While reading Balzac's "La Comedie Humaine" I had run across Louis Lambert's name which I include the quotes from "Drama on the Seashore", "A Distinguished Providential", "End of Evil Ways" and "The Recruit". I wondered about Louis and after reading " Louis Lambert", I understand him better. This story is truly philosophical and a philosopher would certainly enjoy this, a good amount of this is centered on this study and how Louis' genius thought. I loved the romantic angle and the stern and abusive college that he attended but really truthfully I was not too interested in the philosophical parts. This is truly a sad story and makes me wonder about angels. There is also a religious element that is not as strong as the philosophical one.
Story in short- Louis is a prodigy and deep thinker that cannot find his place in the world.
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From Huxley's "Chrome Yellow" Mention "Louis Lambert"
"In his earlier middle age he had been distressed by this absence of neck, but was comforted by reading in Balzac's "Louis Lambert" that all the world's great men have been marked by the same peculiarity, and for a simple and obvious reason: Greatness is nothing more nor less than the harmonious functioning of the faculties of the head and heart; the shorter the neck, the more closely these two organs approach one another; argal...It was convincing."
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I didn't read this edition but from a Delphi Collection of his works which included the below.
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LOUIS LAMBERT
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BALZAC WROTE THIS famous novel during the summer of 1832, while he was staying with friends at the Château de Saché. Louis Lambert contains a minimal plot, focusing mostly on the metaphysical ideas of its boy- genius protagonist. The novel is notable for providing insight into the author’s own childhood. Specific events from the Balzac’s life, including punishment from teachers and social ostracism, support the belief of many critics that the work should be considered as an autobiography. Similar to how David Copperfield reflects Dickens’ life, so too does Louis Lambert mirror Balzac’s youth. Although many critics deplored the novel, Balzac remained persistent in his belief that it provided an important look at philosophy, especially the branch of metaphysics.Highlight (Yellow) | Location 178262
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DRAMA ON THE SEASHORE
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UN DRAME AU bord de la mer is an 1834 short story, narrated by the previous character Louis Lambert, who tells of a time when he was standing on a cliff at Croisic-point, daydreaming about his future and watching his wife Pauline swimming.
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The tale then concerns their encounter with a local fisherman and they learn about his unfortunate past.
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That age, which for all men lies between twenty-two and twenty-eight, is the period of great thoughts, of fresh conceptions, because it is the age of immense desires. After that age, short as the seed-time, comes that
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of execution. There are, as it were, two youths, — the youth of belief, the youth of action; these are often commingled in men whom Nature has favored and who, like Caesar, like Newton, like Bonaparte, are the greatest among great men.
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The sea was beautiful; I had just dressed after bathing; and I awaited Pauline, who was also bathing, in a granite cove floored with fine sand, the most coquettish bath-room that Nature ever devised for her water-fairies. The spot was at the farther end of Croisic, a dainty little peninsula in Brittany; it was far from the port, and so inaccessible that the coast-guard seldom thought it necessary to pass that way. To float in ether after floating on the wave! —
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ah! who would not have floated on the future as I did! Why was I thinking? Whence comes evil? — who knows! Ideas drop into our hearts or into our heads without consulting us. No courtesan was ever more capricious nor more imperious than conception is to artists; we must grasp it, like fortune, by the hair when it comes.
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When she saw me, she said, — “What is it?” I did not answer; my eyes were moist. The night before, Pauline had understood my sorrows, as she now understood my joy, with the magical sensitiveness of a harp that obeys the variations of the atmosphere. Human life has glorious moments. Together we walked in silence along the beach. The sky was cloudless, the sea without a ripple; others might have thought them merely two blue surfaces, the one
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above the other, but we — we who heard without the need of words, we who could evoke between these two infinitudes the illusions that nourish youth, — we pressed each other’s hands at every change in the sheet of water or the sheets of air, for we took those slight phenomena as the visible translation of our double thought. Who has never tasted in wedded love that moment of illimitable joy when the soul seems freed from the trammels of flesh, and finds itself restored, as it were, to the world whence it came?
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Are there not hours when feelings clasp each other and fly upward, like children taking hands and running, they scarce know why? It was thus we went along.
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It was one of those nothings of which memory makes poems when we sit by the fire and recall the hour when that nothing moved us, and the place where it did so, — a mirage the effects of which have never been noted down, though it appears on the objects that surround us in moments when life sits lightly and our hearts are full. The loveliest scenery is that we make ourselves. What man with any poesy in him does not remember some mere mass of rock, which holds, it may be, a greater place
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in his memory than the celebrated landscapes of other lands, sought at great cost. Beside that rock, tumultuous thoughts! There a whole life evolved; there all fears dispersed; there the rays of hope descended to the soul! At this moment, the sun, sympathizing with these thoughts of love and of the future, had cast an ardent glow upon the savage flanks of the rock; a few wild mountain flowers were visible; the stillness and the silence magnified that rugged pile, — really sombre, though tinted by the dreamer, and beautiful beneath its scanty vegetation, the warm chamomile, the Venus’ tresses with their velvet leaves. Oh, lingering festival; oh, glorious decorations; oh, happy exaltation of human forces! Once already the lake of Brienne had spoken to me thus. The rock of Croisic may be perhaps the last of these my joys. If so, what will become of Pauline?
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I had thought out many dramas; Pauline was accustomed to great emotions beside a man so suffering as myself; well, never had either of us listened to words so moving as these.
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“Poor man!” said Pauline, with that accent which removes from the compassion of a woman all that is mortifying in human pity, “ought we not to feel ashamed of our happiness in presence of such misery?” “Nothing is so cruelly painful as to have powerless desires,” I answered. “Those two poor creatures, the father and son, will never know how keen our sympathy for them is, any more than the world will know how beautiful are their lives; they are laying up their treasures in heaven.”
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“But see,” I said, “how the winds from the sea bend or destroy everything. There are no trees. Fragments of wreckage or old vessels that are broken up are sold to those
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who can afford to buy; for costs of transportation are too heavy to allow them to use the firewood with which Brittany abounds. This region is fine for none but noble souls; persons without sentiments could never live here; poets and barnacles alone should inhabit it.
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“How beautiful this silence!” she said to me; “and how the depth of it is deepened by the rhythmic quiver of the wave upon the shore.” “If you will give your understanding to the three immensities which surround us, the water, the air, and
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the sands, and listen exclusively to the repeating sounds of flux and reflux,” I answered her, “you will not be able to endure their speech; you will think it is uttering a thought which will annihilate you. Last evening, at sunset, I had that sensation; and it exhausted me.”
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We now heard the hurried steps of our guide; he had put on his Sunday clothes. We addressed a few ordinary words to him; he seemed to think that our mood had changed, and with that reserve that comes of misery, he kept silence. Though from time to time we pressed each other’s hands that we might feel
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the mutual flow of our ideas and impressions, we walked along for half an hour in silence, either because we were oppressed by the heat which rose in waves from the burning sands, or because the difficulty of walking absorbed our attention. Like children, we held each other’s hands; in fact, we could hardly have made a dozen steps had we walked arm in arm.
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The inclination of our souls was changed. We were both plunged into gloomy reflections, saddened by the recital of a drama which explained the sudden presentiment which had seized us on seeing Cambremer. Each of us had enough knowledge of life to divine all that our guide had not told of that triple existence.
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Arriving at the hotel, we noticed a billiard-table, and finding that it was the only billiard-table in Croisic, we made our preparations to leave during the night. The next day
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we went to Guerande. Pauline was still sad, and I myself felt a return of that fever of the brain which will destroy me. I was so cruelly tortured by the visions that came to me of those three lives, that Pauline said at last, — “Louis, write it all down; that will change the nature of the fever within you.” So I have written you this narrative, dear uncle; but the shock of such an event has made me lose the calmness I was beginning to gain
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from sea-bathing and our stay in this place.
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***A Distinguished Providential*** below regarding Lambert
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With the quick impulsiveness of a poetic and mobile temperament, he rushed off to Daniel’s lodging. As he climbed the stairs, and
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thought of these friends, who refused to leave the path of honor, he felt conscious that he was less worthy of them than before. A voice spoke within him, telling him that if d’Arthez had loved Coralie, he would have had her break with Camusot. And, besides this, he knew that the brotherhood held journalism in utter abhorrence, and that he himself was already, to some small extent, a journalist. All of them, except Meyraux, who had just gone out, were in d’Arthez’s room when he entered it, and saw that all their
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faces were full of sorrow and despair. “What is it?” he cried. “We have just heard news of a dreadful catastrophe; the greatest thinker of the age, our most loved friend, who was like a light among us for two years — — ” “Louis Lambert!” “Has fallen a victim to catalepsy. There is no hope for him,” said Bianchon. “He will die, his soul wandering in the skies, his body unconscious
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on earth,” said Michel Chrestien solemnly. “He will die as he lived,” said d’Arthez. “Love fell like a firebrand in the vast empire of his brain and burned him away,” said Leon Giraud. “Yes,” said Joseph Bridau, “he has reached a height that we cannot so much as see.” “We are to be pitied, not Louis,” said Fulgence Ridal. “Perhaps he will recover,” exclaimed Lucien.
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“From what Meyraux has been telling us, recovery seems impossible,” answered Bianchon. “Medicine has no power over the change that is working in his brain.” “Yet there are physical means,” said d’Arthez. “Yes,” said Bianchon; “we might produce imbecility instead of catalepsy.” “Is there no way of offering another head to the spirit of evil? I would give mine to save him!” cried Michel Chrestien.
*** A Distinguished Providential
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*** End of Evil Ways ***mentions Lambert
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From the height at which Lucien was standing he saw this cloister, and the details of the building that joins the two towers, in sharp perspective; before him were the pointed caps of the towers. He stood amazed; his suicide was postponed to his admiration. The phenomena of hallucination are in these days so fully recognized by the medical faculty that this mirage of the senses, this strange illusion of the mind is
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beyond dispute. A man under the stress of a feeling which by its intensity has become a monomania, often finds himself in the frame of mind to which opium, hasheesh, or the protoxyde of azote might have brought him. Spectres appear, phantoms and dreams take shape, things of the past live again as they once were. What was but an image of the brain becomes a moving or a living object. Science is now beginning to believe that under the action of a paroxysm of passion the blood rushes to the brain, and that such
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congestion has the terrible effects of a dream in a waking state, so averse are we to regard thought as a physical and generative force. (See Louis Lambert.)
*** End of Evil Ways
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THE RECRUIT At times they saw him, by a phenomenon of vision or locomotion, abolish space in its two forms of Time and Distance; the former being intellectual space, the other physical space. Intellectual History of Louis Lambert.
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From “The Vicar of Tours” which include the passages of Pauline’s which showed that during that story that Lambert was alive and died during that story.
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Mademoiselle Salomon de Villenoix belonged to the race of these heroic beings. Her devotion was religiously sublime, inasmuch as it won her no glory after being, for years, a daily agony. Beautiful and young, she loved and was beloved; her lover lost his reason. For five years she gave herself, with love’s devotion, to the mere mechanical well-being of that unhappy man, whose madness she so penetrated that she never believed him mad. She was
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simple in manner, frank in speech, and her pallid face was not lacking in strength and character, though its features were regular. She never spoke of the events of her life. But at times a sudden quiver passed over her as she listened to the story of some sad or dreadful incident, thus betraying the emotions that great sufferings had developed within her. She had come to live at Tours after losing the companion of her life; but she was not appreciated there at her true value and was thought to be merely an amiable woman. She did much good,
I had so wanted Pauline and Louis to be happy but he was too sensitive and though he had mental illness it is the kind were he still had his reason to the point. The Drama at the Seashore was ine of his tims when he was better. It seemed she did not marry him but in her heart he was her husband! I loved Pauline’s love and devotion to her beloved never failed her!