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Half-title or 'Julie' beheaded.

"Julie ou": head and frail articulation, separated from their body by a certain kind of critical terror. Imagine a book on Richardson that referred throughout to Virtue Rewarded and The History of a Young Lady without ever mentioning Pamela or Clarissa. This is exactly what has happened in the case of Rousseau's novel. One could read all the way through any number of volumes devoted to it without ever learning--without encountering any suggestion--that its author gave it any other title than La nouvelle Heloise. The old "Classiques Larousse" abridgment, through which generations of French and other students first made contact with the work, nowhere so informs the reader, even though editor J.-E. Morel occasionally refers familiarly to "la Julie" (but also "l'Heloise"). Even the authoritative Pleiade edition(1) mentions no Julie on its title page; the recent Folio edition does, but not on its cover--as if the publisher feared confusing a potential reader (i.e., buyer) with an unrecognizable (i.e., real) title.(2)

There is thus some pertinence to this question: how did a novel entitled Julie come to be known exclusively by its subtitle? What is it about Julie ou that so taxes the collective memory?

First point of call in this inquiry is naturally the historical record, and in particular the author's own references to his book. It is more than slightly significant that, as J. S. Spink remarked, "the Abelard-Heloise model . . . appeared in the title at the very last moment" (165), for this tells us that, far from being the informing concept that generated the text, it was, if not an afterthought, at least a late comparison--probably the result of reading Colardeau's 1758 translation of Pope's Eloisa to Abelard. Rousseau's first working title, Julie ou lettres de deux amants, habitants d'une petite ville au pied des Alpes indeed "corresponds more closely to the substance of the book" (Spink 165). Rousseau recast that title's first part as Julie ou la moderne Heloise, and only as the typesetting was under way in early 1760 did he change this to Julie ou la nouvelle Heloise.(3)

From this point until the publication a year later there was never any doubt that the full title was to be an amalgam of two parts, the first being Julie ou la nouvelle Heloise and the second Lettres de deux amants, habitants d'une petite ville au pied des Alpes. Rousseau was highly specific about the layout of the title page,(4) as he was about the rather curious decision to separate these two titles and place Julie ou la nouvelle Heloise separately on the half-title page (this was probably to avoid too cluttered a title page).(5) In fact, Julie dominates, appearing in significantly larger type than ou la nouvelle Heloise. He nonetheless wanted the running head Lettres de deux amants changed to La nouvelle Heloise, and this was done.(6)

This fluctuation or hesitation is further evident in discussion of the long "second" preface often referred to as the Preface dialoguee. When he informs Rey about it, mainly in order to specify that he will not include it in the first Amsterdam edition, he calls it Preface de Julie(7); and while he published it under the name Preface de la Nouvelle Heloise: ou entretien sur les romans, its avertissement begins: "Ce dialogue ou entretien suppose etait d'abord destine a servir de preface aux Lettres de deux amants." It would seem that Rousseau was ambivalent about which appelation to favor. The reason Lettres de deux amants holds equal footing in this contest is that Rousseau generally avoided the term roman, referring frequently in the "second" preface, for example, to ces Lettres and ce Recueil, in order to favor the premise that the letters could be real.

This apparent ambiguity of title is, not surprisingly, reflected in references by his contemporaries. Le Mercure's first notice, going by the title page alone, lists it as Lettres de deux amants . . . but the extensive summary given in the following issue instead uses the half-title Julie ou la nouvelle Heloise.(8) All three installments of summary and extracts in the Journal Encyclopedique appear under the sole title Lettres de deux amants . . .(9)

This is not to say that Rousseau did not frequently use La nouvelle Heloise or just "l'Heloise." In Lettres de la montagne we find one Nouvelle Heloise and two Heloise; in Rousseau juge de Jean-Jacques it is always Heloise (eight times) or Nouvelle Heloise (one time). But the preponderance in fact leans towards Julie. In The Confessions, where Rousseau talks most at length about it, he calls it La nouvelle Heloise in five places, simply "l'Heloise" in five others, and just plain Julie in fifteen. Elsewhere I have located about an equal number of Heloise and Julie. We have no concordance for the correspondence; my sampling, taken from 1760-1761 when the book is most often mentioned, though highly imperfect, is nonetheless sufficient to indicate the general trend: what we find is that while the publisher, Marc-Michel Rey, nearly always says Julie, the many avid readers who write to Rousseau when the novel comes out use all three designations, indeed often more than one in a single letter (I have counted among them 13 Heloise, 22 Nouvelle Heloise and 25 Julie). Rousseau does likewise in his own letters, though the most frequent seems to be Julie: my rough count yields two Heloise, four Nouvelle Heloise, and eleven Julie. In short, while allusion to the book by means of its subtitle was common, nothing at all suggests that La nouvelle Heloise had become, in the eyes of either Rousseau or his public, anything like its true, unique and definitive title. Yet that is what it has been considered for most of the time since.

It is also true that almost from the beginning there were editions from which Julie ou had been expunged, the first apparently being the Duchesne edition (Neufchatel and Paris) of 1764.(10) This change was surely not made with Rousseau's permission. Indeed he was generally quite clear about matters he had decided upon; the same 1764 edition, for example, replaced Gravelot's twelfth engraving with a new one of Julie falling into the water ("L'amour maternal"), which Rousseau found grotesque.(11) There might have been six or eight more similarly truncated title pages between 1780 and 1800, a small number compared to the fifty to seventy editions of the work that fall within that period.(12)

The most egregious act of emendation was perpetrated in 1761 by the English translator William Kenrick, who not only titled the book Eloisa pure and simple(13) but substituted throughout the name of Eloisa for that of Julie--this being, as he assures in his preface, "a matter of no importance to the reader." In this operation, Julie simply disappears and the simile (which only comes into play one single time in the text of the novel) brazenly replaces the character. Moreover, the heroine thereby ceases to be the nouvelle Heloise: their conflation actually robs the comparison of some of its explicit force. Needless to say, this was--literally--taking the Heloise moniker too literally. Restitution was made in 1773 in an otherwise only slightly modified Kenrick translation titled Julia: or, The New Eloisa.(14) The first Eloisa version was reissued fifteen or so times in England through 1810, and even blindly taken up again in a reprint by Woodstock Books of Oxford in 1989.

Since no one left us an explanation for how this came about--after all, De l'education did not usurp the place of Emile--we must attempt to reconstruct the process with the aid of some educated conjecture. The principal motivation is probably the fact that the title Julie would have seemed disconcertingly lightweight by contemporary practice. It was one thing to call a work Memoires du comte de Comminge or La princesse de Cleves, and something else again to give it a name unknown to readers, much less merely a first name. La vie de Marianne (1731) sports an aggressive anonymity, but it continued with the fuller justification: . . . ou les aventures de Madame la comtesse de * * *; in this context, the operative clause is definitely "Madame la comtesse de * * *"--that is, someone. We might recall that Nivelle de La Chaussee created a small sensation in 1741 when he gave a play the unadorned title Melanide: it was a woman's name, obviously enough, but it didn't mean anything. As Lanson remarks:

Cela etonna. C'etait bon pour la tragedie: les heros de l'histoire et de la

fable vent connus. Mais un nom inconnu, un nom de l'invention de

l'auteur, ni symbolique ni grotesque, insignifiant, incolore, qui

n'annoncait ni l'intention morale de l'auteur, ni les caracteres, ni le

sujet, on n'avait jamais donne de titre pareil a une comedie.(15)

Medee could pass; it is full of meaning: but Melanide? Melanide had no information value. It is not hard to see that Julie was in this sense highly unconventional and would appear very simply to lack the ballast necessary to stabilize such a massive book. (It is likely for the same reason that, in similar semantic situations, titles today are often reduplicated for implicit reinforcement: witness the soap opera Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman and the films Europa, Europa and Olivier Olivier.)(16)

Julie: the name, unsung, is devoid of inherent content. This is partly, to be sure, what Rousseau intended: if anything, it merely suggests the Alpine simplicity echoed in the assertively modest anonymity of that other title, Lettres de deux amants, habitants d'une petite ville au pied des Alpes. But that would also explain why he added a subtitle which on the contrary is heavily invested with meaning: it brings with it the whole mass of a century-long fascination with Abelard and Heloise, a mound of plays and poems and other adaptations of their sorrows and letters.(17) La nouvelle Heloise is as powerful and substantial as Julie is slight; it stakes a claim to grandeur which counterbalances the name of a simple girl; after the two modest, acute syllables of Julie(18) it trumpets with six (an alexandrin hemistiche): this is an Heloise for our times, a modern Heloise. Moreover, the fact that la nouvelle Heloise stands in apposition to Julie makes it convenient to use the one in place of the other, which one cannot so easily do with a moral paraphrase such as "Virtue Rewarded".

We can therefore believe it was the association with Heloise, so much more imposing for a reader of 1761 than today, that made the label seem so commanding, even overdetermined. It carried a pungent redolence of scandal; Rousseau in his preface is quite explicit about saying that his title stands forth specifically as a warning to virgins: "Jamais fille chaste n'a lu de Romans; et j'ai mis a celui-ci un titre assez decide pour qu'en l'ouvrant on sut a quoi s'en tenir. Celle qui, malgre ce titre, en osera fire une seule page, est une fille perdue" (emphasis added).(19) But at the same time, the appealing if not alluring titre assez decide was a lure, promising a story of lust and redemption: in relative terms, it was something like a blaring "Lust! Crime! Passion!" on a pulp book cover of the twentieth century.

For some, doubtless, to refer to the book as Heloise or La nouvelle Heloise functioned as a sign of approval, of assent to the author's implied invitation to find in Julie the true modern embodiment of tragic medieval passion and/ or austere spiritual glory. It is understandable that, given all these active connotations, La nouvelle Heloise was catchy in a way that Julie obviously could not be. That does not, however, make it the true title.

There were sometimes, moreover, less admiring motivations at work. Voltaire insists on Nouvelle Heloise precisely because he, on the contrary, thinks the book so trivial as to render its pretentious connection with the Heloise legend inherently burlesque.(20) His use of the subtitle thus goes hand in hand with his sarcasm about Helvetic values in general and especially Julie's Swiss nobility (the baron d'Etange seems to be an embodiment of the very kind of petty-noble pomposity Voltaire had just satirized in the person of the Baron de Thunder-ten-tronckh).(21) Thus it encapsulates much of the satirical tenor of his resume of a plot that features an "espece de valet suisse" whom he repeatedly calls Jean-Jacques. But there is more: Voltaire refers more exactly to La nouvelle Heloise (ou Aloisia) because he wants to imply a scurrilous consanguinity between Rousseau's title and Nicolas Chorier's infamous "Meursius francais" which went by various names of which one was Aloisia.(22) Such a conflation, which hinted at the indecencies or even obscenities Julie contained,(23) would have appeared particularly hilarious to a Voltaire greatly exasperated with what he considered to be Rousseau's self-righteous antics.

Similar sentiments lay behind La nouvelle Heloise devoilee by one Milon.(24) Like Voltaire, Milon disparages both protagonists; he scoffs at St. Preux's "ingenuite helvetique" and calls him things like "petit scelerat," "tartufe," "amant extravagant," and "pauvre diable de precepteur"; even Claire is "perfide," a "vile complaisante." He derides the moralism of "la friponne" Julie, and underscores his satire by referring to her (rather than just the book) as "la nouvelle Heloise." Moreover, like Voltaire, Milon identifies the author himself--for whom he also has such unambiguous epithets as "misanthrope atrabilaire" and "ruse charlatan"--with "l'aimable heros de la nouvelle Heloise."

The moral anthologist Formey had something quite opposite in mind in publishing L'esprit de Julie.(25) He wanted to serve the didactic purposes that informed the novel, minus the seductive and problematizing matrix with which Rousseau had surrounded them: L'esprit de Julie is thus an expurgated Julie, or rather an extracted and partially amended one, a quintessence of right thinking ("un miel pur et exquis"). He expresses this intention, pertinently for our analysis, precisely in terms of a contrast between the two titles: "Il fallait faire une Julie imitable et digne d'etre imitee: la Nouvelle Heloise, au contraire, est inimitable, et indigne d'etre imitee" (vi-vii). Formey's associations with these names are quite unlike those suggested earlier: to him, what is prominent about the Heloise association is evidently not its prestige and tragic grandeur but its seductive contagion. What Formey is offering, indeed urging upon, the reader is precisely Julie without Heloise: for in this perspective, the name of Julie alongside Heloise seems to ring clear as a bell, like that of an angel who must be divorced from her sinful sponsor.(26)

We can probably credit the continuing cult of Abelard and Heloise with ultimately driving Julie out of circulation (their remains were not removed from the Paraclet abbey to the gothic tomb in the Pere Lachaise until 1817). Madame de Merteuil may be referring to Rousseau when she mentions reading "une lettre d'Heloise"(27) and in any case elsewhere clearly identifies "Heloise" as a novel(28); in Restif, at about the same time, we also find it called "l'Heloise."(29) La Harpe refers only to La nouvelle Heloise, but Senac de Meilhan instead says Julie.(30) Irregularly, the reference thus comes to be fixed as La nouvelle Heloise, which is what we find in Villemain and Sainte-Beuve. Chateaubriand and Lamartine differ only in adding an occasional, informal "l'Heloise," the version Stael and Bernardin de Saint-Pierre use most of the time without even the article. Stendhal for his part writes "la Nouvelle-Heloise," usually with a hyphen.(31)

The efficiency of the phrase must be recognized. La nouvelle Heloise canonizes Heloise, making her the quintessential model for feminine passion and abdication, while beatifying Julie by making of her a reincarnation--or reinvention--of that paradigm. (It also reveals by contrast how clumsy was Kenrick's wholesale substitution of one name for the other, which completely short-circuited this rather elegant semiotic process.) This double movement of course only reinforces and elevates the gesture Rousseau had already accomplished in coining the expression. La nouvelle Heloise is the romantic apotheosis of Julie.

By the time modern academic histories of literature, and along with them books and articles devoted specifically to Julie, began appearing about 1890, La nouvelle Heloise was long since definitively ensconced as the novel's official title. One cannot learn from Brunetiere (Etudes critiques sur l'histoire de la litterature francaise), Doumic (Histoire de la litterature francaise) or Lanson (Histoire de la litterature francaise) that Rousseau ever authored a work named Julie ou la nouvelle Heloise. In the late nineteenth century, when the teaching of "notre litterature" was to scholars of all political persuasions an inherently patriotic endeavor, referring to books familiarly, without the bother of bibliographical details, was one of the ways in which the urbane man of letters manifested his intimacy with the great writers of the past.(32) But this propensity is not the principal explanation for the universality of La nouvelle Heloise, for it figures not as a subtitle at all but as the book's real title; it is Julie on the contrary that sometimes serves as familiar nickname. In Le Breton's eighty-page chapter devoted to Julie in Le roman au dix-huitieme siecle, he mentions Julie only once: "Saint-Preux s'est epris de son ecoliere, Julie d'Etange, comme autrefois Abelard avait aime Heloise; de la le sous-titre,Julie ou la nouvelle Heloise" (248). In truth, however, the token word sous-titre in this sentence doesn't faze him a bit; it is not thought to be a subtitle at all and never functions as such.

Daniel Mornet, in his countless pages devoted to Julie, never calls it anything other than La nouvelle Heloise. The whole of his La nouvelle Heloise de J.-J. Rousseau: etude et analyse contains but one single mention of Julie (64). Even more astonishingly, Julie does not even figure on the title page of his landmark, four-volume "Grands Ecrivains de la France" edition of 1925; were it not for his inclusion of facsimiles of the original title pages, this information would be lacking entirely. One is tempted to conclude that Mornet in some sense did not know what the book's true title was. In the case of Lanson, we needn't even conjecture; he clearly did not know; for in an article on Rousseau for La Grande Encyclopedie in which he alludes twice to "l'Heloise" and even once to "Julie", he once explicitly gives the full title of the work, and here is the way it comes out: "La Nouvelle Heloise, ou Lettres de deux amants habitants d'une petite ville au pied des Alpes" (1064)!(33) The ou has shifted; Julie ou la nouvelle Heloise has become La nouvelle Heloise ou Lettres de deux amants. Julie has, in the most formal way, no place in the title at all; time, ideology and slipshod habits have simply obliterated her. It goes to show that the scholarly bad habit is the worst kind, since it never occurs to some scholars that they could be in the business of perpetuating misinformation.

As if the sanctification of "la nouvelle Heloise" were not complete enough, it remained for Bernard Guyon, annotator of the Pleiade edition, to fetishize it ultimately as "ces trots mots destines a devenir illustres" (Introduction, p. [xviii). So riveted is he on them that he cannot fathom what could have come over Rousseau the day he sent his protectrice, the Marechale de Luxembourg, a copy--the last of those he wrote by hand--the title page of which failed to include these three magic words: in Guyon's terms, it "ne porte pas encore le titre fameux, mais seulement le sous-titre: Julie | ou lettres de deux amans | habitans etc."(34) In other words, this manuscript in essence had no title: a priori, Julie, ou lettres de deux amants cannot be understood as in any sense the book's rightful name, of which it is but a distant glimmer; it conceals a hiatus behind which, imminent if not yet manifest, must lie le fameux titre. That Rousseau should omit what to Guyon is "le titre" must then amount to something of a mystification. In this rather extreme construction of the matter, everything but "la nouvelle Heloise" is by definition a subtitle. Julie then is only a sort of pre- or proto-title, a prete-nom awaiting its full revelation. A less prepossessed investigator might, if he thought about it, draw rather different conclusions. Here, "la nouvelle Heloise" constitutes a predestined apotheosis that shapes the whole inspired process: "S'il a finalement inscrit a la suite de Julie, et avant Lettres de deux amans, ce sous-titre promis a un glorieux destin, c'est sans douse a cause de la diffusion croissante du `mythe' dans la litterature au cours de la premiere moitie du siecle" (1338).(35) But the sublimity of Guyon's glorieux destin is purely tautological: its only referent is precisely the romantic mythification of "la nouvelle Heloise" of which Guyon's phrases are themselves an instance. Curiously, Peggy Kamuf accuses the Pleiade edition of trivializing the Heloise connection(36); actually, the reverse is true: it has done everything possible to depreciate Julie.

The Pleiade editors do so further by making Julie invisible in their edition of the Confessions: for, acting on the assumption that "Julie" is not a title but a nickname of sorts, do not put it in italics, whereas they do of course for any expression containing "Heloise." Thus a simple "editorial" detail ("nous avons souligne les titres d'ouvrages cites par Rousseau, estimant qu'il ne s'agit la que d'une question de presentation")(37)--particularly since it applies to the standard reference edition--perpetuates the same old prejudice. The genuinely mythic power of "la nouvelle Helolse" prevents even good scholars from seeing the evidence, so that they naively collaborate in actively suppressing it.

It is clear from a recent overview of Rousseau scholarship by Raymond Trousson(38) that it is still de bon ton to refer sometimes to "la Julie" and "I'Heloise"(39) to indicate how familiar it is-the way critics often condescendingly say "Jean-Jacques" rather than Rousseau-while mostly sticking with "La nouvelle Heloise" so people will know what you are talking about. Julie is rarely if ever used in any scholarly title until quite recently, and you can be sure that if you want to locate any references to it in any index on earth written before 1980 or even sometimes later-including the catalogue of the Bibliotheque Nationale-you had better look under N and not J. A rare exception to that rule is the recent A Rousseau Dictionary by N. J. H. Dent, in which the listing for "Nouvelle Heloise" refers the reader to "Julie"; yet even this author usually replaces Julie with "La nouvelle Heloise" within the text of the articles. I can cite another book where, even though bibliographical scrupulousness leads the author to give all page references in the footnotes under the form "Julie, etc.," he never refers to it in the main body of the text as anything but "la Nouvelle Heloise."(40) Yet another recent book on Rousseau lists "(Julie ou) La Nouvelle Heloise" in the index, but does so under the letter N for good measure.(41) Such schizophrenia is a gauge of the depths of the problem. Is there any other literary work that is formally, not casually, designated exclusively by its subtitle?

None of the explanations suggested here can fully rationalize the way scholars and critics inexcusably continue such a practice in our day. The shock to literary conventions has long since worn off; if a book can be called Histoire d'O then one can hardly be made uneasy by the likes of Julie. To continue in these circumstances to call Rousseau's novel "La nouvelle Heloise" is, just as in Kenrick's wholesale substitution, to hypostatize a metaphor to no good purpose. One can easily enough understand the advantages of referring to Manon Lescaut instead of Histoire du chevalier Des Grieux et de Manon Lescaut, or Cleveland in the place of Le philosophe anglais ou histoire de M. Cleveland' fils naturel de Cromwell: in these typical cases the nickname is shorter (indeed it is not necessarily a subtitle at all), and it does refer to the principal character. But in saying "La nouvelle Heloise" one incongruously opts for a nickname that is longer and abandons the heroine in favor of her idealization. Would one refer to La destinee and L'optimisme in lieu of Zadig or Candide?

It is, in my view, a deplorable practice ever to publish works without their complete titles, even Les Egarements du coeur et de l'esprit stripped of its "ou memoires de M. de Meilcour" (Folio, 1977) or Le Paysan parvenu without "ou les memoires de M***" (Garnier-Flammarion, 1965). The latter, to be sure, is less crucial: the subtitle really provides little new information except that of the autobiographical form; but it makes no sense in the former case to deprive a reader of the fact that Meilcour's name is given as part of the title.

Actually publishing such a work shorn of its authentic title is even more serious, and by the same token referring to it critically in this manner. If one can say Pamela and Clarissa, then one can say Julie. It is more accurate; that's all there is to it.

P.S. Who invented the hyphen in Saint-Preux? Not Rousseau, whose text always says "St. Preux." Yet the form Saint-Preux seems even more universal than the title La nouvelle Heloise; the rare scholars who use Julie still write its hero's name as "Saint-Preux." Henri Coulet, whose own text (twice issued, in Pleiade and Folio) consistently--and faithfully--records "St. Preux," somehow cannot resist, when he himself mentions the character, invariably changing his name to "Saint-Preux"! In fact the hyphen (like most hyphens in names) was an innovation of the early nineteenth century.

Does it matter? In a more subtle way than the title, yes. Saint-Preux is a name and St. Preux is a saint. Here is an illustration of the difference it makes, in a simple but typical critical remark: "the `contrived name' of Saint-Preux contains two important elements of the general concept of virtue: saint, implying saintliness; and preux, which suggests prowess."(42) This would make sense if the name were Saint-Preux; but it isn't; the critic is himself misled by a tradition that has arbitrarily imposed "Saint-Preux." For "saint" (as opposed to "Saint-") does not imply saintliness; it means saint.

Perhaps this does not change in a major way the word-play, in the central trio's playful diction, whereby the roturier hero becomes loyal chevalier and by the same process has his mock-saintly halo conferred upon him. But it matters connotatively that he is not Monsieur Saint-Preux--in the first half of the novel he can't be a monsieur by any measure--but St. Preux, interpret that as one may. But even if it made no discernable difference, why should anyone write "Saint-Preux" when Rousseau himself did not? (1.) Volume 2 in CEuvres complites, edited by Bernard Guyon and Henri Coulet, Paris: Gallimard, 1961. (2.) This is also true of the Bordas school edition (1979). (3.) "Au titre au lieu de moderne Heloise, mettez nouvelle Heloise," he wrote to his publisher Marc-Michel Rey on 18 January 1760 (RAL 928). All references to Rousseau's letters are to sequential numbers in the R A. Leigh edition (abbreviated RAL) of the Correspondance complete. (4.) See illustration p. 41 below, accompanying letter of circa 12 April 1759 (RAL 796). (5.) "Je suis d'avis que le titre se partage et qu'il y en ait deux au lieu d'un. Le premier n'aura que ces moss. Julie ou la nouvelle Heloise. Premiere partie. Le second titre comprendra le reste. En un mot, il faut absolument trouver quelque expedient pour que le titre Simple ou double contienne tout ce que j'y ai mis, et pourtant qu'il ne soit pas confus" (Rousseau to Rey, 29 June 1760, RAL 1037). Rousseau refers explicitly to the first of these pages as a faux-titre (half-title) cf. his letter to Rey on 17 July 1760, RAL 1056. (6.) "Le titre courant des pages ne doit point etre Lettres de deux Amans &c. mats, La nouvelle Heloise" (Rousseau to Rey, 6 March 1760, RAL 952). (7.) Rousseau to Rey, 14 March 1759, RAL 788. (8.) March 1761, p. 101; April 1761, I: 66-85 and II: 108-24. (9.) 15 February 1761, 61-72; 1 March 1761, 38-54; 15 March 1761, 45-66. (10.) According to Senelier's Bibliographie generale des ceuvres de Jean-Jacques Rousseau, the title of a Lausanne edition in 1762 was also La nouvelle Heloise, but Mornet does not confirm this. (11.) "Cette froide et ridicule estampe . . . a ete ajoutee a mon insu je ne sais par qui ni pourquoi", (quoted by Guyon in the Pleiade edition, 1824). (12.) It is impossible to be precise about these numbers because the bibliographical information is conflicting and confusing, particularly with regard to incorporation of already existing editions into subsequent editions or sets of collected works. Senelier lists a number of editions lacking the Julie ou which nonetheless, according to Mornet's bibliography, do begin with those words, in particular the Geneva editions of 1780-1783, which are extremely difficult to sort out (cf. Mornet edition of Julie, I: 213-14). In virtually all of the collected editions, Julie ou appears somewhere, at the beginning of the volume if not just before the text of the novel. In the nineteenth century there were also occasional editions entitled simply La nouvelle Heloise (1843, 1850, 1872, 1889). For an overview of the novel's publication history see Jean Sgard, "Deux siecles d'editions de La nouvelle Heloise." (13.) Eloisa: Or, a Series of Original Letters Collected and Published by J. J. Rousseau. Translated from the French (London: R. Griffiths, T. Becket, P. A. De Hondt, 1761), 4 vols. (14.) Edinburgh: J. Bell, J. Dickson, C. Elliot, 1773, 3 vols. (15.) Gustave Lanson, Nivelle de la Chaussee et la comedic larmoyante (Paris: Hachette, 1903), 158. (16.) It may of course be arguable that the redundance of such a title, particularly in this last example, has a thematic rationale. Not infrequently, such duplications are an attempt to simulate the voice crying out a name repeatedly, as in Absalom, Absalom! (certainly Faulkner's title would never be thought void of semantic content) and the video play Tora! Tora! Tora! (17.) For a list of these see the Mornet edition of Julie, 2: vii-viii. (18.) Richardson's unknown one-name eponyms were more rhythmically trisyllabic Pamela, Clarissa, Grandisson. (19.) On cannot say categorically that he means specifically the name Heloise, for Lettres de deux amants might alone be enough to qualify for the distinction of "titre assez decide." (20.) Lettres a M. de Voltaire sur La nouvelle Heloise (ou Aloisia). He particilarly mocks, at the beginning of the second letter, the comparison of St. Preux's modest accomplishments with those of the great Abelard (399). The attribution to Voltaire is more than probable but not demonstrable: cf. Labrosse, 186. (21.) This is clear from the parallel language of the second letter, which is a rewrite of Julie's plot in the style of Candide: of d'Etange's Vaudois nobility Voltaire quips: "Vous savez qu'il n'y a rien de plus grand que ces barons" (399); and later, when the protagonist goes to Paris, he writes that it is "de peur que M. le baron ne le fit jeter, en Suisse, par les fenetres de sa chaumiere, qu'il appelait chateau" (402). (22.) Aloisiae Sigeae Toletanae satyra sotadica was presented as a translation by Jean Meursius into Latin of the work of a Spanish poetess. A French translation bore the title Aloysia ou entretiens academiques des dames (16 80) and another L'Academie des dames (1730). Voltaire refers to Rousseau's novel as La Nouvelle Aloisia in a letter to d'Alembert (20 April 1761, Correspondence, no. D9743). (23.) The hero, he writes, "s'avisa, etant ivre, de dire beaucoup d'ordures a sa respectable maitresse" (397). Similarly, Grimm remarks on the passage where Julie cautions St. Preux against autoeroticism, "Ce dernier morceau serait plus a sa place dans l'Aretin, ainsi que quelques autres endroits du premier volume" (Correspondance Litteraire, 1 February 1761, in RAL A236, VIII:349): "l'Aretin" is an allusion to the Italian writer Aretino, or more exactly to pornographic works in circulation that were thought to be by him. (24.) Brussels and Paris Antoine Boudet, 1775. (25.) L'esprit de Julie ou extrait de la nouvelle Heloise, ouvrage utile a la societe et particulierement a la jeunesse. Cf. Anna Attridge, "The reception of la Nouvelle Heloise," 246. (26.) Actually, though, one could say that his excerpts tend to depersonalize Julie by reducing personal characterizations to abstract truths cf. Labrosse, 178-80. (27.) Sabatier de Castres will use the odd permutation "Lettres de la nouvelle Heloise" in Les trots siecles de la litterature francaise (3: 427). (28.) Les Liaisons dangereuses (1782i, letters 10 and 33. (29.) La Paysane pervertie, 142. (30.) L'Emigre (1797), 2: 1566. Etiemble cires another use of Julie in a letter of 1789 by Mme Roland (1992). (31.) Cf. Vie de Henri Brulard, 162, 163, 178. (32.) Lanson for example frequently alludes to Voltaire's Lettres philosophiques, even in his famous critical edition, as Lettres anglaises, which was never an authentic title, although thanks to him and others many readers probably think it is. (33.) He still lists the tide in exactly the same way in his revised new edition of the Manuel bibliographique de la litterature francaise moderne in 1921 (785), and la Nouvelle Heloise ou Lettres de deux amants in Histoire illustree de la litterature francaise (Hachette, 1923, II. 138). (34.) Pp. 1335-36, emphasis added. Noting that by this point irate 1759) an allusion can be found in one letter (a letter to, not by, Rousseau) to "la Nouvelle Aloyse," Guyon exclaims: "Le titre etait done deja, par des conversations et des lectures, mis en circulation. Comment expliquer que Rousseau ne l'ait pas transcrit...?" (35.) Of course on another, less lyrical level Guyon knows that it was only very late that Rousseau had "l'idee de completer le titre de son roman" (p. 466, n. 2). (36.) Fictions of feminine desire: disclosures of Heloise (98). (37.) O.C., III.xcviii. (38.) <<Quinze annees d'etudes rousseauistes>>, Dix-Huitieme Siecle 24 (1992),421-89. (39.) use of the article is a key sign "la" Julie signifies that it is a nickname and not a title. (40.) William Mead, Jean-Jacques Rousseau ou le romancier enchame. (41.) Judith Still, Justice and Difference in the Works of Rousseau (259). (42.) H. Gaston Hall, "The Concept of Virtue in La nouvelle Heloise" (20).

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