not wish to know how Parisians live and speak and act by their firesides? But time, alas! is lacking for the formation of those intimate friendships which would bring this knowledge within their grasp. French homes are rarely open to birds of passage, and visitors leave us with regret that they have not been able to see more than the surface of our civilization or to recognize by experience the note of our inner home life.

How, then, shall this void be filled? Speaking in the first person, the simplest means appears to be to study those whose profession it is to describe the society of the time, and primarily, therefore, the works of dramatic writers, who are supposed to draw a faithful picture of it. So we go to the theatre, and usually derive keen pleasure therefrom. But is pleasure all that we expect to find? What we should look for above everything in a comedy or a drama is a representation, exact as possible, of the manners and characters of the dramatis persona of the play; and perhaps the conditions under which the play was written do not allow such representation. The exact and studied portrayal of a character demands from the author long preparation, and cannot be accomplished in a few hours. From, the first scene to the last, each tale must be posed in the author's mind exactly as it will be proved to be at the end. It is the author's aim and mission to place completely before his audience the souls of the "agonists" laying bare the complications of motive, and throwing into relief the delicate shades of motive that sway them. Often, too, the play is produced before a numerous audience--an audience often distrait, always pressed for time, and impatient of the least delay. Again, the public in general require that they shall be able to understand without difficulty, and at first thought, the characters the author seeks to present, making it necessary that these characters be depicted from their most salient sides--which are too often vulgar and unattractive.

In our comedies and dramas it is not the individual that is drawn, but the type. Where the individual alone is real, the type is a myth of the imagination--a pure invention. And invention is the mainspring of the theatre, which rests purely upon illusion, and does not please us unless it begins by deceiving us.

I believe, then, that if one seeks to know the world exactly as it is, the theatre does not furnish the means whereby one can pursue the study. A far better opportunity for knowing the private life of a people is available through the medium of its great novels. The novelist deals with each person as an individual. He speaks to his reader at an hour when the mind is disengaged from worldly affairs, and he can add without restraint every detail that seems needful to him to complete the rounding of his story. He can return at will, should he choose, to the source of the plot he is unfolding, in order that his reader may better understand him; he can emphasize and dwell upon those details which an audience in a theatre will not allow.

The reader, being at leisure, feels no impatience, for he knows that he can at any time lay down or take up the book. It is the consciousness of this privilege that gives him patience, should he encounter a dull page here or there. He may hasten or delay his reading, according to the interest he takes in his romance-nay, more, he can return to the earlier pages, should he need to do so, for a better comprehension of some obscure point. In proportion as he is attracted and interested by the romance, and also in the degree of concentration with which he reads it, does he grasp better the subtleties of the narrative. No shade of character drawing escapes him. He realizes, with keener appreciation, the most delicate of human moods, and the novelist is not compelled to introduce the characters to him, one by one, distinguishing them only by the most general characteristics, but can describe each of those little individual idiosyncrasies that contribute to the sum total of a living personality.

When I add that the dramatic author is always to a certain extent a slave to the public, and must ever seek to please the passing taste of his time, it will be recognized that he is often, alas! compelled to sacrifice his artistic leanings to popular caprice-that is, if he has the natural desire that his generation should applaud him.

As a rule, with the theatre-going masses, one person follows the fads or fancies of others, and individual judgments are too apt to be irresistibly swayed by current opinion. But the novelist, entirely independent of his reader, is not compelled to conform himself to the opinion of any person, or to submit to his caprices. He is absolutely free to picture society as he sees it, and we therefore can have more confidence in his descriptions of the customs and characters of the day.

It is precisely this view of the case that the editor of the series has taken, and herein is the raison d'etre of this collection of great French romances. The choice was not easy to make. That form of literature called the romance abounds with us. France has always loved it, for French writers exhibit a curiosity--and I may say an indiscretion--that is almost charming in the study of customs and morals at large; a quality that induces them to talk freely of themselves and of their neighbors, and to set forth fearlessly both the good and the bad in human nature. In this fascinating phase of literature, France never has produced greater examples than of late years.

In the collection here presented to American readers will be found those works especially which reveal the intimate side of French social life- works in which are discussed the moral problems that affect most potently the life of the world at large. If inquiring spirits seek to learn the customs and manners of the France of any age, they must look for it among her crowned romances. They need go back no farther than Ludovic Halevy, who may be said to open the modern epoch. In the romantic school, on its historic side, Alfred de Vigny must be looked upon as supreme. De Musset and Anatole France may be taken as revealing authoritatively the moral philosophy of nineteenth-century thought. I must not omit to mention the Jacqueline of Th. Bentzon, and the "Attic" Philosopher of Emile Souvestre, nor the, great names of Loti, Claretie, Coppe, Bazin, Bourget, Malot, Droz, De Massa, and last, but not least, our French Dickens, Alphonse Daudet. I need not add more; the very names of these "Immortals" suffice to commend the series to readers in all countries.

One word in conclusion: America may rest assured that her students of international literature will find in this series of 'ouvrages couronnes' all that they may wish to know of France at her own fireside--a knowledge that too often escapes them, knowledge that embraces not only a faithful picture of contemporary life in the French provinces, but a living and exact description of French society in modern times. They may feel certain that when they have read these romances, they will have sounded the depths and penetrated into the hidden intimacies of France, not only as she is, but as she would be known.

GASTON BOISSIER

SECRETAIRE PERPETUEL DE L'ACADEMIE FRANCAISE

THE IMMORTALS OF THE FRENCH ACADEMY

SERGE PANINE, BY GEORGES OHNET

SERGE PANINE, BY GEORGES OHNET, V1 3914

A man weeps with difficulty before a woman Antagonism to plutocracy and hatred of aristocrats Enough to be nobody's unless I belong to him Even those who do not love her desire to know her Flayed and roasted alive by the critics Hard workers are pitiful lovers He lost his time, his money, his hair, his illusions He was very unhappy at being misunderstood I thought the best means of being loved were to deserve it Men of pleasure remain all their lives mediocre workers My aunt is jealous of me because I am a man of ideas Negroes, all but monkeys! Patience, should he encounter a dull page here or there Romanticism still ferments beneath the varnish of Naturalism Sacrifice his artistic leanings to popular caprice Unqualified for happiness You are talking too much about it to be sincere

SERGE PANINE, BY GEORGES OHNET, V2 3915

A uniform is the only garb which can hide poverty honorably Forget a dream and accept a reality I don't pay myself with words Implacable self-interest which is the law of the world In life it is only nonsense that is common-sense Is a man ever poor when he has two arms? Is it by law only that you wish to keep me? Nothing that provokes laughter more than a disappointed lover Suffering is a human law; the world is an arena The uncontested power which money brings We had taken the dream of a day for eternal happiness What is a man who remains useless

SERGE PANINE, BY GEORGES OHNET, V3 3916

Because they moved, they thought they were progressing Everywhere was feverish excitement, dissipation, and nullity It was a relief when they rose from the table Money troubles are not mortal One amuses one's self at the risk of dying Scarcely was one scheme launched when another idea occurred Talk with me sometimes. You will not chatter trivialities They had only one aim, one passion--to enjoy themselves Without a care or a cross, he grew weary like a prisoner

SERGE PANINE, BY GEORGES OHNET, V4 3917

Cowardly in trouble as he had been insolent in prosperity Heed that you lose not in dignity what you gain in revenge She would have liked the world to be in mourning The guilty will not feel your blows, but the innocent

THE ENTIRE SERGE PANINE, BY GEORGES OHNET 3918

A man weeps with difficulty before a woman A uniform is the only garb which can hide poverty honorably Antagonism to plutocracy and hatred of aristocrats Because they moved, they thought they were progressing Cowardly in trouble as he had been insolent in prosperity Enough to be nobody's unless I belong to him Even those who do not love her desire to know her Everywhere was feverish excitement, dissipation, and nullity Flayed and roasted alive by the critics Forget a dream and accept a reality Hard workers are pitiful lovers He lost his time, his money, his hair, his illusions He was very unhappy at being misunderstood Heed that you lose not in dignity what you gain in revenge I thought the best means of being loved were to deserve it I don't pay myself with words Implacable self-interest which is the law of the world In life it is only nonsense that is common-sense Is a man ever poor when he has two arms? Is it by law only that you wish to keep me? It was a relief when they rose from the table Men of pleasure remain all their lives mediocre workers Money troubles are not mortal My aunt is jealous of me because I am a man of ideas Negroes, all but monkeys! Nothing that provokes laughter more than a disappointed lover One amuses one's self at the risk of dying Patience, should he encounter a dull page here or there Romanticism still ferments beneath the varnish of Naturalism Sacrifice his artistic leanings to popular caprice Scarcely was one scheme launched when another idea occurred She would have liked the world to be in mourning Suffering is a human law; the world is an arena Talk with me sometimes. You will not chatter trivialities The guilty will not feel your blows, but the innocent The uncontested power which money brings They had only one aim, one passion--to enjoy themselves Unqualified for happiness We had taken the dream of a day for eternal happiness What is a man who remains useless Without a care or a cross, he grew weary like a prisoner You are talking too much about it to be sincere

THE RED LILY, BY ANATOLE FRANCE

THE RED LILY, BY ANATOLE FRANCE, V1 3919

A hero must be human. Napoleon was human Anti-Semitism is making fearful progress everywhere Brilliancy of a fortune too new Curious to know her face of that day Do you think that people have not talked about us? Each had regained freedom, but he did not like to be alone Fringe which makes an unlovely border to the city Gave value to her affability by not squandering it He could not imagine that often words are the same as actions He does not bear ill-will to those whom he persecutes He is not intelligent enough to doubt He studied until the last moment Her husband had become quite bearable His habit of pleasing had prolonged his youth I feel in them the grandeur of nothingness I gave myself to him because he loved me I haven't a taste, I have tastes It was too late: she did not wish to win Knew that life is not worth so much anxiety nor so much hope Laughing in every wrinkle of his face Learn to live without desire Life as a whole is too vast and too remote Life is made up of just such trifles Life is not a great thing Love was only a brief intoxication Made life give all it could yield Miserable beings who contribute to the grandeur of the past None but fools resisted the current Not everything is known, but everything is said One would think that the wind would put them out: the stars Picturesquely ugly Recesses of her mind which she preferred not to open Relatives whom she did not know and who irritated her She is happy, since she likes to remember She pleased society by appearing to find pleasure in it Should like better to do an immoral thing than a cruel one So well satisfied with his reply that he repeated it twice That if we live the reason is that we hope That sort of cold charity which is called altruism The discouragement which the irreparable gives The most radical breviary of scepticism since Montaigne The violent pleasure of losing Umbrellas, like black turtles under the watery skies Was I not warned enough of the sadness of everything? Whether they know or do not know, they talk

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet