the very condition of his dignity. The question
is, should we have these ideas and these sentiments,
if, in the times before us, there had not been some
exceptional individuals who seized them, as it
were, in the air and made them viable and durable?
These exceptional individuals were capable of
thinking more vigorously, of feeling more deeply,
and of expressing themselves more forcibly than
we are. They bequeathed these ideas and senti-
ments to us. Literary history is then, above and
beyond all things, the perpetual examination of
the conscience of humanity.

There is no need for me to repeat what every one
knows, the fact that our epoch is extremely com-
plex, agitated, and disturbed. In the midst of
this labyrinth in which we are feeling our way
with such difficulty, who does not look back re-
gretfully to the days when life was more simple,
when it was possible to walk towards a goal,
mysterious and unknown though it might be, by
straight paths and royal routes?

George Sand wrote for nearly half a century.
For fifty times three hundred and sixty-five days,
she never let a day pass by without covering more
pages than other writers in a month. Her first
books shocked people, her early opinions were
greeted with storms. From that time forth she

-2-