A Night in the Luxembourg (Une nuit au Luxembourg) by Remy de Gourmont, tranlated by Arthur Ransome.

One of the pleasures of reading is that the discovery of one book often leads to other books. This is certainly the case with the deceptively pregnant little volume entitled One Hundred Best Books by John Cowper Powys (reviewed elsewhere). Having read it and lingered over the mini-reviews of each of the so-called hundred best books, my curiousity was piqued by the authors on the list of whom I had never heard. Some of those authors gave titles to their works that are of the type that excite the imagination, for example, A Night in the Luxembourg by Remy de Gourmont. This title called up images of my own strolls through the Luxembourg Gardens in Paris. Out of curiousity, having never heard of Remy de Gourmont nor his book, I went in search of it and found a copy.

Remy de Gourmont (1858 - 1915) is nowadays considered with the Symbolists. He was a respected novelist, poet and critic—"perhaps the greatest since Walter Pater," according to Powys— whose writing style, according to some, displayed an infectious charm. Sadly, most of his work is unavailable in English.

What exactly is A Night in the Luxembourg? Is it a fantasy? Is it a mystery? Is it a romantic – dare I say erotic – novel of ideas? Is it an Epicurean dialogue? Is it a dream vision? Is it a paean to woman? Is it a symbolist prose poem? The answer is yes to all, but mostly it is a philosophical dialogue providing a painless introduction to—or review of, as the case may be—Epicurean philosophy from a novel point of view. It is not of great length, but it is exceptionally thought-provoking.

In this era of strident discourse between theists and atheists, at first glance this book might be viewed as blasphemous by the former and as piffle by the latter because it consists in part of a dialog between an ordinary man and a figure who claims to be one of the gods, and whose philosophy is decidedly Epicurean. The dialogue concerns itself with juxtaposing the virtues of Epicureanism—not merely hedonism—against Christianity and Judaism, as practiced. Incidentally, a lovely trio of "goddesses" is part of this god's entourage.

By way of refreshing my memory of Epicureanism, a quick trip to Wikipedia revealed that Epicurus owned a garden in ancient Athens that was located roughly between the Agora and the Academy. He founded a school that met at the Academy, which he called The Garden. Is it a coincidence that a nineteenth century Symbolist writer would locate an Epicurean novel in a garden—in this case the Luxembourg Gardens?

A Night in the Luxembourg is quotable on nearly every page. Even in translation, it combines a literary lushness with clarity of thought. To read it is to be carried away by the dream of conversation with superior beings and at the same time to absorb a modern view of Epicurean philosophy. This is yet another book that begs to be reread.

Powys says, "It is a book for those who have passed through more than one intellectual Renaissance." Many of us have indeed "passed through more than one intellectual Renaissance," and therein lies part of this little book's appeal. ( )