THE STRICKEN YEARS4
The schematic pattern of a biography often gives the impres
sion that the interests which may dominate certain periods of
men’s lives are more all-embracing than is in fact the case. With a
man of restless and perpetually enquiring mentality, like Proud
hon, this kind o f false emphasis must particularly be guarded
against, and if the preceding chapters have given the idea that
sickness as a negative force and federalism and abstention as
motives for action completely ruled the months after his return
to Paris, it must be emphasised that these were only the leading
themes of a time when his return to a familiar environment had
stimulated his thoughts in many directions. Glancing through
the record o f these months, one can detect not only the emer
gence o f many new ideas, but also the resurrection o f old ones
which had been put aside in the past.
His book on Poland still haunted him; he worked at revising
his views on property, and sketched out an attack on the feminists
and a study of the relationship between Caesarism and Christianity.
He collected some essays on literary copyright which he had
written in Belgium into a book, Les Majorats Litteraires, which
appeared in the spring o f 186j. It was an ably written work, full
o f literary knowledge and persuasive arguments against restric
tions on publication, but its success was slight; clearly it was on
the burning questions o f contemporary political urgency that
Proudhon could command most attention.
There was a certain fragmentariness about Proudhon’s work
at this time, a difficulty in maintaining concentration over long
periods, and this fact, which explains why so many o f his later
writings were only published posthumously and incompletely,
must certainly be attributed to the state of his health, which made
any sustained effort increasingly difficult. ‘I do not lack work,’ he
said in July, 1863, ‘and if I could listen to it alone, I should labour
ten hours a day and never leave the house... But I am in such a
state o f fatigue and disgust that reading, writing and correspon
dence are all horrifying to me. I have only enough strength to
drag myself to the Bois de Boulogne, where I lie in the shade on
the dry grass and sleep whole hours away.’
As for his mental state, he presented to Defontaine in Sep
tember a sad spectacle o f depression. ‘I become gloomy and
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