^3" ^; \^^. . * ■'" ;k^ ■A THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES ^^s'^^^ ^^/i^*^^^^ ^--iy^/^' FEMALE BIOGRAPHY5 MEMOIRS or ILLUSTRIOUS AND CELEBRATED WQ M IB J¥^ OF J»LL AGES AND COUNTRIES. Alphabetically arranged. BY MARY HAYS. IN SIX VOLUMES^ VOL. VI. LONDOIV: TMNTED roR RICHARD PHILLIPS, •?!, st. 1>avi'j CHUK.CU-YARD. By ThOBaS Davison, White-FriarS. 1803. 3'Z0 2. MEMOIRS OP mSTINGUISHED JFOMEy. OCTAVJA, WIFE TO ANTONY, Oct AVI A, grand-niece of Julius Gaesar, and' sister to Augustus, was the daughter of Caius Octavius and Atia, Romans of distinguished bii-th and virtue. She received in the house of her parents a strict and exemplary education ; she was early accustomed to control her feelings, to discipline her imaginatitTn^ to sacrifice her inclinations to others, and to impart the benefits she received. The modesty of hei" de- portment, her unaffected and simple manners, tha beauty of her person, her virtues and fine qualities^ rendered her the boast and ornament of the court j while her splendid connections, and affinity to the adopted son of Csesar, procured her the devotion of VOL. VI. s 2 OCTA\'IA. the Roman youth, who eagerly aspired to her ali'i- ancc. Octavl;i, humble and unambitious, shunned tlie public homage ; dreading to be made a sacrifice •to political motives, she sighed after that purer hap- piness, which, seated in the mind, gratifies tlie heart and its affections'. It was proposed, during the civil war between Caesar and Pompey, that Octavia should be given to the latter as a pledge of union, and that a period might be put to the dissensions which deso- lated Rome : but other circumstances arising, inter- rupted this negociation, and, for the present, deli- vered the princess from a destiny which, however adverse to her feelings, she had determined not to oppose. That the happiness of individuals should yield to the public welfare, was a principle which had been early impressed upon her mind. Claudius MavccUus at this time possessed the con- sular dignity, and with it the respect and confidence of the citizens. The reputation of his virtues had attracted the attention of Octavia ; by a farther ac- quaintance with his character, esteem was softened into tenderness -, the princess rejoiced when she found herself destined, by her brothei", to be the wife of a man whom her judgment and her heart equally approved. M.ncellus united to an agreeable person and engaging manners, the qualities of a Ro- man citizen, of a hero, and of a sage. In these nuptials, Octavia found realised the >most sanguine OCTAVIA. 3 \vishes of a virtuous aiui tender heart. Marcellus loved his vvnfe vi^ith entire affection, and confided in her as a friend : they seemed animated but by one soul ; while their affections, their pursuits, theirs taste, and their judgment, w^ere in perfect unison. This harmony received no other interruption than from the calamities with which the state was torn, when the proscription of the triumvirs deluged Rome with blood. Octavia exerted on this occasion her influence with her brother to humanise his heart, and put a stop to the effusion of Roman blood : she refused htr protection and good offices to no one, while her house was the refuge of the unfortunate. When these troubles were In some degree allayed, Octaviva requested permission to retire, with her husband, from the tumults of the city, to devote themselves to the leisure of a tranquil and studious life : but the pleasure which Octavius experienced in their society frustrated the execution of this plan, and still detained them in the capital. Octavia took no share in the dissipations of the court, or the amusements common to her sex and rank : secluded in her house, and devoted to her husband, she as- sisted him in his serious occupations, shared his pleasures, and passed in his society her most de- lightful hours. Weeks and months thus glided away in delicious 8 2 4 OCTAVIA. trajiquillity, when Marcellus was sudelenJy scl2eil'' V ith a fever, which, in its commencement, exhibit- ed the most maUgnant symptoms : his physicians, at the expiration of two days, despaired of his recovery, and exhorted him to settle his atiairs. Marcellus, re- ceiving the sentence of his death with manly forti- tude, employed ihc slior.t remainder of an useful and exemplary liiej in consoling liis beloved wife, in en- treating her to r)ii;'>port with firmness their separa- tion, ami to transfer to the pledges of tlieir aiTectiou her cares and tenderness. The best support of his dying moments, he assured her, would be the con- viction, that she would bear with resignation her loss •, that she would not indulge in weak because fruitless sorrow j but look forward to new scenes of happiness, which licr virtues merited, and of which her youth, her rank, and the vicissitudes of human affairs, give her a reasonable prospect. Having breathed his last, the sorrow which, while her ser- ' vices might be yet useful, Octavia had stifled in her bosom, burst forth uncontrolled, wliile overpower- ed by the ac^teness of her anguish, she sunk into a trance, and remained for some hours insensible to het loss. Time only could soften a grief so sincere and reasonable : Octavia found in her widowhood no rnitigation of her affliction, but in calling to mind the dying injunctions of her husband, and in the du- ties and cares v.'hich her cliildrcn demanded. 'Wi^h OCTAViA. •> t^ie consent of her brother she retired from Rome, for the purpose cf devoting herself to the education of her offspring, the only object which now attach- ed her to life. Soon after this period, the civil war Having com- menced between Octavius and Antony, it was pro- posed, by the common friends of the triumvirs, that, as a pledge of conciliation, the widow of Marcel'rji should be bestowed on Antony. Octavia heard this proposal with horror and repugnance *, she knew not how to promise to Antony, whose infatuation to the queen of Egypt and whose neglect of his formor wife had been notorious, that affection and respect which the tenderness and virtues of Marcellus had made not less her duty than her happiness. She felt the dissimilarity of her own character to that ,of , the man who now demanded her, and the sacrifice which was exacted from her •, she foresaw the mi- sery into which she was about to be plunged, whi'^ the peace of Rome, and the duties which she ov^ed to her distracted country, struggled with her repug- nance : after a severe internal conflict, liopeless of happiness, she determined to become a victim to the public safety. By the Roman laws, widows were forbidden, within the first ten months of their widowhood, to contract a new engagement j but from motives of B 3 6 OCTAVIA. state, a dispensation was on this occasion granted for the marriage of Octavia. A renewal of the civil war was dreaded by the people ; tlie most auspicious hopes were, fronl the beauty and fine qualities of Octavia, entertained from this union j commoij forms appeared comparatively unimportant ; the nuptials were accordingly hastened, and celebrated in Rome, in the year 114, amidst the joyful acclamations of tlie nation. The sadness which clouded the brow of the bride, seemed to yield to the public demonstra- tions of satisfaction : conscious of having bestowed on Antony, \\ ith an alienated heart, a reluctant liand, she determined to make up, by the attentive I'lscharge of her duties, for the absence of those sen- timentti over which she felt she had no control. A peace being thus concluded between the trium- viri, Augustus continued in Italy, while Antony, xvith Octavia, passed into Greece, and remained during tlie winter at Athens. The Athenians omit- ted no respect due to the rank and virtues of Oc- t...ia, who, observing her husband at times emerg- iiig trom the licentious habits in which he had but . )0 habitually indulged, and seeking the society of men of science and learning, began to be better vo- concilcd to her situation, and to cherish hopes of his reformation. While lier youth and beauty, her gen- tlcueas, her complaisance, and watchful attentions', appeared to gain an influence over the mind of An- OCT A VI A. 7 tony, and to banish from his recollection his Egyp- tian mistress, the grateful sense which he manifest- ed of her conduct awakened a real tenderness in the sensible heart of Octavia. These promising appearances were of no long duration j the gentleness and afiection of Octavia were of a nature too uniform for senses accustomed to the stimulus of licentious gratification : her virtues, her ingenuousness, her simplicity, were feeble attractions to a debauched imagination, corrupted by meretri- cious arts ; even the zeal with which she entered into his interest, and the frankness with which she suggested plans for his advantage, disgusted the self- love of Antony : in the clear judgment and admira- ble understanding of his wife, he seemed to fear a rival, while the homage which her virtues exacted appeared a tacit reproach to his victs. Cleopatra had governed him by artifice and flattery ; the sin- cerity of Octavia was oiTensive to his vanity. Augustus, still engaged in a war with the son of Pompey, demanded succours from Antony, who, under pretence of assisting him, but for the real purpose of informing himself of the state of affairs at Rome, and of deriving from them advan-» tage, returned to Italy. A mutual jealousy and Coldness ensued ; Antony, refused entrance into the haven of Brundusium, put into Tarentum, whence, B 4 « OCTAVIA. at her request, he sent Octavia to her brother. Aa- guatus, touched by the remonstrances and supplica- tions of a beloved sister, consented to wave the cause of his contention with her husband, and to returH with her to Tarcntum. On this occasion, reciprocal demonstrations of reconciliation and fricudsliip, through the mediation of Octavia, passed betweeH the princes. After this interview, Antony, leaving Octavia with her brotlier in Italy, returned into the East, wher« ]ie again fell into the snares of Cleopatra. While, occupied in the duties of her family (to which she had added the children of Antony, by his former marriage), Octavia continued at Rome, she heard with sorrow, but without anger, of tlie infatuation of iier husband, and of the disastrous issue of the I'arthian campaign. Having vainly attempted to palliate to her brotlier his conduct, alarmed for the «afety of tliis unworthy husband, she resolved to return into die East, and to make a last elTort to aver: from him the evils by which he was menaced. Having prepared to execute her determination, she jcceivcd letters from Antony, who had been inform- ed of licr design, commanding her to stop at Athens, where she soon learned that, absorbed in his passion for t!ie queen of Egypt, he was solicitous to avoid the presence of his wife. To the harsh mandate whicli stopped her progress, she returned an answer OCTAVIA. 9 full of meekness and submission, requesting direc- tions in what manner to dispose of the presents she had brought with her, and of which she "Solicited Antony's acceptance. By an answer still more severe and peremptory, her immediate return to Rome was commanded ; proper orders, it was added, would be given for the disposal of the presents, which she might leave behind her in Athens. On receiving these commands, Octavia, without a mur- mur at the indignities -which she had suffered, re- turned to Rome ; and, taking up her residence in the house of her husband, notwitlistanding the remon- strances and intreaties of her brother, who urged her to leave him to his fate, devoted herself to the education of her own and his children. She omit- ted no endeavours to soothe the pride and the resent- ment of Augustus, while she implored him not to make her wi^ongs, which she could sustain with fortitude, a pretence for Involving Rome in the mi- series of a civil war. When at length, at the insti- gation of her rival, she was, by the orders of An- tony, compelled to quit his house, her tears flowecl for the fatal consequences which she apprehended from this insult, rather than from her own peculiar sorrows. Her heroic conduct tended but to accelerate those evils to her country which she was solicitous to avert. B 5 10 OCTAVIA. The contempt and indignation of the people were roused by the infatuation of Antony, whom the ar- tifices oi" u voluptucius woman held in disgraceful bondage, blinding Idm to the merits of Lis admirable wi:"e, who surpassed her rival, not merely in the qualiti; s of tiic hean and mind, but in the attrac- tioas of youth and beauiy. In proportion as she exerted herself to lessen, by patient cheerfulness, and iii kind o!aces» to the children and friends of her husljand, thy, puolic sense of her injuries, she add- ed, witiiout intending it, fuel to the hatred and rage or the nation. Being desirous of making one more effort to reed by her personal influence the affec- tions of her husband, she obtained permission of her brotlier to execute her purpose, in the secret hope thai, by the multiplied insults of Antony to his in- comparable wife, the Romans might be roused to vengeance. Cleopatra, informed of the design of her lival, and dreading the effect of her merit and perseverance, put in practice every artifice to induce her lover to forbid her approach. She represented to him, that it was sufficient glory for Uctavia to bear the title of his wife, while herself, a sove- reign princess, submitted to that of mistress : nor, so anknt was the passion with which he had in- spired her, could she think herself degraded by the proofs she had given him of her affection, while he did not, by separating himself from her, plunge hev OCTAVIA. 11 Into despair. The friends of Antony, on the other side, pressed him to send back Cleopatra from Ephesus, whither she had followed him, and to avert, by this measure, the storm which threatened him from Rome. But the influence of his mistress triumphed over the subjected mind of her lover, whom she prevailed on to take her with him wher- ever he should remove. On their arrival at Athens, where Octavia had been received with peculiar dis- tinction, the queen of hgypt courted popularity by the most lavish generosity. The war which the imprudence of Antony at length provoked, terminated in his ruin. After the battle of Actium, in which, betrayed by Cleo- patra, he fled covered with disgrace, Octavia, by- repeated messages, intreated him to authorise her anediation v/lth her brother, and to allow her to be the pledge of his future conduct, while she assured him of her forgiveness of the past, and her deter- mination never, by recrimination or reproach, to revive the memory of his disasters.' But vain were all the efforts of this heroic and unfortunate wo- man J Antony, deaf to her supplications, chose ra- ther to die with her perfidious rival. Octavia, illustrious in virtue and in descent, to whom nature and fortune had been equally lavish, the dawn of whose life promised a brilliant and un- cbuded day, beheld the sun of her prosperity set 12 OCTAVIA. at noon : over the remainder of her life thick dark- ness rested ; while, towards its close, the gloom deepened. Marcus Claudius Marcellus, her son by her former marriage, who inherited the virtues of his parents, was the pride and boast of Rome-, while, united to the daughter of Augustus, he was regarded as presumptive heir to the empire. This son, so dear to Occavin, in whom his father appeared yet to sur\'ive, died in the flower of his age. From a blow thus severe, which seemed to fill up the measure of her calamities, Octavia never recovered. The eulogy of Marcellus, composed by Virgil, is inserted in tlie ^neid, book vi. verse 860, Sec. On its recital by the poet, in the presence of Augustus and his sister, the emperor melted into tears, and the unhappy mo- ther swooned away. Octavia gave up the remainder of her life to soli- tude, in which, brooding incessantly over her mis- fortunes, her temper became soured, and her mind broken : cherishing a spirit of misanthropy, she even sickened at the glory of her brother. She could not endure to hear any woman named who possessed the happiness of being a mother; she would sutler no person to speak to her of her son, on whom, not- witlistanding, her thoughts perpetually dwelt ; she rejected all comfort and amusement, appeared bu- ried in the most profound sadness, and sought dark- ness and solitude : clothed in deep mourning, she OCT-AVIA. %p appeared tp have lost all interest in life, and "to be-? /come indifferent, respecting the fate of her children who survh'cd. Repeated sorrows had exhausted her fortitude : the spring of her mind was weakened by suffering.: if at times she returned to the studies in which, she had before delighted, philosophy was found- ineffectual to heal the wound of a deeply lace- rated,'.spirit. In this situation, she suffered life thirteen years, and diedj universally esteemed and pitied, in 744, at Rome. 'Shp -left two daughters, the offspring of her union with Antony, who formed advantageous alli- ances. A temple, it is- said by Fausanias, was erect- ed at Corinth, in honour of her constancy and vir- tues. She took into her own family the children of Antony by Cleopatra, whose daughter she gave in marriage to the king of Mauritania, celebrated for his wisdom and knowledge of the sciences. LiffJ of C'ccpatra and Otta'via, ly Sarah Fielding'-' Bayli's IL'jtcrical Dietionary—Bio^raphiu/n Fami- neiir,!, i^c. OCTAYIA, WIFE TO NERO. OcTAViA, the daughter of Claudius and of Mes- salina, born in the 'iyath year of Rome, maintained, in despite of the vices of her parents, and of the 14 OCTAVIA. contagion of a corrupt age and court, in the midst of licentiousness, and of unmerited misfortunes, the simplicity and innocence of an unsullied life. To personal charms, she added modesty, sweetness, be- neficence, purity of manners, talents, and an irre- proachable conduct. Her life was a series of cala- mities •, a dark and deep cloud obscured her fate, through which a beam of joy scarcely ever penetrat- ed. She was betrothed in early youth, by the em* peror her father, to Lucius Silanus, a noble and illustrious Roman, great-grandson to Augustus. Claudius, who entertained for his intended son-in- law the esteem which his merit justified, lavished on him honours and privileges. On the death of the empress Messalina, who pe- rished violently, a victim to her vices, the emperor espoused his niece Agrippina, whose ambitious pro- jects for the aggrandisement of her family, led her, with a view of uniting the princess to Domitius (her son by a former marriage), to oppose the fortune of Silauus. 'l"o effect this purpose, it was necessary to injure his credit with the emperor, by calumniating his character, and misrepresenting his actions. How- ever atrocious their desigi.s, the rich and powerful are seldom at a lo 3 for instruments to assist in their accomplishment: Vitellius, tlie censor, a corrupt magisfate, sacrificed wiihout scruple, for the ad- vancement of his interest, and the favour of the new OCTAVIA: IS empress, the laws of honour and of humanity. The reputation of Silanus was blasted by falselioods ; accusations the most odious were brought against him i which, though destitute of proof or rational evidence, terminated in his ruin. He was declared unworthy of his employments, and deprived of the prxtorship, the duties of which he had discharged with fidelity and popular esteem. The weak em- peror suffered his judgment to be imposed upon, and his affections alienated from a man who had, by a series of services, merited the distinctions he held. Silanus was disgraced, the nuptial contract can- celled, and the lovers torn asunder. Pollio, a Roman nominated to the consulate, was, by the flatteries and promises of Agrippina, in- duced to propose a marriage between the princess and Domitius, to which the indolent and unsteady Claudius with facility yielded his assent. Silanus, on the day of these inauspicious nuptials, terminated, in despair, his existence. Agrippina, encouraged by the weakness of the emperor, whose incapacity prevented him from pe- netrating her views, set no limits to her ambition. Having represented to him tl^e infirm state of his health, the weight of government, and the youth of his son Britannicus, which required a support, she prevailed upon him, after the example of Augustusj who had adopted the sons of Livia, to receive Do- • 16 OCTAVIA. mitius into his family, by adopting liim under the nime of Nero. While every man of integrity re- probated a step so pernicious to the interest of the -heir, a venal senate confirmed tlie decree. Octavia wept in secret over the violence done to her heart, •the fate of her lover, and the threatening destiny of her brother. By a mock adoption, she was herself engrafted on another family ; a superstitious farce, to prevent the scandal of tlie supposititious allVnity between her and her husband. Agrippina, triumph- ing in the success of her*arts, bent all Iier intrigues for securing the succession to her son, which bhe at length effected. The emperor having fallen a victim to poison, Nero was declared his successor, to the prejudice of the rights of Britannicus. Octavia, an alien in the palace of her father, llio victim of an ambitious step-mother, the wife of a proiligate, from whom she experienced neither ten- derness nor confidence, bereaved of the man she had loved, indignant at the injustice sulTercd by her brother, and trembling for his fate, was compell- ed to stifle, in the bottom of her heait, a grief too poignant for words. . Her unaffected beauty, her pure and simple manners, had no charm for the heart of Nero, vitiated by meretricious allurements : the wanton beauty of a slave, a woman of licentious manners and ignoble birth, had wholly fascinated his senc.es. The corruption cf his manners had been OCTAVIA. ^ cncourtiged by his preceptors and counsellors, \vith a view of opposing to the authority of Agrippina the blandisliments of the new favourite. In vain were the remonstrances of a ie-w individuals, wiio, observ- ing with apprehension the licentious propensities of the emperor, sought to stem tl>e tide of corruption, by representing to him the merits and the claims of Octavia. Listening only to his appetites, Nero treated as enemies all who opposed them : he evea meditated a divorce from his blameless consort: when Burrhus, his governor, bluntly reminded him> that, should he repudiate Octavia, it would be ne^ cessary to restore her dowry j thus intimating, plainly, that it was to her he owed the diadem. The wan- dering of her husband's affections was regarded by Octavia with indiffei-ence : she disdained any com- petition with her rival ; and considered her injuries as sufficiently avenged in the contempt which, in every worthy mind, the conduct o£ the emperor excited. Not satisfied with supplanting the princess in the heart of her husband, his mistress meditated a more glorious triumph, and aspired to ascend the throne. With this view she redoubled her allure* ments, practising with success every fascination that might tend to increase and to secure her influence.. Nero, plunged in sensualit)', and surrounded by dissolute companions, became every hour more in- sensible to the dictates of honour, and. more callous IS OCTAVIA. to the feelings of humanity : at length, tin-owing off all restraint, he abandoned hin^.self to tlie most odious depravity. The ascendancy of his mother, who op- posed liis passion for Acte, had for a time obliged liim to practise some reserve ; till, wearied by con- strahit, impelled by the impetuosity of his character, and determined to burst every barrier, he prepared to repudiate his wife, and to raise her rival to the throne. But before these measures could be put iu executioji, liis safety imposed on him the necessity of reflection. The senate and people, devoted to the family of the Ccesars, and with whom the virtues erf Octavia had acquired popularity, might, it was pro- bable, by a divorce, be incited to revolt : a marriage with Acte, a sLive of obscure birth, would doubtless be considered as a degradation of the majesty of the purple : the hearts of the citizens would by such a step b :com« alienated, and their views turned to- ward:> tiieir riglitful sovereign. By these ideas, which obtruded tliemseives on his mind, his pur- poses were suspended, and his pa^'sions checked. To gain over a venal senate, did not appear to be an en- terprise of diiriCLilty j persons might be suborned, nay, such hud uctuady ollcred themselves, to fa- bricate, from a race of kings, a genealogy for the favourite. But Britannicus must first be removed, who had now entered his thirteenth year, and whose personal merit added claims to his bii;th. To these OCTAA'IA. 19 considerations were joined the threats of Agrlpplna, who, incensed at the conduct of her son, scrupled not to declare her intention of disclosing the frauds which liad advanced him to the throne, and of con- ducting to the Roman legions Britannicus their rightful master. Urged by motives thus pressing, Nero hesitated not in the career of crimes, but determined on the destruction of his rival. PoUio, tribune of a prae- torian cohort, retained in prison a woman named Locusta, famed for her skill in preparing the most subtle poisons. To this wretch, through the con- nivance of the tribune, freedom was ofi'ered upon condition of the murder of the prince. A podon was, by his preceptors, administered to the ill-fated Britannicus : whether its operation was too tardy for the impatience of the tyrant, or whether the vigour of the prince's constitution resisted its venom, it seem- ed to produce but little effect. Enraged at the disap- pointment of his barbarous purpose, Nero threatened M'ith vengeance his infamous associates, who, to ap- pease his fury, promised to procure a more potent drug, by which an instantaneous death should be produced. This engagement was but too well per- formed. The poison was prepared in the chamber, and in the presence of the emperor, and adminis- tered to the victim at table. To avert suspicion, when the prince called for hquor, it was brought to ''20 GCTAVIA. him boiling, and tasted, according to the custom <^ the court, by the person who presented the cup. Britannic%s, as had been foreseen, complaining of .the heat, wat- stiny, mingled her sorrows, whose source was less pure, with those of Octavia : she soothed the prin- ces5, with whom a similarity of fate seemed to unite OCTAVIA. 21 her, with every testhnony of apparent affection and sympathy. The capricious Nero had, In the mean time, be- come disgusted with the mistress for whom he had steeped his hands in blood, ha\'ing conceived a new passion for Sabina Poppaa, whom he determined to espouse. Considering his mother as the only ob- stacle to this design, he revolved in his thoughts, now familiar with crimes, the monstrous project of shedding the Wood of her to whom he owed life. This atrocious action, at which nature sickens, in- stigated by Poppaea, he at length perpetrated : ha- bituated to the vicious indulgence of every passion, nature and human feeling had become extinct in his heart. To the vices she had herself irnplanted in his mind, Agripplua was at length the victim : in rais- ing him to the throne she had violated every prin- ciple of justice and humanity, and, by her own ex- ample, prepared the M-ay for that monstrous corrup- tion which terminated in her own destruction. Octavia now found herself alone and unprotected, exposed to the savage fury of her husband, and the vindictive malice of a jealous rival. Nero, not dar- ing to commit open violence against a princess, whose birth, whose misfortunes, and whose virtues, rendei- ed her the idol of the people, determined to be him- self her executioner, and to strangle her in private with his own hands : but, by the danger and dilhculty 25 OCTAVIA. attending this project, he was at length hiduced to abandon it, and to content himself with procuring a divorce from his blameless wife. This idea was suggested to him by Tigellinus, the parasite of his vices, and the companion of his debaucheries, a man of mean birth, destitute of education, of talents, and of virtues, a compound of every vice, and of every odious quality. The exemplary conduct of Octavia leaving her husband without a pretence for the injustice he meditated, it was determined to allege, as a ground for the separation, that she was incapable of giving an heir to the empire. On this pretext, she was deprived of the privileges of her rank and station, and, instead of the empire which she had brought as a dowry to Nero, the estate of Plautus, and the house of Burrhus, who had been governor to the emperor, were assigned, to her use. Poppcea, not satisfied with the degradation of her rival, and impatient of the vicinity of her virtues, was intent on convicting her of some mis- conduct, which might afford a pretence for exil- ing her from Rome. In this infamous purpose she was aided by Tigellinus, who suborned a domestic of the devoted princess, to accuse her of a criminal commerce with Eucer, an Alexandrian slave, and a maker of musical instruments. With this charge, destitute of probability as of proof, was the daughter of Claudius ihsultcd. Ilcr women and servants un- OCTAVIA. 23 derwent an examination, and, menaced with the torture, were exhorted to depose against her. If, among her domestics, the weakness of some induced them to subsci"ibe implicitly to all that was demand- ed of them, others sustained with intrepidity the malice of her accusers, and, in the midst of the most cruel pangs, bore testimony to the worth and purity of their mistress. The innocence of Octavia ac- quired, in every unprejudiced eye, new lustre by this infamous transaction : the machinations of her enemies, predetermined to condemn her, neverthe- less prevailed ; she was banished to Campania as a state-prisoner, and a guard set over her. An oppression so glaring did not escape the cen- sures of the people, who loudly expressed their in* dignation : the murmurs of the populace, and their invectives against his mistress, to whom Octavia had been sacrificed, reached the ear of the tyrant : ap- prehensive of the consequences which seemed to menace the throne, and overwhelmed with the ter- rors of a base mind, Nero repealed the unjust sen- tence, and recalled from exile his injured wife. She was received by the people with acclamations and triumph : the statues erected to Poppaca were over- thrown, and those of the empress, crowned with flowers, carried through the streets, and placed in the temples. The city M^as in a tumult of joy, the streets resounded with mirth and festivity, while 24» OCTAVIA. even the emperor acquired a momentary popuhrity' for an act of justice to which he had been compelled. Poppxa, irritated to fury by tlie insuks of the po- pulace and the honours paid to her rival, and aware that Nero had yielded but to his fears, determined on a last effort for tlie destruction of the empress^ Bathed in tears, she rushed into tlie presence of hef lover, and, prostrate at his feet, represented in lan» guage to which passion gave force, the indignities olTered to his authority, the shameful pusillanimity of thus yielding to the tide of popular clamour, and su^^ering the woman whom he loved, helpless and unprotected, to become the scorn of a rabble, wlio»e insults to his mistress were but the prelude of tliosc they were about to shower upon himself. She in- sisted, that the power of Octavia, thus permitted to establibh itself, would proceed to impose laws on the throne, the safety and honour of -w-hich were concerned in opposing barriers to a frenzy, to which, if sutrered with im.punlty, it would become difficult to assign limits. Nero, weak and capricious, over- powered by the blandishments and expostulations of his mistress, allowed himself to be prevailed upon to &ign the sentence of death, pronounced by Poppaea on her rival. As a prelude to this tragedy, it was resolved that Octavia should be again removed from Rome, when measures should be concerted for ac* cojnplishing, without hazard, their cruel purpose. ^ OCTAVIA. 5, Solicitous to gloss over their barbarity with some- colour of justice, tlie enemies of the empress were- at a loss for an excuse : to their former calumnies- no credit had been given ; the testimony of her wo- men, added to her unexceptionable manners, had evinced its falsehood. To the charge of incontin- ence, it was now determined to add that of treachery against the state, and to suborn in evidence some person, whose office should favour the accusation. Anicetus, commander of tlie galleys, the assassin of Agrippina, who hesitated at no crime by which his interest was advanced, was selected as a fit agent for the occasion. To this \\'Tetch the emperor, in per- son, imparted his design, observing, that having owed to him a deliverance from the treason of his mother,' the benefit was yet imperfect, while he remained exposed to the more dangerous machinations of his wife. In the present case, neither blood nor violence were required of him ; it was sufficient that he should declare the empress an adultress, and him- self her paramour : on his compliance, he might rest assured of a magnificent recompence for the service exacted of him, while any hesitation must of neces- sity be followed Vv'ith death, as security for a secret involving the safety of tlie emperor. Anicetus, whom no scruples of honour or humanity with- held, readily acceded to the proposal : in the pre- VOL. VI. c 2G OCTAVIA. sence of the companions and flatterers of the tyrant, assembled for the purpose, he asserted his criminal intercourse with the empress, and thus filled up the measure of his infamy. The innocent victim of a prejudiced tribunal, on the single testimony of an unprincipled ruffian, whose evidence, unsupported by circumstances, unestablished by even the shadow of fact, criminateil liimself, was at once accused, tried, and condemned ; and, after this mockery of justice, again remanded into exile. The fictitious partner of her offence was, to save appearances, ba- nished to Sardinia, where the means of an indolent and licentious life were amply afixarded to him. No one gave credit to the farce, thougli the public in- "dignation, exhausted pevhaps by its former intemper- ance, for the present slumbered. The next measure adopted by the tyrant and his ad- herents, was to fabricate and publish a project, which was attributed to tlie royal exile, of having bartered her honour to the commander of the galleys, for the purpose of having at her devotion the naval force. To this was added another charge, equally curious and consistent : it was pretended that Octavia, re- cently divorced from the throne on the pretence of sterility, had, to conceal her connection with Ani- cetus, and cover her shame, used means to procure an abortion, lest her pregnancy should announce to the public her incontinence. OCTAVIA. Sr Thus, overwhelmed with injury, and branded with Infamy, ahke unmerited, this unhappy princess was driven from her natal city and the throne of her an- cestors ; and, on her way to Pandataria, the place allotted for her retreat, exposed, amidst a guard of brutish soldiery, to every insult which wanton ma- lignity could devise. Her misfortunes, her youth, her beauty, yet in its early bloom, failed to move the savage nature of her conductors, who were commis- sioned to aggravate her distress. Scarcely had she reached the place of her destina- tion, when slie was warned to prepare for death, of which these insults had been but the prelude. In vain the innocent victim to the vices of her perse- cutors, timid in youth, her fortitude exhausted by suffering and fatigue, humbled herself before the barbarians into whose power she had been commit- ted. In vain she declared her resignation to the injustice she had suffered, and to the triumph of lier rival, with whom, content to be considered as tlie sister of Nero and cheerfully resigning every other claim, she wished not to dispute the heart of the emperor. As vainly she invoked the manes of her ancestors, and called on the name of Agrippina, the original cause of all her sorrows, whose severities, she declared, compared with her present suffer- ings, were tender mercies. Her supplications, he* c 2 28 MRS. OLDFIELD. appeals, her despair, her streaming eyes, her up- hfted hands, availed her not. Having been seized and bound, her veins M-ere opened, while the blood, which terror had congealed round her heart, flowed slowly and with difficulty. At length, suffocated In the bath, her miseries and her life were terminated together. She expired beneath the hands of these merciless barbarians, on the 1 1th day of June, hav- ing but just completed her twentieth year. Poppxa glutted her malignity by viewing the head of her illustrious rival, which she caused to be sent to her for the purpose. The fate of Octavia plung- ed the city in sorrow and mourning : " curses deep not loud" were muttered; every heart was pene- trated, every eye bathed in tears ! Retribution was not far distant : Poppiea perished miserably by the brutal caprice of a monster who disgraced the throne and human nature, and who, exactly six years after the murder of his wife, became his own execu- tioner. Lmes of the Roman Empresses^ iffc. — Bojlc's Histo- rical Dictionaij. MRS. OLDFIELD. This lady, so celebrated in the annals of the drama, was born in Pali-Mall, London, in 1683. Her father had been an officer in the Guards, and MRS, OLDFIELD. 29 possessed a competent estate, which he squandered in dissipation, leaving at his death an helpless and unprovided family. In these circumstances, his wi- dow was necessitated to accept the ofFer of residing with a sister, who kept a tavern in St. James's mar- ket ; while her daughter was placed with a semps- tress, in King-street, Westminster. The young lady had a particular predilection for reading plays ; and •was one day amusing her relations at the tavern by the exercise of her talent, when her voice reached the ear of captain George Farquhar, who happened to dine there, and who, struck with the flexibility and sweetness of her tones, and with her agreeable figure and air, immediately pronounced her admirably fitted for the stage. Her own inclinations concur- ring with this decision, her mother consulted sir John Vanbrugh on the occasion, who was a friend to the family. Sir John, finding upon trial her qualifications very promising, recommended her to Mr. Rich, patentee of the King's-theatre, who im- mediately received her. It was some time before her powers displayed themselves, till, in 1703, she esta- blished her reputation in the character of Leonora, in " Sir Courtly Nice." The following year she appeared with equal advantage in Lady Betty Mo- dish, in " The Careless Husband." About this pe- riod she attracted the attention of Arthur Maynwar- c 3 30 MRS. OLDFIELD. inpf, esq. who greatly Interested himself respecting her performance, and took pains to improve her natural genius. This gentleman dying in 1712, she afterwards entered into a connection with briga- dier-general Churchill. She had one son by her former lover, and another by the brigadier. To both of these gentlemen she is said to have behaved ■with the fidelity, duty, and attachment, of a wife. Among many humane and generous actions for which Mrs. Oldfield was respected, may be men- tioned the annuity of fifty pounds, which she allow- ed to Savage the poet, so celebrated for his genius, his misfortunes, and his imprudence. This annuity was regularly paid during her life. Mrs. Oldfield's talents in her profession rendered her a distinguished favourite with the town j while her taste in dress, elegance of manners, and powers of conversation, threw a veil over those parts of her conduct which were considered as reprehensible. She died, October 23<1, 1730; her body lay In state, in the Jerusalem-chamber, whence it was con- veyed to Westminster-abbey. Her pall was borne by gentlemen of high rank and character. Her eldest son, Arthur IVTaynwaring, esq. was chief iTiourner. She was interred towards the west qik\ of the south aisle, between the monuments of Mr. Craggs and Mr. Congreve. She was elegantly dressed in her coffin in fine HpUand and Brussels PADILLA. 31 lace. She left the bulk of her fortune to her eldest «on, through whose father she had received and ac- quired it ; yet she did not neglect to shew a proper regard to her second son, Charles Churchill, and to her own relations. Blographium Famlneunu MARIA PACHECO PADILLA. During the civil wars in Castile, under the reign of the emperor Charles V. don John de Padilla, eldest son of the commendator of Castile, a young and gallant nobleman, distinguished for his talents, his ambition, and his courage, was the chief leader of the insurgents. In the course of their hostile operations against the government, they stood in need of money to satisfy their troops ; a difhculty from which they were relieved by the boldness of the wife of their chief, donna Maria Pacheco Padilla, a woman of noble birth, high spirit, and great abili- ties, animated with ari ardent zeal for the liberties of her country, and superior to those superstitious fears to which the dependent state of her sex, by weaken- ing their minds, renders them peculiarly liable: donnat Maria proposed that they should seize and appropriate the rich and magnificent ornaments in the cathedral of Toledo. But, lest this apparent sacrilege should c 4 32 PADILLA, give offence to the prejudices of the people, the wife of Padilla, with her retinue, clad in mourning habits, their eyes filled with tears, and their hair dishevelled, inarched in solemn procession to the church, where, falling on their knees, they implored pardon from the saints whose shrines they were compelled by necessity to violate. Under this artifice, they strip- ped the cathedral, appeased the populace, and pro- cured for their cause the aid of a considerable sum. In a subsequent engagement between the two parties, which a combination of circumstances had rendered disadvantageous to the insurgents, Padilla, determined not to survive a defeat and the ruin of his party, rushed into the thickest of the enemy, and, being wounded and dismounted, fell into their hands • His execution quickly followed, to which he sub- mitted with the dauntless spirit of a man and a hero. One of his companions having expressed some in- dignation at hearing himself proclaimed a traitor, Padilla calmly observed, * that yesterday was the time to have displayed the spirit of gentlemen, the present day to die with the meekness of Christians !* Being permitted to write to his wife, and to the com- munity of rolcdo, his nati/e city, previous to his ascending the scafToId, he addressed and consoled the former In a strain o/ virtu as and manly tender- ness, and the latter with the exultation of a martyr ^o freedom. PADILLA. 33 The dejected commons of Castile, depressed by this defeat, lost with their leader all their spirit and their zeal. Toledo alone, animated by the widow of Padilla, who despised unavailing lamentations, pre- pared, in prosecuting the cause in which their general had fallen, to redress their country and avenge his fate. Respect for her talents, admiration of her courage, sympathy with her misfortunes, and tenderness for her sex, combined to secure to donna Maria the same ascendant over the minds and aifections of the people, which her husband had so recently possess- ed. Nor did she fail to justify by her conduct their attachment and confidence. She wrote to the French general in Navarre, whom, by an offer of powerful assistance, she sought to encourage to the invasion: of Castile ; while, by her letters and eniissaries, she endeavoured to revive the hopes and the spirits of its cities. She raised soldiers, and, in order to defray the expence of keeping them on foot, exacted a large sum from the clergy belonging to the cathedral. To interest and excite the populace, she employed every artifice which could rouse or inflame, bhe ordered crucifixes instead of colours to be used by tlie troops, as if they had been at war with the ene- mies of their church. Seated on a mule, clad in deep mourning, her son in her arms, and having a standard bornebefore her on which was depictured c 5 34 PAD ILL A. the fate of her husband, she marched solemnly through the city, in mournful pomp. The passions of the people, kept by these methods in continual agitation, had not leisure to subside : animated by a spirit of enthusiasm, they became insensible to the danger of their situation, and stood alone in opposi- tion to the power of the throne. While their army was employed in Navarre, the attempts of the enemy to reduce Toledo by force proved fruitless : neither were their endeavours to diminish the credit of donna Maria with the people, nor to gain her, through the influence of her brother*, by solicitations and promises, more suc- cessful. The French, at length, being expelled from Navarre, part of the army returned into Cas- tile, and immediately invested Toledo. The ob- stinate courage of donna Maria was not yet subdu- ed ; she defended the town with vigour, while her troops, in several sallies, beat the royalists. No progress was made towards reducing the cit)', till the clergy, whom the invasion of their property had cffended, withdrew their support from the citizens. Having soon after received information of the death of the archbishop f of Toledo, whose possession of * The marquis de Mondeiar. •f* WJlliajn de Croyjva foreigner. P.IDILLA. S3 that see hnd been their principal grievance, and that the emperor had named a Castilian zs his successor^ they openlv turned against doana Maria, whom, by the most absurd legends, they injured iir the esteem- of the people. The credulDUS muhhude were taught to believe, that the influence which the widow of Padilia had acquired over them was by the force cf enchantment ; that a familiar demon, in the form of a negro maid, assisted her councils ; and thai it was by infernal suggestions that her conduct was regulated. Thus instigated, imparient of a long blockade, despairing of succours rnom the French, and from die other cities, their ibrmer confederates, the populace took up arms, and, haying driven donna Maria from the citr, surrendered it to the roTalists. Retiring to the citadel, Ae widow of Padilia, "with asTcniihing fortitude, defended it for four months longer ; till, reduced to the last extremities, she was compelled to escape in disgxiise, and to flee to Por- tugal, in which she had many relations- After her fl-.ght, the citadel surrendered ; tranquillity wus rc- est-blishcd in Castile ; and the power of the crown, from the unsuccessful opposirion of the ccnirnons, connrmed and extended. C 36 ] DOROTHY, LADY PAKINGTON. Dorothy, Lady Pakington, wife to sir John. Pakington, baronet, and daughter of Thomas lord Coventry, keeper of the great-seal, was born in London, about the middle of the reign of James L This lady, distinguished for her virtues and talents, as the reputed author of " The Whole Duty of Man." Of the circumstances of her private life, except as connected with the evidence for this opi- nion, we have little account. " The Whole Duty of Man" has been attributed to four different persons beside lady Pakington. — To Mr. Abraham Woodhead, of whom it is suf- ficient to observe, that he lived and died a zealous Roman-catholic. To Mr. William Fulman, a learn- ed clergyman of Penshurst in Kent, who died June 28th, 1638. In 1684, bishop Fell, in a preface to ihe folio edition of " The Works of the Author of The Whole Duty of Man," observes, " that, if God had given longer life to this eminent person, the world would have been benefited by a new work, a treatise designed and promised, " On the Government of the Thoughts." Mr. Fulman sur- vived the date of this publication four years. The third person to whom this celebrated produc- tion has been attributed, was Dr. Richard Sterne, LADY PAKIXGTON". 37 arcliblshop of York. It is observed by Mr. Drake, his biograplier, that the archbishop was suspected of being the author of " The Whole Duty of Man." This suspicion seems to have been ill founded. The archbishop owned himself the writer of a book " On Logic," and "A Comment on the 103d Psalm;" why then should he affect concealment respecting a work of greater merit and celebrity ? To this supposition there are also some chronological objections : when the treatise " On the Government of the Thoughts" was promised to the public, the archbishop had at- tained the advanced age of 87. "The Whole Duty of Man" likewise differs in its style and orthography from the writings of the archbishop. The fourth reputed author of the work in dispute was arch- bishop Frewen. In objection to this, among other reasons, it is remarked, that in a preface to " The Causes of the Decay of Christian Piety," a produc- tion allowed to be written by the author of " The Whole Duty of Man," mention is made of the plague and fire of London, whence it appears that the writer was living at the latter end of the year 1666, whereas archbishop Frewen died in 1664. By the adversaries of lady Pakington it is object- ed, that the learning displayed in " The Whole Duty of Man" can scarcely be attributable to a woman. " A learned man has observed to me in a letter," savs Ballard, « that ' The Whole Duty of JNIuu' could 3'« LADY PAKINGTON. not have been the production of a woman, from the great variation of style, and different manner of treating the subjects, which it contains ; beside the many quotations from Hebrew writers, with which every page abounds. In the Christian's Birth-right, through which a close thread of logical reasoning runs, the language is particularly exalted. Both the arguments and diction of this work are such as the profoundest scholars would use." In reply to this, it may be recollected that, during the age of Eliza- beth and James, it was the fashion to give to wo- men a learned education ; that the study of the lan- guages, and even of the abstruse sciences, was the occupation of the most illustrious ladies of the court ; and that in no period were there more numerous examples of female excellence and worth. Of the endowments and erudition of lady Pakington there are also various testimonies. Dr. George Hickes, a man of known probity, and intimate with the family, thus speaks of this lady, in a preface to his " An- glo-Saxon, and Mocso- Gothic Grammars," printed' before his " Thesaurus," and inscribed to sir John Pakington, the descendant of lady Pakington: " Your grandmother, the daughter of Thomas lord Coventry, &c. was illustrious for every virtue, more especially- such as consist in the practice of a christian life. . She had moreover an excellent judgment, and a ta- lent of speaking- correctly, pertinently, clearly, and LADY PAKINGTON. 39 gracefully ; in which she was so accomplished, par- ticularly in an evenness of style and consistent man- ner of writing, that she deserved to be called and reputed the author of a book concerning the duty of man, published anonymously, and well known througli the christian world for its extraordinary completeness. Hammond, Morley, Fell, and Tho- mas, those eminently learned men, averred that she was as great an adept in the Scriptures as themselves, and as well versed in divinity, and in all those weighty and useful notions relating to duty, which liave been recommended and handed down to us cither by profane or christian philosophers. " She was also so far from being unacquainted with the antiquities of her own country, that she knew al- most as much as the greatest proficients in that kind of knowledge. Nor is this to be wondered at ; since she had in her youth the most excellently learned sir Norton Knatchbull for her tutor and preceptor ; and, after she was married, the famous Hammond, and others, his contemporaries, very celebrated men, for her companions and instructors." It was declared by a lady, riot long deceased, that Dr. Hickes had assured her, he had himself seen •* The Whole Duty of Man" in manuscript, written In the hand of lady Pakington, with many erasures, alterations, and interlineations. Various j)assages in 40 LADY PAKIXGTOX. the work itself afford a presumption of the sex of the writer, who contends for the intellectual privi- leges of women and the equality of the sexes. The following are the direct evidences in favour of this opinion. By the author of the " Baronettage," lady Paking- ton is spoken of as a bright example to her age, and one of the most learned and accomplished of her sex. " Her letters," says he, " and other dis- courses, still remaining in the hands of her family and friends, are an admirable proof of her genius and capacity. She had the reputation of being the writer of * The Whole Duty of Man,' the truth of which none who knew her, or were com- petent judges of her abilities, would call in question. Though her modesty would not suffer her to claina the honour, yet as the manuscript, in her hand- writing, now remains with the family, there is scarcely room for doubt. By her virtues and at- tainments she acquired the esteem of all our learn- ed divines, who confessed themselves edified by her conversation, and instructed by her writings. These gentlemen never failed of an agreeable retreat and sanctuary at Westwood, as far as those dangerous times would permit. It ought to be remembered, to the honour of this lady and her husband, that Dr. Hammond found in their family a comfortable sub- LADY PAKINGTON. -i-l sistcnce for several years," and at last reposed Ins bones in their burial-place at Hampton-Lovett, in a chapel built by sir Thomas Pakington, in 1561." Farther proofs respecting the subject in dispute maybe found in " A Letter from a Clergyman in the Country, to a dignified Clergyman in London -, vindicating the Bill brought the last Session of Par- liament, for preventing the Translation of Bishops j'* printed in London, 1102. The writer of this letter, after an eulogium on the ancestors of sir John Pa- kington % adds, " but his grandfather's spending 40,0001. and being tried for his life during the late civil wars, because he vigorously endeavoured to prevent the martyrdom of king Charles L and the destruction of episcopacy j the uninterrupted cor- respondence of his grandmother with the lear-ned and pious Dr. Morley, bishop of "Winton, and Dr. Hammond, and who is, by several eminent men (archbishop Dolben, bishop Fell, and Dr. Abbestry, declared this of their own knowledge after her death, which she obliged them to keep private during her life) allowed to be the author of the best and most masculine religious book extant in the English tongue, called ' The Whole Duty of Man •,' will serve instead of a heap of instances to shew how great * By whom the bill was brought into the house. 42 LADY PAKINGTON. regards this family have formerly paid to the churcli and kingly government." A transcript is also given, by Ballard, from a paper said to, be in the possession of Dr. Snape, provost of King's-collcge, Cambridge, in which ia the follov/ing attestation: "October 19tli, 1698, Mr. Thomas Caulton, vicar of Worksop in Not- tinghamshire, declared on his death-bed, in the pre- sence of William Thornton, esq. and his lady, Mrs. Heathcote, Mrs. Ash, Mrs. Caulton, and others, aa follov/s : viz. * On the 5th of November, 1689, at Shire-Oaks, JNIrs. Eyre * took me up into her cham- ber after dinner, and told me tliat her daughter Moyser of Beverly was dead. Afterwards, among other private affairs of the family, she told me who was the author of The Whole Duty of Man ; at the same time pulling oat of a. private drawer 3. manuscript tied together, and stiched in octavo, vhich she declared was the original, written by * The wife of Anthoey Eyre, esq. of Raitipton in Not- tingham,v»'ho, after the revolution, wrote and published a pamphlet entitled, " The Opinion of Mrs. Eyre, Daughter of the excellent Lady Pakington, concerning (he Doctrine of Passive Obedience, as the distinguishing Character of the Church of England ; in a letter to a friend, occasioned by bishop Lake's declaration, that he died in the belief thereof;" London, 1689 and 17 10, 8vo. - LADY PAKINGTON. 4-3 lady Pakington, her mother, who disowned cvef having written the other books attributed to the same author, excepting The Causes of the Decay of Christian Piety. She added, that the manuscript had been perused by Dr. Covil, master of Trinity college, Cambridge-, Dr. Stamford, prebend of York j and Mr. Binks, rector of the great church of Hull.' " By lady Pakington's disowning the works attri- buted to her, it seems merely to be implied, that she did not directly avow or claim them. " The Whole Duty of Man," was published by bishop Fell, with other treatises, as declared iy the production of the same author. Having thus stated the evidence on this subject, the decision must be left with the reader. The underwritten is a catalogue of the works attributed to the author of " The Whole Duty of Man," which was first printed in 1657, and trans- lated into Latin by Dr. Richard Lucas, and into Welsh by Dr. William Bell. « The Causes of the Decay of Chiistian Piety, or an impartial Survey of the Ruins of the Christian Religion undermined by unchristian Practices," Lon- don, 1725. « The Gentleman's Calling,*^London, 1725. « The Lady's Calling, in two Parts," London, 1725. 44. LADY PAKINGTON. " The Government of the Tongue," London, 1725. " The Art of Contentment," London, 1125. " The lively Oracles given to us, or the Chris- tian's Birthright and Duty in the Custody and Use of the Holy Scriptures," London, J 723. " A Prayer for King Charles IL in his Banish- ment," and a " Prayer for Resignation," are given by Ballard, copied by a lady from a manuscript of lady Pakington's at Westvvood. She had, some time before her death, been engaged in a work entitled " The Government of the Thoughts," which was mentioned by Dr. Fell in high terms, but never finished. Tha following eulogium is given by Dr. Fell to the writer of these treatises : " She was wise, humble, temperate, chaste, patient, charitable, and devout ; she lived a whole age of great austeri- ties, and maintained in the midst of them an undis- turbed serenity." Lady Pakington died May TOth, 1679, and was interred in the church at Hampton-Lovett in Wor- cestershire ; a memorial of her is inscribed at the bottom of a monument erected to her husband. Sir John Pakington expended the greater part of his fortune in the service of king Charles L in adhering to whose cause he was tried for his life. Ballard's British Ladies— The Female JVorthies, [ 45 ] ANNE DE PARTHENAI. Anne de Parthenai, wife to Anthony de Pons, count de Marennes, was the daughter of John de Parthenai I'Archenesque, and of Michelli de Sorbonne, a lady of Brctagne. MicheUi, the mother of Anne, was a woman of wit and talents, and lady of honour to Anne of Brctagne, wife to Lewis XTI. by whom she was appointed governess to her daughter, Renata, duchess of Ferrara. Anne received, under the superintendance of her mother, a learned education ; she made great progress in the knowledge of the languages, and became a student in theology, respecting which she took a pleasure in reasoning and disputing with the most celebrated theologians of the times. She was also skilled in music, and an accomplished performer both vocal and instrumental. Her interest and favour with the duchess of Ferrara, added to her theological studies, drew on her, from the catholics, the suspicion of Calvinism. On this subject we have from Theodorus Beza, in his " Ecclesiastical History," a direct testimony. By him we are in- formed, that Antony de Pons, count de Marennes, during the life of his firft wife, the lady Anne de Parthenai, sister to the lord of Soubise, was a lorer of truth and virtue, and particularly conversant with 46 ANXE DE PARTHEXAI. the Scriptures, himself instructing, with great zeid and labour, his subjects and officers in the city of Pons. But that, afrer the decease of his excellent and amiable consort, " God so took away his under- standing, that he espoused one of the most defamed ladles of France, Mary de Monchenu, the lady dc Massey ; and became, from that period, an enemy and persecutor of the truth, which he had before studiously promoted." The influence of Anne de Parthenai over the mind of her husband, is also mentioned by Gregory Gvraldus, who testifies, that the count de Marennes and his wife pursued the same studies, with the same success. Count Marennes was first gentle- man of the bedchamber to the duke of Ferrara, to whom Gvraldus dedicated the fourth dialogue of his " History of the Poets." Soubise, brother to Anne de Parthenai, was one of the principal sup- ports of the huguenot party. The count de ^la- rennes was obliged to leave the ccun of Ferrara, for presuming to compare the dignity and antiquity of his own family with that of the duchess of Fer- rara, whom he served. BcjWi iUitorical Diiticnary, J5/. £ 47 ] CATHERINE DE PARTHEXAI. Catherine, daughter and heiress of John de Parthenia lord of Soubise, and niece to Anne de Parthenai, was born in 1 554-. In 1363 she married Charles de Quellence, baron de Pons, who, three years after\^'ard?, fell in the general massacre of the huguenots on the fatal night of St. Bartholomew, 1571. He fought bravely on this occasion, and sold his life dear. Catherine deplored his loss in se^-eral elegiac poems. In 1573, she entered a second time into the married state, and espoused Renatus viscount Rohan, the second of that name, by whom she had several children. In 15S6, she was again left a widow, at thirty-two years of age. She refused to enter into any new engagement, de- termined to devote the remainder of her life to the care and education of her family. Her maternal affection and solicitude were amply rewarded. The celebrated duke de Rohan, her eldest son, supported with great spirit and bravery the cause of the Reformation, during the civil wars, in the reign of Lewis XIII. Her second son was the duke of Soubise, She had three daughters : Henrietta, who died in 1629, unmarried-, Catherine, who gave her hand to a duke of Deux-Ponts, and -48 CATHERINE DE PARTHENAl. who is celebrated for her reply to Henry IV. who, enamoured of her charms, solicited her love : * I am too poor,' said she, ' to be your wife, and too nobly descended to be your mistress.' Her third daughter Anne, who also lived single, and who survived all her brothers and sisters, inherited the genius and magnanimity of her mo- ther, with M'hom she bore all the calamities of the siege of Rochclle. The courage of Catherine de Parthenai, on this occasion, was the more worthy of admiration for her advanced age, being then in her seventy-fifth year. Reduced, for three months, to the necessity of living upon horse flesh and four ounces of bread a-day, in this situation she wrote to her son * to go on as he had begun, nor suffer any extremities to which she might be reduced, however severe,' to induce him to take measures that might prejudice the cause he had espoused.' Having, with her daughter, refusied to be included in the articles of capitulation, they were conveyed, prisoners of war, to the castle of Niort, in 1628. She died at Poitou, 1631, greatly lamented. She possessed a taste for poetical composition, and published some poems in 1572, when only eighteen years of age. In 1 574, a tragedy of her composing, entitled " Holofcrnes," was represented on -the theatre at Rochelle. " She understood CATHERINE DE PARTHENAI. ^i; poetry," says La Croix da Main*, " and is much to be esteemed for the excellency of her wit, which her writings sufficiently testify. She composed seve- ral tragedies and comedies in French, among others the tragedy of Holoferncs, publicly acted at Ro» chelle. She wrote also several poems, or elegies, on the death of her first husband, who lost his life in the massacre of St. Burtholomew, likewise upon the admiral and other great and illustrious persons who perished on the same occasion. She translated the precepts of Isocrates to Demonicus, not yet printed. She is in great repute," continues he, " this year (158 !•)." If it be true, as asserted by a learned man, that madame de Parthenai, lady of Soubise, was spoken of as an author before madame de Rohan was known, she must indeed have written very young, since she married at fourteen years of nge. A concealed but keen satire upon Henry IV. under the title of an apology, is generally attribut- ed to this lady, and in the new edition of the Jour- nal of Henry III. it is printed as hers. D'Aubigne thus speaks of this work : " The king shewed it some, as being in the style of madame de Rohan. It is a prevaricating apology, of which Roquelairc cried out, ' Oh, how well the authors of that piece * La Croix du Main, Biblioth. Francoisc, p. Ay%. Baillct. TOL. VI. r> *0 PAULIN.L— PERILLA'. arc Infornied of %vhat we do !' " Bayle declares, that whoever composed the Apology was a person of wit and talents. Boyle's Historical Dictionary — hiographium Famineutn. PAULINA. Seneca having been condemned to death, his wife Paulina opened her veins, that she might die with her husband ; but, having been compelled to live, she appeared (says Tacitus) the few years she survived, with an honourable paleness, which attest- ed her conjugal attachment, and that a part of her blood had flowed with that of her husband. PERILLA, A Roman lady, who, in the age of Au- gustus, was distinguished for her erudition and poetical talents. She is celebrated by Ovid, whose scholar in poetry she appears to have been. Her reputation for chastity is, notwithstanding, un- blemished. [ ^i 3 SUSANNA PERWICH, Susanna, daugliter of Robert Pcrwich of Hack- ney, Middlesex, was born September 23d, 1636, in the parish of Aldermanbury, London. She dis- played almost in infancy an uncommon capacity and thirst of knowledge. When under seven years of age she appeared eager for instruction, and delight- ed in acquiring information by her own exertions. In the eighth year of her age, her father undertook the superintendancc of a school at Hackney, whither he removed his residence. In this situation, Susanna made rapid improvements in every accomplishment usually taught to her sex. She devoted herself more particularly to music : at fourteen years of age she was a perfect mistress of the treble viol, on which she played, whether singly or in concert, with exquisite skill and effect, giving promise of ex- traordinary musical powers. Her judgment and knowledge of the theory of music was not less ex- cellent than her ear and execution : she studied her favourite art as a science, and was skilful in compo- sition. She played also on the lute with great taste and sv.'cetness, accompanying the instrument with her voice, which was fine and melodious. She learned some lessons on the harpsichord, on which D2 5* SUSANNA FERWICH. she wanted only leisure and practice to becon:e a proficient. Slie was a graceful and incomparable dancer, and carried to excellence every thing which she undertook. The fame of her musical powers attracted the connoisseurs and masters of the art, both foreigners and natives, who visited her in great numbers, and to whom she gave by her performance universal satisfaction. She excelled likewise in needlework, in writing, in aritlunetic, and in domestic order and management. Nor was she less distinguished for intellectual powers, for quickness of apprehension, wit, imagination, judgment, memory, invention, and taste. To these advantages she added a sv.-eetness and gentleness of temper, modesty, courtesy, pru- dence, and good sense. Her person was beautiful, and her manners graceful and engaging. She suffered an early disappointment in her affec- tions, from the death of a young man to whom she was tenderly attached, and to whom she was about to have been united. This misfortune seized on her spirits, while grief and sensibility prepared her mind for the reception of ardent devotional impres- sions. Her education and habits had been pious, and her heart, disappointed in its object, yielded itself to that sublime and flattering enthusiasm so congenial to fervent and susceptible tempers. Neglecting those elegant and liberal pursuits which had former- SUSANNA PERWICH. 33 ly engngcd her time and attention, she devoted her- self wholly to those studies and observances which she fondly believed would lit her to meet the friend sh« had lost in a world of more stable enjoyment. The fanatic character of the times gave strength to these dispositions, and tinged her ideas with its sombre colouring ; dwelling on the calvinistic notions of original sin, predestination, and sovereign grace, she tortured her pure and innocent mind with fancied sins, doubts, and omissions. Among the books which she perused with the greatest avidity were « Shcpard's True Convert" and " Sound Believer," " Baxter's Call to the Unconverted," " Goodwin's Triumph of Faith," " Brooke's Riches of Grace," and others of a similar character. As her scrupu- losity increased with these pursuits, she denied her- self the recreation of music, or practised it only for spiritual uses and occasions. The necessary and daily occupations of the family at length became burthensome to her, as an interruption of herpious exercises. She abjured all innocent relaxation, nor could longer be prevailed upon to join in the dance, or in the amusements of her young companions. Rigidly severe to herself, she dreaded lest vanity, or complacency in her acquirements, should unwarily obtrude itself on her mind ; she renounced every ornament of dress, and imposed on herself the most D 3 54 SrSAXNA PERWICH. austere observances : all the energy of her character was directed against her own happiness ; she seem- ed to believe that the God of Nature required of his creatures a moral martyrdom, and a perpetual suicide of every natural and laudable propensity. But this morose and cruel system, to wliich she otTercd her- self a voluntary victim, was yet insufficient to sour the natural amenity and sweetness of her temper : amidst the sacrifice of her reason, her duties, and her happiness, she was still gentle, amiable, and affectionate. She rejected several solicitations of marriage, de- claring that no worldly advantages should induce het to change her situation : she required a certain spi- ritual perfection in the person to whom she should give her hand, that probably was not easily to be met with. In June, KujI, during the Whitsuntide vacation, she was prevailed upon to visit a friend in London, where, from sleeping in damp linen, she contracted a cold, that brought on a fever, which terminated in her death. On the 8th of June she returned to the house of lier father, fully persuaded, from the svmptoms she expeiienced, that the hour of her dissolution approached : as her disorder increased she displayed great fortitude, patience, and resigna- tion, conversing calmly with her friends on religious subjects, and distributing to them small presents to PHI LA, 5A be kept as i-ncmorlals of her. She gave orders respecting her funeral, and preserved, notwithstand- ing severe sufferings, her gentleness and equanimity to the last. She died M'ith courage and composure, in the twenty-fifth year of her age, lamented by her family and regretted by her friends. Her relations and the young ladies her companions, six of whom bore up the pall, attended her remains to the grave, which were followed by persons of the first rank and respectability in the neighbourhood. Her fune- ral sermon was preached by Dr. Spurstow, from 1 Cor. iii. 22. Her praises were celebrated in verse and prose, in elegy, acrostic, and anagram. The Lifd of Mrs. Susanna Pcrzvtch, ivr'Uten in Prose andl'erse, by yobn Eatchikr, London^ i66i, atid dedi- cated to " all theyou72g Ladies of the several Schocls iTt and about London, more particularly to those of Mrs. PervjicD s School at Hackney.^' PHI LA. Phila, the daughter of Antipater, governor of Macedonia during tlie absence of Alexander, was the most beautiful and accomplished women of the age. The dignity of her manners and the lustre of her charms, were softened by an air of modesty and sweetness that engaged all hearts. She possessed, D4 3*5 PHILA. with uncommon prudence and judgment, a superior genius, and a capacity for the most important affairs. Her father never engaged in any enterprise without consulting her ; while she used her influence with him in the cause only of virtue and humanity. Her liberality procured her absolute power among the troops J all cabals were dissolved in her presence, and all revolts appeased by her mediation. By her knowledge of the human heart, her address, and facility of accommodating her measures to various tempers and characters, she prevented an insurrec- tion in an army full of turbulence and faction. Nor was her administration in civil affairs less skil- ful and admirable. She portioned young women at her own expence, protected innocence, and opposed oppression. She seems to have been but little in- debted to experience for her capacity ; her father, distinguished for his political abilities, entrusted to the management of Phila, when at a very early age, the juridical affairs of the kingdom. She gave her hand to Craterus, one of the captains of Alexander, and the most popular among the ]NTa- cedonians. Craterus fell in battle, and, after his de- cease, his widow became the chief wife of Deme- trius, who, according to the custom of the East, in which polygamy was allowed, pofsessed several of inferior merit and quality. This marriage proved unhnppy : Phila suffered, not merely from the di- PHILA. 67 vldeil affections of her husband, but by his dissolute conduct. Attached to the celebrated Lamia, and corrupted by her seductions, Demetrius treated his wife with coldness and disrespect. Yet he confided in her abihties, and deputed her to Cassander, her brother, to justify his conduct towards PUstarchus, whom he had offended. He also shewed high in- dignation against the Rhodians, who had presented to the king of Egypt a ship which they had captur- ed, in which was a letter, accompanied by a mag- nificent present, addressed to him by Phila. Demetrius having lost his dominions, the forti- tude of Phila sunk under the prospect of impending calamities : unable to see the husband, who had treated her unworthily, a fugitive and an exile, she swallowed poison, and terminated her sorrows with her life. She left by her second marriage two children, a son and a daughter, the celebrated Stra- tonice, wife to Seleucus, and by him yielded to his son Antiochus, who had conceived a passion for his stepmother. Rollings Jncietit History — Bayles Historical Dictionarj: — Biographium Famineum, J) 5 ■>s j PHILIPPA. Philippa, daughter to the count of Hainault, was espoused to Edward III. king of England. During the absence of Edward in France, David king of Scotland, with 50,000 men, invaded the northern counties of England. Philippa, superior to the weakness of her sex, prepared, on this occa- sion, with spirit, to repel the enemy. Having as- sembled an army of 12,000 men, and appointed lord Percy to the supreme command, she rode through the ranks, and, in person, exhorted the troops to fulfil, with courage, their duty ; nor would she be persuaded to retire from the field, till the armiea were on the point of engaging. In this battle the king of Scots was taken prisoner. Philippa, having secured her royal captive, crossed the sea at Dover, and was received at Calais with triumph and enthu- siasm. The story of tlie burghers of Calais, who had devoted themselves for the salvation of their fellow- citizens, and who were indebted for the mercy of Edward to the tears and supplications of Philippa, appears to have been romantic and ill-founded. It accords but little with the temper of the times, or with the brave and generous character of Edward. Many KATHERINE riJir.LiPS. rg extraordinary women appeared with lustre at this period, which was the reign of gallantry and chivalry. Humes History e^ England, KATHERINE PHILLIPS. Katherine, celebrated under the poetical name of Orinda, daughter of John Fowler, of Bucklers- bury, London, merchant, and of Katherine, daugh- ter of Daniel Oxenbridge, M.D. was born in the parish of tSt. Mary Wool-church, London, Janu- ary 1, 1631. A female relation, Mrs. Blacket, had the charge of her infancy and early childhood. At eight years of age, she was placed in a school at Hackney, under the care of Mrs. Salmon, where her improvements were singular and rapid. She displayed an eariy taste for poetical composition, and a devotional turn of mind, somewhat enthusi- astic, originating probably in the sensibility of tem- per inseparable from genius, and in the spirit and manners of the times. She had perused the Bi- ble throughout before she was four years of age, and had committed to memory many passages and chapters. At ten years of age she would repeat, with scarce any omissions, entire sermons, of which she was a frequent hearer. She also began early to exercise her fancy in poetical composition. She ac- quired a perfect knowledge of the French language, CO KATHKRINE TIllLLlPS. and applied herself successfully to the Italian, with the assistance of an ingenious friend, sir Charles Cotterel. She was educated in the principles of the presbyterlan dissenters, but became afterwards a pro- selyte to the established church, and theroyaHst party. In the year IC47, she gave her hand to James Phillips, esq. of the priory of Cardigan. A son and a daughter were the fruit of this union : the former died in his infancy, the latter became the wife of Wcgan, esq. of Pembrokeshire. The fortune of Mr. Phillips being encumbered and em- barrassed, Mrs. Phillips, by her economy, prudence, and excellent management, added to her interest with sir Charles Cotterel, whose friendship for her rendered him zealous in the cause of her husband, nearly extricated him, in the course of a few years, from the difficulties in which he had been involved. Mrs. Phillips, in a letter to sir Charles, after speak- ing of her husband with respect and attachment, adds, " and I hope God will enable me to answer his expectations, by making me an instrument of doing him essential service, which is the only am- bition I have in the world, and whicli I would pur- chase with the hazard of my life. I am exceed- ingly obliged to my lady Cork, for remembering mc with so much indulgence ; but above all for her readiness to assist my endeavours for Antenor *, * Mr. Phillips. KATHEUINE PHILLIPS. 61 which is tlie most generous kindness that can be done to me." During her retirement at Cardigan, she cultivated poetry as an amusement, to beguile her solitary hours. Copies of her poems being dispersed among her friends, they were collected and published ano- nymously, in 8vo. 1663, without the knowledge or consent of the author. Mrs. Phillips's vex-ation at this circumstance, which she appears acutely to feel, and sensibly laments in a letter to sir Charles Cot- terel, occasioned her a severe fit of illness. The charms of her conversation, her modesty, sweetness, and unassuming manners, rendered her the delight of her acquaintance, v/liile her genius and talents procured her the friendship of men dis- tinguished for their merit, their t;ilcnts, and their rank, among whom may be mentioned the earls of Ormond, Orrery, and Roscommon. The affairs of Mr. Phillips having rendered the presence of his wife necessary in Ireland, she accompanied thither the viscountess Dungannon, and was received with distinction and esteem. During her residence in that kingdom, she was induced, by the importunity of the before-mentioned noblemen, to translate into English, from the French of Corneille, the tragedy of Pompey, which was acted with applause on the Irish stage, in 1663, also in 1664, when it was printed and given to the public. It was likewise G2 KATin:RINE PHILLIPS. again performed, with considerable success, at the duke of York's theatre, in 1678. This play, to which a prologue was added by lord Roscommon, was then published, dedicated to the countess of Cork. Mrs. Phillips also translated, from the French of Corneille, the tragedy of Horace, to which a fifth act was added bysir JohnDenham, and which was re- presented by persons of rank at court, with a pro- logue, spoken by the duke of Monmouth. In Ireland, Mrs. Phillips renewed a former friend- ship with the celebrated Dr. Jeremy Taylor, bishop of Down and Connor, who some time previously had published and inscribed to her, " A Discourse of the Nature, Offices, and Measures, of Friend- ship, with Rules of conducting it j in a Letter to the most ingenious and excellent Mrs. Katherine Phillips." In this production many high compli- ments are paid to the sex, to their capacity for friendship, and the more elevated virtues, exempli- fied by allusions to the celebrated characters of an- tiquity. July 15th, 1GG3, Mrs. Phillips left Ireland, and returned to Cardigan, where she appears to have la- boured under a depression of spirits, occasioned by some untoward circumstances in her husband's aiFairs. She continued in the country through the remainder of that year, and a part of the following, KATIIEUINE PHILLIPS. 63 when she made a vLslt to London, with a view of unbending her mind, and softening her anxieties, in the society and conversation of her friends. In London she was unfortunately seized with the small- pox, which proving fatal, slie expired, universally regretted, in apartments in Fleet-street, June 22, 1664, in the thirty-fourth year of her age, and was interred in the church of St. Bennet Sheer-hog, in her family vault, under a large monumental stone. She was of middle stature, as described by Mr. Aubry, inclining to fat ; her complexion was fair and ruddy. Her poems and translations were, after her decease, collected and published in one volume folio, 1667, and entitled " Poems, by the most de- servedly admired Mrs. Katherine Phillips, the match- less Orinda: to which are added, M. Corneille's Pompey and Horace, Tragedies, with several other Translations from the French; and her picture before them, engraved by Falthorre." A second edi- tion was printed in 1678, in the preface to M'hich the reader is told, ** that Mrs. Phillips wrote fami- liar letters with facility, in a very fair hand, and perfect orthography ; which, if collected, with the excellent discourses written by her on various sub- jects, would make a volume much larger than lier poems." In 1705, a small volume of her letters to sir Charles Cotterel was pubhshed, under the title of " Letters from Orinda to Pollarchus." In one 6i KATIIERINF, PHILLIPS. of these letters, Mrs. Phillips mentions the insertion of some of her Poems in a miscellaneous collec- tion published in Ireland. The following testimony to the m.erit of the Letters of Orinda to Poliarchus, is given by major Puck, in his Essay on Study : " The best letters I have met with in our English tongue, are those of the celebrated IVlrs. Phillips, to sir Charles Cotterel. They are all addressed to the same person, so they run all in the same strain, and seem to have been employed in the service of a refined and generous friendship. In a word, they are such as a woman of spirit and virtue should write to a courtier of honour and true gallantry." Mrs. Phillips is said, by Mr. Langbain, to have equalled the Lesbian Sappho in genius, and the Ro- man Sulplcia in virtue. To this he adds, " as they were praised by Horace, Martial, Ausonius.and other eminent poets, so was this lady commended by the earls of Orrery and Roscommon, by Cowley, and other eminent men." An anonymous writer, in the second volume of the duke of Wharton's works, thus speaks of Mrs. Phillips : '' I have been looking into the writings of Mrs. Phillips, and have been wonderfully pleased with her solid and mascu- Hne thoughts, in no feminine style. Her refined and rational ideas of friendship, a subject she de- lights in, shew a soul above the common level of mankind, and raise my desire of practising what is IJPTITIA PI!.KI>;GIX)N. 03 ilius nobly dcscvibctl. Though I know nothing of Mrs. Phillips but what I have learned from her Poems, I am persuaded she was not less discreet, good-humoured, modest, constant, and virtuous, than ingenious. Her " Country Life" is a sweet poem, sprinkled with profound philosophical thoughts, ex- pressed in very poetical language." To the praise of talents, universally allowed to this lady by her contemporaries, is added that ot generosity and benevolence. The qualities of the heart, united to those of the mind, form a com- bination equally admirable and rare. Four letters from Mrs. Phillips to the hon. Berenice, are inserted in a collection of letters published by Mr. Thomas Brown, 1697. A tribute of respect is paid to her memory by Mr. Thomas Rowe, in his *' Epistle to Daphnis." BalUird's British Ladies— Biographlum Faimitieum, cff. L^TITIA PJLKINGTON. LiETiTiA, the daughter of Dr. Vanlewin, a phy- sician, was born in Dublin, ll\'2. She married young to the rev. Matthew Pilkington, a poet. This union was not happy. INIr. Pilkington was jealous of his wife, in whose chamber he one day found a gentleman, and from whom he obtained a separation. Mrs. Pilkington, in her Memoirs, not- Gf? .MRS, PIX. wlthsta-nding tliat appearances were against her, as- serts her innocence. She had afterwards recourse to her pen for her support, and raised a considerable subscription on her Memoirs, in which many anec- dotes are given of Dr. Swift, with whom the writ- er v/as intimately acquainted. She died in poverty, in July, 1750, in consequence of the pernicious ha- bit of intoxication, into which she had fallen, to lose the sense of her misfortunes. She left several children, whom her husband renounced. John, the eldest, was the author of some poems ; he also wrote his o'^'n Memoirs, and died in 1763. Mrs. Pilking- ton, beside her poems and Llemoirs, wrote a bur- lesque piece, entitled " The Turkish Court, or the London PrenticCj" acted in Dublin, 1748. She . also wrote one act of " The Roman Father," which is printed in her Memoirs. Biograpb'ium Fcemineutru MRS. PIX. Mary Griffith, the daughter of a clergyman, and descended on the side of her mother from the family of Wallis, was born at Nettlebed, in Oxford- shire, in the reign of William III. She was a con- temporary with Mrs. Manley, and with Mrs. Cock- burnc, and was satirised with them in a little dramatic piece, called " The Female Wits." She was the DIANA DE POITIERS. W author of the following plays : " The Spanish Wives," J to. lG!)o: " Ibnihim XIII. Emperor of the Turks," 4to. I6J>6 : " The Innocent Mistress," 4to, ](k97: " The Deceiver deceived," 4to. 1C9S : " Queen Catherine, or the Ruins of Love," 4to. Iii98 : " The Talse Friend, or the Fate of Disobe- dience," 4to. \C,99: " The Czar of Muscovy," 4to. 1701 : « The Double Distress," 4to. 1701 : *' The Conquest of Spain," 4to. 1705 : " The Beau defeated, or the Lucky Younger Brother," 4to*. She married a Mr. Fix, by which name only slie was known. DIANA DE POITIERS. John de Poitiers, seigneur de St. Vallier, was in 1523 condemned to die, as an accomplice in the revolt of the constable of Bourbon. His sentence was however changed j he escaped with life, and suffered a degradation from his rank, with the con- fiscation of his estates. According to Alezerai, the president Ilenault, and other writers, the life of her father was saved by Diana de Poitiers, by the sacrifice of her chastity to Francis I. from whose embraces she passed into those of his son, Henry IL This story is, however, very doubtful, and most * The latter is in some catalogues ascribed to Mr. Barker. '>« DIANA DL: POITIERS. probably false, as, at the time of her father's dis- grace, Diana had been married ten years to Louis de Breze, covmt de Maulevrier, and grand-senechal of Normandy, to whom she bore two daughters. Beside which, the punishment of St. Vallier, though delivered from death, was commuted into one not less terrible : he was sentenced, after his degradation, to be perpetually immured between four walls, in which was only one small window, through which he might receive his provisions. The horror he ex- perienced at the idea of his fate, brought on a fe- ver, which in a short time terminated his life. Diana had been married to the senechal of Ncr- mr.ndy, in the last year of the reign of Lewis XIL : at what time her connection with Henry IL com- menced, is uncertain j but, before he had completed his eighteenth year, her ascendency over him was established. To personal endowments she added talents, vivacity, and a cultivated understanding ; she was warmly devoted to her friends, but a dan- gerous and implacable enemy : her spirit was high and unyielding, and she transfused into the mind ofi her lover the firmness and vigour of h.er own cha- racter. Not more fond of power than of flattery and homage, she received with pleasure the adula- tion of the court, while the nobles crowded around her to express their devotion. Even the constable Montmorenci, notwithstanding his severe andhaughtj DJANA DE rorriLRS. 69 iii.mners, condescended to mix in her train. In vain had the duchess d'Estampes*, during the Ufe of Francis, essayed every art of hatred and of ri- Vah-y to disunite from Diana her youthful lover : in vain did she pubUbh, that the mistress of the prince was married in the same year which gave birth to herself : the passion of Henry, which was carried to the utmost extravagance, appeared to be increased rather than diminished by these efforts. He seemed to delight in giving testimonies of his attachment, both in public and in private, and in displaying to the world the influence of Diana. The furniture of the pab.ce, after he ascended the throne, the public edifices, his own armour, were all ornament- ed and emblazoned by a " moon, bow and arrows," the emblems and the device of his mistress. Through her mediation every favour was obtained : at her request Brassac, a gallant and amiable nobleman, who was supposed to stand high in her favour, was created grand-master of the artillery. She may be said to have divided the crown with her lover, of iwhose council she was the directing principle, and of whose tender and ardent attachment she was the sole object. Her influence, both personal and po- litical, was carried to an unbounded extent. Time * The favourite mistress of Francis I. 70 DIANA I)i: POITIERS. seemed to have no power over her attractions : her beauty appeared undiminished even in the autumn of her life : she vi'as forty-eight years of age when Henry had scarcely attained his twenty-ninth year. After the death of Francis, the duchess d'Estram- pes was compelled to quit the court, but Diana, who succeeded to her honours, had cither the mag- nanimity or the prudence to forbear to deprive her of the possessions lavished on her by the late mo- narch : she was content to suffer her to retire, dis- graced and neglected, to one of her country seats, where she lived in obscurity many years. While the duke of Guise and the constable Mont- niorcnci were in Guienne, employed in quelling an insurrection, festivals ami carousals engaged the court, ill which Diana de Poitiers (created by her lover duchess de Valentinois), in whose honour they were given, presided as a tutelar deity. On these occasions the young queen, Catherine de Medicis, whose genius, taste, and beauty, rendered her in, ferior to no one, acted a subordinate and humiliating part. Catherine, notwithstanding her talents and superior powers of mind, was never admitted by her husband to any real participation in the govern- ment. These entertainments and tournaments were, [ in the spirit of the age, succeeded by spectacles of a very different nature. A number of proselytes to 1>IANA DE POITIERS. 7.i the cloctrlncs of the Reformation were publicly and loleinnly burnt at the stake, while the court attended these barbarous exhibitions. The house of Guise, which had firinly united itself with the duchess de Valentinois, whose as- cendancy over the king seemed daily to acquire Strength, continued to establish and aggrandise itself. The profusion of the court, added to the expence of the wars in which France was engaged, rendered it necessary to increase the revenues by taxes and imposts ; while the odium of these exactions chieSy rested on the duchess. Henry, amiable, magnifi- cent, and flexible to those he loved, was wholly governed by the suggestions of his mistress, whom he enabled to erect the superb palace of Anet, to which the lovers frequently retired. The people, ignorant and superstitious, attributed to magic and sorcery the attachment of tha king, and the fascina- tions of Diana : it was reported that she wore ma- gical rings, which preserved her beauty from decay, and kept alive the passion of her lover. This opi- nion, so soothing to her own pride, was supported and confirmed by Catherine de Medicis. Anet was situated near Dreux, in the Isle of France, upon the river Eure. Philibert de Lorme was the ar- chitect employed in its construction : tlie emblems and devices of the duchess de Valentinois were ex- hibited in every part. Voltaire, in the ninth canto ?; DiAXA Di: I'oiriMRS. of the Ilenriade, depictures love as on his flight to the palace of Anct. Brantome, who was personally acquainted with the duchess, describes her beauty in its most ad- vanced periods. " I beheld Diana," says he, "only six months before her death. Even then she Mra^j so lovely, that the most insen;3ible could not behold her without emotion. She was recovering from a severe indisposition, occasioned by the fracture of her leg, M'hich had been broken by a fall from her horse in riding through the streets of Orleans : yet neither the accident nor the pain had diminished her charms." The duchess was at this time sixty- five years of age. After the death of Henry, who was accidentally killed in a tournament, his mistress received orders from the queen to retire to her own house, which command she thought proper to obey. A second mandate followed, enjoining her to deliver up the jewels of the crown, with other rich effects in her possession. She enquired if the monarch yet breathed, ' for know,' said she, * so long as he shall retain the appearance of life, I neither fear my ene- mies, however powerful, nor will shew any defer- ence to their menaces or commands. Carry this answer to the queen.' The duchess had borne to her lover no children. The Guises, after the death of the king, sacrificed Diana to make their court to the DIANA DE POITIKRS. 73 queen ; while, abandoned by the flatterers and pa- rasites who had surrounded her, the duchess in her turn suffered humiliation. She retired from a si- tuation where her power was extinguished, and her presence become odious, and passed the remainder of her life at the palace of A net. Catherine, from respect to the memory of her husband, permitted her rival to retain the rich presents which his bounty had lavished upon her. The marechal de Tavannes, with a brutal and un- manly adulation, offered to the queen to cut off the nose of Diana -, while the Guises, connected with her by marriage, and principally indebted to her for their elevation and favoui-, became her open ene- mies. The cardinal of Lorrain * w^ould have been her bitterest persecutor, had he not been restrained by his brother, the duke of Aumale, who had mar- ried the daughter of the duchess, and who reminded him, that he would by such conduct draw down infamy upon himself. The constable of Montmo- renci alone remained faithful to her, and, from re- spect to the memory of the king his benefactor, wjtlistood the enemies of his beloved mistress. Diana expressed her gratitude for the queen's forbearance, by presenting to her the palace of Chaumont sur * One of the princes of the house of Guise. VOL. VI. E 7i PURCIA. Loire, and received from her in return the Cistle of Chenonceaux. The }ast public act of the duchess of Valentinois was the being recalled to court, by Catherine, to try licr powers of persuasion upon Montmorenci, whom the queen was desirous of attaching to her party. Diana succeeded, and, after this proof of her in- fluence over the constable, returned to Anet. She survived this event five yearsj and died in the sixty- ■seventh year of her age, April 26, 1566. Her body reposes under a marble mausoleum, in the cen- tre of the choir of the great chapel of Anet, which she had herself erected. PVraxalPs History of the House of Valo'is — Boyle's Historical Dictionary — History of France. FOR CIA. PoRCiA, the daughter of Cato of Utica, inherited the virtues and the magnanimity of her father. She strengthened her mind, and cultivated her under- standing, by the study of philosophy. She married Bibulus, and, after his death, gave her hand to Brutus, of whom she was worthy, and to whom she proved her fidelity and courage. Having observed that her husband appeared to be meditating some important enterprise, she was solicitous to share in his glory, or in his cares, and to deserve his confidence, which PORCIA. 75 she rfesolvcd not to ask till she had made trial of her own fortitude. With this view, she inflicted a deep wound on her thigh, the pain of which, added to the loss of blobdj brought on h dangerous malady. ;'She carefullv concealed for some time the cause of her illness ; till, observing her husband oVefwh^lmed with grief and concern on her accouiity she^ seized this opportunity of addressing him. ' As the daugh- ter of Catb, she told him, she had a claim to ex- .pect, not merely the common courtesies and civili- ties of an ordinary wife or concubine, but to share in the thoughts and counsels, in the good and evil fortune, of her husband : and that, whatever weak- ness might be imputed to her sex, her birth, educa- tion, and honourable connections, had strengthened her mind, and formed her to superior qualities. But, though tlie daughter of Cato, and the wife of Brutus, titles in which she gloried, she had not boasted of her fortitude, but upon trial, that had proved her invincible to pain and inconvenience. Having thus sjwken, she discovered to Brutus her wound, and related the cause in which it had ori- ginated. Brutus, affected, and struck witli tenderness and admiration, raised his hands to heaven, and implored the gods to assist his enterprise, that he might live -to prove himself worthy a wife like Porcia. IIo F 2 76 PORCIA. then imparted to her the project of freeing Ro-me, and restoring the repubHc, by the death of JuUus Caesar. The courage which had sustained the daughter of Cato under her own sufferings, deserted her in the danger of her husband. On the day appointed for the assassination of Caesar, Porcia, previous to its execution, sunk under the agitation of her spirits : she was seized with a succession of fainting fits, •when her attendants, believing; her dead, abandoned themselves to grief and lamentation. The ruinour of her death reached Brutus, who, notwithstanding ■his grief and concern, shrunk not from the purpose he had undertaken. Ciesar fell, a victim to a vir- tuous, but mistaken, patriotism: a combination of causes had conspired to the ruin of the republic, and to the subjugation of the Roman people, which the death of an individual was insufHclent to counteract. Brutus, perceiving he had failed in the end for which means so questionable had been adopted, resolved to leave Italy : passing by land through Lucan'a to hlea, by the sea-side, he there took leave of his wife, it being judgetl necessary that she should return to Rome. The daughter of Cato, struggling with her feelings, assumed on this sepa- ration an appearance of firmness •, but a picture Mi-hic' hung on the v/all, represf^ntin-r the parting I of ticuLor and Andromache, accidentally meeting I MODESTO POZZa. 17 her eyes, overcame her resolution. Gazing ear- nestly on the figure of Hector, delivering the young Astyanax into the arms of his mother, she melted into tenderness and tears. A friend of Brutus, who vv^-as present on this occasion, repeated from Homer the address of the Trojan princess'to her husband — *' Be careful, Hector, for with thee my all. My father, mother, brother, husband, fall.*' Brutus replied, smiling, * I must not answer Poreia- in the words of Hector to Andromache, " Mind you your wheel, and to your maids give law." ,JFor, if the weakness of her frame seconds not her mind, in courage, in activity, in concern for the cause of freedom, and for the welfare of her coun- try, she is not inferior to any of us.' When Porcia was informed that her husband had fallen by his own hand, she determined not to survive him. Being watched by her friends, who souglit to prevent her fatal purpose, she snatched burning coals from the fire, and held them in her mouth till they produced suffocation, Plutarch's Lives — Bajk's Historical Dictionarj. MODESTO POZZO. Modesto Pozzo, born at Venice, 1555, and left early an orphan, was educated in the convent of St. E 3 7S MODF.STO POZZO. Martha of Venice, where she studied Latin and poetical composition. She possessed extraordirKiry powers of memory, and was able to repeat hterally the sermons on which she was obliged to attend. She married Philip de Georgiis, with whom she lived happily twenty years, and died in child-bed, 1592. She was the author of an Italian poem, entitled *' Flor'nlcro ;'' also of a poem upon tlie passion and resurrection of Christ. She published a prose com- position, entitled ■*' Tie Meriti delle Donne^^^ in which she contended for sexual equality. In her publica- tions, she assumed the name of Moderata Fonte *. Her book On the Merit of Women appeared not till after her death. Her husband raised a monument to her memory, on which -was engraven a Latin, epitaph in her praise. N. di Lorzi, her daughter, wrote a preface to her works. A panegyric on her learning and talents is inserted by Peter Paul Riber.i, in his " Theatre of Learned Women." She is also mentioned by father Hilarion de Coste, in \\h ** Elcges des Dames Illustrei.'* Bflyle's Historical Dictionary, Isfc. ♦ Moderata answers to Modesto, and Fonte to Poz-^o. i 79 y '> PRAXILLA. Praxilla, a Sycionian dithyrambic poetess, is saul to have- flourished in the '','2d Olympiad ; and ife reckoned among the nine most celebrated lyncs. There is a work of hers entitled " Metrum Prax- ilhwn." PROBA. PROBA (Valeria Falconia), was the wife of Adel- phus the Roman proconsul, in the reigns of Honorius and Theodosius, junior. She composed a Virgiliaii cento upon the Books of the Old and New Testa- ment, which was printed at Frankfort, 1541. She also wrote an epitaph upon her husband. Biographrum Famincuin, RENATA, DUCHESS OF FERRARA. Renata, daughter of Lewis XII. and of Anne of Bretagne, was born at Blois, October 25, 1510, In 15 13, she was engaged to Charles of Austria; and, in 1515, promised to Joachim marquis of Bran- denburg ; but, in 1527, she was married to Hercules d'Este, the second of that name, duke of Ferrara and of Modena. She is said to have possessed " a E 4 80 EENATA. refined and delicate wit ," and to have acquired, without dilTiculty, the most abstruse sciences. M. Varillas declares, that she had great erudition, that she excelled in every branch of the mathematics, particularly in astronomy. Her person was some- what deformed : but elegant manners, and a grace- ful and flowing eloquence, more than compensated for this disadvantage. She bore to her husband five beautiful children. She was no less distinguished for learning and talents, than for her virtues and at- tachment to the Reformation. It is said by Varillaf?, that C ilvin was accessary to the conversion of this princess from the errors of the church of Rome j but it is believed that Marot, who had before been a refugee in her court, had a still greater influence over her mind and principles. Resentment for the ill offices which her father had received from the papal court, might probably, as alleged by Eran- tome, lay the foundation for her abjuration of po- pery. In the year 1559 she lost her husband, whose neglect and infidelities she had supported with ex- emplary mildness. In 1560 she left Italy, on the account of her religion, where she had been per- mitted, as a princess of the blood, to profess Hu- guenotism. She retired to her castle at Montargis, %vhere she afibrded protection and an asylum to the reformed, who flocked to her from all quarters. REN ATA. '81 The duke of Guise, wlio had married her daugh- ter, Anne d'Este, sent John dc Sourches Milicovne, with four troops of horse, in 156!) *, who sum- moned her to dehver to him the chiefs of the fac- tions, who had taken refuge at Moutargis, threat- ening, in case of her refusal, to bring his cannon before the castle and take them by force. * Take care what you do,' replied the spirited Renata, ' and learn that the king only hath a right to comman4 me. Should you proceed to extremities, I will my- self stand in the breach, and try if you will dare to murder the daughter of a king, whose death heaven and earth will avenge upon you, and upon your child- ren.' Checked by her resolution, John de Sourches desisted from his purpose. At the same time, it was represented to the duchess, by the duke of Alen9on, . that her castle being a harbour for heretics, where plots against his majesty v/ere daily devised, she must either send from her the huguenot ministers, and forbear the exercise of their religion, or depart to some other abode. To this she answered, ' that she was too nearly related to the crown to treafit with dis- respect •, that thb persons with her were a poor • Some historians placfe this event in 156^ ; and^lj^ ^S^9i the actual departure of the Protestants. m REN AT A. harmless people, who trouMcd not themselves with the affairs of the state ; that she would not quit a place thr.t hclonged to her, and in which ^he was resolved to live and die, even in the exercise bf that refHgion which the king had permitted her to pro- fess.' She was, however, afterwards obliged, with whatever reluctance, to witlidrav/ her protection from the fugitiv<^s ; and, in dread of having an im- mediate garrison brought into the town, to send ftom her castle four hundred and sixty persons, two thirds of whom were women and children. She dismissed them with tears, in carts and travelling coaches, v/hich she had provided for their acommo- dation. These poor people escaped with difHculty a stratagem planned to destroy them on the road. The duchess had always nianifested a laudable de- sire to succour, the distressed. In Ferrara, the sub- jectsnof her husband loved and praised her for her fcounty and goodness. She displayed her tenderness and compassion more particularly towards her coun- trymen : every Frenchman, who in travelling through Ferrara was exposed to want or sickness, expe- rienced her benevolence and liberality. After the return of the duke of Guise from Italy, -she saved, as the army passed tlirough Ferrara, more than tea thousand of the French from perishing by want and hardships. Her steward representing to her the enormous sums which her bounty thus ejcpended— ' RENATA. Ul *■ What/ replied she, * would you have me do ?. TJiQSe are my countrymen, who would have been my subjects, but for the vile Salic-law *.' During tlie ciyij wars in France^^ when retired into her city and castle of Montargis, she received and supported numbers of distressed persons, wlxo had been driven from their homes and estates. . " I myself," says Brantome, " during the second period of these troubles, when the forces of Gas- cogne, consisting of eight thousand men, headed by Messrs. Dc Terrides and De JNIonsales, were marching towards the king, and passing by Mon- targis, stopped, as in duty bound, to pay my re- spects to her. I. myself saw in her castle above three hundred Protestants, who had fled thither from all parts of the country. An old stewai'd, whom. I had. known at Ferrara and in France, . protested to me, that she fed daily more than three hundred people, who had taken refuge with her." It is also related by the same author, that when the prince of Conde. was imprisoned at Orleans, during the early part of the reign of Francis, she came from Ferrara to court, to intercede for his re- lease : she was, on this occasion, met by the king and his ti^ain, and received v.ith honour and respect. She expressed to the duke of Guise, her son-ih-law. 3. * Branjome*- Si RENA.TA.' in strong terms, her concern for the Imprisonment of the prmce j addhig, * that whoever had. advised the young king to this measure was very reprehen- sible ; that it was no small matter to treat in this manner a prince of the blood.' This incident is also mentioned by Thuanus. " Having come to Or- leans," says he, speaking of tliis princess, " to com- pliment the king, after deploring the melancholy aspect of his affairs, she warmly reprimanded xhe duke of Guise, respecting the imprisonment of the prince of Conde ; declaring, tliat had she arrived earlier, she would have prevented it, and advising him for the future to use more moderation towards princes of the blood : she added, that this wound would not soon heal j and that few men had pro- spered, who, without prpvocation, offered violence to those allied to kings." Notwithstanding the in- . terest she took in the prince of Conde, she aftcr- w^ards broke with him, disapproving of the hugue- nots taking up arms. Henry II. and the duke of Ferrara had in vain used every method to engage the duchess to relin- quish the cause she had espoused, and to abjure the doctrines of the Reformers. She resisted with equal firmness their persuasions and menaces. A curious account has been published by M. Labourcur, re- specting the commisiion given by Henry II. to Dr. Oriz, one of the pope's penitentiaries, v/hom ke ITENATA. 8$ sent to Ferrnra to convert the duchess. He was or- dered to inform her, * tliat the king had, to his inex- pressible sorrow, learned that she had suffered her- self to be entangled in the labyrinth of those wicked and damnable opinions, which are repugnant to the holy faith. That, could he hear of her reconcilia- tion with the church, and that she had returned to true obedience, it would afford him not less satisfac- tion and joy, than were he to see her raised from death to life. But that if, instead of treading in' the footsteps of her progenitors, who by their ex- emplary zeal had protected the holy catholic faith, she still remained stubborn and obstinate, nothing could more offend and displease the king ; who, in tliat case, would be obliged wholly to forget the re- spect and duties of a kinsman ; as notriing was so odious to him as those reprobate sects,' of which he declared himself the mortal enemy. Should these remonstrances fail to produce the desired effect, Dr. Oriz had orders to preach before the duchess on polemical questions, which she and her household should be compelled to attend. Should the lady, afteV these methods had been pursued some days, still prove contumacious, the doctor was to declare, before the duke her husband, * that it was the will of his majesty, that he should separate his duchess* from all company and conversation, by immuring Her in some place at a distance from her children, from her frieuis, and those of her servants, of what- ever nation, who were suspected oj heresies and false doctrines. That such deUnqucnts should bq. brought to justice, and, after sentence passed upon them, be delivered over to exemplary punishment.' All these sagacious methods of convincing the judgments of the duchess and her liouschold proved abortive : she persevered in her heretical opinions ;. in consequence of which an alienation, for a period, ensued between her and the duke, who took from her the education of her children. Pier daughter, Anne d'Este, notwithstanding these rigorous proceed- ings, betrayed a predilection for the new doctrines.: her mother, who had caused her to he instructed in the sciences, had given her for the companion of her studies Olympia Fulvia Morata, a young woman of talents, who afterwards imbibed the lutheran faith. John.Sinapius, a man of eminence, was.theix tutor.. The duchess, in. placing Olympia with her daughter, wished to inspire her with a generous emulation. This young woman lived several years at court greatly esteemed. From her conversation, Anne' was. led to exercise her understanding on theological subjects, and to sympathise with the new sect iri their afflictions and persecutions. Thuanus inl'orms us, that Anne d'Este, wafe to. the duke of Guise, who from her infancy had, by her mother, been predisposed to the tenets bf the. ANNE DE ROHAN. 87 Reformers, a disposition that had been strengthened by her intercourse with Olympla Morata, interced- ed, with tears, with Catherine of Medicis, in behalf of tlte oppressed Huguenots, while she entreated the queen, as she tendered the welfare of the king and' kingdom, to divert his majesty from shedding in-> nocent blood. Yet this princess, during the League, was zealous against the Protestants •, family interest, and the assassination of her husband, having com- bined to effect a change m her feelings. The duchess, her mother, Renata of Ferrara, died at Montargis, June 1 2th, lo7o, in the profes- sion of the protcstant faith. Bayle s Ehtorical Dictionary — Biogrnphium Fecmi' neuni, life. ANNE DE ROHAN. Anne, daughter of Renatus de Rohan, andof Ca- tlierine de Parthenai, heiress of the house of Sou- bise, and sister to the duke of Rohan, was not less distinguished for her virtues and talents than for her illustrious descent. She was the support of the re- formed religion during the civil wars of Lewis XUL in which period she sustained with heroic constancy the hardships of the siege of Rochelle ; when the inhabitants lived three months on the flesh of horses, and four ounces of bread per day. Anne and her mother refused to be comprehended in the B8 MARIE ELEONORE DE ROHAI^, capitulation, , choosing rather to remain prisoners o£ war. S?- a was celebrated among her party for her piety and courage, and generally respected for her learning and capacity. She was also admired for her poetical talents; particularly for a poem written on the death of Henry IV. of France. She studied the Old Testament in the original language, and used in her devotions the Hebrew Psalms. She died un- married, September 20, 1646, at Paris, in the sixty- second year of her age. The celebrated Anna Maria Shurman addressed some letters to this ladv, which are in the collection of her works. Bnjk'j Hhiorical Dictionary^ i^o» , MARIE ELEONORE DE ROHAN. This lady, celebrated for her piety and her ta- lents, was the daughter of Hercule de Rohan-Gue-- mene, duke de Montbazon. She was born in 1628, and educated in a convent, where she contracted a predilection for the monastic life. Of high birth and fortunes, beautiful and accomplished, the young^ Eleonore, at the age of eighteen, withstood the so- licitations of her friends, the tears of her father, and the allurements of the world, to devote herself to a studious and secluded life. She was professed in the bcnedictinc convent at Montargis, where, by her virtues, tlie sweetness of her manners, her ge-« 'I J MARIE ELtONOUE DE ROHAN. 6.0 r\'m% and her talents, sh* extorted the respect and affection of the community. She was soon after waifned abbess of La Trinite de Caen. This dignity her humility led her to decline, till compelled to ac- cept it by the entreaties of the superiors of the con- vent. Without ambition, she fulfilled the duties of her charge with gentleness, propriety, and wis*' dom. Her heart was tender, susceptible, and kind ;' her temper sweet and modest •, her mind elevated^' sublime, and firm, of which she gave singular proofs in maintaining the rights and privileges of the abbey.^ Tlie air of the sea, near which the convent was situated, being unfavourable to her health, she be- came languid and weak : her physicians declared that a change of air only could restore her. On this oc- casion she was with difficulty prevailed upon to ex- change her abbey for that of Malnoue, nefar Paris. Her distress on her separation from her charge, to whom she was •affectionately attached, M'as affecting and extreme. Incapable of speaking, . slie embraced them with tenderness, and bedewed them with her tears. Attestations of the piety and virtue of out amiable enthusiast were sent to Rome, where a de- claration was made by the pope' of his intention to canonise so young and so exemplary an abbess. In 1669, madame de Rohan was solicited by the religious of the Benedictines tie Notre Daane de Con-^ selaiion du Chasse-Jindiy to take upon her the govern*- persecled by study and the liberal sciences, are, one the contrary, both strengthened and embellished. The habits of reflection and retirement which grow out of the exercise of die understanding, are equally favourable to virtue and to the cultivation of the heart. While the mind, by seeking resources in it- self, acquires a character of dignity and independ- ence, a sentiment of grandeur and generosity is communicated to its affections and sympathies. Dis- sipation and frivolous pursuits, by enfeebling the understanding, have a tendency to harden and to narrow the heart. If the concentrated passions of Stronger minds, and these examples among women, arc rare, have sometimes been productive of fatal effects, an impressiye and affecting lesson, as in the sublimer devastations of nature, may be derived even from their failures. But the being, restless in the pursuit of. novelty, irritable, dependent, unstable, and vain, who lives only to be amused, becomes necessarily selfish and worthless, the contempt and burthen of society, the reproach of one sex and the scorn of the other. Among women distinguished for their virtues and acquirements, in the l6th century, the three daughters of sir Thomas More hold an elevated rank. Margaret, eldest daughter of sir Thomas More, lord high chancellor of England, and of Jane, daugh>" ter of Mr. John Coke of Ncwhall, Essex, was born 02 MARGARET ROPER. in London, in the yeaif'1508. She received, in the fashion of the times, a learned education, while itien of the" first literairy rt^putation were procured by her fatlier for her preceptors. The following in- teresting and patriarchal description of the family of the chancellor, is given by Erasmus. " More," says he, in a letter to a friend, *' has built, near London, on the banks of the Thames (Cliclsea), a commodious house, whferc he converses affably wkh his family, Consisting^ of his wife, his Sort and daughter-in-law, his three daughters and their husbands, with eleven grandchildren. TheYe is no man living so fond ofhis thildren, or who possesses a more excellent temper. You would call his house the academy of Plato. — But I should do it an injury by such a comparison : It is rather a school of cliristian goodness-, in which piety, virtue, and the liberal sciences, are studied by every individual of the family. No wrangling, or in- temperate languages, rs ever heard; no one is idle; the' were her tutors in the languages : from Mr. Drue, Mr. Nicolas, and Mr. Richard Hart, she acquired a knowledge of the arts and sciences. Under the care of thcso gentlemen, she became mistress of the Greek and Latin i and made considerable progress in astronomy, philosophy, phy- sics, logic, rhetoric, music, and arithmetic. Sir Thomas, to whom all his children were dear, xo yarded his eldest daughter, in whose attainments and powers he felt a laudable pride, with peculiar tenderness. Slie is said to have written a pure and elegant Latin style : her father deliglitcd in holding with her an epistolary correspondence : some of her letters, which he communicated in confidence to persons of the most distinguished abilities and learn- ing, received high and just praise. The erudition and talents of these admirable sisters were celebrate ed, in a Latin epigram, by Mr. John.Leland the,anr tiquarian poet. The. affection of the chancellor for .his daughter Margaret, is particularly mentioned in Mr. More's Life of sir Thomas, and in Lewis's edi- tion of the same Life, by Roper. During the extraordinary malady called the sweat- ing-sickness, which commenced in the army of Henry VIL 1483, and, spreading its contagious influence to London, appeared again at intervals, five times, till 1528, Margaret was seized with thi : disorder : her father, while her recovery was doubtful, aban- ^4. MATvGA^Et RoVeR. doned himself to the most violent sorro\^' ; and'pro- tested, on her restoration to 'health, that had 'the malady proved fatal, it was his dctcrminatioii " to have resigned all business, and' for ever to "hav*^ ab- jured the world; In 1523, in tlie twentieth 'year of her age, -"MaT*- garet gave her hand to William Roper, esq. of Wt^If- hall, Eltham in Kent, a man of talents and learning, amiable, and accomplished, whose cbngbnial quialJ- ties had united him with the family of the chancel- lor, by the most cordial and indissoluble ties. The young couple continued' to live at Chelsfea, with the family, till its worthy head, after being taken into custodv, was confined in the Tower. Two sons and three daughters were the fruit of this marriage, whose education wa^ superintended by their mother with the most assiduous care. Drs. Cole and Chris- topherson, afterwards bishop of Chichester, men emi- nent for their skill as Grecians, were procured by Mrs. Rop(!r, as preceptors to her children. This lady corresponded, and was personally acquainted, with Erasmus, the restorer of learning, by whom she was styled Britannite dcctis, and in whose estima- tion she held a high place. Sir Thomas having pre- sented to Erasmus a valuable picture, drawn by Hans Holbein, in which he was himself represented, surrounded by his children, Erasmus returned his acknowledgments in a Latin epistle, which he cd- MARGARET ROPER. &.> ilrcssed to Margaret. In his letter he expresses the pleasure he felt in receiving a representation of a family which he so truly respected ; and more espe- cially that of a lady, whose resemblance could not be beheld without being reminded of her excellent and 'admirable qualities. Margaret replied to this com- pliment in an elegant- Latin epistle; in which, -after expressing her pleasure in tl^ satisfaction the picture had afibrded to her learned friend, she ac- knowledges him as an instructor to whom she should ever feci herself grateful. At different periods, Erasmus addressed himself also to her sisters, Elizabeth and Cecilia ; but Mar- garet, to whom he dedicated some hymns of Pru- -dentius, appears to have been his favourite. Having, in the early part of her life, applied herself to the languages, she now prosecuted, with no less assi- duity, the study of philosophy, of the sciences,' of physics, and of theology. The two latter branches of knowledge were more particularly recommended to her by her father. Till this period, her life glided on serenely, a calm unruffled stream, in the acquisition of science, and in the bosom of her family. It became now agitated and perturbed, by the tragical fate of her beloved and invaluable father. The chancellor, having disapproved the conduct •of Henry VIII. in the business of his divorce from 9<5 MARGARET ROI'ER. Catherine, his first wife, thouglit proper to resign the seals, and incurred, by this measure, the dis- -pleasure of a capricious tyrant. Sir Tliomas, hving under the same root and in the midst of his family, .the expences of which he had hitherto defrayed from his revenue, knew not how, on the resignation of his ,ofHce, to support the idea of a separation from them. •Hiiving assembled his children together, he advised with them respecting the measures which it would be necessary to pursue : and, while they listened to him in mournful and respectful silence, thus addressed them: " I have been brought up at Oxford, at an inji of Chancery, at Lincoln's Inn, and in the king's court, from the lowest degree to the highest; and yet have I, in yearly revei^ues, at this present time, little left me above one hundred pounds a-year. If therefore we continue to live together, we must all become contributors. But my counsel is, tliat we door, we will sing a salve rcgitia^ whereby we shall still keep company, and be merry together." This excellent family was soon after dis- persed ; but Margaret and her husband still continued to reside near their father. Sir Thomas refusing to take the oath of supre- macy, the prospect now became darker j he waf committed to the custody of the abbot of West- minster, whence, continuing inflexible, he was re- moved to the Tower. Overwhelmed with grief, his daughter was, throughincessantimportunity, at length allowed to visit him : admitted to his presence, she left no argument, expostulation, or intreaty, unes- sayed, to induce him to relent from his purpose. But her eloquence, her tenderness, and her tears, proved alike ineffectual ; the principles and constancy of this great, but unfortunate man, were not to be shaken. Margaret, less tenacious, or less bigotted, had herself taken the oath, with the following reserv- ation — " As far as Tjould statidnvith the law of God J'* The family, on this affecting occasion, seera again, from a letter addressed by Mrs. Roper to her father, to have assembled at Chelsea. " What think you, my most dear father," says she, " doth com- fort us, in this your absence, at Chelsea ? Surely, the remembrance of your manner of life passed among us, your holy conversation, your wholesome counsels, your examples of virtue j of which there is VOL. VI. F ^8 MARGARET ROPER. hope, that tliey do not only persevere with you, but that they are, by 6od's grace, much more increased.' During the imprisonment of sir Thomas, a frequent intercourse of letters passed between him and this beloved daughter ; and, when deprived of pen and ink, he contrived to write to her with a coal. These letters are of an affecthig nature, and are printed at the conclusion of the works of sir Thomas More, pubHshed by his nephew, Mr. Rastell : many of them are also reprinted by the last editor of the Life of sir Thomas, Mr. Roper, 1731. It is related by Dr. Knight, in his Life of ErasmuSi that sentence having been passed on the chancel- lor, his daughter, as he was returning towards the Tower, rushing through the populace. and guards, threw herself upon his neck, and, without speaking, in a stupor of despair, strained him closely in her arms. Even the guards, at this aflecting scene, melted into compassion, while the fortitude of the illustrious prisoner nearly yielded. * My dear Mar- garet,' said he, ' submit witli patience, grieve no longer for me, it is the will of God, and must be borne.' Tenderly embracing her, he withdrew liim- self from her arms. He had not proceeded many , paces, when she again rushed towards him ; again, in a paroxysm of sorrow more eloquent than words, | I threw herself on his bosom. Tears flowed down the venerable cheeks of sir Thomas, while he gazed k MARGARET ROPER. 99 on her \vith tender earnestness ; yet his heroic pur- pose continued unmoved- Having intreated her prayers for him, he bade her afFectionately farewel, wliile every spectator dissolved in tender sympathy. . The cares of Margaret extended to the Hfeless re- mains of her beloved parent : by her interests and. exertions, his body was, after his execution, inter- red in the chapel of St. Peter's ad viticula, within tlxe precincts of the Tower ; and was afterwards re- moved, according to the appointment of sir Thomas during his Hfe, to the chancel of the church at Chel- sea. His head, having remained fourteen days ex- posed \ipon London bridge, in conformity to his sentence, was about to be cast into the Thames, when it was purchased by his daughter. Being, on this occasion, uihumauly summoned before the coun- cil, she firmly avowed and justified her conduct. This boldness did not escape the vengeance of the king ; she was committed to prison ; whence, after a short restraint, and vain attempts to subdue her courage by menace'^, she was liberated, and restored to her husband and family. The remainder of her life was passed in domestic retirement, in the bosom of her family, and in the education of her children. She is described by Mr. I^Iore, in his Life of sir Thomas, as a woman of sui- gular powers and endowments, and as chosen by her i.uhcr, for her sagacity and prudence, as his friend F J i#0 MARGARET ROPER. and confidant. Slie corrected, by her own discern- ment, without the assistance of any manuscript, a corruption in St. Cyprian, restoring nervos severi- tatisy for nisi vos severitatis, as testified by PameUon and John Coster. She composed many Latin epistles, poems, and orations, which were dispersed among the learned of her acquaintance. She wrote, in reply to Qu^intilian, an oration, in defence of the rich man, whom he accuses of having poisoned, "with certain venomous flowers in his garden, the poor man's bees. This performance is said to have rivalled in eloquence the production to which it was in answer. Two declamations were likewise written by her, and translated both by herself and her fa- tlier, with equal spirit and eloquence, into Latin. She also composed a treatise, " Of the four last "Things" with so much justness of thought, and strong reasoning, as obliged sir Thomas to confess its superiority to a discourse in which he was him- self employed on the same subject, and which, it is supposed, on that account, he never concluded. The ecclesiastical history of Eusebius was translated by this lady from the Greek into Latin : its publica- tion was superseded by that of bishop Christopher- son, a celebrated Grecian of that period. This la- bour of learning was afterwards translated from the Latin into English by Mary, the daughter of Mar- garet Roper, who inherited the talents of her mother. Mrs. Roper, whose learning and genius procured MARGARET ROPER. 101 Iier the respect and admiration of the most distin- guished characters of her country, and of the age in which she Uved, survived her father only nine years : she had been a wife sixteen years, and died in 1544, in her thirty-sixth year. In compUance with her desire, the head of her father was interred with her ; in her arms, as related by some ; or, according to others, deposited in a leaden box, and placed upon her coffin. She was buried in St. Dunstan's church, in the city of Canterbury, in a vault under a chapel joining to the chancel, the burying-place of the Roper family. Her husband remained a widower tliirty-three years after his irreparable loss ; when he expired January 4th, 1577, and was interred with his beloved wife. The following is a translation of a Latin inscription to the memory of Mr. and Mrs. Roper. " Kcre licth inteiTed William Roper, esq. a venerable and worthy man, the son and successor of the late John Roper, esq. — Also, Margaret his wife (daughter of sir Thomas More, knight, once high-chancellor of England), a woman excel- lently well skilled in the Greek and Latin tongues. The above-mentioned William Roper succeeded his father, John Roper, in the office of prothonotary of the high court of Kings-bench ; and, after having discharged the duties of it faithfully fifty-four years, he left it to his son Thomas. The said WiUiam Roper was liberal both in his domestic and public conduct. Kind and compassionate in his temper, the support of the prisoner, tb.e poor, and the oppressed. He had issue by Margaret, his only wire, two sons and three daughters, whose children and grandchildren he lived to sec. F 3 102 IS.iBELLA DE ROSANJES. lie lost his wife in the bloom of liis years, and lived a \Ti« dower thirty-three years. At length (his days being fulfilled in peace) he died, lamented by all, in a good old age, on the 4th day of January, in the year of our rcden.ption 1557, and of his age eighty-two." Bullard^s British Ladies — Biographium rami/wun/, lfj(- MARY ROPER. Mary, youngest daughter of Margaret Roper, and grand-daughter of sir Thomas More, was edu- cated by her mother, whose talents she emulated; Under the tuition of doctors Cole and Christopher- son, and Mr. John Morwen, a celebrated Grecian, she became mistress of the Greek and Latin lan- guages, in which she composed orations highly commended by Mr. Morwen, and translated by him into English. She translated into English her mo- ther's Latin version of Eusebius's Church History, which sjie dedicated to queen Mary. She also translated a part of sir Thomas More's Latin expo- sition of the passion of Jesus Christ, imitating the style of her grandfather so successfully, that her production has been mistaken for an original. A'Ir. Roger Ascham styles this lady an ornament of the court and of her sex. She was one of the ladies of the queen's privy-chamber. She was twice married; first to Mr. Stephen Clarke, and, after liis decease, to Mr. James Basset. Ballard^ s British Ladies — Biographium Famlncw::, I 103 ] MADAME ROLAND. It is a task not less painful than difficult to ahvidge the nn^inoirs of this admirable woman, the heroine of the French revolution, and the martyr of liberty, to rob them of those graces, that spirit and int('rest, that glow through every page, and awiiken in the heart of the reader the most aflect- ing and elevated sentiments. Born in an obscure station, the daughter of (iatien Plilipon, an artist, and of Margaret Eimont, liis wife, madame Roland passed her 5'outh in tlie bosom of retirement, occupied in acquiring tliose virtues and talents by which she became afterwards so eminently distinguished. M. Phlipon was, by profession, an engraver; he also practised painting and enamelling, but the heat which the latter required, proving prejudicial to his sight, he determined to relinquish it, and to confine himself wholly to the art of engraving, in v.'hich he em- ployed, in an extensive business, a considerable number of workmen. By the desire fef making a rapid fortune, he was also induced to enter into trade ; to puixhase diamonds and other jewels, for the purpose of acquiring a profit by their sale. Active and vain, but without erudition, he pos- sessed that degree of taste and superficial know- ledge which an employment connectjed with the 104 I.IADAME ROLAND. arts seldom fails to inspire, and which led him to court the acquaintance of professional men. AVhile his ambition, kcjtt wiiliin limits, had not yet injured his circumstances, he led a temperate, regular life, and piqued himself on his honour and commercial punctuality. His wife, with a small fortune, brought him a charming figure, and a *' celestial mind*." The eldest of six children, to wliom she had been a second mother, she resigned, at six-and-twenty, her place to her sister, and married M. Phlipon, whom her parents presented to her as an honest man, whose talents ensured her subsistence, and v.-hom her reason, rather than her heart, accepted. *' It is a proof of wisdom," observes madame Roland, " to be able to contract our desires: en- joyments are more rare than is imagined ; but virtue is never without its consolation." Madame Roland was the second of seven children, ocd the only one who survived: her mother frequently remarked, with pleasure, that, of all her children, she alone had never caused her sorrow or regret : her pregnancy and her deliver}' of this beloved daughter had been equally happy ; and had even appeared to contribute towards the re-establishment of her hcaltli. The * The language of madame Roland will be adopted in tliis memoir whenever it is practicabL. MADAME ROLAND. 105 luirsc selected by madame Besnard, an aunt of M. Phlipon's, ia the neighbourhood of Arpajon, to take the charge of the infant, was a heahhy and well-disposed woman, much esteemed for the propriety of her conduct in an unhappy marriage with a man of l^rutal temper. Madame Besnard Iiad no children ; her husband stood, godfather to their little niece, whom they both loved as a daughter, witli constant and invariable affection. Their kindness recompensed the vigilance of the nurse, whose zeal and success procured for her the friendship of the Avhole family of her charge. Madame Roland preserved through life an affec- tionate intercourse with her foster-mother, to whose simple and tender tales, of the little in- cidents and frolics of her infancy, she never failed to hsten with ])atience and pleasure. This good woman never suffered two years to elapse without taking a journey to Paris to visit her foster-child.. The little Ma>wn, for so was she called, Avas brought home to her father's at two years of age, a lively little brunette, with dark hair falling in graceful ringlets over an animated and glowing face. The prudence and fine qualities of madame Plilipon soon gave her an ascendancy over the mild and affectionate temper of Manon, whom it was never found necessary to punish, otherwise F 5 1CI5 ^lADAlME ROLAND. tlian by gravely applying to her the title of made- nwiseUe, Avhich was substituted by her motliur, uith heart-rendinut anosegcav could divert." — " Under the tranquil shelter of my paternal roof, 1 was happy, from my infancy, with flowers and i looks. In the narrow confines of a prison, amidst chains, imposed by the most shocking tyranny, I forget the injustice of men, their follies, and my own misfortunes, Avith books and flowers." The parents of mademoiselle Phlipon availed themselves of her studious turn, to put into her liands the catechisms, with the Old and New Testaments ; while she learned with facility every tiling which was taught her. Guibol, a painter, v\1iose panegyric on Poussin obtained the prize from the academy at Rouen, frcc;iieiitly visited at MADAME ROLAND. 107 M, Phlipon's; Avhere he delighted in amusing the little Manon with extraviigant and marvellous tales, *' I think I see him now," says she, " with a figure •bordering on the grotesque, sitting in an armed chair, taking me hetween his knees, and making me repeat the creed of St. Athanasius ; then re- warding my compliance with the story oi Tanger ; whose nose was so long, that he Avas obliged, when walking, to twist it round his arm." At seven years of age Manon was sent to the parish church to attend catechism, in order to prepare her for confirmation. The children, on this occasion, repeated, as their Aveekly task, the epistle and gospel, a portion of the catechism, and tiic collect for the day. A young priest gave them instructions, and explained to them the questions necessary to the subject. The pastors were also somet i mes seen among their youthful flock , _ whom they interrogated respecting the progress they had made. Mr. Garat, the rector of the parish, accosted Manon on one of these days, in order to sound the depth of her erudition, and to dioplay, at the same time, his own sa«>-acity. ' How many orders of spirits are there,' enquired Jic, with an ironical tone and air, * in the celestial hierarchy ?' ' Though many,' replied the little theologist, with a smile, * are enumerated in the preface to the Missal, I have found, from other 108' MADAME: ROLAND. books, that there are only nine — angels, arcli-* an gels y t/irones, dominions,^ kc. She went on, marshiillintr the spirits in their proper order, and estabhshing her reputation, as a chosen vessel, amonn- all the devout matrons in the neifrhboiir- hood. Possibly the good sense of madame Phliport might have operated against these public exhi- bitions, and lessons of vanity and superstition, had not these ceremonies been committed to the care of her younger brother, an ecclesiastic belonging to the parish, Avho found, in the presence of his niece, a stimulus to persons, above the inferior ranks, who, by this example, were induced to send their children also. The capacity of made- moiselle Phhpon, and even the neatness and ele- gance of her appearance, were additional sources of gratification to the pride of her indulgent parents. At the distribution of prizes, at the end of the year, mademoiselle Phlipon apyjeared with- out a competitor ; her uncle was congratulated on the talents of his niece, and obtained, through her means, greater notice and distinction. The eagerness of Manon to learn, suggested to her tmcle the idea of teaching her Latin ; Avhile, delighted Avith a new study, she received his in- structions with ardour. At home, masters for geography, for writing, for music, for dancing, MADAME ROLAND. lOp were provided for her : she received from her father also lessons in drawing. Amidst these vari- ous occupations she still found time for her lessons and her books: rising at five in the morning, when a profound repose reigned throughout the lionse, she was accustomed to steal softly, regard- less of stockings or shoes, with a night-gown thrown over her, to the chamber of her mother, in a comer of which, on a table, her books were de- posited. In this situation she either read or re- peated and copied her lessons, with an assiduity that surprised her teachers. Her diligence and rapid progress rendered her the favourite of her masters ; Avliile the interest and pleasure they felt in assisting her, redoubled her industry and at- tention. Her tutors, at length, flattered by the capacity of their scholar, universally agreed, that their instructions w-ere no longer necessary, and that they ought not to be paid, though they should gladly continue to visit at the house, to converse Avith their pupil, and, as friends, to be- hold her progress. The influence of M. Phlipon, over the edu- cation of his daughter, was fortunately but slight, as that little was calculated to do mischief. Manon was somewhat obstinate, or rather she did not readily submit to authority or caprice, when her judgment resisted its dictates. Her mother, who 110 MADAME ROLAND. had studied a lenipcr, \vliicli doubtless slie liad contributed to t'orni, governed. her by reason, or drew her by the cliords of atlectiouj nor did she often experience opposition to her Avill. Ilcr father, wlio issued his mandates in a liio-hcr tone, found them sometimes disputed, and seldom obeyed Avithout reluctance. If, on these occasions, he attempted force, the affectionate and gentle Ma- 7wn was converted Into a lion. More than once, during the operation of a whipping, she bit tlie thigh across which she was laid, protesting, with violence, ai>ainst a chastisement so deoradij)";. One day, being a little indisposed, it was thought proper that she should take medicine. The draught Avas accordingly })rcscntcd, and, iVom its nauseous scent, rejected with abhorrence : madame Phlipon tried to overcome the repugnance of her daughter, and, by her expostulations, inspired her v.ith tiie desire of obedience. ]>ut, her senses still revolting, the effort proved vain. M. Phlipon, on hearing what had passed, put himself in a rage, and, ascribing to stubbornness the resistance offered to the medicine, had once more recourse to liis re- medy of the rod. The resolution of Manon was, from that instant, taken ; she determined against a compliance that was to be thus extorted. A violent struggle ensued, followed by new menaces and a second whipping. The mischief was increased: MADAME ROLAND. ill Mivwn, move indignant and more resolved , uttered terrible shrieks, and, raising her eyes to heaven, prepared to throw from her the bitter potion. Her gestures indicated her design, and her father, in a trans]iort of fvu'}', threatened a third Hagellation. All at once her tears ceased to flow, she sobbed no Ioniser, her passions were concentrated in a single Ycsolution. Fortitude Avas developed by the ex- tremity of injustice. Turning to the bed-side, nnd leaning her head against the \vall,shepresented herself to tlic rod in silence and meek determina- tion. " My father," said she, " might have killed nie on the spot, but he would not have drawn from me a single sigh." Her mother, dreadfully agitated by the scene, at length drew her husband from the room, and, withov\t uttering a Avord, put to bed the refractory daughter, and left her to repose. Having returned at the end of two hours she conjured her, Avhile lier eyes Avere fiUwi with tears, to comply Avith their Avishes. Manon, looking steadfastly in the face of her mother, made an extraordinary eftbrt, and sAA'allow- cd the medicine at a draught. In a quarter of an • hour it Avas, however, throAvn back ; a violent paroxysm of fever ensued, for the cure of Avhich it Avas necessary to have recourse to other means. Mademoiselle Phlipon Avas, at this time, but little moTQ than six years of age. After relating this 112 MADAME ROLAND. anecdote, she thus observes: " I experienced the same inflexible firmness tl)ut I have since feh on great and trying occasions ; nor ■would it at this moment cost me more to ascend undauntedly the scafi'old, than it then did to resign myself to brutal treatment, Avhich might have killed, but could not conquer me." This anecdote is re- lated at large, as an atlecting lesson to parents and tutors. The conduct of his daughter seemed to have produced on M. Phlipon its proper effect. From that instant she never received another blow, nor did he even undertake to control her : on the contrary, lie caressed her frequently ; tauglit her to draw ; took her out to walk ; and treated her with a kindness that ensured her respect and sub- mission. The seventh anniversary of her birth was celebrated as the attainment of the age of reason ; when it was intimated to her, that she was expected to follow its dictates. This politic com- pliment, without increasing her vanity, gave her contidence in herself. The discretion of children is increased by an obligation to its early exercise.- Her days now glided on in domestic peace and mental activity. Her mother, almost always at home, received but little company. Two days were however appropriated to go.ng abroad : one to visit the relations of her father ; and the other. MADAME ROLAND. 113 which was Sunday, to go to church, to take a walk, and to see her maternal grandmother, wlio, from an attack of the palsy, had gradually de- clined into a state of dotage. Tliis, to the lively spirits oH Manon, was rather a painful task: no books were to be found at her grandmother's, or none but the Psalter; Avhich, for want of other amusement, she used to read over twenty times in French, and chant the Latin. When she Avas gay the old lady Avould weep, and laugh if she liappened to get a blow or a fall. This, though told it was the effect of disease, did not please Marion : she could have borne Avith the laughter of her grandmother ; but her grievous and im- becile cries rent her heart, and inspired her with terror. Madame Phlipon, who considered these visits as an indispensable though a painful duty, refused to yield to the weariness and disgust o2 her daughter, whom she laboured to convince of the propriety of her conduct. " I know not how she managed it," says this daughter, " but my heart received her lessons with emotion." Happy, thrice happy and respectable mother ! When her uncle Bimont (the young ecclesiastic) met Manon at his mother's, her joy was inexpres-^ sible: with him she danced, sung, played, and romped. The studies which occupied her time rendered 1 1 4. IVLVDAME* ROLAND. tlie days short : she soon exhausted, with the elemcntar}' boolcs, the httlcfamih* Hbrary. When new books were not to be proc»n*ed, the old ones were devoured asfain and a«rain. Two I'olio TJvcs. of t])e Saints, a Bible, in an (^Id version of the fame size, a translation of Appian's Civil Wars^ and a description of Turkey, written in a wretcli- ed style, were thus read. Also thp comical ro- mances of Scarron, a collection of pretended ban mots (Avhich horrever were perused but once},^ the Memoirs of the brave De Pontis (a great fa- vourite), those of mademoiselle de Montpensier^ whose pride did not displease the young lady, with several other antiquated works. In her passion for knowledge, she picked up a trea- tise on heraldry, which she instantly began to study ; its little figures and coloured plates having excited and amused her curiosity. Her father was,- soon after, astonished on her giving him a specimen of her science, in some remarks | on a seal not enoravcn accordinc: to the rules of art. She became afterwards, on this occasion, his oracle, nor did she ever mislead him. A treatise i on contracts fell into her hands, which she likewise; endeavoured to understand, but, from weariness, soon resigned her purpose. The Bible, of which I she frequently returned to the perusal, had, for her, peculiar attractions ; if, by the simplicity -r * MADAME T.OLAND.. 1 ir^ langnao-e, it gave her on some subjects 'pre- :.::ituve intormation, ito-at least exercised her v-innglits, without seduGiixg her imagination. In i.cliino; the house tor books, she at length ais- >. cved a new and unforeseen supply. The workr '^liop of her father joined to the room in which 1- sat with lier mother: in this apartment, kvliiidi was handsome and neatly furnished, she kx^as accustomed to receive her lessons. A recess, ion one side the fire-place, was converted into a jhght closet, in which stood a bed, a chair, a small 'table, and a few shelves. This was the sanctuary lof Manon. In an evening, or at hours when the workmen were absent, she used to steal into the slio}), where the difVerent instruments of her father's art,' and various pieces of sculpture, were deposited. One day she remarked there a recess, in which one of the young men kept his books. Volume by volume was carried off by Manon to liei- litlle closet, eagerly read, and again, in silence, deposited in its place. Fortunately these books were inoffensive, and generally well chosen. Madame Phlipon had made the same discovery ; ■and Manon. one dav recognised in the hands of lier mother a book which had previously passed tht'ouo-h her own. No lonoer;considering herself as under any restraint, she felt emancipatetl by thil; e>rample from all future compunction. The 11^ MADAME ROLAND. youiior man took no notice of tlic occasional disappearance of his books; all parties seemed agreetl l)y a tacit convention. In this way Manon perused many volumes of travels, of whicli she became passionately fond ; a;xl also some plays of second-rate authors, and the Plutarch of Da- cier. This last work proved more to her taste tlian any thing she had yet read, without ex- cepting even pathetic histories, with Avhich how- ever she was greatly affected. " Plutarch," says slie in her Memoirs, " was the inteJiectual food that exactly suited me. Never shall I for- get the Lent of 1763, at which time I was nine years of age : I caiTied Piutarch with me to church, instead of the Exercises of the Holy Week. It is from that period tliat I may date the impressions and ideas which, m ithout my dream- ing of ever becoming one, made me a repub- licun." Telcmachus, and the Jerusalem Delivered, impeded for a time the current of these sublime impressions, by a ma-jesty of a different kind : the tender Fenelon touched her heart- ; while Tasso fired her imagination. Sometimes, at the request I Qif her mother, she read aloud ; but this, by divert-' I ing her from that close attention in which she delighted to indulge, proved irksome. " Rather,'* ! says she, '* would I have plucked out my tongue, than ha-vc so read the episodes of the island of | MADAME ROLAND. 117 Calypso, and a number of passages in Tasso. — With Telemachus I was Eucharis, and with Tan- cred, Erniinia. Completely metamorphosed into these heroines, I thouglit not as yet of being, with some other personage, something myself. — None of my rellections came home to me. — I was the very identical characters, and saw only, on their account, the objects which existed." A young painter, notwithstanding, named TU" ^eraly with a soft voice, languishing features, and fine complexion, who came about fehis period Occasionally to the house of M. Phlipon, seems |to have called, in some degree, the contem- plation of his daughter from fictitious heroes : but this emotion, neither strengthened by indolence, nor improper society, was transient and fleeting. The powerful imjiressions produced on the mind of mademoiselle Phlipon by the works enu- merated, were soon after diverted by different iproductions, among which may be named the writings of Voltaire. Employed one day in per- using Candide, a lady who had just laid down her cards, with which she had been playing in the same room, desired to see the book which en- gaged the attention of her young friend. On the return of madamc Phlipon, who had quitted the apartment, she expressed her surprise at the sub- ject of her daughter's studies. Manon was CJS MADAME ROLAND. ordered l)V her mother, who to tlie observation of her visitor had made no repl\, to rephicc the Ijook v'ht-rc she had found it. From that day forward never vas tlie ofHeions lady favoured ■with one smile from our little student. The eon- duet of madariie Phlipon was unaltered bv this incident: her dausrhter was allowed to read all the books whioli eame in iier war, not without the knowledge, but Avithont the interfercnee, of her mother. iSo mischief appears to have ensued from this privilege ; Mavon read no immoral pub- lications, which were probably withheld from her; but the taste which she acquired frbm intellectual improvement superseded the necessity of any partindiir watchfulness. Her fatiier also, perceiving lier love of letters, presented her with books ; of which, piquing him- self <.n confirming the serious habits of her mind, his choice was curious: Fenelon on the educa- tion of females, and I.ocke on that of children in general, were ])ut into tlic hands of a student who was herself a child. lUit this incongruity was not uithout its benefits. " I loved to re- flect," says this tndy admirable woman : "I seriously desired to improve; myself: — I studied tlie movements of my mind :— 1 felt that I had a destination which it was requisite I should enable ttiyselt to fullil. liejigious notions began to fer- MAD.llVIE ROIAXD. II9 •ment in uiv brain, ami soon produced .a violent explosion." .■ TIic progress oi' mademoiselle Plilipon in ithc Latin seems not to have Ix-'en very great; *' her little uncle," as she w;is accustomed to c.di tiic abbe Bimont, young, indoleut, unci sjM'ightly, took more pleasure in prattling and s})orting with his niece, than in teaching her to decline noims, and conjugate vtu'bs : she how- ever acquired sufficient Latin to chant and under- stand the psahns, and to give her facihty in the study of language: a few years after she learned the Italian, without a master, and with little diffi- culty. Ill drawing, her father rather amused himself with her aptitude, than cultivated her talent in the art, in which her mother, from pru- dential motives, was not desirous that she should excel. " I would not have her become a paint- er," said she ; " it would require an intercom- munity of studies and of connections, that wetsan well dispense with." She also was taught to hold the graver, of wiiich slie soon overcame the first difficulties. Mer drawings and engravings served for little presents to her relations on tlie anniver- sary of their birth-days, kcjjt with great solemnity. Little Manon was fond of dress, and her mother, though plain in her own attire, took pleasure in adornhig her daughter, whom she clothed no MADAME ROLAND. V itJi a clegree of richness and elegance not pcr- fectlv Mjitcd to her condition. On a Sunday tliis finery was exhibited jn the Tuillerics, where the bourgeoise of Paris were accustomed to parade ; and, on other occasions, at festivals and family visit?. The vanitv of youth is content with sim- ple gratifications. Contrasted with these exhi- bitions, the young lady, so elegant on a Sunday, at church, and in the public walks, with a de- meanor and language suited to her appearance, would, nevertheless, during the week, attcjjd her mother to market in a linen frock ; or step out alone to }>urchase any little article that had been omitted or forgotten. This contrast was vet farther extended : the child -who was set to study science and systems ; who could explain the circles of the spheres, and enumerate the ce- lestial hicrarchv ; who handled the crayon and the graver ; and who, at eight years of age, was the best dancer in the youthful parties that met on ex- traordinary occasions ; — this cliild, so intelligent and accomplished, knew how, in the kitchen, to make an omelet, to pick the herbs, or skim the pot. Happy simplicity ! in which the useful, the ornamental, the gay, and the serious, so delight- fully blend. " It was this mixture of occupa- tion," saA-'s madamc Roland, " properly ordered, and rendered aureeable by my mother's good MADAME ROLAND. 12t management, tliat made me fit for every tiling, that seemed to forbode the vicissitudes of my fortune, and enable me to support them." Madame Phlipon, who was serious -without big'Otry, who conformed to the rules of the church, and endeavoured to believe, did not neglect to present to her daughter religious con- siderations, which were received with respect and attention. *' These notions," says madame Roland, *' were of a nature calculated to impress a lively imagination, notwithstanding the doubt.4 suggested by my infant reason, which regarded with surprise the transformation of the Devil into a serpent, and thought it cruel in God to permit it." Having received confirmation with the tem- per of a mind that reflects on its duties, Manon prepared herself, with real a^'^e and sacred terror, to receive her first communion. Being well read in books of devotion, her though'fsSvere M;holly occupied with the importance of a future stated unalterable, and eternal. The age of* sentiment was by religious fervors prematurely broiight forward ; an extraordinary revolution agitated her feeling!?, and introduced into her mind a timid scrupulosit3^ Watching over her thoughts, Jest any profane image should' introduce itself, these solicitudes A\ere also extended to her stu- dies : for the Vational desire of acquiring know- VOL. VI. Q ■ ■•• - 12J MADAME ROLAND. leJ^e ^\a.s substituted the feelings of a de- votee. But a life which became everv day more strict and retired, a})peared yet too worldly for the first iirdours of a young enthusiast, who had acquired a taste fur divine communications, who passed her hours in perusing the lives of the saints, and the explanation of the church ceremonies, with all their mystic signification ; and who mifeignedly regretted, that the persecuting fury of pagans no longer conferred the crown of martyrdom on heroic christians. Alter profound meditation, Jfanon began to think seriouslv of embracing: a new vocation : the idea of parting Avith her mother had, till this period, never failed to over- whelm with affliction her alTectionate and suscep- tible mind ; but now the silence and solitude of a cloister presented a grand and romantic hnagc of sacrifice and seclusion, Avbich seized on her imagination, and captivated her senses. In tliis disposition of mind, one evening after supper, falling at the feet of lier parents, she shed in silence a torrent of tears. Alarmed at this sudden emotion, they earnestly intreated her to explain tie cause of her distress ; when, in a voice inter- rupted with sobs, she implored them to send her to a convent ; a measure which, however pahiful to her feeling'^, her conscience irresistibly de- manded. Her excellent mother, much afiected MADAME ROLAND. 123 at her request, having raised her from the ground, enquired what it was that made her desirous of leaving them ; while she observed, at the same time, that they had never refused to her any reasonable demand. Manoji, in reply, declared it Avas her wish to communicate, for the first time, in a disposition suited to the solemnity of the occasion. M. Phlipon, having commended her zeal, and expressed his readiness to comply with her desire, she was accordingly placed in a re- spectable house, of a mild order, in which the education of youth was professed by the nuns. " \Miile pressing my dear mother in my arms," says she, " at the moment of our first separation, I thought my heart would have burst ; l3ut I was actinir in obedience to the voice of God, and passed the threshold of the cloister, oftering up to him with tears the greatest sacrifice I was capable of making. This was the 7th of May, 1765, when I was eleven 3'cars and two months old."— *' How," adds she, *' shall I recal to my mind, in tlie gloom of a prison, and amidst commotions which rav?ge my country, and sweep away all that is dear to me, that period of rapture and tranquillity r \\'hat lively colours can express 1 jthe soft emotions of a young heart, endued with tenderness and scnsibiUty, greedy of happiness, G 2, 124 Madame roland. awakening- to tlic feelings of nature, and per- ceiving only the Deity ?" The scholars of tlie cloister were, from the age of six to that of seventeen or eighteen, divided into two classes, which took their meals at separate tahles. The capacity and gravity of the little Manon secured her, notwithstanding her youth, a place in the first. The regularity of a life which the variety of her studies only diversified, was suited to h^x active, yet methodical mind : her diliofence still left her leisure, while she im- proved every moment of her time. In the hours set apart for recreation, she was accustomed to retire from the crowd, to read or reflect in some solitary spot. " Ever\^-where," said she, " I perceived the hand of the Deity ; in the beauty of the foliage, the breath of the zephyrs, and the fraorance of the floAvers. I was sensible of his beneficent care, and I admired his -wonderful Avorks." The majestic sounds of the organ, with the melodious voices of the nuns, chanting their devotions, completed the transport of a young enthusiast. Beside the mass, to which the boarders, in the morning, were regularly con- ducted, half an hour in every day was conse- crated to meditation, to Avhich those only AA'ho appeared capacitated to improve it Avere admit- ted. This privilege Avas conferred with zeal MADAME ROLAKD. I'i5 upon niadcmoisellc Phlipon, wlio, not content uitli this distinction, earnestly intreated to re- ceive her first connnnnion at the approaching festival of the Assumption. This request, not- vithstandino- her short residence 'in the convent, was, with the unanimous consent of the superiors, readily granted. The monk ^vho officiated at the cloister, an upright and cnhghtened man, v>hose good sense and mildness of temper soften- ed the austerities of his demeanor, was well fitted for his office. While • he directed the pious affections of his new charge to all that was great and sublime in morality, he took a pleasure in developing the germs of virtue, by the in- strumentality of religion, v/ithout any mixture of its absurd mysticism. Mademoiselle Phlipon loved him as a father, and during the three years that he survived, after she had quitted the con- vent, went regularly to confess to him, from a considerable distance, at the eve of great festivals. A young novice took the veil soon after the arrival of mademoiselle Phlipon at the conventj whose sensations on this occasion were afiectino- mingled, and acute. " I was myself," said shc^ " the very victim of the sacrifice. I thought they were tearing me from my mother ; and I shed a torrent of tears. With sensibility, that renders G 3 126 MADAME ROLAND. impressions so profound, and occasions so many things to strike ns, that pass like shadows before common eyes, our existence never becomes languid. If life be measured by the sentiment which has marked ^very moment of its duration, I have already lived to a prodigious age." Prepared by every means which the catholic religion, so striking and so impressive, can de- vise to raise the imagination, and move tiie senses of a youthful votar}', the little Manon wiis called to communicate at the altar ; while trans- ported v/ith divine love, and bathed in tears, two nuns were obliged to support her to the sacred table. These unfeigned marks of devout sensibility obtained her great consideration among the pious sisterhood, who failed not to recom- mend themselves to her prayers. " Dwell with me awhile," says she, " in those peaceful day^ of holy delusion. Think you, that in an age sc^ corrupt, and in a social order so perverse as the present, it is possible to taste the delights of iiatiue and innocence ? V id gar souls may find pleasure in such an age ; but those for whom pleasure alone would be too little, impelled on the one hand bv passions that promise them more, and restrained on the other by duties which, liowcver severe or absurd, they are bound td respect, their enjoyments consist of little else I^TADAME ROLANa 127 tliaii the dcfir-l)ought glory of sacrificing the feelings of nature to the tyrannical institutions of mankind." Home months had elapsed since tlic residence of mademoiselle Phlipon at the cloister: t)nce a-week she was visited by her parents, who took her out on a Sunday, after service, to walk in the Jardin du JRoi. Though she never parted from tliem without tears, she yet returned with pleasure to the cloister, which she walked through wkh mea- sured steps, the better to enjoy its solitude, while a melancholy, full of charms, penetrated and ab- sorbed her soul. — '' I longed," said she, " to be received into the bosom of the Deity ; where I hoped to find that perfect felicity of which I felt the want." The arrival of two young ladies from Ami- ens, about this period, gave a turn to her tlioughts. In the society of the youngest, about three years older than herself, who possessed a sedate and reflecting temper, she first expe- rienced the charms of confidence and friend- ship. Sophia Cannet, with feelings less acute than those of her new friend, possessed a cool and composed mind : gentle, without being forward in her demonstrations of kindness, she courted the good-will, of no one ; but, when opportunities occurred, obliged every body. She was fond of working, of reading, and of reasoning -. she was 128 MADAME ROLAND. of a pious turn, and, with less tenderness than mademoiselle Phlipon, was equally sincere. So- pliia loved to analyse, to discuss, to know every thing- : she was fond of talking, and spoke flu- ently. The two friends, though different in tem- per, yet united by a congeniality of character, shared in the occupations and pursuits of each otlier ; and, in the transports of a common zeal, and a common aifection, assisted each other in the attainment of all that Avas praise-worth v. Mademoiselle Phlipon had also inspired in the breast of a nun a verv tender attachment. Ancelica Bouffliers, who had taken the veil at seventeen : full of vivacity and sensibihty, the acuteness of her feelings, and the sentiments of her heart, were exalted by compression and restraint. Born to no inheritance, the want of fortune had placed her in a state of servitude among the lay-sisters, Avith whom she had nothing but her station in com- mon. Her active disposition, and superior quali- ties of mind, rendered her, in the convent^ equally useful and respectable : while she enjoyed the esteem that was her due, she was appointed to offices of distinction and trust. Her afiection for mademoiselle Phlipon was not less tender than constant ; it followed her through life, and rendered her a sincere participator in all the vicissitudes of her fortune. MADAME ROLAND. li(j At tlie entrance of Manon into the cloister, it had been determined that she should remain there only a twelvemonth; the time having elaps- ed, she took leave of her companions, with a promise of frequent visits. Some family circum- stances induced her parents to place her for the present with her paternal grandmother ; a lively, good-humoured, and agreeable woman, who with pleasure accepted the charge. A little estate, which, devolving by inheritance to the elder madame Phlipon, had rendered her independent, enabled her, with a younger sister, a devout, simple, and worthy woman, to occupy decent apartments in the island of St, Louis, whither she had retired after the death of her husband. Pleased with the society of young people, of whose attentions she was proud, w^ith her Manon lived happy ; while, from her lively and polished manners, she received considerable improvement. Her promise of visiting the convent was too dear to the heart of mademoiselle Phlipon to be easily ' forgotten ; thither, accompanied by her aunt, or j her father, who took a pleasure in indulging her, lier walks were frequently directed. In tlie inter- vals of these visits, she entered into an epistolary correspondence with her friend Sophia. '' Tliis correspondence," says slie, " was the origin of G i yflO MADAME ROLAXD. my fondness for uriting; and one of the causes of the facility ^vhich I acquired in composition." IMademoiselle Phlipon had completed her twelfth year, and the thirteenth glided tranquilly away under the roof of her grandmother ; the quiet of whose house accorded admirably with the tender and contemplative disposition which Manon had brought with her from the convent. She accompanied her aunt every morning to mass, where her gravity and de^ otion obtained the notice of those who hope to gratify the Deity hy peopling the cloisters with victims, and vio- lating the first principles and duties of nature. Though the piety of Majion was sincere, her understanding was too good to suffer her to be a bigot ; nevertheless, she secretly cherished in her heart a design of taking the veil. St. Francis de Sales, one of the most amiable of the saints in the calendar, had made a conquest of her affections ; and the ladies of the Visitation, of which he was the founder, were already her adopted sisters. Lest she should give pain to her parents, whose, consent, during her minority, she was assured would be withheld, she was unwilling yd to disclose to them her plan : beside, should her re- solution fail during the days of probation, she felt that to reveal it would be giving a triumph to the profane. MADAME ROLAND; 111 Her gvandmotlier's little libraiy was laid by her under contribution, wliile the Philotte of St. Francis de Sales, and tiie Manual of St. Augustin,^ became her favourite studies. Delicious aliment for a fervent spirit abandoned to celestial illu- sions ! The controversial Avritings of Bossuet, which, about this period, fell into her hands, furnished fresh food for her mind ; while, in de- fending the faith, they let her into the secret of the objections opposed against it, and led her to nivestiiiate the grounds of her belief. This first step gradually conducted her, in a course of years, after having been Jansenist, Cartesian, Stoic, and Deist, to complete scepticism. " What a route," observes slie " to terminate at last in patriotism, -which has brought me to a dungeon !" in the intervals of her tlx^ological studies, she {imused herself with some old books of travels, and mythology in abundance : but the Letters of madame de Sevigne, by their ease, their ele- gance, their vivacity, and their tenderness, fixed her taste. ^^. Her grandmother saw but little company, and seldom went from home, but her vivacity ani- mated their domestic circle : the old lady, who set a high value upon the graces, and upon ..every thing that embellishes social life, was de- lighted with the complaisance, the desire of 133 MADAME ROLAND. pleasing, and the gentle and amiable manners of her pnpil, A\ho, jilaccd in the midst of kind hearts that studied her happiness, became every day more affectionate and docile. The following curious account is given by ma- dame Roland of a visit paid, with her grandmother, to a distant and opulent relation, wliose children had been placed under the care of nuidame Phlipon. * I am very glad to see you,' cried this voluble lady (madamede Boismorel) on their entrance, in a loud and frigid tone. ' And yv\\o is this line girl ? Your grand-daughter, I suppose ? She promises to make a pretty w^oman ! Come hither, my dc;u', and sit down by my side. She is a little bashful. How old is she ? She is somewhat broAvn, to be sure ; but her skin is clear, and will grow fairer a year or tAvo hence. She is quite the woman already. I will lay my life that hand must be a lucky one. Did you ever venture in the lottery }\ * Never, madam ; I am not fond of gaming.' ' I dare say not : at your age, children are apt to think their game a sure one. What an admirable .voice ! — ^So sweet, and yet so full-toned. But how grave she is. Pray, my dear, are you not a little of the devotee ?' * I know my duty to my God ; which 1 endeavour to fulfil.' * That's a good girl J You wish to take the veil, don't you r' * I know not what may be my de- MADAME ROLAND. 133 « stination ; nor do I seek as yet to divine it.' * Very sententious, indeed ! Your grand-daughter reads a great deal, does she not?' * Reading, madam, is her greatest dehght ; she always de- rotes to it some part of the day.' ' Ay, ay, I see how it is : but take care she does not turn author ; that would indeed be a pity.' Manon felt as much joy when an end was put to this visit, as if relieved from some grievous suffering. • Mind now,' said the lady, at parthig, ' that you do n't forget to buy me a ticket in the lottery ; and, do you hear, let your grand-daughter choose the number. T am determined to try her hand 4 Come, give me a kiss, ni}' little dear ; and do n't look so much upon the ground. You have very good ej'es ; even j'our confessor will not blame vou for opening them. Yes, yes, many a fine bow will come to your share, take my word for it, and that before you are much older.' *■ This behaviour appeared to our little philoso- pher very strange ; she asked her grandmother many questions respecting this fashionable lady ; but kept to herself the impressions which had been made on her mind. With the son of this lady, who afterwards visited them, a sensible and amiable man, of a gentle and serious character, Manon was much better pleased. This gentle- man Avas suspected of derangement, from his 134 IVIADAME ROLAND. conduct in bring^ing up his son, whose education^ vhich he su])eriiitended himself, was directed by philosophical views, " I began," says madame Koland, " tosuspect that tliere were two sorts of reason ; one for the closet, another for the world : a morality of prmciple, and a morality of practice ; from the contradiction of which re- sulted many absurdities, which did not escape my observation. In short, it appeared to nic, that persons of the gay world call every one insane- who is not affected with the common madness. Thus did materials for reflection gradually accu-r mulate in my active brain," The year allotted for mademoiselle Phlipon ta remain with her grandmother passed aAvay ; and she returned to the arms of her excellent mother. It was not v/itfioiit regret that she quitted the isle of St. Louis, its pleasant quays, and the tranquil banks of the Seine, where she met no oljjects to interrupt her meditations, as, in the fervency of her zeal, she repaired with her aunt to pour forth her devotions at the foot of the altar. Notwithstanding her attachment to her mother, whose. merit, accompanied with reserve j was of a more soUd kind, she took leave of her kind hostess Avith a torrent of tears. . It was stili upon the banks of the Seine tliat she was to reside ; but the house of her father was not quiet MADAME ROLAND. 133 and solitary like that she had quitted : the iaoving picture of the Pont-Neuf varied the scene every moment. In returning to the parental roof, she sf,cmed literally to be entering the I world : yet a free air, and an unconfined space,. I still gave scope to the reveries of a romantic [imagination ; Avliile her sensibility, which power-i I fully contributed to develope her mind, gave to every object, and to every situation, a more I striking and vivid hue. She still continued to to take lessons in music ; her master, Avho, though somewhat of a composer, understood but little of science, was ambitious of communicating to ! his pupil all he kncAv. * Put soul into it !' he was frequently exclaiming ; not less afflicted at her want of expression in singing, than at the. facility with Avhich she pursued a chain of rea- soning. * You sing an air,' said he, * as nuns chant an anthem.' He perceived not that his scholar possessed too much genuine feeling to be. able, thus mechanically, and without embarrass- ment, to give to the sentiment of the song its proper tone. Her geography, history, arithmetic, ■writing, and dancing, wci'c resumed : her father also made her again take up the. graver, to which he wished to attach her by tiie tic of interest, shiuring with her, at tiie end of the week, the pro- fits of some txitling details in the art. But of this 13ff ALYDAME ROLAXD. occupation she soon became weary ; nor did she conceal her disj^rust. No restraints being imposed upon her incHnations, she quickly threw aside the graver, which she never resumed. In the morn- ing she accompanied her mother to hear mass, and when the hours devoted to iier masters were over, retired to her closet to read, write, and me- ditate. In the long evenings she joined her mother, who read to her while she employed her- self with the needle. For the purpose of digest- ing Avhat she had heard, she committed to paper, on the succeeding mornings, what had most forcibly struck her in the evening readings, and returned to the book to copy the passage, or to recover the connection. This habit becoming a passion, she borrowed and hired books, which she returned not till she had made tlieir best passages her own. In this manner she went over Plucliey JRollin, Crevier, the Fere d' Orleans, St. Jiealy the abbe cle Fertof, and Mezeraij, the driest of writers, but the historian of her country ; with the annals of which she Avished to acquaint herself. Her uncle, the ecclesiastic, who had formerly taugln her Latin, had improvetl his situation : lie boarded with the first vicar, the abb^le Jay'; at whose house Manon, ^ith her parents, was ac- customed to pass tlie evenings on Sundays and 'holyda3's. The abbe received Jiis company in a MADAME ROLAND. 137 laro-c librarv, which afforded to mademoiselle Phlipon a new and delightful resource. With her friends, at the convent, she still kept up her intercourse : Sophia had returned to her famil\^ ; but, before her departure, had prevailed on her mother to meet madame Phlipon. In this interview the friendship of the young people was consecrated and confirmed, while their parents smiled at their promises of perpetual amity ; which were, however, never violated. A correspondence was settled between them, in which they mutually imparted their observations and reflections. By the death of the abbe Jay, Manon was de- prived of the use of his library, in which she had found literati and hi:>torians, mythologists, and father's of the church. This source fciiiing, she was obliged to have recourse to the booksellers, where her father, ill quahfied himself for selection, asked for whatever his daughter pointed out; whose choice generally fell on works respecting which her curiosity had been excited by quotations or extracts. She thus perused translations of 'Diodorus Siculus, and other ancient historians; the abbe Velly's history of France, with the con- tinuations ; Pascal, Montesquieu, Locke, Burla- maqui, and the principal French dramatists. To improve herself, and to acquire knowledge, were tlie onlv ends wliich she had in \\c\v. " I felt,'* 13S MADAME ROLAND. says sl)e, " a sort of necessity of exercising flic activity of my mind, and of gratifying my serious propensities. I panted after happiness, which I conld find only in the powerful exertion of my faculties. Placed in the hands of a skilful pre- ceptor, and applying solely to a particular stud}-, I mioht l)avc extended some branch of science, or liave acquired talents of a superior kind. But should I have been better or more useful } Certainly, I should not have been more happy, I know of nothing comparable to that plenitude of life, of peace, of satisfaction, to those days of iimocence and of study." On holidays, in fine weather, mademoiselle Plilipon was taken by her father to the public walks, where he was proud of displaying his- daughter: he accompanied her also to every ex- hibition or work of art, in those days of luxury, so frequent in Paris. On these occasions, while he pointed out to her what was worthy of notice, he visibly enjoyed his own superiority. These- worldly amusements, and the images they called, up, agreed but ill with the devotion and studies of a sober recluse, upon whose mind, accustomed, to reflection, they could not fail of producing a contrariety of impressions. Mademoiselle Phlipon,. while she opposed to the principles she had, acquired in the closet the maxims and manners of. iSIADAME ROLAND. 139 fhe world, became disturbed and uneasy; her •Mson received a shock that urged her to the in- vestigation of the grounds of her faith. The first thing which confounded her in the rehgion which she professed, was the nniversahty of its ]>reten- si'ons, which condemned to destruction all those by whom it was denied, or to M-liom it remained luilcnown. When, instructed by histor}-, she con- sidered the extent of the earth, the succession of ages, the diversities of human character, and of human opinion, the absurdity of this idea forcibly struck her mind, to which it appeared not less impious than absurd. " I am deceived," says she, " in this article of my creed, it is evident ; am I not in some other equally wrong ? Let me examine" — From this moment she was lost to the church : when an enthusiast begins to reason, emancipation is not far distant. Next to the cruelty of danmatton came the folly of infallibility, which was also in its turn disapproved and rejected. What then remained ? T'he search went on, through a number of years, with an activity and anxiety not difficult to conceive by- those who have traced a similar path. Critical, moral, philo^ sophical, and metaphysical writers, next engaged tl»e attention of our young student; while, com- parison and analy.sis became her employment. aha had lost her good confessor, the monk of 140 MADAME ROLAND. the convent; it was necessary to make another choice. The abbe Morel, who belonged to the parish, was selected on this occasion : with austere principles, the abb6 was jiot wanting in good sense. When inl'ormed of the doubts of his penitent, he Avas eager to put into her hands the apologists and champions of the christian church. *' Behold me, then," says she, " closetted with the abbes Guuchet and Bergier, with Abbadie, Holland, and Clarke, with the rest of the reverend phalanx. I perused them with critical severity, sometimes mak- ing notes, which I left in the books Avhen I returned them to my spiritual guide. The abbe enquired, with astonishnient, if I had written and conceived these notes ! But the most whimsical part of the ptory is, tiiat from these works I first got an idea of those tliey pretended to refute, and noted down their titles in order. In this way did the treatise on Toleration, the Dictionnaire Philosophiquey questions concerinng the Encydopedie, the Bon Sens of the marquis d'Argens, the Jewish Letters^ the Turkish Spy, Les Maeurs^ L'' Esprit, Diderot, d'Alembert, Raynal, and the Systeme de la Nature, pass in succession through my hands." While thus exercising her understanding on important subjects, the person of mademoiselle Phlipou approached fast towards jnatui'ity : her serious and studious habits had given to her cha^ MADAME ROLAND. 141 racter a certain rectitude and severity, which a timid and scrupulous conscience had confirmed : she became mistress of her imagination by learn- ing to control it, and to resist the first impulse of what appeared dangerous or wrong. *' Pleasure, hke haj)piness," said she, " I can see only in the union of what charms the heart with the senses, and leaves behind it no regret. With such senti- ments, it is difficult to forget, and impossible to I degrade oneself." — " In the mean time that renun- ciation of the Avorld, and contempt for its pomps ' and vanities, so strongly recommended by christian morality, accorded but ill with the feelings of : nature. These contradictions at first tormented I me, but my reasoning necessarily extended itself I to rules of conduct, as well as to articles of faith. !With equal attention I applied myself to the in^ vestigation of what I ought to do, and the exami- nation of what it was possible for me to believe. I The study of philosophy, considered as the moral I science and the basis of happiness, became now 1 the only one to which I referred my reading and observations." In philosophy, as in poetry, the lively imagi- nation of mademoiselle Phlipon converted her into a personage of the drama : in reading Tele- machus, she was Eucharis ; and in Tasso, Erminia. In controversy she took the part of the authors of 142 MADAME rvOLAND. Port Roy a], -whose logic and austerity agreed with Jier temper : her aversion to the Jesuit cliaracter, sophistical, evasive, and flexible, was strong and instinctive. Amono- the sects of the ancients she gave the palm to the stoics, and, like them, ab- surdly endeavoured to consider pain as no evil. In studying Descartes and Malebranche, she beheld in every animal a machine, mechanically per- forminiT its evolutions. While dcliohted with the sagacity of Helvetius, his system of self-interest excited her disgust. She persuaded herself that he delineated mankind not from nature, but as corrupted by society ; she studied him that she might not become the dupe of the world, but ■without adopting liis principles as the standard for her own actions ; she opposed to his systeip the sublime traits of history, and the virtues of its heroes. " It is thus," said she, " on the recital of a glorious deed, that I should have acted." She became a passionate admirer of republics, because it was in them that she found the most heroic actions, and the men most worthy of re- spect. She rejected, with disdain, the ideii of uniting herself to an inferior man ; and asked, with a sigh, v.hy she was not born a re])ublican ? She made, with her family, a journey to Ver- sailles, and, for one entire week, was a spectator of the court ; v.hcre her reason was oifended by MADAME ROLAND. 143 ' the homage paid to rank, and the exclusive privi- |leges of tlic great. When asked, by her mother, if she was pleased -svith her excursion — 'Yes,' [replied she, ' if it terminate speedily; but should we remain here a few days longer, I shall so per- fectly detest the people whom I see, that I shall not knoAv what to do with my hatred.' ' ^^"by, what harm do they do you ?' enquired madame Phli- pon. ' They give mc a feeling of injustice, and oblige mc every moment to contemplate ab- surdity.' She recollected Athens, where, without the spectacle of despot ism, she might have admired the fine arts : she thought of Greece, and sighed : fancy transported her to the Olympic games, and ; she lost all patience at being a Frenchwoman. Dazzled by the history of the golden periods of repixblics, she forgot their storms, their errors, and their crimes; to which she was at length fated to become a victim. ** The sphere of my ideas," says s'he, ** continually enlarged. At an early period of my life, my own happiness, and the duties to which it might be attached, occupied my mind; afterwards, the love of knowledge made me study history, and turn my thoughts to all that surrounded me : the relation of my species to the Deity, so variously represented, disfigured, and caricatured, next attracted my attention ; but the welfare of man, in society, fixed it to a dctermi- 1 44 MAD.iME I10L\XD. nate point." Amidst investigation and uncertainty the following conclusions were impressed on her mind : that individual consistency, or an entird harmony between our principles and our iactions, is necessary to personal happiness : that it is incumbent on every man, as a justice due to him- self, so to regulate his affections and habits, that he may not become the slave of any one : tha^ a being is good in itself, when all its parts concur to its preservation, its maintenance, or its per- fection; — a principle not less true in the moral, than in the physical world. She believed that the due proportion of our desires, and the harmony of the passions, formed the moral constitution, of "which wisdom only could secure the excellence and duration. That virtue and prudence, as it respected the individual, was nothing more than good sense, applied to moral purposes. But that virtue, properly so called, could spring only from the relation of a being with his fellows : " a man, therefore," said she, " is prudent as far as self is concerned, and virtuous in what regards others. In society there is no independent happiness ; there every thing is relative ; Ave sacrifice a part of our enjoyments that Ave may not rislc the whole. But even here the balance is in favour of reason. If the life of the honest is laljorious, that of the vicious is still more so : the man who stands MADAME ROLAND. U5 in opposition to the interest of the majority, ciin scldoiu be tranquil, because he is surrounded by enemies; a situation, always painful, however Jluttering in appearance. To these considerations may be added that sublime instinct, which cor- ruption may mislead, but which no sophistry can annihilate ; which impels us to admire wisdom and generosity of conduct, as we do grandeur in nature, and symmetry in the arts. These princi- jples appeared to our young philosopher, to com- prise the whole of human virtue, independent of all S3-stems, whether religious or metaphysical,' " Having combined and demonstrated these f ruths," says she, "my heart expanded with joy; they offered me a port in the stoi-m, where I could how examine with less anxiety the errors of national creeds and social institutions." — '' It was not all at once," adds she, " that I fixed myself [n this firm and peaceful seat, in Avhich, enjoyinj^ the truths demonstrated to me, I am content to emain ignorant of what cannot be known, givino- uyself no disturbance about the opinions of others. [ have here comprised, in a few words, tlie result >f the studies and meditations of several years ; n the course of which, if I have sometimes shared a the sentiments of the deist, sometimes in the ncredulity of the atheist, and sometimes in the i VOL. VI. H U6 MADAME ROLAND. sceptic's indittcrcuce, I have been alwaj's si)icerfj because I liad no inducement to cliange my faith, in order to rc-lax mv morals, A\lnch were fixed upon a foundation tliat no prejudice could shake. I therefore sometimes feit the aoitation of doubt, but never the torment of fear." Thus reasoning, mademoiselle Phlipon thought fit to conform to the established worship, and to go to confession, for the edification of her neighbour, and to preserve the peace of her mother, while she frankly declared to her confessor, that she scarcely knew of what to accuse herself, so mode- rate were her desires, and so quiet was her life. The worthy priest, who, to keej) his charge in the faith, had exhausted his library and his rhetoric, had the good sense not to complain, while he coii- tentcd himself with exhorting her to distrust the spirit of pride. Satisfied with her attendance at the hoh' table three or four times a-year, he thought proper, in a spirit of philosophical tole- ration, to give her absolution. On these occasions, mademoiselle Phlipon recollected the words of Cicero, who observes, ** that to complete the folly of mankind, with respect to the Deity, it I remained only for them to transform him into food, and then to devour him." i The abbe le Grand, the friend of her uncle, i frequently visited at the house of M. PhiipoQ. i AIADAME ROLAND. 1 if Tile abbe, ^vlio, v,ith an excellent understanding, had little of his profession besides the gown, was fond of talking Avith the daughter of his host, to whom he brouglit books and works of philosophy, tiie principles of which he discussed v.ith great ■freedom. " Philosophy," says madame Roland, ** in calling forth the powei^s of my soul, and giving firmness to my mind, did not diminish the icruples of sentiment, or the susceptibility of my imagination, against which I had reason to be so Ittuch on my guard." From morals mademoiselle Phlipon turned her attention to ]>hysics, to which irtie mathematics succeeded. She amused her- lielf with neometrv, while there was no need of al- gebra ; Avith the dryness of winch, or the absurd, contradictions in which it has been invoh'ed, she soon became disgusted. Her correspondence Avith Sophia, Avas still one of her greatest pleasures ; several journeys Avhich had been made by her friend to Paris, had draAvn closer betAveen them the bonds of amity. Thus in offices of social kindness, or in solitary studies, tfansported by her imagination to distant ages, the davs of this admirable youno; Avoman glided tran- quilly away. Sundays and holidays were devoted to bodily exercise ; to an exciu'sion in the country, or a parade in the public AA-alks. " During these walks," say:> she, " in Avhich my vanity, poAver- 148 MADAJME ROLAND. fully excited, Avas ou tlie watch for whatever might shew me off to advantage, an insupportable vacuity, uneasiness, and disgust, made the pleasure purchased seem always too dear. Accustomed to reflect, and to render to myself an account of my sensations, I encpiired into the cause of this in- quietude — Is it, said I to myself, to please the e^-e, like the flowers of a parterre, and receive a few transient praises, that persons of my sex are brought up in the practice of virtue, aad that their minds are enriched with talents ? What means this desire of pleasure, so intense, which preys iipon me, and even when it should seem that it ought to be most gratified, fails to make me happy ? W'hat are to me the admiration or the compliments of a croAvd of persons, of whom I have no knowledge, and whom, did I know, I should probably despise ? Is it to waste my ex- istence in frivolous cares, or tumultuous sensations, that I am placed in the world r No ! I have doubt- less a nobler destination. That admiration wiiich I so ardently feel for whatever is excellent, gene- rous, and exalted, tells me, that it is to practise these things I am called. The sublime and affecting du- ties of a wife and a mother will, on some future day, be mine : it is in rendering myself capable of fulfilling these, that my early years sliould be eiti- pioyed: by keeping within bounds my own inclina- MAD^UIE ROLAND. 149 tions, I shall learn to direct those of my children. By the habit of governing my passions, and by ttie care of cultivating my mind, I shall secure to tllyself the means of giving happiness to the most deligiitful of societies ; of providing for the man -who sliall deserve my heart a never-failing source of felicity, and of communicating to all about us jl portion of t!)e same bliss. Such were the thoughts that agitated my bosom. Overcome by my emo- tion, I shed a flood of tears, while my heart ex- alted itself to the supreme Intelligence, the princi- ple of thought, and the source of sentiment — ' Oh, thou, who hast placed me on the earth, enable me to fulfil my destination, in the manner most conformable to thy will, and most beneficial to my fellow-creatures !' This unaffected prayer, simple as the heart that dictated it, is now my only one. In the tumult of the world, in the depths of the dungeon, I have pronounced it with equal fervor. I have pronounced it with trans- port in tlte most briUiant circumstances of my life. I" repeat it, in fetters, with resignation. — Per- suaded that, in the course of these things, there 'aire events which human Avisdom cannot prevent ; and convinced that the most calamitous are im- potent to overturn the firm mind ; that peace at home, and submission to necessity, are the elc- H 3 i.'^O MADAM }•; IUM,Ai\D. UKMits of liappiiu'ss, iind const ituto t^4o•t^uo^in•«^ tU'jjcnileiJCC ol thf Iicjo ;iiui tho sjilfnf.'? In the coiintrv, inadornoisclic IMiliiiO/ii iouiid' objects lufm- analogous to licr turn of njiiul, to Ik r titiulcr and serious tiMDjar. IiiiIk! wiUI woods c»f» Mi-udoii, iiinidst its avniiu^s ol piiu's luwl. lower- ing tre«:s, sIjc expeririieed, aceompanicd by her/ parents, her sweetest recreation and most tlclifrht- lid moments. At tivi; o'clock on a Sunday in way, t!i(!y breakfasted on a bowl of milk, anci, Kti the lodgi! of one of the porters in the])urkj took, their humble diniur, rendered delicious by excr-; cise and temperance. " Delighttnl iVleudon,"ex-' claims madame lioland, in iier Memoirs, *' how. often, beneath thy reiVcshinii,' sliade, have I b!ess-t ed the Author of mv existcjice, desiring what, at) jioine future period, might render it complete. JJitt this desire was wiliiout impatience; it was tVal chtiruiinjjj si ulinuMit that .erves to p,ild, with the rays of hope, the clouds of futurity. lTo>\' did; I love to rest jn\'sc If under the lofty trees, bor- deriiii;- the glades, iJjrough whicli the swift and MADAMJ': HOI, AND. ^"'^ (imid doe hoiiniU-d aloiipj ! 1 recollect also ih.-inoro! 'nbre spots, whitlicr ^vc rctii-cMl (Imhii;.!, tlu- lii-al oi the day. 'I'Iktc, while my father bti-etched on the tint', :uid my motiici- softly reclined on a heup of leaves, which I had collected for the pnri)0.ic, ijoyed their ufteruooM\s repose, did 1 contem- plate the majesty of thy hilent groves, admire the I beauticH of nature, and adore the Providence xvhosc benefits 1 felt. The glow of sentiment 1 Jjei^htencd the colour of my humid cheeks, while my heart enjoyed all the delights of a terrestiial 1 puradi.se!" Happy thoi;e, whose pure and mule- bauched minds are susceptible of these ex4uisile and simple pleasures! An account of her excursions, and tiie sinli- ineuts which they excited, found thi ir way into the letters of mademoiselle Phlipon to her friend, sometimes in prose, and sonu times interniin^led with verse ; the easy and liappy eflusions of a mind to which " all was pictuie, life, and liap[)i- iiess." Such, oh nature and virtue ! su(di are thy ciiarms, and such thy rewards ! From .So{)hia she received, in return, a description of the person* with whom she associated at, Ami(M)s, and a sketch of their characters, by which she was etiabled ta judge of their treneral insif^nilieanci;. It appeared to her, on strikino- a balance at the eiul of the o II 4 1.-52 MADAME ROLAND. year, that, in her solitude, she had seen in'ofe persons of merit, tlian had her friend amidst routs and assemblies. This, perhaps, may be ac- counted for, from the profession of her father as an artist, and from his residence in the capital. The situation of Sophia, at Amiens, among pro- vincial gentry, and commercial men, in haste to acquire wealth, Avas less advantageous. The cir- cumstances in which mademoiselle Phlipon was placed, her education, her studies, by making heir feel the injustice, or observe the folly, of a vai^icty of privileges, and political distinctions, combined to awaken in her mind a republican ardour, and to prepare her for the part she afterwards per- formed. In all her readings she was the champion^ of democracy ; at Sparta, Agis and Cleomenes were her heroes, and the Gracchi at Rome. '* I retired," says she, *' with the plebeians to the Aventine-hill, and gave my vote to the tribunes." She candidly adds — " Now that experience has taught me impartiality, I see, in the enterprise o£ tiie Gracchi, and in the conduct of the tribune?, crimes and mischiefs of which I was not then aware." When present at the spectacles Avhicli the capital so frequently afforded, she compared, with grief, this parade and luxury with the ab- ject misery of the degraded populace, Avho wor-* shipped idols of their own makii^g, and applauded MADAME ROLAND. 153 the ostentation for wliich they paid hy the sacri- tice of the necessaries of life. Tiie dissokite con- (Uict of the court, and that contempt of morality Avhicli pervaded all ranks, filled her with surprise and indignation. She perceived not in these ex- cesses the eerms of revolution. While the French lauQ-hcd and suno^ at their own miseries, she con- ceivcd the English justified in regarding them as ( hildrcn. She attached herself to those neigh- bours ; de Lolmc had famiharised her with their constitution ; she sought an acquaintance with their literature, Avhich she yet only studied through the medium of translations. About this period, having completed her eight- eenth year, she caught the small-pox, her par- ents having unfortunately cherished prejudices asrainst inoculation. The aft'ectinGr solicitude of her mother, on this occasion, made an indelible im- pression on her a(fectionate heart. She recovei-ed slowly, after severe suffering and inmiinent dan- ger, though without any detriment to her beauty: the disorder, Avliich had been combined with a i . ! putrid and miliary fever, the eruption of which had checked the pustules, left behind it no ves- tiges. The doctor, finding, in one of his visits, the Rtcherche dc la Verite of Malbranohe laying on the bed of his patient, chid her for wasting her H 5 154 MADAME ROLAND. spirits at such a time in studv. * ^Vliy, my good sir,' replied she, * did all vouv patients thus amuse themselves, instead of crettinjj anyrv with the dis- ease and the doctor, you woidd have much less to do.' Some jicrsons in the chamber were con- versing on public affairs ; all Paris was running, they said, to some new loan, or edict, which had justappeared. ' The French,' observed the' doe- tor, ' take all upon trust. ^ * Say rather,' replied his patient, ' upon appearances P * True,' said lie, * the expression is just and profound.' ' Do n't chide mc then for reading Malbranche,' answered she eagerly ; ' you see my time is not tluoAvn away.' An excursion to the country being neecssoi'V, for the rc-estabhshment of her health, mademoi- selle Phlipon repaired to the liouse of her rela- tious, M. and madamc Bernard, with whom two years before she had passed a month. This situ-j ation was particularly calculated to fix her attcn-r tion on the vices of civilised life. Madame Ber- nard had married the steward of n fermier-gcne- ral, wliose house she superintended. This man, when dying, had left a large fortune to his son,,, who lived at a great expence, and Avho spent a small part of the 3'ear at liis chateau at Soucj/f ■ whither he carried the manners of the town.. With a view of keeping his estate in order, he .MADAME ROLAND. 155 liad rccjucstod M. and uiadatne Bernard to lodge there during a part of tlie summer. They were well accommodated, and enjoyed the pleasures of a- park, whose Avildness formed an agreeable con- trast with the gardens and the chateau. The sis- ter-in-law and step-mother of its owner resided with him, and did tlie honours of the house. To tliis family mademoiselle Phlipon was introdnced, and, to a mind like hers, their haughty conde-- scension and insigniticant character, their luxury, caprice, and extravagance, could not fail of afford- ing materials for reflection. Sac recollected, on ^»is occasion, the expression of Montesquieu, ** That financiers sujjport the state as the cord supports the criminal." ,, In the little library of her relations, she found the works of Puffendorf, the poems of Bernis, and a life of the English Cromwell. She observes,- tjiat in the nudtitudc of books Avhich chance or circimistances threw in her way, she had not vet met with the writings of Rousseau. *' The truth is," adds she, " I read him late, and it was AvelL for me that I did so : he would have turned my brain, and I should have read nothing else." Her mother, she had reason to believe, kept his Avrit- ings out of her way : she had given no oppositioa to her critical and philosophical researches, how- ever bold or free j but slie sagely concluded; that l.'>6 MADA^IE ROLAND, to a heart so susceptible, stimulants were not ne- cessary. AVitli the ::-ame ideas, she opposed her application to painting and music. " As to me," says this amiable daughter, " I was so much ac- customed to love her person, and to respect her decisions, that I never importuned her on any subject. Beside, study, in general, afforded me so large a field of occupation, that I was a stranger to the pain of ennui. When I become a mother, in my turn, said I to myself, it will be my busi- ness to make use of what I have acquired ; I shall then have no leisure for farther studies : I was earnest to turn my time to account, and afraid of losint; a sinijle moment." Though living in a narrow sphere, and in com- parative solitude, mademoiselle Phlipon, on the. confines of the great world, saw a variety of ob- jects, on which she had leisure to observe. At eighteen years of age, she had been only once to the opera, and once to the Theatre Fraiw cais. She was sometimes taken by her father to the inferior theatres, where the mediocrity of the performance inspired her with disgust, and made her content with studying, in her closet, tlie works of the great masters of the drama. Ilappil}' placed out of the vortex of dissipation, and at a distance from temptation, v.ith her mind busily employed^ her principles took deep root, and her virtues ac- MADAME ROLAND. 157 qiiired an habitual firmness. Thus progressively advancing in every valuable attainment, she had reached that critical period when new duties and new prospects expanded themselves before her. The propriety of her conduct, the reputation of her fine qualities, an agreeable person, and the bloom of youth, procured her a variety of suitors, who sought to obtain her favour, and the appro- bation of her parents. These offers frequently involved her in disputes with her father, Avho, » esteeming commerce as the source of riches, espoused the cause of those whose actual posses- sions, or hopes of acquiring property, promised his daughter an advantageous establishment. The youno: ladv, less solicitous on this subject, occu- pied by her studies, happy at home, and detesting trade asihe foundation of avarice and fraud, uni- formly persisted in rejecting her mercantile ad- mirers. *' My father," says she, " was sensible that I could not accept an artisan, properly so called ; his vanity would not suffer him to enter- tain such an idea of life : but the elegant jeweller, who touches nothing but fine things, from which he dierives great profits, appeared to him a suitable match, more especially when already established in business, and in a fair way of making a for- tune. But the mind of the jeweller, no less than that of the mercer, whom he looks up'on as be- i5S MAD.VME ROLAND. neatli him, and also of the rich woollen-draper, who regards liiaiseli' as superior to both, appeared to me to be alike ent^rossed by the lust of gold, and by mercenary calculations and manoeuvres. Such men nmst necessarily be strangers to thos6 elevated ideas and refined sentiments by a\ hich I appreciated existence ; occupied from my infancy in considerintv tlie relations of man in societv> brought up in the strictest moralitv, and famili- arised with the noblest models, had I then, I asked myself, lived with Plutarch and the philosophers to no better purpose than to connect myself for life with a petty shopkeeper, incapable of euter^ ing into my ideas, or of justly a]jprt:ciating my yalae." ' Tell me,' said her father, in a con- versation upon this subjpct, * who it is that will suit you ?' * Tell, me also,' replied she, ' why, in bringing me up, you tanght me to think, and suflfered me to contract habits of .study. I know not what kind of a man I shall marry, I know, only, it must be- one who can share my senti- ments, and to whom I can communicate my thoughts.' ' There aj-e commercial men who possess both pohtencss and information.' ' Yes,, but not of the kind I want : their politeness con- sists in a few phrases and bows, and their know- ledge relates to the strong box, and would assist jne .but little in the (education of my children.' MADAME ROLAND/ 159 * You might educate them yourself.' ' The task would appear laborious, if not shared by the mart U whom they vould owe their existence.' * Do you suppose that rEmperair's wiich not happy? sThey have just retired from business, ure buying eiipital places, keep an .excellent house, and re- ceive the best company.' ' I am no judge of the happiness of other people ; but my own af- fections are not fixed upon riches. I conceive that the strictest union of hearts is necessary tO' conjugal fehcitv; nor can I connect myself Avith a man who docs not resemble me. My husband must even be my superior; for, since both na- ture and the laws give him pre-eminence, I should he- ashamed of him if he did not in reality deserve it.'' * You want a counsellor I suppose?. But ■vjomen are not very happy Avith thc^ic lejirned wentlemen ; they have a great deal of pride, and very little money.' ' My God, sir! I do not judge of a mans merit by his cloth, nor hfive I ever told. you that I affect such or. such, a profession; I want a man I can love.' * And, according to vou, such a man is not to be found in trade ?' ' 1 confess, I do nol think it probable. I have never seen a tradesman to my liking ; ^nd the profession itself is my aver^sion.' ' It is however a pleasant thing for a woman to sit at her ease, in her own apartments, while her husband ib carry;- 160 IVIADAME ROLAND. ing on a lucrative commerce. Now, tliere is ma- dame d'Argens, &c. &.c,' * But, my father, I have too well perceived, that the only May to make a fortune in trade, is by selling do:ir what you have bought cheap, by overcharging the cus- tomer, and beating down the poor workman. I should never be able to descend to such practices, nor to respect a man w^hose occupation they were. It is my wish to be a virtuous wife ; but how should I be faithful to a husband who would hold no place in my esteem ; even admitting the possibility of my marr3'ing such a man. Selling diamonds and selling pastry seem to me nearly the same thing ; excepting, indeed, that the latter has a fixed price, and, if it soils the fingers more, requires less deceit. I have no preference be- tween them.' ' Do yon then suppose that there are no ht)ncst tradesmen ?' ' I Avill not absolutely affirm it ; but I am persuaded the number is small ; and tlic few who are honest possess not all I re- quire in a husband.' ' You are extremely fasti- dious, methinks; but if you should not find the idol of yoiir imagination ?' * I will die a piaid !' * That would, perhaps, be a harder tusk than you imagine : ennui will come at last ; the crowd- will be gone by ; you know the fable.' * Oh ! I would take my revenge, by desetxing Jiappinessy from the very injustice that would rob me of it. MADAME ROLAND. 1^1 -^<» I experienced," said she, <' a slight sensation of melancholy, when, on casting my eyes about me, I could perceive nothing suitable to my taste. But tfic feeling soon subsided. I was sensible of my present comforts, and, over futurity, hope I threw its enlivening beams. It was the plenitude jof happiness overflowing its banks, and clearing |awav from my future prospects every thing un- pleasant." A young physician, from the south, well edu- cated, of- a lively disposition, and some talents, made his pretensions. ' Well,' said madame Phli- pon to her daughter, in a tone of tender enquiiy, j * what think you of this man ? Will he suit you ? i* My dear mother, it is impossible for me yet to tell. Gardarme, with his three tails, his medical look, his southern accent, and his black eyebrows, seems more likely to allay than to excite a fever.* j* But you can certainly tell whether he has in-* spired you with dislike.' * Neither dislike nor in- clination : which of the two may come hereafter I cannot say.' * We ought to know, however, what answer to give when a proposal shall be made in form.' * Is the answer to be binding ?* * Assuredlv, if we pass our word to a decent man> ^▼e must adhere to it.' ' And, if I should not like liim ?' ' A reasonable young woman, not actu- ated by caprice, after having once maturely weigh- l6'2 M^VDAME KOLAND. ed the motives that cletermirre her in so important a resolution, Avill never change her mind.' ' I am to decide then upon the strength of a single inter* view.' * Not exactly that ; the intimacy of M. de Gardanne -with our family enables us to judge of his conduct and way of life ; and, by means of a little en(]uiry, we shall easily learn his disposi- tion. These are principal points — the sight of the person is of much less moment,* ' Ah, mamnui, I am in no haste to marry.' * I believe it, daugli- ter ; but, at some time or other, vou must settle yourself in the world ; and you have now attained the proper age. Yoa hare refused offers from many tradesmen, and they are the people from wliom your situation makes offers the most likely to come. You seem determined not to m.arry a man in business : the present match is in every ex- ternal point of view suitable. Take care then not to reject it too lightly.' * It appears to me there is time enough yet to tlnnk about it. M. Gar- danne is not, perhaps, himself decided, since it is certain he has seen me but once.' ' ' True, but if that is your only excuse, it possibly may not be of long duration. Revolve the matter in your mind, and two days hence let me know your opi- nion.' Thus ended the dialogue, when her mo- her kissed her forehead, and left her to reflec- tion. MAD/BIB ROLAND-. 1 63 Ihe^ic argamcutsi.made ou tlic laind of licr tO( Avljom they ,yv'cr^ addressed sonic impression, they I least determined her not to form a precipitate touchision., ;A second interview with M. de Gar- dannc madp, hdyvevej', hut httle difference in her fepHngs. Her I mother, from some ohservations that she l^ajijuade, beheved that she saw, in the suitor of 1>^' -^daughter, symptoms of an imperious dis- posivipii ; a discovery that failed to alarm the phi- • l.(>;><;>phipal ■ Manon, ,w,ho, accustomed to watch over herself, to regulate her affections, and to re- strain her im.igination, and impressed witli a strong sense of the rigour and sublimity of the duties of a wife, was not aware of the unportance of tem})er to domestic happiness. " I reasoned like a re- cluse," says she, " equally a stranger to the pas- sions and to mankind. I took my own tranquil, affectionate, generous, and candid, heart, as a com- mon measure of the moral qualities of my spe- cies." This connection had nearly tal^en place, b lit the minute enquiries of M. Phlipon respect- ing his intended son-in-law gave offence ; M. Gar- danne complained of this inquisitorial scrutiny : mademoiselle Phlipon seized the opportunity with eagerness to dissolve the engagement, and an end jvas put to the negociation. ■■ The young ladv re- joiced in her escape, and her mother, \vl;o had id MADAME ROLAND. been alarmed by the vehemence of the lover's re- monstrances, readily acqiucsced in the decisions^ of her duufrhtcr. The health of madamc Phlipon began to de- cline ; she had a stroke of the palsy, ^vhich, witli atlcctionate fraud, she represented to her daughter as a rheumatic affection : the precarious tenure ©f her life rendered her doubly anxious for that daughter's establishment. One day, in particular, she urged her with melancholy earnestness to ac- cept an honest jeweller, who demanded her hand. • Kc has in his favour,' said she, * great reputa- tion for integrity, habits of sobriety, and mildness of disposition, with an easy fortune, which may become brilliant. He knows that yours is no common mind, professes great respect for 3''ou, and will be proud of following your advice. You might lead him any way you like.' ' Whv, mam- ma, 1 do not want a husband who is to be led ; he would be too cumbersome a child for me.' * Do you know that 3-ou are a very whimsical girl ? For, after ail, you would not like a master.' * My dear mother, let us understand each other : I should not like a man who would give himself airs of authority ; he would only teach me to re- sist ; but, neither should I like a husl)and whom it woulil be necessary to govern. Either I am greatly mistaken, or these bemgs, five foot and MADAME ROLAND. 16;) a half high, with beards upon their chins, sel- dom fail to make us perceive that they are the stronner. Now, if the good man sliould think proper to remind me of that su])enority, he would provoke me; and, if he should submit to be go- verned, I should be ashamed of my power.' * I understand you ; you would like a man to think himself the master, while obeying you in every thintr.' * No, it is not that neither : I hate servi- tude, but I do not think myself made for empire ; it would only embarrass me ; my reason fmds it quite enough to take care of myself. I should wish to gain tlie alTections of a man so completely Avorthy of my esteem, that I might be proud of my complaisance ; of a man who would make his happiness consist in contributing to mine, in the way that his good sense and affection might think meet.* * Happiness, daughter, does not always consist in that perfect conformity of ideas and af- fections which you imagine : Avcre it so, a happy couple would be a phenomenon.' * Neither do I know any whose happiness I envy.* * Perhaps so ; but still, among those matches, there may be many preferable to a life of celibacy.* This af- fectionate mother Avent on to hint at the probabi- lity of her own decease, of its consequences to her daughter, and her anxiety to see her, before that event., the wife of a worthy man. These 166 MADAME ROLAND. imno^es overxvholmed mademoiselle Plilipon %vith firriof, and drew from her a flood ot- tears. * What/ said her mother, smilinir, * you nre alarntred, as if, in taking our resolutions, vrc oui;ht not to calcn- Jate all possihle chances. An honest Svorthy man ofiers yon his hand ; you are turned of twenty, and Mill no longer see so many suitors as have, during the last five years, paid you their homage. 1 may be snatclied away, do not then reject a liusband, who lias not, it is true, the delicacy on wliich 5'ou set so great a value — a quality rare, even where we look for it most : but he is a man who will love you, and with whom you maybe liappy,' * Yes, mamma,' replied she with a sigh, * happy as you have been.' Madame Phlipon, disconcerted at this remark, remauied silent, nor from that moment renewed the subject. '* A stranger," observes her daughter, " might, at the first glance, have perceived the great difference between my father and mother ; but who, like me, could /t-eZ all the excellence of the latter? I had not, however, fully calculated all she must have had to suffer. Accustomed from my child- hood to sec the most profound peace ])revail in the house, I could not judge of the effoi ts it might cost to maintain it." During later periods of her life, mademoiselle ]*hJLipon was more quick-sighted j she l)ad gained IMADAME ROLAND. 107 an ascendancy over licr father, of wliich she al- ways availed herself in favour of her uiothcr : but, in private, not a word passed between the mo- ther and daughter on the subject : respcctinvjth labour, and the thirst of riches made him set every thing at hazard. As his art was less exercised, his talents diminished ; while an irre- gular life impaired his faculties: his sight became weak, and his hand tremulous. His pupils, with- out the superintendance of their master, were less capable of supplying his place ; it became necessary to diminish their number, and the tide of business turned into other channels. These changes had gradually taken place; madame Phli- pon perceived them, and grew pensive ; some- 16« MADAME ROLAND. times she impert'ectiy intiiniitcd the state of affairs to her (.lau<>liter, who concealed the observations she had made, lest they should add to tlie in- quietude of a mother Avhom she tenderly loved. Thus clouds gathered over their domestic happi- ness ; and, though the peace of the family ap- peared unchanged, its cheerfulness and confidence was no more. Madame Phlipon had, for more than a year, been declining in her health : after various reme- dies, administered by the physicians in vain, they prescribed exercise, of uhich she -was no longer cap.-ble, and country air. Just before Whitsun- tide, 1115, it -was agreed that the family should pass the holydtiys at Meudon. Madame Phlipon appeared relieved by this little excursion, and resumed a portion of her accustomed activity. Her daug})ter, on their return to town, proposed a visit to the convent, -.^Itere she had promised, after the holydays, to call on her friends. At the moment of setting out, her mother, a little fatigued by the exertions of the preceding day, declined accompanying her : mademoiselle Phlipon would t])en have broken her engagement, but tliis her mother would not permit. Her visit to the con- vent was short. * Why are you in such liaste r' said her friend, St. Agatha ; * does any one expect you.* * No, but I am anxious to return to my MADAME llOLAND. l6p inollior.' ' ^^'hv, voii told mc she vas better ?* * i did so ; nor does she expect ine so soon : but I know not what it is that torments me ; I shall not he c;isy till I sec lier again.' " On saying this," says she, '* 1 felt my heart swell, as it were, in despite of me," On the suhject of these prcscniimcntSy to which, on otlier occasions, inadame Roland alludes in her Memoirs, she justly observes, that they can |hc notliing more than rapid glances, caught by persons of quick perception and excpiisite feel- 'ings, of ft multitude of things, in themselves un- jdefinahle and scarcely perceptible, which are felt rather tlian understood; and whence an emo- tion results, for which, at tiie time, it Avould be kVdHcidt to accmuit, although aftei:ward3 justified Iby the event. This perception is lively in pro- iportion to our sensibility, and to our interest in the object of our anxiety. j On the return of mademois(;lle Phlipon, who had hurried from the convent, she found, standinf |at the door of the house, a little girl, the child of la neighbour, who exclaimed on her approach : * Ah, mademoiselle ! your uianmm is taken very ill ; she has sent for my mother, who is gone up stairs with her to her apartment.' Struck with terror, she uttered, in reply, some iniaticulate sounds, VOL. VI. I j;o MADAME ROLAND. and rushed towards her mother's chamber. Slie found her reehiiingin an arm-chair, her head fallen on her shoulder, her eyes wild, her mouth open, and her arms hanging hfelcss. Her countenance brightened on seeing her daughter, while she spoke -with difficulty a few half-formed words. Slie made an effort to raise her arms, but one only obeyed the impulse. Laying her hand on the face of her daughter, she wiped away the tears with which it was bedewed, tapped her gently on the cheek, and tried to smile. Again she endea- voured to speak: vain attempt ! palsy had annihilated half her frame. Mademoiselle Phlipon, overwhelm- ed Avith grief, had in an instant dispatched mes- sengers for her father and the physician, while she flew herself to a neighbouring apothecary. The disorder increased with a rapid and dreadfid pro- gress, while the short and convulsive breathing of the invalid indicated approaching dissolution. Her daughter, with excessive activity, ordered every thing ; and, before it. could be done by others, did every thing herself. At ten in the evening, the physician, taking aside ]\I. Phlipon, proposed to send for a priest, who, according to the forms of the catholic church, might ailminister to tlie patient extreme unction. Mademoiselle l^hl'pon, standing with a light, which slie hckl mechanieally at the bed's-feet of her dying MADAME ROLANT), 171 mother, appeared as if in a stupor, a waking and terrible dream, that suspended all her facul- lics. Her eyes Avere fixed on one spot, her I heart was occupied by one sentiment. At length, letting the candle fall from -her hand, she fell vsensclcss on the floor. On her recoverv, she found herself in the parlour, surrounded by the familv. Turning her eyes towards the door, she rose from her seat, and, with siipplicating gestures, while she was Ijeld back, implored permission to return to the chamber of lier mother. The con- straint wliicli was opposed to her, and the mourn- ful silence that prevailed, but too well expressed that ail was over. Iler father at that instant icntcred the room, pale and speechless with sorrow. His apjiearance drew forth a general exclamation I lof grief. His daughter, in a sort of frenzy, broke jfrom those who withheld her, and rushed im- petuously forth. Having reached the chamber, , jshe threw herself on the bed of her mother, in a transport of anguish and despair. It was with difficultv, after acting a thousand extravagances, jthat she was separated from the corpse, and carried into the house of a neighbour, wiience her relation, M. Besuard, took her in a carriage and onveved her to his own. She fainted on alio-ht- iig, and being put to bed, passed a fortnight be- 12 l;2 IklADAME ROLAND. tween life and death, in torrible convulsions; struoirlino- Avith a continued sense of suflbcation. A stronp^ constitution, and tlie unwearied atten- tions which she received from her relations, corild only have preserved her from falling a victim in this fust trial of sorrow. l''-i«>ht days elapsed be- fore she experienced the relief of tears, the sluices of which were at lenp,th openi'd by a letter from Sophia ; the soothinp; tenderness, of friendship recalled her facidtics, and melted, while it con- soled, her heart: it produced an efl'ect which the \\clf, by tlie loss of my mothcrj com- pletely an orphan: mv father could never under- t stand me : a new kind of «p;rief oppressed my afflicted heart : I fell a<^ain into the deepest de- spair. The teiirs and sorrows of my worthy relations, however, still ofl'ered me occasions of tender emotion ; they had their etfect, and I was snatched from the perils that threatened my ex- istence. Why, alas 1 did it not then terminate ? It was n\y first affliction \ by how many others has ! it been followed !" jNIudamc Phlipon was only fifty years of age, •vvhcn an imposthumc in her head, wliich had long been forming, and which discovered itself, after her decease, by tlie liux that took place through her nose and ^ears, put an end to her existence. *^ On the day that she Avas snatched fronj me," says her daughter, " I left her, at three o'clock in the afternoon, ap]>arently well. 1 returned at half past five. She had been struck with the p^ilsv. At midnight she no longer appertained to me. Feeble toys of a ])itvless destinv ! why are such lively sentiments, and projects so grand, 'Connected with an existence so frail r" The cha- racter of the deceased had been more an)iable than brilliant. " Naturally wise and good," observes 'her daughter, *' virtue did not seem to cost her i3 i74 MADAME ROLAND. any effort ; aJae knew how to render it mild nnd easy like herself. Prudent and calm, tender without pas- sion, her pure and tranquil spirit respired gently, as flows the docile stream, that bathes with equal com- placence the valley which it embellishes, and the foot of the rock by which it is restrained." With a temperament sanguine and ardent, like that of ma- demoiselle Phlipon, most fortunate for her youth was the possession of such an instructress. * It is charming,' said the abbe Legrand, mourn- fully, at the bed-side of this affectionate daughter, whom he came to visit at the house of her relations— * It is charming to possess sensibility, but unfortu- nate to have so much of it !' As mademoiselle Phlipon began to recover, her kind friends were eager to receive in succession the persons who came to visit her, in the hope of diverting the melancholy that had seized her spirits. " I seemed not to exist," says she, " in the world where I was placed. Ab- sorbed in grief, I scarcely paid attention to what was passing around me. Recalling by starts the frightful idea of my loss, shrieks all on a sudden would escape me, my outstretched arms stiflened, and I swooned away." During the intervals of these transports, she re- collected the cares and the kindness of Iier relations, and sought to alleviate their concern and anxiety. The abbe Legrand talked to her of her mother, in MADAME ROLAND, 17^1 ortler to vouse her attention, and to lead her insensi- bility to other objects and ideas. When he believed her sulTicicntly recovered to attend to a book, he brought to her the celebrated Ileloise of Rousseau. « The perusal of this," says she, " was my first employment. I was then twenty-one years of age ; 1 had read a great deal j I was acquainted with a considerable number of writers, historians, learned men, and philosophers ; but Rousseau made on me an impression similar to that which Plutarch had done when I was eight years of age. It appeared to me that this was the proper food for my mind, and the interpreter of those ideas which I had before entertained, but which Rousseau alone knew how to explain to me. Plutarch had prepared me to be- come a republican •, had roused that strength and grandeur of character by which a republican is con- stituted; had inspired me with a real enthusiasm for public virtue and liberty. Rousseau pointed out to me the domestic happiness to which I could aspire, the ineflPiible enjoyments I was capable of tasting. Ah ! if he is able to protect me from follies, could he arm me against a passion ? Amidst the corrupt age in which I was destined to live, and the revolu- tion which I was then far from anticipating, I ac- quired beforehand all that could render me capable oi great sap rifices, and expose me to great misfor- 1 4 ire MADANfK ROLAXl). tunes. Death will only be to me the term of botli. I expect it ; nor would I have filled the short interval which separates me from it wltli tiie recital of my private history, had calumny not dragged me upon the stage, lor the purpose of mailing on those wliom sh.e would ruin a more cruel attack. I love to pub- lish truths, that interest not myself alone j and I Wish to conceal none, that their connection may serve towards their demonstration." The return to her father's was a new trial for the affectionate sensibility of mademoiselle Phlipon. They had taken the ill-judged precaution of remov- ing her mother's portrait, as if the place where it had hung would not more painfully recal her loss. She instantly demanded it, and it was restored to its situation. The domestic cares now devolved on mademoiselle Phlipon. " I have never been able to comprehend," observes she, " how these cares can absorb the attention of a woman, however consider- able may be her household, who possesses method and activity -, a little vigilance, and a wise distribu- tion of employments, are all that is necessary*. Lei- * Madame Roland's acquaintance with her sex could not have bc-jn very extensive. lias their education been such that we may reasonably expect from them method, artivity, vigilance, and wisdom ? Alas, no I These are great qualities, and rarely combined. MADAME ROLAND. 177 sure," adds she, " will always be found by persons w ho know how to employ their time. 'I'hose who want time arc the people who do nothing. Nor is it surprising that women who receive and pay use- loss visits, or think themselves ill dressed unless many hours are consecrated to the science, find their days long from mere lassitude, and yet too short for xhc performance of their duties." The studies of mademoiselle Phlipon became t'vcry day more dear to her, and constituted her bnly consolation. " Left more than ever by my- !self," says she, " and often in a melancholy hu- niour, I felt the necessity of writing. I loved to Render to myself an account of my own ideas, and to enlighten them by the intervention of my pen.. When not employed in this way, I revised still more than I meditated. I pursued a chain of reasoning, I land by these means bridled my imagination." She entitled her performances, of which she began to bake some collections, " The Works of Leisure. Hours, and different Reflections." Her intention I ^ras by this means to nx her opinions, and to possess ! ia register of her sentiments and the progress of her ijTiind. " Never," says she, " did I feel the slightest temptation to become an author. I perceived, at a rery early period, that a wornan who acquire^ this title, loses more than she gains. The men do not I 5 178 MADAME ROLAND. like,' and her own sex criticise, her. If her works are bad, she is ridiculed -, if good, she is bereaved of the reputation annexed to them. If the pubHc are forced to acknowledge that she has talents, they sift her character, her morals, her conduct, and balance the reputation of her genius by the publicity which they give to her errors*. Beside," adds she, with truth, " my happiness was my chief concern, and I perceived that the public never interfered with the happiness of any one without marring it. Ah, my God ! what an injury did those persons do to me, who took it upon them to withdraw the veil under which I loved to remain concealed. During twelve yea'rs of my life, I have laboured along with my husband in the same manner as I ate with him, be- cause the one was as natural to me as the other. During his administration, if it was necessary to express great or striking truths, I employed the whole bent of my mind ; that its efforts should be preferable to those of a secretary, was but natural. I loved my country f ; 1 was an enthusiabt in tliie * Madame Roland might have addtd, And if they can- not find any real blcmishcr. in her conduct, they arc inge- nious to substitute fiction for facts ; the more absurd, the more credible .ind the more eagerly received. f FicWe people, and frivolous as liphl ! unworthy of tbe sacrifices that have been rriade for them .' MADATNIE ROLAND. 179 •-«ausc of liberty ; I was unacquainted with any in- /terest, or with any passions, that could enter into .competition with these; and my laiiguage, which /was that of the heart and of truth, ought to have been pure and pathetic." But to return. Monsieur Phlipon, for some time after the death of his wife, endeavoured to remain more at home witli his daughter -, but of this constraint he soon became weary. The means of rendering his house agreeable to him, by drawing a circle of acquaint- i ance round him, were not in her power, since J she had no other society than that of her old re- I lations. " If I wished to converse with him," said j she, " we had but few ideas in common, and he i then probably hankered after a mode of life, with I which he did not wish that I should become &c- j quainted. Become a widower at the vei"y moment I when he stood in need of new chains to confine ! him at home, my poor father kept a mistress, that I he might not present to his daughter a step-mother : he had recourse to play to indemnify himself for the loss of business ; and, without ceasing to be an honest man, he ruined himself insensibly, and with- ' out making any noise." ihe relations of mademoiselle Fhlipon, confiding in her father's afFection for her, believed that to his guardianship her interest might safely be entrusted. If she felt tlie contrary, filial delicacy and respect /i ISO MxlDAME ROLAND. kept lier silent. " Behold me then," says slie, " alone in the house, my time divided between my work and my studies." Her servant, a little woman, lively and gay, and fifty-five years of age, attached herself to a mistress who rendered her life hap}">y and comfortable. This woman attended lier, dur- ing die absence of her father, in her walks abroad, which seldom extended beyond the church, or the residence of her relations. " I carried with me to church," says she, " if not tlie tender piety I for- merly possessed, at least a sufliciency of decency and recollection. I no longer accompanied the ordi- nary of the mass. I read some christian work : I had preserved a great passion for St. Augustine ; and as- suredly, there are fathers of the church whom one may peruse without being devout : there is food in them both for the heart and the mind." Mademoiselle Phlipon wished to study the elo- quence of the pulpit, and for this purpose to go through a course of .sermons. With Bossuet and Flecliier she was already acquainted ; Bourdaloue and Massillon followed. In the memorandum-book of this young philosopher might be seen the names of these celebrated divines by the side of those of Paw, of Raynal, and the author of the System o£ Nature. Unfettered by systems, trutli and improve- ment were the objects of her pursuit. From read- ing sermons, a natural transition, ^he passed to com* MAD amp: ROLAND. 18l posiug oiic. Wearied with the constant recurrence o;f mysteries, she determined to draw up a moral discourse, in which the incarnation and the devil should not be mentioned. She took for her subject, the hve of her neighbour. Her little uncle, become a canon of Vincennes, whom she amused with her performance, blamed her for not taking up this em- ployment earlier, that he might have availed himself of her talent. The grief and sensibility displayed by mademoiselle Phlipon at the death of her mother, attracted no- tice, and procured her many marks of regard. M. de Boismorel, whom she had not seen since his visits at her grandmother's, came to pay his respects to her at the house of her father. He repeated his visit, during her absence from home, and was taken by her father into her little apartment, on a table in ! which her compositions were lying. Monsieur Phlipon, proud of the genius of his daughter, talked to his guest of her studies, and, having excited his 'curiosity, took upon himself to gratify it by com- municating to him some of her writings. Made- moiselle Phlipon was, on her return, on learning what had passed, displeased and ofFended. But her anger was appeased the next day, by the receipt of a well-written letter from M. Boismorel, with an offer of the use of his librar-V) expressed in the most obliging and flattering terms. A correspondr 182 MADAME ROLAND. ence, from this incident, commenced between tliera, which nfforded to our young student both iri^trlictitm -and pleasure. -".o' , A visit to the family of M. Boismorel followed, who resided in a charming house, ne^r thSbahk*-of the Seine, at n little distance frotn Paris'.^ Macte- moiselle Phlipon and her fathet* were Tt'ceived by the ladies of the family in a summer saloon. * How well your dear daughter looks !' excbimed the mo- ther of M. Boismorel, whom the reader may pro- bably recollect ; * but, do you know, that my son is enchanted with her ? Tell mc, mademoiselle, do you not wish to be married r' * Others have already thought for me on that subject, madam, but I have not as yet seen reason to come to any determination.* * You arc difhcult, I suppose ; have you any repug- nance to a man of a certain age ?' * The know- ledge I might have of a person would only deter- mine my attachment, my refusal, or my acceptance.' * Those kinds of marriages have most solidity ; a young man often escapes through our fingers, when one thinks him most attached. — She is dressed with taste,* observed the old lady, turning to her daughter-in-law. * Ah, extremely well, and with so much modesty !' replied the young lady, who was a devotee, and whose agreeable face was shaded with the curls of her hair, disposed with much nicety and art. * How difFeieiit/ added she, ' from tliat MADAME ROLAND. 183 rullculous mass of pliuru^ge we sec fluttering above empty heads ! You do not love feathers, mademoi- selle ?' ' I never wear them, madam ; because, be- ing the daughter of an artist, and on foot, they would seem to announce a rank which does not be- long to me.' ' But would you wear them, were you in a different situation ?' * I do not know ; I at- tach but little importance to trifles : I estimate, in regard to myself, these matters by conveHience only, and am careful never to judge respecting any oi\e in consequence of the first glimpse of her toilette.' This severe observation was pronounced with mild- ness. ' A philosopher !' exclaimed the lady, with a sigh, recollecting that her guest belonged not to her own sect. M. Boismorel put an end to this personal inquisition, by conducting mademoiselle to visit his garden and library. Here she recovered her ease and her spirits, while she pointed out the volumes, and collections of vi^orks, with the perusal of which she wished her obliging host to favour her. Among these were Bayle, and the Mtimoirs of the } academies. On another visit to this family, in I ; which mademoiselle Phlipon met a large company, she observes : '* Those points of view in which I consider tlie world, and examine it unperceived by any one, serve but to disgust me, and to attach me still more to my own manner of living." M. de Boismorel c?.rried his young friend to the isi. MADAME ROLAND. meeting of the French academy, on the anniversary o{ St. Lewis, where she listened with pleasure to a iliscoursc of tlic abbe de Besplas, who mingled with his subject some bold philosophical opinions, and oblique satires upon government. At the theatr^i mademoiselle Phlipon appeared with the same un- uftected ingenuous character : without considering those who were around her, she smiled and wept at the various incidents and sentiments pourtrayed or expressed on the stage, with the happy simplicity of uncorrupted youth. The eulogy on Catinat, by La Harpc, whicli had <''ained the prize at the academy, inspired hi. dc Boismorcl with the desire of making a visit to St. Gratien, where Catinat had, at a distance from the court and its honours, ended his days in retirement. He proposed this pilgrimage to M. Phlipon and his- daughter, who agreed witli pleasure to accompany him. On the morning of a Michaelmas-day, they proceeded to the valley of Montmorency, and visit- ed tlie borders of the lake by which it was embel- lished. They then ascended to St. Gratien, and re- posed under the shade of the trees which Catinat had planted with his own hand. After a frugal re- past, they spent the remainder of the day in the park of Montmorency, where they beheld the cot- tage which had been inhabited by J. J. Rousseau. Through M. Boismorel mademoiselle Phlipou be- MAIJAME ROLAND. IS^ came acquainted with all tliat was novel ajul liite- rc-stijig in the republic of letters- " I saw hlni but seldom," said she, " but I heard from him every week. His conduct was that of a man of sense and sensibility, who honoured my sex, esteemed my person, and, as it were, protected my taste. His letters resembled himself : an agreeable seriou.->ness cliaracterised them ; they bore tlie stamp of a mind superior to prejudices, and of a respectful friend- ship." This gentleman, greatly attached to litera- ture, and admiring the talents of his young pro^ legee, pressed her to choose a subject, and to make an essay of her genius in composition. Thus urged, mademoiselle Phlipon explained to him her disinte- rested attachment to study, which she wished to render serviceable to her happiness, without the inten'ention of any kind of glory, which she justly ' considered as calculated only to trouble her repose. With her arguments on this subject, she mingled extempore verses, which her correspondent replied to in the same style. Calling on her one day, he informed her that he was desirous of practi;.-ing a stratagem to quicken the industry of his son, a youth of seventeen years of age, whose application to his studies had lately begun to give way to a taste for dissipation, and wlio took more delight in the Italian opera than in the mathematics. ^.?,Jt is noQ^i^&u^j proceeded niou* 1S6 MADAME ROLAND. iieur de Boismorel, * that you should reprimand my son in a letter full of wisdom and penetration : in short, write in such a manner as your own mind shall dictate •, stimulate his self-love, and awaken ge- nerous resolutions.' * iMc, sir ! me ? and in what manner, I beseech you, shall 1 be able to preach to your son r' ' Adopt any mode you please •, your name shall not appear •, it shall be so contrived as if some person, acquainted with his conduct and in- terested in his welfare, takes this method to warn. him of his danger. I will get the letter conveyed to him at a moment when it shall produce its full effect. At a proper opportunity he shall be in- formed to what physician he is indebted tor his cure.' * Oh ! you must never mention my name ! ,But you have other friends, who can do this service better.' ' I think otherwise; and! demand of you this favour.' * Very well ; I renounce every other con- sideration, to demonstrate my desire of obliging you, I shall transmit to you the rough draught of my let- ter, of which you shall give me your opinion and corrections.' On the same evening mademoiselle Phlipon drew up a pointed and somewhat ironical epistle, calculated to flatter the self-love, and excite the reason of a young man, and to recal his attention to serious subjects, by considerations in which his happiness was involved. The father, delighted witli thit> production, besought his young friend to send MADAME ROLAND. IS? r without the alteration of a word. It was accord- ingly inclosed in a letter to Sophia, to be put into L' post-office at Amiens. Several circumstances, were, previous to its reception, arranged by mon- sieur Boismorel, for the purpose of insuring its elFect. The young man received it, was touched by its contents, attributed it to the celebrated Du- clos, and went to thank him for his kindness. De- ceived in this conjecture, he makes farther guesses with no better success; and, at length, in some measure, resumes his'studies. Not long after this circumstance, M. de Boismo- rel walking with his son on a very hot day, from Bercy to Vincennes, where mademoiselle Phlipon was then with her uncle, and whither he brought to her the abbe Delisle's translation of the Georgics, was struck with a coup de soleil. Having treated it lightly, a fever ensued, followed by a coma *, whicli carried him off, in the vigour of his age, after a few days' illness. . Mademoiselle Phlipon wept bitterly the death of her kind friend and valuable instructor j *' nor can I ever recollect him," says she,. " with- out experiencing that mournful regret, that senti- ment of veneration and tenderness, which always accompanies the remembrance of a good man." When time had in some degree softened her sorrow, ' * An apopkctic disorder. • 1S8 MADAxME ROLAND. she composed a monody to his memory, which, with- out disclosing it to any one, she sung, accompanied by her guitar. On a visit of condolence, which her father paid to the son of their lost and valued friend, the young man told him in a vacant tone of voice, that he had found and thrown into a corner the letters of mademoiselle Phlipon to his father, to be restored to her if she should wish it ; and that among them he had discovered the original of a cer- tain epistle, which he had himself received. His guest, sensible of what was alluded to, said but little in reply. The youth appeared to be piqued, " whence," says his fairmonitrcss, " I concluded that lie was a fool, and troubled myself no more about him.' Many circumstances less interesting, and less Im- portant to the formation of the mind of this truly admirable v/oman, this martyr to humanity and vir- tue, whose untimely fate can never be sufficiently lamented, are here omitted, lest this article should be extended to an unreasonable length. In speaking of Saint-Lette, one of the members of the council of Pondicherry, and who, on his re- turn to Paris, in 1776, brought letters from a friend to M. Phlipon and his daughter, which introduced him to their acquaintance — " Those," says the lat- ter, *' who have seen much, are always worth hear- ing; and those who have felt much have always seen more t]ian others, even when they have tra- MADAME ROLAND. lii() veiled less than Saint-Lette. He presented mc with several of his performances : I communicated to him some of my reveries ; and, in a prophetical toiie of voice, and with a full persuasion of the event, he repeated to me several times, ' You are in the right, mademoiselle, to be on your guard* for all this will end in your writing a book.'" * It shall then be under another person's name,' replied the young lady, ' for I will sooner eat iny lingers than become an author.' Saint-Lette met at M. Phlipon's a man destined to have a powerful influence on the fate of his daugh- ter, and with whom she had been acquainted for some months. Her friend Sophia, whose situation led her into mingled society, had fi'equently mentioned in her letters a man of merit, who, on account of his place, occasionally resided at Amiens, where he vi- sited at her mother's, and vdio came every winter to Paris, and often in the spring made still longer jour- neys. Sophia, pleased with a man whose instructive conversation, amidst the frivolous crowd by which she was surrounded, appeared to her with peculiar advantage, whose austere and simple manners in- spired confidence, and who, without being beloved by the woi-ld, to which he bore but little resem- blance, was yet generally respected, talked to him of her clear friend -y while in the family, the warmtli 190 Madame roland. and constancy of an attachment formed In a con- vent, and to v\ liich time had given respectabiUty, was a perpetual theme. M. Roland had also been shewn the portrait of this dear friend. * Why then,' said he frequently, * do you not make me ac- quainted with her ? I go to Paris every year, can- not I carry to her a letter ?' The desired commission was at length obtained, in September, 177.^. '• I was still in mourning for my mother," says the friend of Sophia, " and in that mild, melancholy, state of mind, which suc- ceeds to violent grief. Whoever presented himself from Sophia could not fail to be well received." " This letter," observes Sophia, in her introduc- tory epistle, " will be delivered by the philosopher whom I have already mentioned to you, M. Ro- land de la Platiere, an enlightened man, of pure morals, and who cannot be reproached with any thing but his great admiration of the ancients, at the expence of the moderns, whom he despises, and the foible of loving to speak too much of himself." " I beheld," says her dear friend^ to whom this de- scription was addressed, " a man somewhat more than forty years of age, tall, negligent in his ap- pearance, and with that kind of formality contracted by study ; but his manners were simple and easy, and, without .possessing the polish of the M^orld, they connected with the gravity of a philosopher tiae MADAME ROLAND. 19t politeness of a man of birth. His person was lean, his complexion accidentally yellow ; his forehead, spar- ingly furnished with hair and very open, did not injure the regularity of his features, which, how- ever, it rendeixd more respectable than seductive. When he became animated in conversation, or with the idea of any thing that pleased him, an extremely subtle smile, and a lively expression which pervaded his countenance, made him appear quite another person. His voice was masculine, his sentences short, like those of a man whose respiration is not very long. His discourse, full of facts, from a head replete with ideas, occupied the judgment rather than flattered the ear. His language was some- times poignant, but harsh and destitute of har- mony*." La Blancherie, about this- period, returned to Paris, whence he had been for some time absent. On his visit to mademoiselle PhUpon, where he learned the death of her mother, he manifested a degree of surprise and grief, that, while it affected. * It is justly observed by madame Roland, that the charms of the voice possess a powerful influence over the senses ; and that this charm does not merely belong to the quality of the sound, but results still more from that deli- cacy of sentiment which varies the expression, and" modu- lates the accent. m MADA-Mn llOLAND. pleased her. lie repeated his visits, and was re- ceived with pleasure. M. Phlipon, whose conti- nual absence from liomc remlercd his daughter's si- tuation delicate, and who disliked the trouble of performing the oflicc of a duenna, announced to her his intention of de&iring La Blancherie to desist from his visits. Mademoiselle heard this resolution with some degree of chagrin : iaiterestcd in favour of La Jilaneherie, she had begun to believe it possible to love him. " The head, I believe," says she, " was only at work ; but it was making some progress." Having formed the resolution of softening in some degree her father's prohibition, by imposing the iu- j unction herself on La Blancherie, she addressed to him a polite letter of dismission, which, while it deprived him of all hope of replving, did not de- stroy tliat of having pleased. This circumstance gave rise to some melancholy, but not unpleasing, reflections in the mind of the fair waiter j whtch were, however, suspended by the arrival of Sophia at Paris, who remained some time in the capital, with her mother and her sister Henrietta. " The latter," says mademoiselle Phlipon, " being now more on a level with us, in consequence of tlie age she had attained, and the sedatcness she had ag- quired, became also my dear friend. The charms of her lively imagination darted coruscations arounii, and animated tlic tics which she had formed." MADAME ROLAND. 1 assembly; the astonishing Cazales,the daring Maury, theartfulLameths, and the frigid Barnave. Iremarked with vexation that kind of superiority on the side of •■ the court party, which dignified habits, purity of lan- guage, and polished manners, cannot fail to give in large assemblies. But strength of reason, and the cou- rage of integrity, the lights of philosophy, the fruits of study, and the fluency of the bar, could not fail t* secure the triumphs of the patriots, i( they were all honest, and could but remain united." At Paris they were visited by Brissot, with whose mind and writings they were already conversant. Brissot in- troduced to them several of the other members, whom similitude of principles, or zeal for the public good, drew frequently together. It was even agreed that they should meet four evenings in the week in the apartment of madame Roland, whose loggings were conveniently situated for the purpose. By this arrangement she became acquainted with the pro- gress of affairs, in which, from her taste for political speculation, and for the study of mankind, she was deeply interested. " I knew," says she, **' the part which became my sex, and never stepped out of it. I took no share in the debates which passed in my ■ presence. Sitting at a table, without the circle, I employed myself with my needle, or in writing let- ters : yet, if 1 dispatched ten epistles, which was some- INIADAME ROLAND. 215 times the case, I lost not a syllable of what was passing, and more than once bit my lips to restrain my impatience to speak. What struck me most, ahd distressed me exceedingly, was that sort of light and frivolous chit-chat, in which men of sense waste two or three hours without coming to any con- clusion. Taking things in detail, you would have heard excellent principles maintained, and some good plans pi-oposed ; but, on summing up the whole, there appeared to be no path marked out, no fixed result nor determinate point, towards which the views of each individual should be directed. Sometimes, for very vexation, I could have boxed the ears of these philosophers, whom I daily learned to esteem more for the honesty of their hearts and the purity of their intentions. Excellent reasoners all, and all philosophers, and learned theoretical politicians ; but, totally ignorant of the art of managing mankind, and consequently of 'swaying an assembly, their wit and learning were too gene- rally lavished to no end." Robespierre Avas sometimes of these parties. Persuaded, at that time, of his zeal for liberty, the usual penetration of madame Roland was suspend- ed in his favour, while she was inclined to attribute his faults to an excess of patriotism. " That kind of reserve," observed she, " which seems to indicate either the fear of being seen through, because we 210 MADAME ROLAND. can get nothing by being known ; or the distrust of a man M'ho fnuls in his own bosom no reason for giving credit to tlie virtue of others ; that kind of reserve for which Robespierre is remarkable, gave me pain, but I mistook it for modesty. Thus it is that, with a favourable prepossession, we transform into symptoms of the most amiable qualities, the most untoward dispositions. Never did the smile of confidence rest on the lips of Robespierre ; while tliey were almost always contracted by the malignant grin of envy, striving to assume the semblance of disdain. His talents as an orator were below me- diocrity ; his vulgar voice, ill-chosen expressions, and faulty pronunciation, rendering his discourse extremely tiresome. But he maintained principles with warmth and perseverance ; and there was some courage in doing so, at a time when the defenifers of the popular cause were greatly diminished in numbers : on this account I esteemed Robes- pierre." At a juncture when the fears of Robespierre were greatly roused for his safety, M. and madame Ro- land drove to his house, near miilnight, to offer him an asylum. He had already quitted his habitation : they proceeded therefore to Buzot's, whom they wished to interest in his favour. 'There is nothing,* said Buzot, after some hesitation, * that I would not do to save that unhappy young man ; though I am MADAME ROLAND. 217 far from thinking of him as many others do : he .thinks too much of himself to be greatly in love with liberty ; but he serves its cause, and that is enough for me.' The mission of Roland having detained him seven months at Paris, he quitted it in the middle of September, after obtaining for Lyons every thing that it could desire ; and passed the autumn in the country, employed in the vintage. One of the last acts of the constituent assembly was the suppression of inspectors. M. and madame Roland considered whether it would be better to remain in the country, or to pass the winter in Paris, where Roland might prefer his claim to a pension, as a recompence for forty years' service ; where at the same time he could continue hii la- bours for the Encyclopedia, in the focus of science, amidst artists and men of letters. In the month o£ December they accordingly returned to Paris. The members of the constituent assembly had retired to ' their several homes ; and Petion, who had been chosen mayor, was occupied with his office : they also saw Brissot less frequently. Their attention was now wholly engaged with the plan of estab- lishing a journal of the useful arts ; find of divertin^^ their minds by study from public affairs, which ex- hibited a. melancholy aspect.' .VOL; VI. L ; 2J3 MADAME ROLAND. About the middle of March, they were inforrtied by one of their friends, that the court, full of per- plexity and alarm, was desirous of doing some po- pular act, and had even an idea of appointing patriot ministers. Several persons, he added, had turned their thoughts towards M. Roland, whose literary reputation, adininistrative knowledge, justice, and vigour of mind, afforded a prospect of stability. Roland, at that time, frequented the jacobin so- ciety, and was employed in its committee of corre- spondence *. The 2 1 st of the same month, Brissot called upon madame Roland, and repeated, in a more positive manner, the same intimation, ■while he enquired whether her husband would take on himself the burthen of administration. Madame Roland replied, that she had mentioned the affair to him, when it was first started, in the course of conversation, and that it appeared to her, that, after * Madame Roland read these letters, and often under- took to answer them. She considered that the society might exert its influence in disseminating good principles. ** Persuaded," says she, " that a revolution is no better than a terrible and destructive storm, if the improvement of the public mind keep not pace vitli the progression of events; and sensible of the good that might be done by taking hold of men's imaginations, and giving them an im- pulse towards virtue ; I employed myself with pleasure in this correspondence." MADAML ROLAXD. 2!9 taking into the account all the dangers and dilBcuI- ties, his zeal and activity would not object to such a field for exertion ; but that it was a business that required farther consideration. Roland did not shrink from the task proposed to him j his confi- dence in his own abilities inspired him with the de- sire of being serviceable to his country, and to the . cause of freedom. Such ',was the answer that, on the following day, was given to Brissot. On Friday the 23d, Brissot and Dumouriez came, on the breaking up of the council, to inform Ro- land that lie was appointed minister for the home department, and to salute him as their colleague. They staid but a few minutes, while they appointed an hour, in the ensuing day, for Roland to take the. ouths. * There goes a man,' said madame Roland, speaking of Dumouriez, whom she had then seen for the first time, as they went out — ' there goes a man of a subtk niind, and a deceitful look ; against whom it will perhaps behove you to be more upon your guard than against any other man whatever : he expressed great pleasure at the patriotic choice ■jt'he was employed to announce, and yet 1 shall not he surprised if, on some future day, he brings about your dismission.' It appeare«I to lier impossible that Dumouriez and Roland could act long in con- cert. "On one side," says she, '* I beheld inte- L 2 «20 RLVDAME ROLAND. grity and frankness personified, witli rigid justice, devoid of all courtly arts, and of all the dextrous manoeuvres of a man of the world. On the other, I fancied I could recognise a libertine of great parts, a determined adventurer, inclined to make a jest of every thing except his own interest and fame." Roland, by his indefatigable industry, readiness in business, and methodical habits, was soon enabled to arrange in his head the various branches of his department •, but the principles and manners of his chief clerks opposed to him formidable obstacles. For the first three weeks he was enchanted with the apparently excellent disposition of the king, to whose professions he gave entire credit. * Good God !' said his wife to him, ' when I see you and Claviere * set out for the council with all that de- lightful confidence, it always seems to me that you are on the point of committing some egregious folly.' " I never," observes she, " could bring my- self to believe in the constitutional vocation of a king, born and brought up in despotism, and accus- tomed to arbitrary sway. Hiid Lewis been sincerely the friend of a constitution that would have re- strained his power, he must have been a man above .the common race of mortals; and had he been such * One of his colleagues in office. MADAME ROLAND. 221 a man, he would never have suffered those events to occur that produced the revolution." The first time Roland appeared at court, the sim- plicity of his apparel excited the surprise and in- dignation of the court satellites, who, deriving from etiquette their sole importance, believed the state de- pended on its preservation. * Oh, dear sir,' said the master of the ceremonies, with a countenance of alarm, whispering Dumouricz, and glancing at Roland, ' he has no buckles in his shoes.' * Oh lord !' answered Dumouriez, with comic gravity, * we are all ruined and undone.' A council being held four times a-week, the ministers agreed on those days to dine by turns at each other's houses. They were received by madame Roland as her giiests every Friday. Dumouriez, she observed on these occasions, had more of what is called parts than all his colleagues put together, and less morality than any one of them. " He wanted nothing," says she, " but strength of mind in proportion to his ge- nius, and a cooler head to execute the plans he con- ceived." In the mean time, the troubles respecting religion, and the preparations of the enemy, called for de- cisive measures, while the refusal of the king to sanc- tion the decrees, tore off the veil with which he had sought to conceal his purposes. At first this refusal L 3 •2Q2 MADAME ROLAND. wasevaslve; the ministers complained of the delay; Roland and Servan, in particular, remonstrated in- cessantly, and spoke m ith becoming spirit the most striking truths. Their situation had become critical; the public weal was in danger ; it was incumbent on the ministers, who professed patriotism, either to provide the means of safety, or to relinquish their olhce : Roland proposed writing a letter to the king to this purport ; his colleagues, unwilling to lose their places, objected and demurred ; while Du- mouriez, intent on playing at leisure his own cards, lelt them to settle the busines€. The postponement of the sanction had reached its utmost limits : sensible that the council had neither the firmness nor the unanimity to act col- lectively, it was determined between M. and ma- dame Roland, that it became the integrity and courage of the former t« step forward alone. The question was no longer to resign, but to deserve a dismission. Madame Roland composed the cele- brated letter on this occasion. " Studious habits," says she, *' and a taste for letters, made me partici- pate in the labours of my husband, as long as he remained a private individual : I wrote with him as I ate with him, because one was almost as natural to me as the other, and because my existence being devoted to his happiness, I applied myself to those things which gave hirri the greatest pleasure, Ro- MADAME ROLAND. 223 land wfote treatises on the arts, I did the same, although the subject was tedious to me. lie was fond of erudition. I helped him to pursue his criti- cal researclies. Did he wish, by way of recreation, to compose an £ssay for some academy, we sat down to write in concert, or else separately, that we might afterwards compare our productions, choose the best, or compress them into one. If he had written homilies, I should have done the same. When he became minister, I did not interfere with liis administration j but, if a circular letter, a set of instructions, or an important state paper were want- ing, we talked the matter over with our usual free- dom, and, impressed with his ideas, and pregnant with my own, I took up the pen, which I had the most leisure to conduct. Our principles and turn of mind being the same, we were agreed as to the .form, and my husband risqued nothing in passing- through my hands. I could advance nothing, war- ranted by justice and reason, which he was not capable of realising, or supporting by his energy and conduct. But my language expressed more strongly what he had done or promised to do. Ro- land ivhhout me would not have been a worse minis- ter ; his activity, his knowledge, his probity, were all his own : but ivith me he attracted more atten- tion J because I infused into his writings that L 4 224 AL\D.\ME ROLAND. mixture of spirit and of softness, of authoritative reason and of seducing sentiment, which are per- haps only to be found in a woman endowed with a clear head and a feeling heart. I composed with delight such pieces as I deemed hkely to be useful ; and felt in so doing greater pleasure than had I been known as the author. I am avaricious of happi- ness, and with me it consists in the good I do." While M. and madame Roland were reading over this letter, Pachc* came in. * 'Tis a very bold step,' observed he. * Very bold, without doubt,* answered madame Roland, 'but just and necessary : what signifies any thing else ?' The letter was car- Tied to the council, with the intention of being read aloud J but the king, when pressed anew for his sanction, waved the discussion, and required from each of his ministers their written opinion on the following day. Roland returned home, added to his letter a few Introductory lines, and delivered the whole into the hands of the king on the morning of the next day, the 11 th of June. On the 1 2th, Servan, one of his colleagues, walked into his apartment, with a cheerful countenance : * Congra- tulate me,' said he, * I am turned out.' * I am much mortified,' replied madame Roland, * that you • A man raised to office by Roland, whose calumniator he afterwards became . MADAAIE ROLAND. 225 sliould have that honour first ; but I hope ere long it will be awarded to my husband.' Servan went on to inform them, that it was Dumouriez who had, in his majesty's name, demanded from him his port- folio^ of which he was going to take charge himself. * Dumouriez !' exclaimed madame Roland ; ' his conduct surprises me but little ; yet it is infamous, and the other ministers in that case ought not to wait for their dismission.' The three preceding days, Du- mouriez had held long and frequent conferences with the.queen. The opinion of Roland coincided with that of his wife, that the ministers ought not to wait till they were dismissed. He communicated to h-is col- leagues the letter he had sent to the king in the morning, from which he expected to meet with treatment similar to tliat experienced by Servan. After a long debate, it was agi^eed that they should meet early on the next day, and that Roland should, in the mean time, prepare a letter for them all to sign. The ministers having assembled at the ap- pointed hour, expressed their doubts respecting the letter, and concluded that it would be better to de- clare their sentiments to the king in a personal con- ference. V/hile they deliberated, a messenger from the king ordered one of them (Duranthon) to re- pair alone to his majesty. ' We will wait for you at the Chancery,' said Roland and Claviere. Scarcely L 5 ':':6 MAD amp: rolakd. had they reached It when Duranihon returned, and, with an hypocritical face of concern, drew slowly from his pocket an order for the discharge of his two colleagues. ' You make us wait a long while for our liberty,' said Roland with a smile, * I per- ceive that our delays have made us lose the start.' * Well,' said he, on his return to madame Roland, * I also am turned out.' * I hope,' replied she, ' it is better deserved on your part than on that of any one else. But one thing remains to be done ; that you should be the first to acquaint the assembly with your dismission, and to send them a copy of its cause, your letter to the king : since he has not profited by the lesson it contained, you ought to render that lesson useful to the public' This idea was immediately executed : it answered a double purpose. " Utility and glory," says madame Ro- land, " were the consequences of my husband's re- treat. 1 Iiad not been proud of his elevation to the ministry, but I was proud of his digrace." Thus did Roland and his wife return to private life. While her husband remained in the ministry, madame Roland determined neither to pay nor to receive visits, nor to invite any female to her table. ''■ 1 had," said she, " no great sacrifices to make on this occasion, for my acquaintance was not exten- sive i beside, my love of study equals my detestation * bf cards ; and the society of silly people affords me MADAME ROLAND. 2'Z7 no amusement. Accustomed to spend my days in domestic retirement, I shared the labours of Roland, and pursued the studies suited to my own particular taste. Twice a-week indeed I gave a dinner to some of the ministers, a few members of the assembly, and persons with whom my husband had business ; but I had not the rage of interfering. Out of all the rooms of a spacious apartment, I chose for myself the smallest parlour, which, by removing into it my books and bureau, I converted into a study. It often happened that the friends and colleagues of Roland, when they vi'ished to speak to him confidentially, instead of going to his apartment, where he was sur- rounded with clerks, would come to mine, and re- quest me to send for him. Thus, without intrigue, or idle curiosity, I found myself drawn into the vor- tex of public affairs. Roland, with that confidence which ever subsisted between us, had a pleasure in afterwards conversing with me, in private, respect- ing what passed on these occasions ; an intercom- munity of knowledge and opinions was thus esta- blished between us." With the revolution of the 10th of August every one is acquainted : Roland was at that period re- called to. the ministry, which he re-entered with re- novated hopes. * It is a great pity,' said madame Roland, on tlils occasion, ' that the council should be contaminated by that Danton, who has so bad 22S MADAME ROLAND, a reputation." * What can we do r' said some friends, in reply to this remark ; ' he has been use- ful in the revolution, and the people love him : there is no prudence in making malecontents : it will certainly be better to make the most of him as be is." *' There was some reason in this," observes ma- dame Roland •, " still it is easier to deny a man the means of influence, than to prevent his putting it to a bad use. Here began the faults of the patriots. The instant the court was subdued, an excellent council should have been formed, the members of which, being distinguished for knowledge, and irre- proachable in their manners, would have given dignity to the government, and impressed foreign powers with respect. The thing which most sur- prised me," says she, " after tl;p elevation of my husband gave me an opportunity of becoming ac- quainted with a number of persons, particularly ^ose employed in important affairs, was the uni- versal meanness of their minds : it surpasses all that €an be imagined, and pervades every rank. But for this experience, never should I have thought so poorly of my species, nor was it till then that I as- sumed any confidence in myself. In this scarcity of able men, the revolution having driven away suc- cessively those whose birth, fortune, education, and circumstances, had rendered them, by a somewha^ higher cultivation, superior to the mass of the people, MADAME ROLAND. Z79 it is no wonder if we fell gradually into the hands of the grossest ignorance, and the most shameful incapacity." Speaking again of Danton, who visit- ed almost daily at the minister's hotel : " While I contemplated his forbidding and atrocious features, I could not bring myself to associate the idea of a good man with such a countenance. I never saw any aspect so strongly expressive of the violence of brutal passions, and the most astonishing audacity, half disguised by a jovial air, an affectation of frank- ness, and a sort of simplicity. My lively imagina- tion represents every person, with v/hom I am struck, in the action that I conceive suitable to his character. In this manner have I often figured Danton, with a dagger in his hand, encouraging by his voice and example a band of assassins, more timid or less ferocious than himself : or else, when satiated with his crimes, indicating his habits and propensities by the gestures of a Sardanapalus." Danton, and Fabi^e d'Eglantine, an unprincipled hy- pocrite, sought, by vaunting their own patriotism, to throw madame Roland off her guard, and make her speak out. " It was a subject," says she, " on which I had nothing to conceal or dissemble. I avow my principles equally to those whom I suppose to participate in them, and to those whom I suspect cf cherishing sentiments less pure. In regard to the former, it is confidence : to the latter, pride. I dis- .230 MADAME ROLAND. dain to disguise myself, even under the pretence, or with the hope of being better able to fathom the minds of others. I lay open my whole soul, and never suffer a doubt to exist of what 1 really am." Danton and Fabre ceased to visit at Roland's to- wards the latter end of August ; cautious, no doubt, cf exposing themselves to attentive eyes, on the approaching matins of September. Preparations were made, by public commotions and alarms, for this dreadful tragedy, on the first symptoms of which, Roland took every step, in his office of mi- nister, to avert the coming storm, which the most vigilant humanity could devise. At five in the even- ing of Sunday, nearly at tlie moment when the prisons were invested, about two hundred men pro- ceeded to the hotel of the home department. P»Ia- dame Roland, who was sitting in her own apart- ment, rose at the noise, of which, stepping into the anti-chamber, she enquired the cause. Roland was from home, but the persons who asked for him, dis- satisfied with this information, insisted on speaking to the minister. Madame Roland perceiving the assurances of her servants ineffectual, sent to invite, in her own name, ten of the malecontents to walk up stairs, of whom she calmly enquired wJiat tliey wanted .'' They informed her, that they were honest citi'itens, ready to set ofF for Verdun, but who, in want of arms, came to ask the minister, whom they MADAME ROLAxHD. 2.31 •were resolved to see, for a supply. She observed to them, that the minister of the interior never had arms at his disposal, and that it was to the vi'ar- ofilce that they should address their request. They had already been there, they said, and had been re- pulsed : all the ministers, they added, were rascally traitors, and they wanted Roland. ' I am sorry he is out ; for his arguments would have had weight with you : come with mc, and search the hotel, and you will be satisfied that he is from home, and that there arc no arms here ; nor indeed ought there to be any, as on rejection you must needs be con- vinced. Return, I pray you, to the war-office, or complain to the commune ; and if you wish to speak to M. Roland, repair to the hotel of the ma- rine, where the council is assembled.' On this re- monstrance, the band withdrew ; but, from a bal- cony over the court, madame Roland beheld a fu- rious fellow in his shirt, his sleeves tucked up to his shoulders, and a broad sword in his hand, declaim- inusc him : a distrust was excited in the public mind, which the jacobins seconded with all their power, vvliile the Dantons, the Robespierrcs, and the Marats, bore all the sway. -. Madame Roland was accused, during the admi- nistration of her husband, of giving sumptuous en- tertainments, where, like another Circe, she cor- rupted all those who came to the banquet. From the following account of her habitual conduct at the hotel, the reader may form a judgment of the truth of this accusation : " Twice a-week, only, I gave a dinner, once to my husband's colleagues, and once to a mixed company, composed either of national representatives, of first clerks in the offices, or of persons concerned in the business of the state. Taste and neatness presided at my table, to which pro- fusion and the luxury of ornament was unknown^ Without devoting much time to conviviality, for I gave only one course, every one was at his ease. Fifteen was the usual number of the guests, wliich seldom amounted to eighteen, and only once to twenty. After dinner we conversed for some time in the drawing-room, and then every one took his leave. We sat down to table about five -, at nine not a creature remained : yet this was the court of which they made me queen •, and thus, with the doors wide open, did we carry on our dark and dan- gerous conspiracies. On other days, confined to 140 MADAME ROLAXD. our family, my husbatid and myseli^ usually sat down to table alone ■, delaying, for the transaction 6f public business, our dinner to a very late hour : my daugh- ter dined with her go>'^ness in her own room. Those who Saw me at that time, will bear witness in my favour, whenever the voice of truth can make itself heard. I shall then perhaps be no more •, but I shall go out of the world M^ith the persuasion, that the memory of my persecutors will be lost in male- dictions, while my name will sometimes be recol- lected with a sigh." In the latter period of the administration of Roland, conspiracies and threats succeeded each other so fast, that his friends often pressed him and madame Roland to leave the hotel during the night. Two or three times they yielded to these intreaties, but, soon tired of this daily removal, they observed, that if destined to fall, it would be more conducive to public utility and to personal glory, for the mi- nister to perish at his post. They accordingly no longer slept from home. Madame Roland, that she might suffer the same hazard as her husband, had his bed brought into her room •, while she kept under her pillow a pistol, not to use for a vain defence, but to save herself, should she perceive them approach, from the outrages of assassins. In this situation she passed three weeks, during which the hotel was twice beset. 3VLVX)AME ROLAND. 2» *' To-day on a throne, to-morrow in a prison :" *' Suc'a," observes madame Roland, '* is the fate df virtue in revolutionary times. Enlightened men, who have pointed out its rights, are, by a nation weary of oppression, first called into authority. But it is not possible that they should maintain their places : the ambitious, eager to take advantage of circumstances, mislead the people by flattery, and, to acquire consequence and power, prejudice them against their real frien'ds. Men of principle, who despise adulation and contemn intrigue, meet not their opposers on equal terms ; their fall is therefore certain : the still soft voice of sober reason, amidst the tumult of the passions, is easily overpowered." The resignation of Roland appeased not his ene- mies i his very name, which was become the signal of discord, could not be pronounced without confu- sion. If a member, less venal than the rest, ventur*- ed to speak in his defence, he was reduced to si- lence, and treated as an instrument of faction. His continuation in the ministry, which could no longer be productive of utility, had become an additional source of disorder in the convention ; he deemed it therefore prudent to resign. In his retirement, he gave a terrible blow to his ensmies, by publishing such accounts as no minister before him hac^ fur- nished i but to have them examined and sanctioned by a report, was an act of justice for which he soUcitsd VOL. VI. M 'J42 MADAME UOLAND. in vain. Such a proceeding, by giving a proof of hi* meritorious conduct, would have confounded the nviUce of his detractors, whose interest it was to bhnd and to mislead the people. In vain, seven times in four months, did he intreat, publish, and write, to the convention, whose weakness would not permit them to undertake his defence. The jacobins continued to denounce him as a traitor ; and Marat to prove to his adherents, that the head of Roland was necessary to the tranquillity of the republic. The eighth time he wrote to die convention, which deigned not even to peruse his letter : his • wife, in the mean while, was preparing with her daughter to go into the country, whither domestic business, with other motives, rendered her desirous of retiring. Should the enemies of her husband proceed to the last extremities, it would be easier, she considered, for him to escape alone, tlian when embarrassed with his family ; while prudence point- ed out the propriety of diminishing the number of points in which he might be attacked. Her pass- ports had been delayed at the section, through the management of some MaratistSj in whose eyes she had become an object of suspicion : scarcely were they delivered to her, when she was seized with a nervous colic, attended with convulsions, the only malady to which she was subject, and to which the vehement aftections of a strong mind acting upon a MADAME ROLAND. Ci3 robust frame, pavticularly exposed her. Being com- pelled to take to her bed, In which she passed six days, on the seventh she proposed to go out in order to shew herself at the municipality ; when, by the sound of the alarm-bell, her purpose was suspended. Every thing seemed to foretel an approaching crisis. The commotions which succeeded excited in the mind of madame Roland that interest and curiosity wliich great events cannot fail to inspire. The de- basement of the convention appeared to her so dis- tressing, that she scarcely considered as dreadful the worst excesses, that might tend to open the eyes of the departments, and to determine their conduct. Rolartd was pressed by some persons, who came to confer with him on what was passing, to make his appearance at his section, by which he was greatly esteemed. It was agreed, however, though nothing but the good intentions of the citizens were talked of, that he should not sleep at home pn the follow- ing night. At half past five the same evening, six armed men appeared at his house, when one of them read an order of the revolutionary commitieey by virtue of which they w«re come to apprehend him. * I know of no laws,' replied Roland, * which constitute tlie authority you mention, nor shall I obey die orders v her eyes cast towards the door of the hall, which was several times opened and closed by the guard. A dreadful noise from time to time assailed her ears. Ross at length appeared. * Well !' enquired the wife of the ex-minister, with breathless impatience. ' Nothing * A SLOtchman, usher to the convention. M 3 •m6 xMAUA^IL ROLxVND. Las yet been expressing those feelings fluently, and too proud not to utter ihem with dignity, I had the most important inte- rests to discuss, possessed some means of defending them, and was in a singular situation for doing so witii advantage." * But at any rate,' said Verg- niaux, ' your letter cannot be read for some hours ; thhik what a tedious time you will have to wait 1* * I will go home, then, to know what has been pass- ing tliere, and will immediately return : you may tell our friends that this is mv intention.' ' Most of them are absent j they behave with courage when they are here \ but they are deficient in assiduity.* * That, alas ! is but too true.' Madame Roland, quitting Vergniaux, flew to Louvet's, whence, having left a note to inform him of what "was passing, she threw herself into a coach, and ordered it home. The wretched horses not keeping pace with her feelings, and some battalions M 4 245 MADAM Jt ROLAND. of national guards impeding the way, she |uinp<^ out of the coach, vhich she discharged, and, rusl>- ing through the ranks, hastened forwards. ITaving reached her house, tJic porter whispered her that Roland was at the landlord's at the bottom of tlie court. Thither she immediately hastened, aiid there she leamed, that the bearers of the warrant, not be- ing able to procure a hearing at the council, and Roland persisting in protesting against their orders', they had, after demanding his protest in writing, withdrawn themselves ; in consequence of wJiich Roland had retired through the back-door. Being found by his wife at the second hoitse in which she sought him, she informed him of what she had done, and the measures she meant to pursue. From the solitude of the streets she perceived that it was late -, she prepared nevertheless to- return to the convention, without Tecoilectjwg her recent illness, which demanded quiet and repose. On ap- proaching the Carousel, she found the sitfing^w^S at an end ; from which she augured the sub- jugation of the assembly. A few men still re- mained at the gate of the national palace: * Citi- zens,' said she to some sans-culottcs collected round a cannon, * has every thing gone well ?' ^ O ! wonv dcrfully : they embraced each other, and sang Uie Alarseillois hymn, there, under the .tree of liberty.' ♦ What, then, -is the right side ap- MADAME ROLAND. QiQ peased ?' ' Faith ! it was obligeil to listen to reason.' * And what of the committee of twelve ?' * It is kicked into the ditch.' ' And the tiuenfy-itvo P' * The municipality will have them taken up.' * Aye, but ctifi the municipality ?' ' Why, boily o' me, is not the municipality the sovereign .'' It is high time it should, to set those b s of traitors to rights, and support the commonwealth.' * But will the depart- ments be pleased to eee their representatives — ' ' What are y.ou talking about .'' the Parisians do no- thing but in concert with the departments : they said so to the convention.' * That however is not quite so certain ; for, to know their -will, the primary as- semblies were wanting.' * Was there any want of pvimary assemblies on the 10th of August ? Did not the departments then approve what Paris did ? They will do so now : it is Paris that is saving them.' * Or rather say, it is Paris that .is ruining itself.' While concluding this dialogue she crossed the court, and returned to the coach which waited ; ' You will set me down,' said she to the coachman, * at the galleries of the Louvre.' There she meant to call on a friend, and concert with him the means of Roland's safety. Pasquier had retired to bed : he rose j and madame Roland submitted to him her plan. It was agreed that they sJiould meet the M 5 250 MADAME ROLAND. next clay. She stepped into her conch, and was proceeding home, wlien she was stopped by the sentry who stood on his post. * Have a little pa- tience,' said the coachman in a whisper, turning round on his scat ; * it is the custom at this time of night.' The Serjeant advanced and opened the door : * Whom have we here ?' * A woman.' • Whence come you ?' * From the convention.' • It is very true,' said the coachman, as if he feared her assertion would need confirmation. ♦ Whither are 3'ou going ?' * Home.' * Have you no bun- dles ?' ' None, as you may see.' But tlie assem- bly is broken up.' * Yes ; to my sorrow, for I had a petition to present.' * A woman, at this hour ! it is very strange *, very imprudent.' * It certainly is not a very common occurrence ; nor is it with me a matter of choice : I must have had strong rea- sons for it.' 'But, madam, alone!* 'How, sir, alone ! Do you not see that I have innocevce and truiJi for my companions .'' what would you have more ?' * Well, 1 must be content with your rea- sons.' ' You are quite right,' in a gentle tone, * for they are good ones.' Having at length reached her house, she had as- cended eight or ten steps, when a man, who was close behind lier, and who had slipped in unper- ceivcd by tJ:e porter, begged her to conduct him to ciiizen Roland. ' To his apartment, with plea- MADAME ROLAND. 251 5ure, If you have any thin^ advantageous to Impart ; but to /'//// it is impossible.' * I came to let him know, that they are absolutely determined on con- fining him this very evening.* * They must be sa- gacious if they accomplish their purpose.' * 1 am happy to hear it, for it is an honest citizen to whom you are speaking.' * Well and good,' replied she, as she proceeded up stairs, perplexed what opinion to form. " I may Ibe asked," says she, " why, under such circumstances, I returned to the house. Nor is the question irrelevant. I have a natural aversion to every thing Inconsistent with the grand, bold, and ingenuous proceedings of innocence ; an effort to escape from the hand of injustice, would be to me more painful than any thing it could inffict. During the last three months of Roland's adminis- tration, our friends often urged us to quit the hotel; but it \^-as always contrary to my inclinations. It was incumbent on die minister to be at his post ; for there his death would cry aloud for vengeance, and prove a lesson to the republic. It was possible to reach his life when abroad, with equal advan- tage to the assassins, less benefit to the public, and less glory to the victim. Such reasoning will be deemed absurd by those who prefer life to all tilings ; but he, who in a period of revolution sets 252 MADAME ROLAND. any value on existence, will set none on virtue, his iioiiour, or his country." Aladame Roland acted upon these principles ; she refused to leave the hotel in the month of January, determined to share the fate of her husband. When Roland was no longer in office, she thought him justified in shunning his enemies. For herself slie believed she had less to fear ; or even should they wish to begin the business by subjecting her to an examination, she doubted not of being able to con- found them, and that her answers might even serve to dispel more rapidly the delusion of those who had suffered themselves to be misled. Should they proceed to another irid of September, it would prove that all was lost in Paris ; in which case she preferred death to living a witness of her country's ruin •, while she felt, that she should glory in being found among the victims sacrificed to a guilty fury. That fury, she also believed, glutted with her destruction, would be mitigated against Roland j who, if saved from this crisis, might yet be re- served to benefit France. Her imprisonment and, trial might therefore be productive of advantage to htr huiband i;r:d her country; or, if destined to perish, it would be under circumstances in which life itself would have become a burthen, 'J hus. magnunimously reasoned this admirable woman ! MADAME ROL.\NI>. CVS Having, on her return home, quieted the fears of licr family, she took, up a pen for the purpose of writing a note to her husband. Scarcely had she seated herself at the desk, before she was disturbed by a loud knocking at tlie door. It was about mid- night. A numerous deputation of the commune appeared, and enquired for Roland : * He is not at home.' * But where can he be ?' said a person who wore an officer's gorget : * w'.cn will he re- turn ? You are acquainted with his habits, and doubtless can judge of the hour of his return.' ' I know not whether your orders authorise you to ask such questions *, but this I know, nothing can com- pel me to answer them. As Roland left the house while I was at the convention, he had it not in his power to make me his confidante. This is all I have to say.' The party withdrew much dissatisfied, leaving a sentry at the door of madame Roland's apartment, and a guard at that of the house. Overcome with fatigue, and determined to brave the worst, she or- dered supper ; and, having finished her letter, and entrusted it to the care of a faithful domestic, she retired to rest. She slept soundly for about an hour, when she was awakened by a servant, and in- formed that some gentlemen of the section requested her to step into the adjoining room. * I under- stand what it means/ replied she calmly : < go, child-> 254 MADAME ROLAND. I will not make them ■wait.' Having sprung from the bed, slie was dressing, when her maid came in> and expressed her surprise that she should be at the pains of puting on more than a morning-robe : * When people are going abroad,' replied she, * they should at least be decent.' The poor woman, look- ing in the face of her mistress, burst into tears. Madame Roland walked into the next apartment. * We come, cii^yenrti-^ to take you into custody, and to put seals upon your property.' « Here,' said a man, taking out of his pocket a warrant from the revolutionary committee, which ordered the wife of Roland to be committed to the Abbaye, without spe- cifying any motive for her arrest. ' I have a right to tell ycu,' said she, ' like Rolanxl, that I know nothing of your committee ; that I will not obey its orders ; and that you shall not take me hence unless by violence.' * Here is another ord^r,' said a little hard-featured man, in a hasty aiid command- ing tone of voice,, reading to her one from the commune ; which also directed, without specifying any charge, the commitment of monsieur and ma- dame Roland. The latter deliberated whether she should stlil resist, or resign herself into their hands. She had a right to avail herself of the law which prohibits nocturnal arrests ; and, if the law by which the municipality were authorised to seize suspected persons were urged, to retort the illegality of the MADAME ROLAND. Q.'5 municipality itself, cashiered and created anew by an arbitrary power. But /niv was become no more than an empty name to cover oppression and abuses; and hail she compelled these men to resort to force,, she justly dreaded their brutality, and the indig- nities to which she might expose herself^ * How do you mean to proceed, gentlemen ?' said she. * We have sent for a justice of peace of the section ; and you see here a detachment of his armed force.* The justice of the peace arrived, and put his seal upon every thing, even on the drawers which contained the linen. One of the men in- sisted on the piano-forte being sealed up also ; but, on being informed it was a musical instrument, he dre-,v out a rule and took its dimensions, as if he designed it for a particular place. Madame Ro- land asked leave to take out the clothes of her daughter, and made up a small packet of night- clothes for herself. During these transactions, fifty cr a hundred people passed backward and forward, completely filling the apartments : persons malevo- lently disposed might, without difficulty, have de- posited or have carried away any thing. The of- ficer, not daring to lay his commands upon this crowd, gently requested them to withdraw ; but their places were soon occupied by new comers. The prisoner, sitting down at her bureau, wrote to 7. frie^id concerning her situation, with a recom- 35(5 MAD.UIE ROLAND.' meiubtion of her daughter to his care. She was folding up tlie letter, when the officer informed her it was necessary that he should see what she had written, and know to whom her letter -was ad- dressed. ' I have no objection to read it to you, if that will satisfy you.' ' No, it will be better to- let us know to whom you are writing.' ^ I shall do no such thing : the title of my friend is not at. present of a nature to induce me to name the per- son on whom I bestow it.' Thus speaking, she tore in pieces the letter. As she turned from them, they gathered up the fragments, in order to seal them up. She smiled at the precaution, the letter, being without an address. At seven in the morning she left her daughter and her domestics, after exhorting them to calmness and patience. ' You have people liere who love you,' said one of the commissioners, observing the tears of her family. * I never had any about me, who did not,' replied she, while walking down stairs ; from the bottom of which to the coach, drawn up on the opposite side of the street, stood two ranks of armed citizens. She proceeded gravely, with mea- sured steps, while her eyes were fixed on these de- luded men. The armed force followed the coach in two files, while the miserable populaccj attracted by the sight, stopped to gaze as it passed. * Aiva^f nviih her to the. guUktlne !' exclaimed several women. MADAME ROLAXD. ^r,7 ^; Shall \vc draw up the blinds r' said one of the .commissioners, civilly. * No, gentlemen j inno- »cence, however oppressed, never puts,. .ou the guise \pf criminality :. I fear not the eye of anyone, nor .wi4l» I'iconceal myseh" from any person's view.' * "You'have mor-j strength of mind than many men>; cyou wait patiently for justice.' ' Justice ! Mere ijufltice done, I should not be wow in your liands. •Bnt should an iniquitous procedure send me to the scaffold, I shall walk to it with the same tranquilr Jlity and firmness as I now pass to prison. ISIy heart .bleeds for my country, while I regret my mistake in supposing it qualified for freedom and happiness : but hfe I appreciate at its due value. I never feared any thing but guilt ; — injustice and death I despise.' Having arrived at the Abbaye, tliat theatre of massacre and blood, five or six field-beds, with as many men stretched upon them, in a dark and drearv apartment, were the first objects tliat struck the eye of the px'isoner. Her guides made her aa- cend a dirty and narrow staircase, ■ They c^me at length to the keeper's apartment, wjiich was toler- ably clean, and where a seat was ollered to her. ' Where is my room ?' said she to the wife of the keeper, a corpulent woman, with an agreeable countenance. * Madam, I did not e^,pect..you,. I have no room as yet-, but;iii,tl\e meanit^me ypu vvijl he declares, ^he would not have exchanged for those which ij-iiglit be esteemed by others as the happiest of her hfe. Her situation rendered her sensible of the valile of integrity and fortitude, united with an ap- proving conscience. " I recalled the past to my rnind," say5 she ; " I calculated the events of the future. I devoted myself, if I may so say, volun- tarily to my destiny, whatever it might be : I de- fied its rigour, and fixed myself firinly in that state of mind, in which, without giving ourselves con- cern for what is to come, we seek only employ- ment for the present." But this tranquillity in re- gard to her own fate extended not to that of her country and her friends. She waited for the even- ing paper, and listened with extreme anxiety to every noise in the street. She wished to ascertain what portion of freedom v/as yet left to her. ' May I write ? May I see anybody? What will be my cxpences here ?' were her first questions. The keeper informed her of the orders he had received, and how far he could venture to evade or modify them. She wrote to her faithful maid to come to se© her; but it was agreed that this indulgence should be kept a secret. The first visit she received was flrom Grandpre, on the day of her arrival- ' You shall write to the -Co MADAiME rvOI.A>:D. Rssembly,' said he ; * have you not yet been thinking of it r' < No -, and now you remind mc of it, I do not sec how I shall be able to get my letter read^' * I will do all I can to assist you.' ' Very wellt then I w^^ write' * Do so : I will return in two hours.' Ho departed, and madame Roland took up her pen to address the national convention. She complained of the treatment she had received, and remonstrated respctting die injustice and illegality of the proceedings. She demanded ju:?tice and pro- tection in a high tone. " If the convention," added she, " confirms my arrest, I appeal to tlie law ■which ordains the declaration of the crime, and the examination of the prisoner, within four-and-twenty hours after his capture. In the last place, I de- mand a report on the accounts of that irreproach- able man, who e:-:hlbits an instance of unheard-of |)ersecution, and who seems destined to give to aU 'Europe the terrible lesson of virtue proscribed by thf blindness of infuriate prejudice. If to have sh.ired the strictness of his principles, the energy of his mind, and the ardour of his love of liberty, be crimes, I plead guilty ami await my punishment. Pronounce sentence, legislators ! France, freedom, -the fate of the republic and of yourselves, depend on this day's distribution of that justice which ic ifi ,rours to di&peuse." : ' Fcrom tlie. agitation in which she hadjpassed tlic MADAME ROLAND. r>6l preceding night, she fek extreme fatigue. She de- sired to have a chamber, of which, at ten o'clock, she took possession. When, on entering it, she found herself surrounded by four dirty walls, in the midst of whicli was a bed without curtains ; M'heil she observed a double-grated window, and was as- sailed by a close and offensive smell ; she telt indeed sensible of the change in her situation. The room however was of a tolerable size, it had a fire-place, and the bed-clothes were not bad : she deemed her- self therefore, without dwelling on comparisons, not altogether ill accommodated. She retired to bed, and was not men at ten in the morning, when Grandpre returned. He appeared more uneasy than the preceding evening, while he cast a mourn- ful look around the wretched apartment. * How did you pass the night?' said he, 1.1s eyes filled with tears. ' 1 was repeatedly awakened by the noise, but fell asleep again as soon as it ceased, in despite even of the alarm-bell, which I thought I lieard this morning. — Ha ! is it not sounding still ?' ' Why, 1 thought so; but it is nothing.' ' Be it as is pleases Heaven : if they kill me, it shall be in this bed ; for 1 am so weary, that liere 1 will expect my fate. Is any thing new brought forward against the members ?' * No, 1 have brought back your let- ter. It is my opinion, and also that of Champa- gneux, that the beginning jjhould be softened. Here 262 MADAME ROLAND. is what we propose to substitute : and then you slionUl write a line or tu o to tlie niinlsttr of the home tlepartment, that he may transmit your let- ter ofiicially, which would enable me the bettef to solicit that it should be read.' * It' I thought,* replied she, taking the paper and looking over it, * that my letter would be read as it now standj^, so it should remain, even were I sure ii would be productive of no advantage to myself ; for it is scarcely possible to hope for justice from the con- vention. The truths addressed to it are not for an assembly incapable, at present, of putting them in practice : but they shoultl be uttered, that they may be heard by the depurtuients.' At length, convinced that her exordivun migiit pre- vent the reading of the letter, she omitted the first paragraphs, substituting in their stead what had been proposed by her friends. She also wrote a few lines to the minister, in order to render the proceeding regidar. ^ Rising about noon, she busied herself in arrang- ing her apartment. IShe had in her pocket T}>om- sou's Seasons, a work of which she was peculiarly fond : she m.ade a memorandum of such other books as slie should wish to procure. Among ttiese were the Lives of Plutarch, Hume's Hit»- tory of England, and Sheridan's Dictiouarv. ** I w ould ratlier," says she, ** have coutinued to read MAD.UIK IIOLAXD. 2; broufjhtlo the Abhaye, n?adame Holand was informed she must dumge Iwr sltiuition, as her chamber would eon- tain more than one bed. To i)c alone, the v.as obliged to be conhnod in a small closet, the win- dow of which Avas over the sentry, who guarded the prison-gate. Jf'ho goes there ? Kill /tiin I Guard! Patrolc! called out "in a thundering voice, ■were the sounds that annoyed her through the night. The house--, were illuminated, and iVom MADAME ROLAND, 26.« tlie nnmber and frequency of the patroles, it was easy to infer some connnotion. She rose early and employed herself in making her bed, cleanin^^ her little room, and in rendering her person, and every thing around her, as neat as it was in her power. " Had 1 desired these things to be done for me," says she, " I must have paid for them dearly, waited a Jong time, and had them per- formed in a slovenly manner. By taking on my- self the office, I was sure to be a gainer, and that the trifling presents I might make would be rated higher, because the}'^ would be altogether gra- tuitous." Madame Roland had listened impatiently to hear the bolts of her door drawn back, that she I might ask for a newspaper. She read in it the decree against the twenty-two : the paper fcli from her hands, while she exclaimed, in a trans- port of grief, * My country is undone 1* Firm , and tranquil herself, beneath the yoke of op- ipression, she could not see the triumph of guilt and error, the national representation violated, the torch of civil discord lighted up, the enemy about to avail himself of the divisions of the peo- ple, freedom lost to the north of France, probity and talents prf)scribed, and the republic a pre}' to the most dreadful dissensions, without poignant VOL. VI N 26G MADAME ROLAND. sorrow-. * Farewt'l, iny country !' exclaimed she ; * sublune illusions, generous sacrilices, ho])e and happiness, farewell Splendid chimeras! from nvhich I reaped so much delight, ye are all dis- pelled Ijy tlic horrible corruption of this vast city. I despised life : the loss of you makes me detest it, and defy the utmost fury of the men of blood. Anarchists, savages, for what do you wait? You, Avho have proscribed, virtue, Avhy do you not spill the blood of those who respect her laws ? A\'hen shed upon the eartii, it will make her open her devouring Jan's, and swallow you up.' A sullen indignation succeeded in her mind to these emo- tions ; indilfcvent to what concerned herself, and almost hopeless for others, she waited for events with curiosity rather than Avith concern. " I no longer live to /(cl" says she, " but to Xvwu:'." She soon learned, that apprehensions had existed the preceding night for the fate of the prisons: hence the strict and noisy guard ; hence the mo- tive of Grandpre's inquietude. He had, for eight successive days, in vain endeavoured to obtain of the assembly the reading of madame Koland's letter. On finding, by the Moniteur, that her section had expressed itself in her favour, she de- termined to address it, and to recapitulate the cir- cmnstances that had passed. Several days elapsed, and still she underwent MADAIMK ROLAND. ft67 no examination. To the administrators, who had visited her on ditVerent pretences, she unit'ornily expressed herself Avitli force and dignity: anionf^ tlicni, two or three men of sense appeared to un- derstand lier, uitliout however darmg to take her part. She was at dinner, when tive or six persons were at once announced to her. * Good-morrow, Citoi/enne^ said one who advanced before tiic rest, and who assumed the oflice of spokesman. * Good-morrow, sir.' ' Are you satislied with tliis house ? Have you any reason to complain of your treatment, or any particular demand to make V ' 1 complain of being here ; and demand my enlargement.' ' Is your health impaired ? or does solitude affect your spirits.' ' I am in o-ood health, and not at all out of spirits. Ennui is the disease of liearts Avithout feeling, and of minds Witiioiit resource in tliemselves. But I have a strong feeling of injustice, and protest ao-ainst the lawless oppression whicli arre^.ted me without cause, and has detained me without exa- mination.' ' Why, in a period of revolution, there is so much to be done, that theTe is not time to attend to every thing.' ' A woman, to whom king Philip made nearly the same reply, answer- ed him, '' If thou hast not time to do me justice, thou hast not time to be a king.'* Take care you N 2 26s MADAME ROLAND. i do not oblige oppressed citizens to use the samo ' Jiinguage to tlie people, or rather to the arbitriiry authorities, by >vhich tiie people arc mijJed.' • Adieu, Citoyemie,' said the flippant officer, con-^ founded by her spirit, and unable to reply. Madame Roland had been induced by her love of order, and habits of regularity, to enquire into the customs and expences of the prison, which she was desirous rigidly to observe. She seemed to take a pleasure in making trials of her fortitude, and in enuring herself to privations. She de- termined therefore to make an experiment hoAV far the human mind is capable of diminishing gradually the wants of the body. She began by substituting, in tlie place of cortce and chocolate, bread and water for breakfast. For her dinner, she desired to have one plain dish of meat, with a few vegetables ; and vegetables also for her supper without a dessert. She likewise relinquished both vine and beer. As her purpose in adopting this conduct was moral rather than economical, she appropriated the sums thus saved for the relief of those miserable wretches who were lying upon straw, tliat, while eating her dry bread in the morning, she might have the pleasure of reflect- ing that, by this deprivation, she was adding to th«'ir dinner. *' If I remain here six months," said she, " I will engage to leave the place with MADAME ROLAND. zC^) a hcaltliy comj)le\ion, and a body bv no means ctnaciated, baving reduced my wants so fai' us to be satistied witb bread and soup, \\\{h a few bene- dictions iiicoi^mlo.'' Sbe also made little presents to tlie servants of tbe prison, tbat her economy miglit not prove injurious to them. By these means sbe considered that she rendered her inde- pendence more perfect, and was at the same tune a gainer in good-will. ^, Her section, in the mean while, actuated by the best principles, had come to a resolution to protest aga-inst arbitrary imprisonment, and even ito resist it when attempted. The letter of ma- .idame Roland was there read, and listened to with ! concern. The debate that ensued being prolong- jed till the next day, the mountain party took the ! alarm, whde a host of furious deputies from the j diderent sections hastened to suppress, in its birth, I this struggle for justice. Urged by Grandprc, madame Roland again addressed lierself to the ministers of justice and of the home department. Her letters were conceived in terms but little con- ciliating, and not less forcible than severe. *' Fac- tions pass away," said she, *' justice onl}' re- j mains : of all the faults of men in place weakness I is the least pardonable, because it is the source of the greatest disorders, particular!}'- in times of II 270 .AIADAME ROLAND. trouble." I'idiu the men who had lu'^lccted tlic decrees, by Avhicli they were enjoined to prose- cute tlie aiitiiors of the massacre of September, she expected nothing : she was aware of their weakness and perfidy ; and the truths she address- ed to them were meant but to point out to them tlieir duties and tlieir failures. Every person distinguished for virtue or ta- lents nni>t liave experienced the mahonitv of the mob of little minds, and the arts to which tlicy descend to lower in the public opinion those whose ciiaracters they despair of emnlatiiiir, and -whose excellences they feel as a tacit reproach. Of tl)e truth of this reflection the public prints, on the present occasion, afforded an example. In the Tlicrmometre, for the 9th of June, there ap- peared a series of questions, under the title of An Examination of E. P. d'Orleans, among which was the folloAving charge : " That the prisoner had been present at secret cabals, held bv night in the apartment of the wife of Buzot, in the Fauxbourg St. Germain, whither Dumounez, Ro- Jand and his wife, Vergniaux, Brissot, Petion,, Louvet, kc. were accustomed to repair." It dis-, plays a curious instance of efft-ontery in wicked- ness, that the very deputies, thus calumniated, ■were precisely those who voted for the banishment of the Bourbons, and to whom d' Orleans never ap- i MADAME ROr.AXD. "^i/l -pearcd as a leader possessed of eapacit}', but al- ways as a dang-erous tool : it was tliey wh > wi-rc ainonp- the tirst to dread his vices and his ascend- ancv, to denounce the latter, and to Inuit down those who appeared to be his aoents. Neither M. nor madamc Uoland ever met d'()rleans, they even refused to associate with those in any degree connected with him. Indignant at these vile ab- '.■ surdities, madame Roland took up her pin to write to the editor of the paper, of whom she had conceived a favourable opinion, and with whom she had been on friendly terms till iiis seduction bv the "Mountaineers. She represented to him the audacity and infamy of this proceeding ; the cruelty and injustice of loading with calumny those who were already entangled in the trammels of persecution. She exhorted him to give the ans'wers that must have been made to these ques- tions, and to do justice to those whom he had injured. Durino-her confinement in the Abbaye, tliis ecu- rageous and unfortunate woman beguiled her im- prisonment by books and literary labours ; parti- cularly in writing Memoirs of the tunes, the loss of which can never be sufficiently regretted. The insurrection of the 31st of JMay, and the outrages of tiie 2d of June, had lillcd her with indigna- N 4 272 MADAME ROLAND. tion ; yet, persuaded that the departments would in the end make the good cause triunipliap.t, while, indulging this hope, she was careless of her own sai'ety. " The success of my friends," said she, " and the triumph of true republicans, in the anticipation, consoled mc for every thing. I could have sulfered the execution of an unjust sentence^ or have sunk under the stroke of some unforeseen atrocity, with the calmness, the pride, and even the joy of innocence, wliich despises death, and knows that its wrongs will be avenged." About this period the publication of a gross libel, proclaimed loudly by the hawkers under her window, persuaded her that some new outrage was in contemplation. In one of the numbers of the Pere Duchesne, an abominable print, it waS pretended that its author had paid a visit, disguis- ed as a Vendean, to madame Rolami, and obtain- ed her confidence : that she had confessed to him the connections of Roland and the Brissotines Avith the rebels of Vendee and the English government. In this ridiculous story, in which physical and moral facts were alike disregarded, madame l^o- land heard herself metamorphosed into an old toothless hag, who was exhorted to Aveep for lier; sins, till they should be expiated on the scaffold. The hawkers, who, doubtless as they were instruct- ed, left not the vicinity of the prison for a mo- MADAME ROLAND. -075 mont, accomp;mic(l their proclnmatioas by the wno^t sanf^uiiiary aclvicr to the pojjulace. Ma- •daine Roland, thus ontrafjcJ, took up her pen, ami nrote a tew lines to the niinistor*, pointing out to him the infancy of an administration which exposes innoceiiee, already oppressed, to the blind lurv of a Tnisguided people. . Ahout the same time a yoiuig woman, a friend to niadame Roland^ found means to make lier way into the prison. " How was I astonished," says she, *' to see her sweet countenanee, and to feel Tftvself pressed to her bosom, and bathed in her tcjirs. I took her for an angel, and an angel she *was, for she is good and handsome, and had done all that she could ta bring me news of my friends; she furnished me also with the means of informing them of ray situation ." This consolation had almost made her forget her captivity, when on the 24th of June, about noon, the gaoler's wife entreated her to step into her apartment, where an administrator was wait- infT to see her» She was in pain, and in bed ; she rose, however, and foUoM'cd her conductress. Ork entering the room, she perceivetl a man walking backward and forward, while another sat writing. * Garat. n5 274 MADAME ROLAND. neither of whom seemed to observe her. * Am I the person, gentlemen, for ^\ horn you asked ?' * You are tiie wife of citizen Roland ?' * Yes, Roland is* my name.' * Be so good as to sit down.' The one continued to write, and tlie other to walk. At length, while she was endea- vouring to divine the meanins: of this farce, the "writer addressed her : ' I am come,' said he, ' to set you at libcrt} .' ' Wliy, indeed,' replied she, ■with but little emotion, * it is very right to re- move me from this place ; but that is not all : I "wish to return home, and the door of my apart- ment is sealed up.' * The administration will have it opened in the course of tiie day : I am V'riting for an order, because I am the only admi- nistrator here, and two signatures are necessary for the gaoler's discharge.' Ite rose, and hav- ing delivered his message, turned towards ma- dame Roland w ith the air of a person who wishes to inspire confidence. ' Do you know,' said he, suddenly, as without design, * where M. Roland is at present ?' Slie observed, smiling, that the f^uestion was not sufficiently candid to descne an answer, and retired to prepare for her departure. Her fir.-^t idea was to dine quietly, and not to re- juove till the evening, but a moment's reflection convinced her of the folly of remaining in a pri- top, wheuee she was free to depart ; the gaoler MADAME ROLAND. 275 also appeared impatient to take possession of her lodging. It was a small closet, witli dirty wulls, close gates, and in tlie neighbourliood of a pile of wood, where all the animals of the honsc depo- sited their ordure, Tlie gaoler, who had never seen it occupied by any person so tranquil as the present iidiabit.mt, who Avas accustomed to ar- range in it her books, and to adorn it with flowers, called it the pavilion of Flora. As it contained but one bed, it was generally allotted to a new comer, or to an individual desirous of solitude. " I was ignorant," says madame Roland, '' that the gaoler, at the very moment he was speaking, intended it for Brissot, whom I did not even sup- pose to be my neighbour : and that, soon after, it would be inhabited by a heroine worthy of a better age, the celebrated Charlotte Cordey." Madame Roland's servant, who had just arrived to vist her mistress, wept for joy while she packed up her things in preparation for tlieir romovaU The order for her liberation, founded upon want of evidence of any crime, was shewn to tlie pri- soner, who, haA'ing settled her accounts, distribut- ed her little favours to the poor, and to the serv- ants belonging to the prison. On her way out, she met the prince of Linanges, one of the ho- stages, who obligingly congratulated her upon hey enlargement. She replied, * that slki sliouUi l)c £76 MADAME ROLAND. happy to pay him the same compliment, as it would be a pledge of the release of the commissioners, and of the return of peace.' Then sending for a hack- ney-coach, she walked down stairs, surprised at finding the administrator, who came to see her into the carriage, had not yet left the prison. Driving home, with the intention of leaving there a few things, and then proceeding to the house of the worthy people who had adopted her daughter, she jumped lightly from the coach, and flew, as on wings, under the gateway, * Good morrow, La- iriarre/ said she to the porter, cheerfully, as she passed. She had scarcely proceeded up four or five stairs, when she heard herself called by two men, who had kept close behind her. * What do you want ?' said she, turning round. * We arrest you in the name of the law.' Her feelings, at this mo- ment, may be easily conceived. She desired the order to be read to her, and taking an immediate resolution, stepped down stairs, and walked hastily across the yard. * Whither are you going ?' * To my landlord's, where I have business ; fellow me thither.' The mistress of the house opened the door w ith a smile- * Let me sit down and breathe,' ex- claimed madame Roland, * but do not rejoice at . my being set at liberty : it is only a cruel artifice : I am no sooner released from the A^ibaye than I an> ordered to St. Pelajjie. As I am not ignorant of the..i MADAME ROLAND/ Cj^/ resolutions entered into of late by my section, I am determined to put myself under its protection, and I will beg you to send thither accordingly.' Tlie landlord's son*, with all the honest indignation of youth, immediately offered to go. Two commis- sioners from the section returned with him, desired to see the order, and made to it a formal opposition. They afterwards begged madame Roland to accom- pany them to the mayor, where they were going to assign the reasons of their conduct j a request which she could not refuse. The intermediate time she employed in writing notes to her friends, to inform them of her new destination, and in taking leave of the family, whom this scene had tilled with surprise and consternation. On being conducted to the house of the mayor, she was put into a small ante- chamber, with ins}>ectors charged \\'ith the care of her person, while the commissioners proceeded to the office of tlie police. The debate continued for some time, and became warm. Ill at ease, and in- dignant, while thus obliged to act the part of a cri- minal, at being exposed to Inquisitive eyes, madame Roland rose, and opened the door of the office. • There can certainly, gentlemen, be no harm in my being present at a discussion of which I am the sub- * Ho was, on this account, diagged to the scaffold, and M3 father died with grief. 278 MADAME ROLAND. ject.* * Get you gone,' cried a little man, whom she recognised for the person by whom she had been so awkwardly examined at the Abbaye. * But, gentlemen, I have no intention to commit any act of violence, I am not prepared for it j 1 do not even ask to be heard ; I only desire to be present.* * Get you gone, get you gone ! — Gendarmes^ come hither.' " Any one," observes she, *' would have supposed the office was besieged, because a woman of common sense wished to hear what they were saying of her." It was however vain to resist. Soon after she perceived them making signs, running back- wards and forwards, and sending for a coach. An inspector of the poHce, at length, desired her to follow him. Turning to the door of the office, and setting it wide open, ' Commissioners of the section of Beaurepaire,' said she, * I give you notice that they are taking me away.' ' We cannot lielp it : but the section will not forget you •, it will take care that you shall be examined.' * After having been set at liberty atoneo'cloi.k, because ihereivas fw evidence against mey I should be glad to know how I could become a SU" spected person in my way home from the Abbaye, and thus give cause for a new detention.' One of thc- administrators, not less stupid than awkward, coa- fessed, in a magisterial tone, that the first arrest was illegal, and that the prisoner had been enlarged, that she might be afterwards taken according to the forms I MADAME ROLAND. 279 of the law. This avowal opened to madame Roland a field of which she was about to avail heiseii : but tyrants, even when they suffer tlie truth to escape them, refuse to hear it from others, or to abide by its consequences. Perceiving that expostulation would be vain, she suffered herself to be conveyed to the prison of 5/. Pe/agie. This house had, under the old government, been inhabited by nuns, to whose charge was committed the female victims of lettres-de-cachet : it was situat- ed in a remote quarter of the town, the inhabitants ■of M^hich were of a low order, and well known for the ferocious spirit which they had manifested in the -month of September, by the massacre of so many priests. This, on the present occasion, was not a consohitory circumstance. While a note was taking of the entrance of the prisoner, an ill looking man beg;.n to examine the bundle which contained her night-'dothes, with apparent curio..iiy. On her ex- pressing indignation at this impioprn-ty, he was or- dered to desist. " Twice a-day," says she, " was I doomed to see the horrible countenance of this man, who was turnkey of the corridor in whiclx I lodged." She was asked if she chose a room witli one or two beds. ' I am alone, and want no com- pany.' * But the room will be too small.' * It is all the same to me.' Upon enquiry, it was found they were all full j madame Roland was therefore 5S0 MADAME ROLAND. conducted to a two-bedded room, six feet by tweh'?, so tliat with two small tables, and two chairs, it wa^ sufficiently crowded. Sine was tlien informed, that she must pay the first month's lodging in advance, fifteen livres for one bed, and double this sum for the two. As she wanted only one, and had pre- ferred a single-bedded room, they agreed to take the fifteen livres- * But there is no water-bottle, nor other conveniences.' * You must purchase them,* replied they. To these she added an ink-stand, pens, and paper, and established herself in her new resid- ence. The mistress of the house came to visit her charge, who enquired of her the customs of tlie place. She was informed in reply, that the state allowetl nothing to the prisoners. * How then do they live ?' They receive only a plate of kidney- beans, and a pound and a half of bread per day, but you would not be able to eat of either.* I can easilv believe that they are not such as I have been accus- tomed to ; but I wish to know what belongs to every situation, and will make a trial.' She did so, but without success: her health would not bear the prison diet, and she was obliged to have recourse tO' the kitchen of madamc Bouchaud, who made anoffer of boarding her. This fare was both comparatively good and economical : a mutton-chop and a fevr vegetables for dinner, a saHad for supper, and bread aud water for breakfast, the diet to which she had MAUAMH ROLAND. 2sl en accustomed to at the Abbaye. Notwithstanding tins simplicity and temperance, reports were raised of her expellees at St. Pt/ngie, where, it was saiii, she was seeking to corrupt the gaoler by giving treats ' his family. Hence arose great indignation among uje Sans-culotieSy and a proposal from some of them to dispatch her to the other world. To this other ca- lumnies were added, equally absurd and ill-founded. Her courage sunk not under these new trials, but the refinement of cruelty which had attended her removal from the Abbaye, filled her with indignation. ** Feeling myself," says she, " in that state of mind when every impression becomes stronger, and its I effects more prejudicial to health, 1 went to bed : I i could not sleep, and it was not possible to avoid I thinking. This violent state, however, never with. I me, lasts long. Being accustomed to govern my I mind, I felt the want of self-possession, and thought myself a fool for affording a triumph to my enemies, by suiFering them to break my spirit. They were only heaping on themselves fresh odium, without greatly altering the situation I had already found means so M'ell to support. Had I not here, as at the Abbaye, books and leisure } I began, indeed, to be angry with myself for having allawed my peace of mind to be disturbed : I no longer thought of any thing but of enjoying existence, and of employing my faculties with that .independence of spirit wiiicli 2S2 MADAME ROLAND. a strong mind preserves in the midst of fetters, and whicli thus discippoints its most determined enemies." In pursuance of these admirable resolutions, she purchased crayons, and had recourse to drawing, to vary her occupations. Fortitude, she justly con- ceived, consisted not merely in an effort of the mind to rise above circumstances, but in maintaining that elevation by suitable conduct. " I am not content," says she, " with calling up, under unfortunate events, the maxim.s of philosophy to support my courage ; but 1 provide for myself agreeable amuse- ments : neither do I neglect the art of preserving health, to keep myself in a just equilibrium." She divided her days with a certain kind of order. In the mornings she studied English in Shaftsbury's Essay on Virtue, and in the poetry of Thomson, by whom she was transported by turns to the sub- lime regions of intellect, and to the affecting scenes of nature. "With Shaftsbury she strengthened her reason, with Thomson she charmed her imagination, and delighted her feelings. Afterwards she em- ployed herself with her crayons till the hour of dinner, and repeated with pleasure, though with less skill, an art which in her youth she had practis- ed with success. It is those only who have acquired the habit of exerting their faculties, and of exercis- ing over themselves a voluntary control, that evade the malice of fortune, and escape from a languor MADAME ROLAND. 2&3 scarcely loss cruel, and the most destructive of men- tal disorders : it is thus, also, that the seductions of vice, or of a dissipation scarcely less pernicious, are Stripped of their allurements, and assail us in vain. It is impossible to withhold our respect from a mind, that, rich in its own resources, could calmly pursue its course, in a situation like that in which this deserving- woman was so unworthily placed. The wing of St. Pelagic, appropriated to female pri- soners, was divided into long and very narrow cor- ridors, on one side of which were the cells. Under the same roof, and upon the same line, separated only by a thin plaster, did the respectable wife of the virtuous Roland dwell in the midst of mur- derers, and women of ill-fame : by her side was one of those wretches who make a trade of seduction, and a sale of youth and innocence : above her was a woman who forged assignats, and; with a band of savages to which she belonged, tore in pieces upon the highway an individual of her own sex. TJie door of each cell was secured on the outside with an enormous bolt, and opened every morning by a man, who stared indecently into the room, to see whether the prisoners were up or in their beds. The inhabitants of the cells then assembled in tiie corridor, upon the staircases, or in a damp and noisome room. Their distance from tlie lodging of madame Roland was insufficient to preserve her •:8* MADAME nOLAKD. ears from the containinHtion of the pjrossest ob- scenities. Nor was this all : tlie wing in which the men were confined, had windows which fronted those of the women, the consequences of which, among persons of such a description, may be easily conceived. '* If this," observes the heroic sufferer, be the reward of virtue on earth, who will be asto- Jiished at my contempt of life, and at the resolution with which I shall be able to look death in the face ? It never appeared to me formidable : at present it is not without its charms, and I could embrace it with pleasure, did not my daughter invite me to stay a little longer with her j and if my voluntary exit would not furnish calumny with weapons against my hus« band, whose glory I ought to support, would they dare to summon me before a tribunal." The keepers of S/. Pelagie, doubtless moved by the merit of their prisoner, were at pains to render her situation less disagreeable. The excessive heats of July rendering her cell, upon the white walls of %vhich the sun fiercely struck, scarcely habitable, the wife of the gaoler invited her charge to spaid the days in her apartment. Ijer acceptance of this offer was limited by madame Roland to the after- noons. It was then she thought of sending for her piano-forte^ with wliich she sometimes beguiled the heavy hours. At this period, her moral situation had also become less dreadful. The rising of some MADAME ROr,AKn. 285 of the departments revivcil her hopes ; her husband was in a safe and peaceful retreat j her daughter In the house of her venerable friends, continued, under their inspection, and with their children, her exer- cises and her education ; while tlie fugitives, her friends, welcomed at Caen, were there surrounded by a respectable force. She flattered herself that the aalvation of her country was growing out of events, and, resigned to her own fate, was still happy, while, as usual, she employed her time in useful or agree- able occupations. She sometimes saw the persons who were accustomed to visit her at tlie Abbayej the worthy Grandpre, the faithful Bosc, who brought her flowers from le Jar din de Plantes^ which, witli their brilliant colours, and fragrant perfumes, dimi- nished the horrors of her gloomy abode. With them came an amiable woman, and the kind Cham- pagneux, who persuaded her to continue her histo- rical memoirs. She therefore resumed her pen, and laid by her Tacitus and Plutarch, to which she wag accustomed to devote the afternoons. Madame Bouchaud, perceiving that she availed herself with great reserve of the offer of her apart- ment, removed her altogether from her cell into a comfortable room, on the ground-floor, underneath her own chamber. Thus was she delivered from the shocking company, that had for three weeks been her greatest torment. The good-nature of madame iBG r^lAD.UlE ROLAND. Bouchaud extended itself to the minutest details* even to tlxe very jasmine carried up before her win«, dow, round the bars of which it wound its flexible branches. She looked upon herself as the boarder of this good and humane woman, and forgot her. captivity. All the articles of her study and amuse- ment were now uaited around her ; her piano-forte was by her bedside, and recesses in the wall alTorded her the means of arranging her little furniture with that neatness which was her characteristic, and ia which she took delight. But, alas ! this gieam of sunshine was soon over- clouded : intrigue and arms were, not without suc- cess, employed against the departments : soldiers deluded, or brought over, betrayed the brave Nor- mans ; Caen abandoned the members to which it had afforded a refuge ; they were declared, by a domineering banditti, traitors to their country, their persons outlawed, their property confiscated, and tlieir wives and children arrested. Guilt triumphed over unfortunate virtue. " That cowardice," ob- serves madame Roland, " which marks the selfish- ness and corruption of a degenerate people, too de** based to be reclaimed by reason •, that cowardice delivers over to terror the perfidious administrators, and the ignorant multitude." A rod of iron was, in the mean time, held over Paris, which famine threatened, and on the vitals of which poverty prey- I MADAME ROLAND. 28T ed. The reign of proscriptlotis flourished, and the prisons overfloA'cd. At this season of violence and terror, when the friends of madame Roland were nil fugitives or proscribed, Chainpagneux, who was in possession of almost the whole of her His" tor'tcal Memoirs, was threatened with an arrest : un- easy, agitated, and convinced that the principles which they contained would, if found, be a pass- port to the scaffold, he committed them to the ■flames. In the midst of these alarms, madame Roland s'.ill enjoyed the pleasant room allotted to her by her kird hostess, and here she occasionally, though by stealth, had the pleasure of seeing her friends. This apart- ment adjoined to a large room called the council- chamber, where the administrators of the police met to examine prisoners. Madame Roland was in- debted to this circumstance for the knowledge of some curious scenes. Here also they sometimes held their orgies with some favourite prisoners, con- suming, at the expence of the gaoler, cordials, wine, capons, chickens, &c. in lavish profusion. When this company assembled, Bouchaud or his wife never failed to withdraw the key from the door of their charge, and to give her notice of their arrival. *' At last," says she, " I took a resolution, and shut my ears against their noise. I even found a pleasure in continuing my Historical MtmoirSf and in writing 288 MADAME ROLAND. vigorous passages in the neighbourhood of wretches, who, had they heard only a single phrase, would have torn me in pieces." The 10th of August approached, and fears were entertained of the renewal of the carnage of the i2d of September ; the administrators therefore found means to withdraw from St. Pelagic the rogues of tJieir acquaintance, and tlic civic feasts were held no more. '* Could 1 persuade myself to speak on subjects so disgusting," says madame Roland, " I could give shocking accounts of the abuses {jrevail- ing in prisons. Every thing gets tainted, or com- pletely spoiled, in these infectious places, under a vicious administration, actuated by passion only, careless of correcting, and desirous to destroy." On her first coming to St. Pelagic, madame Ro- land had accepted the services of a woman con- fined for some trifling offence. *' Not," says she, ** but I was well able to be mv own servant. Tout sied bien an geuireux courage* ^ was said of Favonius, who performed for Pompcy, in his misfortunes, the offices of a domestic. This may, with equal truth, be applied to the unfortunate man, stripped of his possessions, and providing for his own wants ; and to the austere philosopher, disdaining every super- fluity. But, as in fetching water, and articles of s * Every thing becomes a noble spirit. MADAME IIOI.AND. 289 similar kind, it was necessary at St. Pdagie to pass through long passages, and mix with their inha- bitants, I was not sorry to have a person whom I could oblige by sending her on such occasions." This woman was, one morning, going into the room of madame Roland at the very instant that an admi- nistrator was at the door of the council-chamber. He enquired wlio lodged there, went in, and cast around him an angry glance. On quitting the room, he complained to the wife of the keeper of the de- gree of comfort she allowed the prisoner to enjoy. * Madame Roland was indisposed,' replied madame Bouchaud ; which was true ; * and I put her more in the way of receiving such assistance as she might require. Beside, she sometimes amuses herself with % piano-forte^ for which there is not room in the cell.' * She must do without it : send her this very day into a corridor : it is your business to maintain equality.' Madame Bouchaud, exceedingly distressed at this inliuman interference, went to communicate to her charge the orders that had been given ; but she felt consoled by the tranquil resignation with which her commission was received, and it was agreed between them, that madame Roland should come down in the course of every day, to change tlie air, and resume her studies, the materials for VOL. VI. O 5pO MADAME ROLAND. which were to be left hi her present apartment. " Thus, once more," says she, " am 1 desthied to see the turnkeys, to hear the creakhig of the bolts, to breathe the foetid air of a corridor, sadly illumined of an evening by a lamp, of which the thick sm^ke blackens all the walls, and suffocates the neighbour- hood ! Insolent comedians ! you are playing your last part : the enemy is at hand. By the enemy I mean the departments, who will ultimately ensure the triumph of reason and of true liberty, and pre- pare for your destruction. ISIine, no doubt, is inevitable : I have deserved the hatred of all tyrants } but I only regret the ruin of my country, which your chastisement will console, but cannot save." Oppression had filled the corridor with women in whose society madame Roland could remain with- out shame. There she found the wife of a justice of the peace, whose neighbour ascribed to her un- civic expressions. There also was the wife of the president of the revolutionary tribunal j and there was madame Pction. * 1 little thought,' said ma- dame Roland, accosting her, * when I was sharing your uneasiness at the Afairie*j on the 10th of Au- gust (1792), that we should keep our sad anniver- sary at St. Pelagic j and that the fall of the throne would lead to our disgrace.' • The residence of the mayor. MADAME ROLAND. ?<)l The first part of madame Roland's captivity Iiad been emploj'ed in the composition of her Historical Memoirs. " My pen," said she, *' proceeded with so much rapidity, and I was in so liappy a disposi- tion of mind, that in less than a month I had ma- nuscripts suflicient to form a duodecimo volume. These memoirs, or historical notices, contained a variety of particulars relative to all the facts, and all the persons, connected with public affairs, that my situation had afforded me an opportunity of know- ing. I related them with all the freedom and energy of my nature, with all the openness and uncon- -straint of an ingenuous mind, setting itself above selfish considerations ; with all the pleasure that re- sults from describing what we have experienced, or what we feel ; and lastly, with the confidence that, happen what would, the collection would serve as my moral and political testament." The destruc- tion of these writings, by the arrest of the friend to whom they were confided, severely disti'est the writer. "*' This," says she, " may easily be con- ceived, when it is remembered, that I may be mur- dered to-morrow j and that these writings were the anchor to which I had committed my hopes of sav- ing from reproach my own memory, with that of many deserving characters. As we ought not, how- ever, to sink under any event, I shall employ my 2 -292 MADAME ROLAND. Temainmg time in setting down, ^vithout fonn or ■order, whatever may occur to my mind. These fragments will not make amends for what is lost, but in silent resignation, when a stranger appeared before her. It was a phy- sician brought by the friendly care of her keepers. When informed of her name, he told her he was the friend of a man whom perhaps she did not like. * How can you know that ? and who is the person you mean r' * Robespierre !' * I once knew him well, and esteemed him much : 1 thought him a sincere and zealous friend of freedom.' * Whv, is he not so ?' ' I am afrkid that he loves power : per- haps from an idea that he knows how to do good as well as any man, and desires it no less. I am afraid that he is very fond of revenge, and inclined to exer- cise it particularly upon those whom he considers as. blind to his merit. 1 believe that he is very suscep- tible of prejudices ; that his resentment is easily .excited ; and that he is too ready to think every one guilty who subscribes not to his opinions.' ' You never saw him more than once or twice in your life.* ' I have seen him much oftener ! Ask him j let him lay his hand upon his heart ; and you will see whe- tjier he has it in his power to say any thing to my disadvantage' Madame Roland conceived, on this occasion, the idea of addressing Robespierre through this man, who called himself his friend. From this long and eloquent letter, my Umits, which I have already ex- 3 2iH MADAME ROLAND. ceeded, Vill not allow of more thun an extract : •' I write not," says she, " to entreat you. Prayer be-* comes the guilty, or the slave : innocence vindicates herself, which is sufficient •, or complains, as she has a right to do, when the object of persecution. Bat even complaints accord not with my temper: I can suffer, and dare look in t]:ie face any shape of misfortune. Besides, I know that at the birth of republics, revolutions, which are almost inevitable, and which give to the passions of mankind too great a scope, frequently expose those who have best serv- ed their country to become the victims of their own zeal, and of the delusion of their countrymen. A good conscience will be their consolation, and his- tory their avenger." She goes on to enquire, why a woman, incapable of action, is exposed to these storms, that burst generally upon the heads only of efficient individuals ? And what is the fate which she has to expect .? These questions, she declares, are deemed by her but of small personal importance. " For what," says she, " is a single emmet, more or less, crushed by the foot 9f the elephant, in the general system of the world V She proposes them only because they are of infinite interest in regard to the present liberty, and future happiness, of her country. She next adverts to her respectable hus- band, the probity of his character, and to the in- justice of which he was the victim. Her own im- MADAME ROLAND. 2y5 plication in his imputed guilt, she treats with con- tempt. " Brought up in retirement," says she ; " devoted from my youth to those serious studies, which have given to my mind some degree of force ; blessed with a taste for simple pleasures, which no change of circumstances has been able to pervert ; an enthusiastic admirer of the revolution, and giving way to the generous sentiments it inspired ; kept a stranger to public affairs by principle, as well as hy my sex, yet conversing about them with warmtii,. because the public weal, as soon as It exists, takes the lead of all other concerns ; I regarded t?ie first calumnies invented against me as contemptible fol- lies : I deemed them the necessary tribute levied by envy upon a situation, which the imbecility of the vulgar led them to consider as exalted, and to which I would have preferred the state in which I had passed somany happy days." She enumerateslier con- sequent injuries, and her courage and patience under them. " I have wearied no one," says she, " with my r^emonstrances : wanting many things, I have asked for nothing. I have made up my mind to misfortune, proud of trying my strength with her, and of trampling her under my feet." — " it is not," adds she, " to excite your compassion, which I am above asking, that 1 present you with a picture less melancholy than the truth : it is for your instruc- 4 295 MADA.ME ROLAND. tion." She reminds him of the instability of popular, favour, and of the fate that may overtake him. Shi^c declares her own determination to await, after the honours of persecution, those of martyrdom, but she wishes to know her destiny. " Speak," says she, " it is something to know our fate j and a soul like mine is capable of looking it in the face*." After the two-and-twenty deputies were condemn- ed to the scaffold, madame Roland considered theirs as a presage of her own fate. Though resigned to death, she felt repugnant to becoming a spectacle to the savage curiosity of a ferocious multitude. Un- der this feeling she caused laudanum to be procured for her, that she miglit remain mistress of her own destiny. ** it was not," said she to a friend, who reproved her on this occasion, " my intention to de- part at that moment, but to procure the means of „ doing so, when it should appear to me that tlie most- proper period was arrived. I wished to pay homage to truth, as I well knew how, and then to take my departure immediately before the appointed cere- mony. I thought it noble thus to disappoint my tyrants. It seemed to me, that there was a degree , of -vreakncss in receiving the coup-de-grdce when I , could give it to myself, and in exposing myself to ii the insolent clamours of madmen, as unworthy of,;j — — — — — ^M * This letter was uot sent. MADAME ROLAND. 397 such an example, as incapable of deriving from it any advantage." She however made no use of the resource she had' provided, being persuaded by her friends that her execution might prove useful to her country. She beheld its approach with unalfFected tranquillity. She suffered her hair to be cut off, and her hands to be bound, without a murmur, or a complaint. She traversed Paris amidst the Insults of the populace, and received death with heroic firmness. She seem- ed even to experience a degree of pleasure in this last sacrifice to her country. She expressed, in dy- ing, a wish to transmit to posterity the new and ex- traordinary sensations which she experienced in her road from the Conciergerle to the Place de la Revolu- tion. For this purpose, when at the foot of the scaffold, she demanded pen and paper, which were refused to her. Her last moments are thus describ- ed by Riouffe, who was detained in the Coticiergcrief when madame Roland arrived there. " The blood of the twenty-two was not yet cold, when citizeness Roland v/as brought to the Cornier' gerie : aware of the fate that awaited her, her peace of mind remained undisturbed. Though past the prime of life, she was still a charming woman ; her person was tall and elegantly formed, her coun- tenance animated, and very expressive } but misfor- 05 29S MADAME ROLAND. tune and confinement had Impressed on her aspect traces of melancholy, which tempered its vivacity. In a body moulded by grace, and fashioned by a courtly politeness, she possessed a republican soul. Something more than is generally found in the eyes of vv^omen was painted in hers, which were large, dark, and full of softness and intelligence. She often spoke to me at the grate with the freedom and firmness of z great man; while we all stood listen- ing around her in admiration and astonishment. Her conversation v/as serious without coldness, and she expressed herself with a correctness, a harmony, a cadence, that made her language a sort of music, with which the ear was never cloyed. She spake not of the deputies who had suffered death but with respect, and yet without effeminate compassion : she even reproached them for not adopting measures sufficiently strong. She generally styled them our frictids, and often sent for Clavieres for the purpose of conversing with him. Sometimes her sex reco- vered its ascendancy, and it was easy to perceive, that, conjugal and maternal recollections had drawn tears from her eyes. This mixture of fortitude and softness, served but to render her the more interest- ing. Tlie woman who waited on her, said one day to me, ' Before you, she summons all her courage, but in her own room she sometimes stands for three hours together, leaning against her window and I MADAM K ROLAND. ^299 ■weoplng.' The day on which she was called up to be examined, we saw^ her pass with her usual firmness, but when she returned, it was not with dry eyes: $he had been treated with harshness, and questions had been put to her injurious to her honour. lu expressing her indignation, she had not been able to .suppress her tears. A mercenary pedant coldly in- iSulted this admirable woman, celebrated for the ex- cellence of her understanding ; and who at the bar of the national convention had, by the graces of her eloquence, compelled even her enemies to admire her in silence. She remained a week at the Con- ciergerie, where her gentleness endeared her to all the prisoners, who sincerely deplored her fate. Ou the day of her condemnation, she was neatly dress- ed in white, her long black hair flowing loosely to her waist. She would have melted the most sa- vage nature, but these monsters were without hearts. Her dress was chosen, not to excite pity, but as a symbol of the purity of her mind. After her con- demnation, she passed through the wicket with a quick step, bespeaking something like cheerfulness, and intimating by an expressive gesture that she was condemned to die. She had for the companion of her fate a man, Lemarehe, director of the fabrica- tion of assignats, whose fortitude equalled not her own. She found means, however, to inspire him 500 I^IADAME ROLAND. with a certain degree of courage j and this she . ' hanging over them ; recommending her daughter to his paternal care. " To-morrow," says she, in thfi'^- letter, " according to the accounts brought us from all quarters, and the preparations made long since, may be the last day of our lives : at all events our fate will not be useless to the safety of the republic : our fall wUl teach the departments what dangers they have to combat. ... I am what you have always known me, devoted to my duties which I love, appreciating life for the blessings- of nature, and the enjoyments ** of virtue — I am too much habituated to despise death, to fe^r, or to fly from it. I leave my daugh- ter good examples, and a memory ever dear to her. ....May she judge, feel, and avail herself of every ' thing, with a conscience always as pure, and a souL' ■* as expansive, as have been those of her parents." All these precautions were of no effect, the Ro- lands were given to understand, that, in the retreat intended for her, their daujjhter would be still more exposed, and that even in the journey there would be danger. The brother, to whom the letter was- addressed, was guillotined by the temporary com- mission established at Lvons. Mademoiselle Mis- not, the governess of Eudora, betrayed her bene- factress, from whom she had received a. thousand."-* kindnesses, and appeared before the tribunal as a • '* witness in the affair, which led the mother of her ' pupil to tlie scaffold. Roland was reduced to con- MADAM1-: ROI,Ax\D. 30^ |ceal himself by flight from his enemies; his wife had (in her power the same rcsourec, but she refused to employ it. She sought to turn aside the mischiefs which threatened her huslsund, by ofiering herself as a victim to their enemies. She was thrown into the dungeons of the Abbaye, June 1, 17;'j, and a short time after transferred to St. Pelagic. In prison she comported herself with a dignity which extorted die respect of all who approached her ; while, by her conciliating manners, she softened all I the oflicers of the prison. The wife of the keeper more particularly distinguished her by her attentions*, ' her extreme kindness and benevolence gave birth to j the idea of a project for the escape of her illustrious charge, by whom this plan was after some consi- deration rejected, lest it should again rouse the fury of her husband's enemies, which for the present ap- peared to sluiiiber. ' While they keep me in pri- son,' said she, ' they will leave him at quiet ; it is of more importance to the public weal that he should escape than that I should. If reason and justice should ever resume their empire, would not the na- tion be happy to find Roland alive, and to place him at the helm of affairs ? Beside, I am determin- ed not to expose any one ; I cannot enjoy a liberty which would involve the safety of others ; I will therefore remain here. Such is my resolution.' It was about this time that Marat was stabbed by 306 MADAME ROLAND. Charlotte Cordey. Madame Roland admired this, personal sacrifice, but observed, that the stroke had not been aimed at the right person. An extreme indignation seized her on hearing of the honours paid to the memory of M.^rat, and of the baseness of the representatives, wliose probity had till then inspired her with some hope. Depression suc- ceeded to these transports ; the political atmosphere appeared in her apprehension overspread with a tliicker gloom. * I shall not,' said she, ' leave this place, but to go to the scafTold. I am, however, less tormented by my own fate, than by the cala- mities which will overwhelm, my country, which is ruined and undone.' After a long and melancholy pause, she again broke silence, to ?pcak of Brissot, a prisoner at the Abbaye, and whose death she foresaw to be nearer at hand than her own. ' He is confi- dent !' said she ; * he sees not that the fury of hi* enemies can be glutted only with blood. He must be apprised of this .Brissot, the most ardent apostle of liberty, must not be stabbed in the dark. He has useful truths to tell his contemporaries, and important lessons to give to posterity. He must fulfil this task, it will be sweeter to him when lie 15 invited to it by me.' Having formed this resolu- tion, she found means to execute it ; she addressed to Brissot a letter, in the sentiments of which was eomhlaed all that is most sublime in philosophy. IMADAME ROLAND. 307 |and consoldlory In friendship.' In consequence of [her exhortations, Brissot composed his Tes/anu-tU I Politique, which was considered by those to whom it- was confided as superior to all that liad before j come from his pen ; events had tempered the fire of ihis entliusiasm, while experience and misfortune h;id I enlightened his judgment. This work passed t4ie gates of the prison, and had gone tluougli the press, [ when both the impression and the MS. were de- 1 stroyed by Robespierre. Although madame Roland had no faith in th.e I justice eitlier of the committees or the convention, she took every proper step, by remonstrance and peti- tion, to free herself from confinement, but without effect. She transmitted, in a memorial addressed to her section, an account of the injustice and oppres- sion under which she laboured. The president, to whom this paper was addressed, durst not cause it to be read, such progress had been made in the reign of terror. In a letter to Champagneux, who had himself become a prisoner, a victim to the jealous despotism of the day, madame Roland congratulates herself upon having been called as a witness on tl.e trial of the deputies. " But," adds she, " there is an appearance that I shall not be heard. These execu- tioners dread the truths which I have to tell them, and the energy with which I should publish these truths. It. will be easier to them to put us to death 308 MAD.UIE ROLAXD. unheard. You will see no more either Vergulauil or Valaze. We shall all perish, my friend. Without' this, our oppressors would not think themselves im safety We shall perish victims of the weakness' of honourahle men, who imagined it suflicient for the triumph of virtue to place it in contrast with vice — I write to you by the side, and almost under the eye, of my executioners. I take a pride iii' braving them." A great part of the Memoirs of madame Roland,) written during her confinement, and entrusted tol Champagneux, were destroyed by the timidity of al woman, to whose care he had confided them, previous' to his imprisonment. Ma<:lameRola:id,when inforra-i ed of this event, could repair only in part the loss. The following character is given of madame Ro-f land, by M. Champagneux, the intimate friend of', her husband : *' During the first twenty-five years of her life,- she had read and studied with attention every work of celebrity, both ancient and modern; from thtti greater number of which she made extracts. Sh«:i wrote with ease and grace, both in English and) Italian ; her thouglits always outstripping her penj and her words. She was mistress of several sciences^; and particularly skilled in botany.. By her. travfci^f she had acquired experience and improvement, Shei was remarkable for her penetration, her sagacity,-). MADAME ROLAND. 30 nor returned to it but with satisfaction. In this seclusion, she composed her " Frietidihip in Deathj^ in twenty letters from the dead to the living, 1128. Also her " Letters, Moral and En- tertaining," in prose and verse. Part 1. 1729; Part 2. 1731; Part 3. 1733. These productions, which display great sensibility of heart, a lively ima- gination, and a visionary turn of mind, were trans- lated into French, and published at Amsterdam, in 1740, in two vols. 12mo. All the writings of Mrs. Rowe breathe a spirit of benevolence, of purity, and t)f virtue, animated by a raised and enthusiastic devotion. In the year 1736, she was prevailed upon by some friends, to whom she had imparted her History of Joseph in manuscript, to give it to the public. It was with unfeigned reluctance that she yielded ^ her assent : this piece had been written in her youth. ELIZABETH R0\VT:. S17 sthd carried no farther than the marririge of the hero : at the request of the duchess of Somerset, she added to it two books, including Joseph's discovery of himself to his brethren. This addition is said to Jiave been composed within three or four days. This was her last work : it was published but a fc\y weeks preceding her death. Her constitution was uncommonly good ; she had passed a long series of years in almost uninterrupted health. Half a year before her decease, she was attacked with a disorder, attended with threatening symptoms. She complained, during this malady, that her mind was less serene and prepared to meet death, than she had flattered herself it would have been : this depression, probably the physical con- sequence of her situation, she struggled against and subdued. She experienced in this conquest a lively satisfaction, and repeated, in a pious and poetical transport, ]>.Ir. Pope's " Dying Christian's Address to his Soul." ']"hough advanced in years, she re- covered from this indisposition to her usual state of health : her exact temperance, added to the calm- ness of her mind and disposition, encouraged her friends to hope that she might yet Hve many years. On the day previous to her decease, she appeared in perfect health and vigour; and, after conversing ^vith a friend with unusual vivacity, retired to her p 3 31d- ELIZABETH ROWE. chamber early in the evening. About ten o'clock^ her servant, hearing a noise as of something falhng in the apartment of her mistress, found, on entering It,( that she had fallen on the floor, speechless, and apparently dying. A physician and surgeon wer^ immediately summoned ; but all aid proved inef» fectual y she expired with only one groan, befora t^wo o'clock the ensuing morning, Feb. 20, 1136^-1 j in tlie 63d year of her age. Her disorder was pro*, nounced to be an apoplexy. Religious books and( pious meditations were found lying by her. Hq; life had been tranquil, and, except in the loss oi her husband, unclouded ; and her death was happy^ She had always been apprehensive of the effects which might be produced upon her mind by the pain and languor of a sick-bed, which she thus fortunately escaped ; and, on various occasions, had expressed to her friends her desire of a suddeij death. She was buried, according to her request, under the same stone with her father, at Fromc. Her death was regretted by her friends, to whom her virtues, and the gentleness of her manners, had endeared her j and lamented by the poor, to whom she was a kind benefactress. In her cabinet were found letters addressed to several of her friends ; to the countess of Hertford, the earl of Orrery, Mr. James Theobald, and Mrs. ELIZABETH ROWE. 3\V S4irSih Rowe. These letters *, -whicli breathed an iffectionate and pious temper, were super»cribc to my im'agination. Whatever such distingui^licd ELIZABETH ROWE. 3^3 sense and merit could claim, I have endeavoured to pay to the memory of my much-loved husbamL 1 reflect with pleasure on my conduct on this occa- sion ; not merely from a principle of justice and gratitude to him, but from a. conscious sense of honour, and love of a virtuous reputation after deatli. But if the soul, in a separate state, should be insen- sible to human censure or applause, yet there is a disinterested homage due to the sacred name of vir- til8.** ' It is observed greatly to her honour, by lier biographer, that no one of her domestics ever left her, except vvrith a vievir of changing their condi- tion by marriage. Her charities, coasldering the mediocrity of hei fortune, bordered on excess: she consecrated, by a solemn vow, the half of her income to benevolent purposes. To enable herself to fulfil this engagement, she retrenched all superfluous expences, and prac- tised a rigid economy. The first time she accepted any acknowledgment from her bookseller for her writings, she bestowed the whole sum on a distressed family : another time, on a similar occasion, she sold a piece of plate to relieve an exigency for which, she was not sufficiently provided. It was her cus- tom on going out, to furnish herself with pieces o£ money of different value, to relieve such objects of compassion as might fall in her way. Her mu- nificence was not confined to the place ia which sh^ 324 ELIZABETH ROWE. lived, nor to any sect or party. " I never," said she, " grudge any money, but when it is bid out upon myself; for I consider how much it would buy for the poor." Nor did she confine her charities to money ; she gave to the distressed her time, her la- bour, lier sympathy, often of infinitely greater va» lue. She caused the children of the neighbouring poor to be instructed ; and herself assisted in form- ing their minds and principles. Nor was her be- neficence limited to the lower ranks. " It was one of the greatest benefits," she was accustomed to say, *' that could be done to mankind, to free them from the cares and anxieties that attend a narrow for- tune." The delicacy and sweetness of her manner, on all occasions, doubled the bounties she conferred. The calm and uniform tenor of her life, her active virtues and happy constitution, produced a perpe- tual sunshine of the mind, that diffused itself on all around her. The most distinguislied characters of the age were among the friends of Mrs. Rowe : by the countess of Hertford, who composed an elegy on her death, she was more particularly lamented. A large collection of poems to her honour, is prefixed to her miscellaneous works. Philoiiula was the poetical name given to iVjrs. Rowe, in allusion to her maiden name of Singer, and to the softness and harmony of her verses. Her person is thus de- scribed by her biograplier, Mr. Theophilus Rov^> CLAUDIA RUFINA— LADY RUSSF.I.. 313 the brother of her husband : " Her stature was moderate, her h.iir of a fine auburn colour ; her eyes darkish grey, inclining to blue, and full of fire. Her complexion was exquisitely fair, and a natural blush glowed in her checks. She spoke gracefully, her roice was sweet and harmonious, suited to the geiitle language which always flowed from her lips. But the softness and benevolence of her aspect were beyond ' all description : they inspired irresistible love, yet not without some mixture of that awe and veneration which distinguished sense and virtue, apparent in the countenance, are wont to create." Memoirs of Mrs. Ro-we — Gibbons^ s Memoirs ofPioui Women — Female IVort/jies. CLAUDIA RUFJNA. The poet Martial, who extols this lady for her virtues, her learning, and her beauty, was the friend of her husband, Aulus Rufus Pudcns, a Bononian philosopher, and of the Roman equestrian order. Claudia Rufina was a noble British lady, and the author of a book ef epigrams, an elegy on the death of her husband, and other compositions, both in verse and prose. LADY RU:SEL. Elizabeth, third daughter of sir Anthony Cooke, was born in 1529, and was instructed, with her jgisters, ia every elegant and liberal acquiro;ncnt : 326 LADY RUSSFJ.. she even surpassed tliem in her progress, and w^ celebrated by the first scholars of the age. She married sir 1 homas Hobby, and accompanied hii^ into France, where he was sent by the queen on an embassy to the court. Sir Thomas died in Paris, April 13th, 1566, leaving his widow in a state of pregnancy. She accompanied the bodyof her hus- band to his native land ; and having erected a cha- pel, on the south side of the chancel of the church at. Bisham, in Berkshire, she deposited his remains witli those of his brother, sir Philip Hobby, and placed on the tomb inscriptions, in Latin and Eng^ lish verse, of her own composition. Sir Thomas left on his decease four children, Edward, Eliza- beth, Anne, and Thomas posthumous, who, it ap- pears from a letter* addressed by his mother to her brother-in-law, lord treasurer Burleigh, gave her, great anxiety by his wild and irregular conduct. Some years after the decease of sir Thomas Hobbey, his widow espoused lord John Russel, soa and heir to Francis Russel, the second earl of Bed- ford of that name. Lady Russel became a widow a. second time, in 1584: her husband died before his father, and was buried in the abbey church of Westminster, where a monument is erected to his memory, with inscriptions by his widow, in Latin, , I iiHi * In the possession of the hon. James West; '' t*-* LADY RUSSEL. 327 Greek, nnd English. One son was the fruit of this imniage, who died young in 1580, and two daugh- ters, Anrie and Elizabeth, The latter survived her fither hni a short time. It is this lady of whom it^-is reported, that she died in consequence of Wounding the fore-finger of her left hand by a needle; a tale oi: legend which the attitude of her figure, placed on the monument, within the same grate with that of her father, is thought to inti- mate. Her statue of alabaster is placed on a pe- destal of black and white marble, in imitation of a Roman altar : it appears seated in a wrought osier chair, in a melancholy position, the head inclined towards the right hand, with the fore-finger of the left extending downwards, pointing to a death's- head under its feet. Admitting the story of her death to have been well founded, it is probable that some nerve or tendon might be wounded by the ac- cident, or that from the state of her blood, or habit, o'gangrene might have ensued. Yet it is certain that the tale wears the appearance of fiction. Ihe attitude of the statue is capable of a moral and re- ligious interpretation, and it is by no means in proof Sf this popular tradition. The monument was erected toiler memory by Anne, her only surviving sister. i Lady Russcl translated from the French a religious tract, originally written in German, entitled " A way of Reconciliation of a good aud learned Man, touching the true Nature and Substance of tiic 323 LADY RUSSEL. Boily and Blood of Christ in the Sacrament," printed 1605, and dedicated to her only daughter, Anne Herbert, wife to lord H. Herbert. This dedication breathes the tenderest affection for her daughter, to whom the work is presented as a new-year's-gift. The time of her death is uncertain ; but it ap- pears that she was living, though very infirm, in August, 1596 ; 'and in the ensuing year, she com-"* plains. In a letter to her nephew Cecil, of declining' health, and the Infirmities of old age. — The lettei" thus concludes : " Your lordships owld awnt of compleat 68 years, that prays for your long lyfe, Ehzabeth Russel, Dowager." She was probably buried with her first husband at Bisham, in Berks,^ in the chapel founded by herself, in which a mag- nificent monument is erected against the south wall/ and In the middle a large arch, raised on four pil- lars, under which is placed her statue, kneeling, and"* having on its head the coronet of a viscountess. The figure of an infant lies on the cushion on which'' she rests, and behind her kneel three daughters. Westward, without the arch, are the statues of twof. men in armour, and eastward, the statue of a lady' In a robe lined with ermine, a coronet on her head"." On a black marble tablet, at tlie foot of the monu- ment. Is a Greek inscription, and on another tablet' is an inscription in Latin. Lady l-{ussel lived to' •write the epitaphs, in the Greek, Latin, and Eng- lish languages, for both Ijer husbands, for her LADY RACHEL RUSSLL. 3?9 ii|oiJ, Iicr daughter, her brother, sister, aiul friciul, I Mr. Noke, of Shottesbi-ookc. £a//(ird'j British Ladies — liio^rafhiiiVi FamifUum. LADY RACHEL RUSSiil,. "Rachel, daughter of Thomas Wriotheslcy, oarl of Southampton, was born in 1636. Her mother, first wife to the earl, was the daughter of Henry de Massey, baron of Hovigny. The earl of South- ampton, distinguished for his talents and independ- ent spirit, w^as an enemy to the arbitrary measures ^pursued by the crown, during the administration of the earl of Strafford. In the subsequent prosecu- tion of that nobleman, he opposed liimself widi equal firmness to the parliament, which had, he believed, exceeded the limits of justice and the con- stitution. He became eminently serviceable to the king on this occasion, whose cause he adopted against the popular proceedings. He is styled by Burnet, " A fast friend to the public, the wise and virtuous earl of Southampton, who deserved from the king every thing which he could bestow." At the Restoration he was made lord high-treasurer, an office which he filled with ability and integrity. He died May 16th, 1667, leaving by his first wife twTD daughters ; Elizabeth, married to Edward Noel, baron AVriothesley, of Titchficld, Sec. fee. and Ka^ 33() LADY KAClIliL RUSSEU* chel, wife to Francis lord Vviughan, eldest son of the earl of liocraw, earl of Carberry. After the death of lord Vaughan, his widow, in 16G9, es- poused William lord Russel, son of William earl of Bedford : one son and two daughters were the fruit of this union. ^^"m In the struggle against the encroachments of 'the crown, under Charles II., during a fit of sickness which seized the king at Windsor, the duke of Monmouth, lord Ilussel, and lord Grey, instigated by the earl of Shaftesbury, agreed, should the dis- order of Charles prove mortal, to oppose in arms the succession of tlie duke of York. The king re* covered j but their projects were not laid aside. The imprisonment of Shaftesbury gave a check to these machinations, which new encroachments on the li- berties of the people had revived. The train was laid and ready to take fire, when Monmouth was^ induced by lord Russel to delay the enterprise. At^ length the conspirators were, by their commoir views and common apprehensions, induced to forrti'' a regular plan of insurrection. A council of -si*- was formed, consisting of Monmouth, Russel, EsserJ' Howard, Algernon Sidney, and John Hambden, grandson to the celebrated patriotic Hambdehl These men, though united in a common cause, we're instigated by motives widely different. Sidney de- sired a commonwealth ; Essex was animated bythe'^ LADY RACHEL UUSSEL. 311 iSfOie principle ; Monmouth aspired to the crown j iwjvle Kussel and Hambilen, attaclxed to the ancient ^ coflStitution, proposed only the redress of grievances,* afid the exclusion of tlie duke from the succession.- Howard, an unprincipled man, had his own inte- rest only in contemplation. An inferior order of malecontents were also in the habit of meeting, who. indulged themselves, wholly unknown to the council of six, in planning criminal and desperate measures. In this cabal the assassination of the king and of the duke was I freely discussed, and even a project proposed for the I purpose. But the plan, however plausible, was , loose and wild ; neither were there persons, arms, nor horses, provided for its execution. Among those who composed this faction, Keiling, a man who for some bold measures had rendered himself ob- I noxious to a prosecution, determined to purchase hi? safety by revealing the conspiracy. The council o( six, though guiltless of the assassination plot, became involved in this discovery. Monmouth ab- ■ SQonded ; Kussel was sent to the Tower ; Howard ! sayed himself by basely impeaching his colleagues j while Essex, Sidney, and Hambden, were appre- hended upon his evidence. The English laws of txjpasipn, under the act of Edward III., were mild and equitable : they required proof of having compassed or intenck4the king's death, or of having actually 332 LADY RACHEL IIUSSEL. levied war against him ; greater latitude had been afterwards introduced both in the proof and defini- tion of the crime. Soon after the restoration o£ Charles a law had passed, by which tTie consulting or intending a rebellion was declared treason •■, but which required that the prosecution should take place within six' months after the commission of the crime. Under this statute the offence of Russcl fell. The facts, however, sworn against him^ were beyond the limit of the time required by law : to make, therefore, the indictment more extensive, the intention of murdering the king was compre- hended in it, by a refinement in law. Russel, perceiving this irregularity, desired to have the point argued by counsel ; but this privilege was refused to him, excepting on condition of his previously confessing the facts laid to his charge. The confounding the two species of treason, a prac- tice supported by precedents, was not the only hard- ship of which Russel had to complain. Too can- did to deny his share in the conspiracy for an insur- rection, he contented himself with protesting, truly, that he had never formed any design against tlie life ef the king. A defence so feeble availed him little : his jury, zealous royalists though men of fair cha- racter, after a short deliberation, brought him in guilty. The day previous to his trial, he had asked kavc LADY RxVCIirX RUSSIX. 335 of the court that notes of the evidence might be taken for his use. By the attorney-general he was inforiTied in reply, that he might if he pleased use one of his servants for the purpose. * I ask no as- sistance,' ansv/ered the prisoner, ' but that of the lady who sits by me.' At these words the specta- tors, turning their eyes on the daughter of the vir- tuous Southampton, who rose to assist her husband in his distress, melted into tears. The old earl of Bedford, the father of lord Russel, offered to the duchess of Portsmouth a hundred thousand pounds to procure her interest with the king for the pardon of his son. But every application proved vain. The independent spirit, the patriotism, the popularity, the courage, the talents, and the virtues, of the prisoner, were his most dangerous offences, and became so many arguments against his escape. Charles could be prevailed on only to remit the more ignominious part of the sentence which the law requires to be pronounced against traitors. . Lady Russel threw herself at the feet of the king, and pleaded with tears the merits and loyalty of her father, as an atonement for those offences into which her husband liad been drawn, by honest though erroneous principles. Charles beheld unmoved the daughter of his best friend weeping at his feet : he even rejected her petition for a respite of a few •weeks. * Shall I grant that man,' said he, * six 334 LADY KACHEL KUSS^L. weeks, who, had it been in his power, would n€)t have granted me six hours ?' These tears and these supplications were the last instance of feminine soj?- row which lady Russel betrayed on so trying an oc- casion. On finding every effort fruitless for saving the life of her husband, she collected her courage, and fortified her mind for the fatal stroke, confirm- ing by her example the resolution of her lord. No one doubted the innocence of Russel respect- ing the charge of conspiring against the life of the king, which he solemnly denied with his dying breath. The witnesses who deposed against him, made no mention of any such design : his princi- pal guilt had been his opposition in parliament to what he deemed unconstitutional measures, with his efforts for the exclusion of the duke of York from the throne. His friends essayed every means that mo- ney and interest could afford to preserve his in- valuable life. They engaged that he should promise on his liberation to exile himself from his native land. Lord Cavendish offered to facilitate his es- cape by changing habits with him, and remaining as his substitute. But Russel refused to save his life by an expedient that might subject his friend tfl hazard. The duke of Monmouth sent to hirn a message, that, if he thought it would avail any, thing towards his safety, he would deliver up hlmr self, and share the fate of his friend. To this PTQt. LADV ft AdHfeK- 'i^ikl. '33s position Russcl only replied, * that it would be of ho advantage to him to have his friends die with him !' It was proposed by Cavejidish that a party of horse should attack the guards, and deliver him 'i"orcibIy, on his way to the scaffold ; an attempt ^rithout breaking with the duke of York, who, in %e meanness of his vengeance, was desirous that the illustrious victim should suffer in the square be- fore York-house ; an insult to which the king would hot be persuaded to submit. An order being signed for his execution, a re- spite of only two days was refused to his friends. Bishops Burnet and Tillotson, with a view of serr- mg him, tried to prevail on him to confess resist- ance to be unlawful. ' He could not tell a lie,' was the magnanimous reply of Russel. Tillotson ob- served, that he did not think resistance authorised by remote fears and consequences, or illegal prac- tltfefst' On this hypothesis, Russel declared he saw nO difference between a lawful and a Turkish govern-. ment, arid that, in case of a total subversion, resist- ^iG LADY RACHEL RUSSLL. ancc would be too Lite. In answer to some clet- gyman, who flattered him with the hope of life on condition of his acknowledging, tliat subjects had in no case a right to resist tlxe throne, * I can,' said he, ^ have no conception of a limited monarcliy^ which has not a right to defend its own limitations ^ neither will my conscience permit me to say otlier* tvise to the king.' This firmness in refusing to pur- chase life by the sacrifice of his principles, aflbrds tli€ best testimony to his integrity and virtue. As his fate drew near, he expressed his satisfac- tion that he had chosen deatli ratlier than flighty since he felt that, separated from his family and friends, whose affection and society constituted ail his happiness, life would have been to him insup- portable. To another project suggested by the gal- lant Cavendish, he replied smiling, that he thanked him very kindly, but would not escape ; adding, he could never yet limit his bounty to his condition, and that the only pleasure he had felt in the antici- pation of a large estate, to which he was heir hj descent, was in the hope of an extension in the means of doing good. He thanked God, who knew the sincerity of his heart, that he had in iH things acted in conformity to the dictates of hiscon- science ; that he could never enter into what he i thought wrong, nor could o*a any occasion tell an -untruth. LADY RACHEL RUSSEL. S:17 Tillotson informed the king that Riisscl had dc^ ci-ired to him, that he had associated with those un- happy men, only to preserve the duke of Mon- mouth from being ensnared by them into any rasK undertaking. Being tlien questioned why he had not in that case discovered their designs to the king; he answered, he could not betray his friends, nor turn informer while he saw no danger ; yet, had things come to a crisis, he would have contrived a method of giving the king warning; and had vio- lence been attempted, would have been the first to oppose it with his sword. On the Tuesday before his execution, after din- ner, when lady Russel had left him, he spoke with pleasure of the magnanimity she displayed ; and ob- served, ' that a separation from her was the severest part of what he had to undergo, since he dreaded lest she should sink under her grief.' ' At present,' he added, * she was in some degree supported by her exertions to save him, by which her mind was occu- pied : but when her hopes were over, he feared the quickness of her spirits, and the poignancy of her feelings.' On the Thursday, while she was labour- ing to gain a respite till the Monday, he expressed a wish that she would abandon a cause so hopeless: yet the consideration, that her sorrow might be mitigated by the recollection that she had spatial no , VOL. VI. Q, 538 LADY RACHEL RUSSTX. possible means fi^r his safety, prevented him from opposing her designs. His courage never appeared to fanlter but \vhen he spoke of his wife; his eyes would, on such oc- casions, fill with tears, while he appeared eager to fly from the subject. On the Friday night as she left him, he embraced her repeatedly, while she re- strained her grief lest it should too sensibly aftect him. The evening before his death, his children were brought to him : he parted with tliem and his friends with courage and constancy. Some of his expressions denoted not only composure but plea- santry. Being seized with a bleeding at his nose, * I shall not now,' said he to Dr. Burnet, who at- tended him, ' let blood to divert this distemper, that will be done to-morrow.* A short time before he was conducted by the sheriffs to the scaffold, he wound up his watch, observing, * he had now done , with time, and henceforth must think only on eternity.' When parting from lady Russcl, who command- ed herself with heroic fortitude, they mutually pre- served a solemn and affecting silence. He declared when she had left him, * that the bitterness of death was past.* He praised her character and conduct, while he spoke of his affection for her with elo- quence and fer\-or. He" protested that she had ever been to him a blessing ; and observed how LADY RACHi:!, RL SSEI.. SS9 ■wvdtchcd it would Iiave made him, had she not joined to tenderness and sensibility a spirit Uio mag- nanimous to desire him to be guilty of basenes'i, even for the preservation of his life. Ho expressed hia gratitude to Providence, that had given him a wife, who, to birth, fortune, talents, and virtue, united sensibility of heart, and whose conduct, in the extreme crisis of his fate, had even surpassed all her other virtues. He spoke of the joy which he felt, that his family would lose nothing by his death, since he left his children in the hands of so admirable a mother, who for their sakes had pro* mised to preserve herself. The scaffold for his execution was erected in Lincolns-inn-fields, that the triumph of the court might be manifest, in the exhibition of the illustri- ous suflerer to the populace. As he passed through the citv, bishops Burnet and Tillotson accompanied him in the coach. The people, who fancied they beheld virtue and freedom suffer with him, melted into tears at the spectacle. As, on passing it, he look- ed towards Southampton-house, a tear started to hi« eye, which he instantly wiped away. He observed, ' that a cloud was hanging over the nation, to which his death would prove more serviceable than his life.' The moment before his execution, he affirm- Kti, dv the f-^th of a dying man, that he knew of 310 LADY RACHEL RUSSEL. no plot against the king's person or government^ but, having submitted himself to the decision of the laws, he was determined to abide the penaky. The populace beheld with unfeigned grief the fate of their beloved leader, once the object of all their confidence : as he had been tlie most popular among his own party, so was he the least obnoxious to the opposite faction : every heart sensible to ge- nerosity or humanity united in tender commiseration on this affecting catastrophe. Without the least change of countenance, he laid his head on tire block : at two strokes it was separated by the exe- cutioner from his body. This tragedy took place July 21, 168:3. A paper, expressive of his inno- cence, was delivered by him to the shcrifl's, which gave great offence at court. Burnet was questioned on the subject, but the widow of lord Russel, in a letter to the king, justified and exculpated her hus- band. Of lord Russel, it was said by Calamy, *< that an age would not repair to the nation his loss, and that his name ought never to be mentioned by Englishmen without respect." Lady Russel sustained the loss of this worthy and beloved husband with the same heroism which she had displayed during his trial and imprisonment. When, in open court, attending by his side, observ- ing and taking notes of all that passed in his favour j when, a weeping suppliant at the feet of the king, LADY EACH EL RU9SEL. fJU ^he pleailed for a life so precious to her, in the name, and for the services, of a deceased father ; when, in meek and solemn silence, without sufterinj;; a tear to escape her, she parted for ever witli a husband so deservedly beloved ; she appears equally an object of sympathy, admiration, and reverence. After this melancholy and cruel event, tlie widow of the respectable and patriotic Russcl proved the faitliful guardian of his honour and his fame ; tlie wise and active mother to his children ; and the friend and patroness of his friends. She survived more than forty years, and died September 'J9th 1723, at the advanced age of eighty-seven. The letters of lady Russel, written after the de- cease of her husband, afford an affecting picture of the conjugal affection and fidelity of the writer, whom new trials yet awaited. Wriothesley duke of Bedford, her only son, died of tlie small-pox> May nil, in the thirty-first year of his age. To this affliction succeeded the death of her daughter, the duchess of Rutland, who died in childbed^ Lady Russel gave on this occasion a new instance of her fortitude and self command. Her daughter, the duchess of Devonshire, was also in childbed at the time of her sister's decease. The mother, after beholding one daughter in her coffin, repaired to the chamber of the other, with a composed and Q.3 512 LADY RACIILL RUbSKL. tranquil countenance. The duchess of Devoiishirt- earnestly enquiring after the welfare of her sister, lady Russel evasively replied, without betraying any emotion, < I have seen your sister cut of bed lo-day.' To this instance of her fortitude an anecdote may be added, in testimony of her courage and presence of mind, displayed on a lesser and unprtmeditutcd occasion. " The following relation," says Mr. Stiwood *» I had from lady Russel, in Southampton-row> Bedford-house, where the accident happeued. Her ladyship's own words, to the best of my remem- brance, were these : ' As I was reading in my closet, the door being bolted, on a sudden the candle and candlestick jumped off the table, an hissing fire ran on the floor, and, after a short time, left some paper In a flame, which with my foot I put into the chim- ney to prevent mischief. I then sat down in the dark to consider whence this event should come. I knew my doors and windows were fast, and that there was no way open into the closet but by the chimney; but that something should come down * Mr. Thomas Sdwood livod in thefaoiily of lady Ru* ael, copied her letters from the originals, which, having published with permission, he dedicated to the duke of Bedford. £ADV TvACHEL RUSSEL. 3« there, and strike my camllc oil" the rablc in th.jt strange manner, I believed impossible. After 1 had wearied myself with tliinking to no purpose, I rang my bell. The servant in waiting, when 1 told him what had happened, begged pardon for having by mistake given me a mould eandle, with a gunpowdir squib in it, which was intended to make sport among the fellow-servants on a rejoicing day.' Her lady- ship bid the servant not be troubled at the matter, for she had no other concern about it than that of hot finding out the cause." It is observable in the letters of lady Russel, that no expression of resentment, or traces of a vindic- tive spirit, mingle at any time with the sentiment of grief, by which they are uniformly pervaded, for the fate of her husband. When James II. who had been principally aiding to that fate, became a wan- derer in a foreign land, driven from his throne and country, there appears no triumph in the expressions of this lady, nor even an intimation, that retributive justice had overtaken him. She also passes over in silence the tragical end of the barbarous and in- famous JefFeries, who had distinguished himself against lord Russel on his trial. It appears from several of her letters, that lady Russel experienced uneasiness, some years after the death of her husband, from dimness and weakness 0^4 Jit LAURA SADE. in her sight. From this complaint slic was relieved by an operation, in June, 1694. Archbishop Til- iotson, writing to Dr. Burnet bishop of Saiibbury on the 28th of June, informs him, " that the eyes of lady Russel had been couched, the preceding morn- iiig, with good success." From this time till her death she enjoyed her sight witliout impediment, and was accustomed, at a very advanced period of life, to write without spectacles. The apprehen- sion of the loss of sight, that invaluable blessing, was sustained by lady Russel with her wonted cou-? rage and resignation. The first persons of the age, both in rank and literature, did honour to themselves by their respect and friendship towards this illustri- ous and heroic woman. Letters of Racbe/, Lady Rjisjel, from the MS in the Lf- brarj at JVooburn Abbey — Hume's History of England —Memoirs cf Pious PVo77ien, LAURA SADE. Among writers celebrated for their learning and genius, at the revival of letters in the fourteenth century, Francis Petrarch, a Florentine poet, whose ancestors were intrusted with offices of honour in the state, holds a high and distinguish- ed rank. Petrarco, his father, having become the LAURA SADE. 3+5 victim of taction, was, togetlicr wit'u Dante', ba- nished from the vcpiiblic, and cundi'mncd to pay ii considerable fine. After many sulferinfrs and straggles to regain his patrimony, tired of svu. rcssless clTorts, he at length determined to rt!pair to Avignon, a city of France, on the l)anks of the Rhone, situated between Lyons and Marseilles, to whiclj a Gascon poj)e iiad removed the Roman see. The younfT Petrarch was bv his father destined to the profession of the law, to which he flattered himself, from the talents he had observed in his son, that he would prove a distinguished orna-. ment. This plan, however, but little accorded with the lively sensibility and genius of the youth, which irresistibly impelled him to more conge- nial pursuits. His subsequent progress in letters- aiul reputation, l)clongs not to the present me-. moir to narrate. Nature had been to Petrarch lavish of her bounties. I'o superior endowments, a livi-ly imagination, and a susceptible heart, he addetl a fine person and a prepo.ssessing countenance. The fervor of his passions, and the impetuosity of his youth, had, in the earlier periods of his * Dante, in his works, bitterly resents this trtalmeut. Q.5 5te- LAURA SADE. lifo, and in a voluptxioiis and dissolnte court, tometimes betrayed him into transient irreprnlari- ties, which his priiici])lcs condemned, and -wliich }iis taste abhorrcd. *' I can aver," says he, " that irom the bottom of m}* soul I detest such scenes." • — '* If I sometimes acted with freedom, it was because love had not yet become an inhabitant of IDV breast.'* After his return from Bologna, whitlier he had been sent by his father to prosecute his studies, lie passed a whole year, with gaiety and indifference, iimong the beauties of A^•ignon, who contenth^d for the concpiest of his heart. The Muse was tJje rmly mistress whose favours he courted. " I was as free and as wild," says he, " as tlie untamed stag.*' But the niomcnt when his liberty was to- be forfeited approached. " Love,'* says he,. *'• observing that his former arrows had but glanced over my heart, called to his aid a lady against v/hose power neither wit, beauty,, nor stren{Tth, were of anv avail.'*" On Sunday in the holy week, at six in the- morning, the time of Matins, Petrarch beheld, at the church of the monasteiy of St. Claire, a young lady whose channs absorbed and captivitt- ed his attention. " She was dressed in green ^ and her robe was embroidered with vioh.'ts. - Her face, her air, her gait, were somewhat more tliaij. LAURA SADE. 3t7 mortal. Her person was tlclicatc, lu;r eyes ten- der and sparkling, and Ijcr eyebrows black as ebony. Golden locks waved over lier shouKler';, wliicli Avere whiter than snow; her ringlets were iutir- wovcn by the fingers of love. Her neck was finely formed, ami her coniplt;xioii, which art would vainly attempt to imitate, animated by the tints of nature. When she opened her n)out}i,. you perceived the beauty of pearls and the sweets of roses. She was full of "races. Nothinc: was so soft as her looks, so modest as hvv carriage, so touchini): as tlie sound, of her voice. An air of gaiety and tenderness breathed around her, but so pure and hajipily tempered, as to inspire every beholder with the sentiments of virtue : for she was chaste as the spangled dew-drop of the morn. Such was the amiable Laura !" I'his lady, to whom the genius of Pctrarcli has given celebrity, ajjpears, from a comparative view of the few particulars * which arc to be found nespecting her private life, to have been the daughter of Andibcrt tie Novcs, a chevalier, and liis wife Ermessenda. Her family held the first rank at Noves, a town of Provence, two leagues * From the archives of the house of Sade, antl hynv tluj writings ot Petrarch- >"••; / 34-8 LAURA SADE. from Avignon. Laura possessed a house in tliat city, where she passed a part of the year. Her father had left to her a handsome dowry, to he given to her on her marriaire, wliicli took place when she Avas very young (through the authority and influence of her mother), with Hugues dc Sade, whose family was originally of Avignon, where they held the first offices. It was not till after her marriage that Petrarch beheld her, at the church of the monastery at St. Claire ; hence his frequent remorses, and the severity of Laura'a behaviour. An old picture of Laura was, in 16-t2, brought to cardinal Barberini : this portrait ]iad been long preserved in the house of Sadc at Avignon ; and Richard de Sade, then bishop of Cavoillon, proved that this Laura, of the house of Sade, was really the Laura of Petrarch, and that those who had considered her as the mistress of Petrarch at Vaucluse, or as an allegorical per- son, were romancers, ill-informed of real circum- stances or facts. In the sonnets of Petrarch there is a perpetual allusion to the laurel* and Daphne, with which he took a pleasure in associating the object of his * The laurel, with which poets were crowned, was con- tccrated to Apollo, v.-ho was the god of poetry. LAURA SADE. Si9 art^ection. " I ran every-wherc after Lama," says he, ^* but she flees from inc, as Daphne fled from Apollo." ■ On the system of Pythagoras, he supposed, with a poetical licence, that the soul of Daphne, after a long succession of transmigrations, had passed into the body of Laura. Under this illu- sion, he beheld not the laurel Mithout transports, ;md planted it in every place. He frequently seated himself at the foot of one of those trees, on the side of a river, where Laura was accus- tomed to pass ; while, in her absence, every thing in this delightful spot, which was her favourite walk, presented to him her image, and rekindled his poetical raptures. " On this bank," says he, ** and under the shelter of this charming tree, I sing with transports the praises of Laura. The gentle murmurs of the stream accompanying my tender sighs ; the refreshing shade tempers the ardour of my passion : these only are the objects which have power to relieve my soul." While Petrarch concealed in his bosom the passion with which Laura had inspired him, he OAvns that she behaved to himAvith kindness ; but, when she discovered the state of liis mind, slic treated" him with great severity. Awed by the chastity of her conduct and manners, Petrarch had not dared to speak of liis fcchngsj but Laura> S.-^O LAURA SADE. on perceiving riuit he followed her evorN'-where^, and directed towaixls her his ardent glances, solj^ citously avoided him, and, if by accident he ap*] proaehed her in public, immeil lately left ti»e place ; she hastily covered herself with her veil whenever she saw him, to defend Iw^rself from his tender glances. Petrarch perpetindly complains- of this cruel veil, which hid from liis view the charms he adored. His timidity,, the characteris- tic of true love, was increased by tiie rigours of his mistress, the magnihcc nee of whose dress also tended to heighten his respect." ** Dazzled by the lustre of her beauty and tlie splendour of her dress, for she wore on her head a silver coront»t,. and tied up her hair with knots of jewels*; ter- rified also with the austerity of her looks, he had- not courage to speak to her." " Was I," said he. '^ to see the lustre of those bright eyes extin-» guished by age, those golden locks changed tt» silver^ the flowers painted on that complexion faded^ was I to see I-aura without her garland, without her ornamented robe, I feel I should have more courage." Petrarch does not appear, af this period, to have been admitted to the house of. Laura ; he saw her only in public, and at festivals vhere the ladies assembled. " She appeared," ♦ An extraordinary raagn-iiiceQcc in tliose times. LAUHA SADE. 3:;i savs he^ ^' among the beauties of Avitrnon, like a fine flower, in the midst of a parterre, eclipsing-, bv its lustre and by the brightness of its colours,.ail tho;ie by which it u'as surrounded." I lis attachment to her increased with his respect, while the admira- tion with which her virtue had inspired him, led him to greater purity and regularity of conduct. " I "ble^s* the h:ippy moment," says lie, " that directed mv heart to La\ira. She led me to see the path of virtue, to detach my heart from base and trrovelling objects : from her I am inspired W'ith that celestial flame which raises my soul to heaven, and directs it to the Supreme Cause, as to the only source of happincsB." Petrarch was^ bv the severity of Laura (who had forbidden him to see or to speak to her), the restless state of his mind, and the desire of ac- quiring knowledge, determined to travel ; but, scarcely had he quitted Avignon, before he re> pented of his purpose, and with difficult^' could prevent himself from returning. During his journev, the image of Laura was ever present to his thoughts. He passed,, on his return, througl* a part of the forest of Ardenne, which was ren- dered more peculiarly dangerous by the inroads of troops, from a war between the duke of Bra- bant and the court of Flanders, who disputed with each other the sovereignty of INIoulincs* 3.52 LAURA SADE. Petrarch, however, took no guanl ; alone and unn aanncd, •\vlioliy occupied by his passion, he tra- versed the most gloomy recesses of the forest- *' Love," said he, " cnliqlitoned the shades of Ardenne, Avhcre Laura appeared in every object^ and was heard in every breeze." On approach- ing Lyons, he beheld tlic Rhone Avith transport^ which, in its coui"se to the sea, bathed tlie wall^ of Avignon. He had flattered himself tliat ah-i sence mioht have softened the rioours of Laura, and that slio wouki have beheld him on his return with greater complacency. Of the disappointr mcnt of this hope he bitterly comj)lains, and com-r pares his mistress to the snow, on which the s\u;^ had not beamed. *' It is now," says he, " seven years that I have sighed night and day for Laura, without hope of bemg able to touch her heart." It is the natural effect of a romantic and tender passion to render common society distasteful to its victim : Petrarch quitted the city iu despair^ and immured himself in the shades and caverns of Vaucluse. *' The mare desei't and savage the scene which surrounds me, the more lively," say? he, " is the form in which Laura presents herself to my view. The mountains, the woods, and the streams, see and witness my anguish." The sen*, timent which preyed on his heart undermined his iiealth and sapped the springs of life ; the idea oi" LAURA SADE. li^iaih And ol" a future state presented itself to his imaoMiation, ever lively and entliusiastlc, and opposed itself to the fervours of love : he laim:iit- eil the time whieh he had wasted in this jiursuil, and determined, in vain, to eonquer a passion which indulgence, habit, and association, had too firmly interwoven Avith the whole texture of his mind. To assist him in his resolution, lie had recourse to a monk, Dennis de Itobertis, a native - ^ '-" Avignon,, about tliis period, was afflicted Avith a I>estilence of a singula]^ nature, from an extra<* ordinary heat and drought : persons of every age and sex changed their skins, which fell from their faces and hands in scales. -Tlie constitution of 'Ilaura was too delicate not to suffer by this, state of the atmosphere ; her recovery was for some time doubtful ; and Petrai^ch experienced all the ao^nv which anxiety for the life of a beloved ob- jfect, added to constrained absence, can uitiict ou 354 LAURA SADE. a susceptible heart. Laura, however, rccovcrcd,an^ relieved him from his distress. " Would to Cod/' siiid lie, m a letter to a friend, uho liad rallied him on his passion, '* that my Laura \v eve indeed- an imaginary person, and that my passion lor hof. was only a jest ! alus, it is a. phrtuisy !" Petrurck- frequently retired into the deepest solitudes ; and if, by accident, he met vith Laura in the street)*' of Avignon, he avoided her and passed swiftly on- This atlectation, notwithstanding the reserve ofc her conduct, appeared to displease her. Shc' wished probably to preserve a lover whose repu-^ tation flattered her pride ; or, it is possible, that in secret she was not insensible to his devotiom and constancy. One day, having met hiin by. accident, she looked on him with greater kind-, ness. A favour so unexpected restored him tOi happines.<;, and vanqxiishcd in a moment his boast- ed rcsolutjion. He now again sought her in public, when she behaved to him with more ease:, he wished to speak to her of his sentiments, but' the dignity of her manners repressed and awed, kim. Laura, desiied. to be beloved by Petrarch,, but with a refinement tliat should prevent hiin from any ex}n"es6ion of his ftielings. If ever he attempted to violate this respectful, silence, she treated him with the utmost .severity; but wheni she saw hioLalHicted, ia despair,, and. too mucli^ LAUTw\ SADE. -ioS ilr>counigo(l, some triflinc; complucency, a ^vor(J, a gcstmv, were suflicicnt to rrrdiimaU' liim. It was bv tliis rctincd species of coijucln-, ii' hu havsh a term may be allowed, that Laura^ viili- I ©ut staiii to her honour, kept alive for tweiit)'- years the passion of a man of impetuous charac- ter, whose morals, previous to liis acq\iainiance with her, liacl not been irreproachable. At one period, emboldened by her complacence, and the eonfidcncc with v.hich it inspired him, he ven- tured, though with hesitation and timidity, to ex- press his feelings, and to complain of her rigour. ' I am not,' replied Laura, with visible emotion, ' I am not, Petrarch, the pcrsoa whom you suppose nic to be.* Struck by the manner in which she uttered this reproof, he was awed into silence, taura forbade him to appear agaia iu her pro- selice, refused to receive his apologies, and avoid- ed every occasion of irieetiivg him. The sorrow and remorse of Petrarch seriously adected hi^ health, he was sei/.ed with a diuigcrous »>di5posi* tion, and Laura was persuaded to see and pardott him. After his return from; his travels, the admoni- tions of father Dennis raised in his mind rehgiou^i. scruples ; Laura .seemed to divide his heart with.- God, and to interfere with the practice of his- duties. ' How much tin\e»' .-iaid liis .spiritual in« S5ft LAURA SAD1£. strnctor, ' have you wasted on that Laura ! How many useless steps have vou taken in those woods !' But tlie most trithnsf circumstance Avas sufficient to disturb his philosopiiy, and to over- throw his wisest resohitions. Having one day observed a girl wasliing the veil of Laura, he was seized with a sutlden tremor, aiul, imder a sultry sky, shivered as in the ilej)ths of winter. Ho neglected the conduct of his alliiirs, and became distracted and bewildered in his studies and amonjj his books. The conflict between his reason and his feelings, injured his mind and shook his frame. " Ten years," says he, "has grief preyetl upon Hie : a slow poison consumes me : scarcely have I strength to drag along my weakened limbs. I must get out of this terrible situation. I must regain my liberty." Again he determined to tra* \e\y and to try the elTects of absence. Having ; concealed his name, and embarked in a ship abou.t to set sail for Italy,, he assumed the charac- -ter of a pilgrim, going to worship at Rome. On landing on the Italian coast, his native country^ after which he had long sighed, he perceived a laurel tree, which love had associated in his mind with the idea of Laura. Too veliemently trans* ported to observe his steps, he ran towards his favourite plant, without observing a brook which im]>eded his way, and fell into the stream. Tht5 LAURA S.VDE. 35V fcill occus>ionetl liiiu to swoon, and, ou his rcco- .ytn'V, to ix'.llect witli a df^rce of uliamc on lii> licedlessncss and iidatuatioM. Kxcrcisc, •elianoc, apd absciu'o, scorned to pro- tluco upon liis inind a favoiirahlc i-llcrt ; llii! ideu .of Lama l)(.'cr>nie less hal)ilual, tlie aj^ilation ol' ■ills feelinus no lonsier destroyrd liis healili. Ins slc'i'p was less unqiUL-t, and he was nioro easily anmsed ; lie believed liiiUM-U" cured, and even .smiled at his past extravagance. In this disposi- jt,ion lie returned to Avignon, 1337. lUiL no sooner had he again beheld Laura, than his v.ouud, but slightly healed over, opened afresh, and his relapse Mas more violent even than his ori- .ginal disease. *' I desired death," said he ; " I ,was even tempted to seek it in the violence of my iinguisb. Laura was sick ; but th(i approach of death could not diminish the lustre of her eyes. I trembled at her shadow. The sound of her ^oiee deprivetl nie of motion." He perceived .that safety could only be found in flight ; he de- 'termiaed to leave Aviguon, and to seek repose iti t-thc lonely solitudes of Vaucluse. In this retreat, i'while he indulged his taste for letters and retiro- ,pient, he sought to cure himself of his passion. jf^ I may hide myself," says he, " in the rocks and in the woods, but there are no places so wiUl r,and soUtary whither the torments of love do not f55S LAURA SADE. pursue mc. Thrice in tb:it dark and loni-lyTrou^, \vhen nothing but >',hastly shades are^secn or heard, Laura, -with stodfast look, approached luv bed, and claimed her slave. Fear froze inv limbs ; my blood, forsakiuy; my vein?, rushed upoumv lieart. Trembling T rose ere morn, and left a house wliere all I saw alarmed me. I climbed the rocks, I ran into the -woods, ■watching with fear- ful eves tliis dreadful vision. I may not be be- lieved, but still it followed. Here I perceive it startin\hose attention was ever l)ent towards her, instantly picked up. Laura, on perceiving it irt his pt)S- session, and that he had a desire to retain it, im- mediately took it from him, vith some dispK-a- sure. " It is not," said Petrarch, " the px?rson of Laura that I adore, but that soul so superior to all others. Her conduct and her manners are an image of the life the blessed leail in heaven. Should I ever lose her (the very idea makes me trem- ble !) I would say what Lelias, the Aviscst of the JRomans, said on the death of Scipio, * I loved his virtue, and that shall ever live.'" *' If my de- sires have ever passed the bounds which rea- ■son prescribes, it is jio longer so. Those ii- j •inits are now sacred. But with res])ect to ' X-aura, let me ever do her justice. Nfvei:, LAURA SADE. TGI in the most iutcrcstiiig moments of our inter- course, liavc I seen her principles waver. I lor conduct, in the gayest hours ot" lier hie, was al- ways uniform, always p\n-e. How admirable is a constancy, a resolution, so superior to the gene- rality of her sex I" Yet he sometimes made other reflections, not less true and just. " You cannot deny," says he to himself, in his Confessions, iji the form of dialosrues, in imitation of St. Ausus- tin, " you cannot deny, and you indeed confess, that this love of which you boast has made you unhappy, and was near drawing on you a fatU crime, of which this admirable womever absent from his mind. Various circumstances combined to render him desirous of quitting Avignon, and of breathing once more the balmy air of Italy. His friends, in vain, sought to detain him. " Every thing," says he, *' alters with time. My hair, which is become grey, warns me to change my manner of thinking and my life. Love suits not with one of my age : the air of Italy is purer, the waters clearer, the flowers more beautiful ; it is time that I should go there to enjoy my liberty, and to take possession of my father's sepulchre." He went to take leave of Laura, who, ignorant of the motive of his visit, received him with a smiling coun- tenance ; but, wheti she learned his determination to depart, she changed colour, cast down her eyes, and kept silence. Her manner seemed to say : * Alas ! will you then go ? shall I lose my faithful friend ?' 'He had not been long absent before his inquie- tudes revived, and he wished to return. In leaving Laura, he felt that he had left behind liim the half of himself. His friends, in their letters, informed him that she appeared to suffer too much from his LAURA SADE. 3(,j abs3nce. Soon after this, under pretence of presid- ing business, he returned precipitately to Avignon. Impatient for the sight of Laura, he went on horse- back from Lyons to Avignon, along the banks of the Rhone, whose current he wished to follow, tliat he might the sooner behold his mistress. Laura viewed "Jigain with pleasure the friend whom she feared she 4iad for ever lost : if she did not express this sen- timent in words, she however mixed in her beha- viour nothing that was severe. Slie lud this year rome subject of domestic grief, respecting which, Petrarch, who had now access to her house, went frequently to console her. " I went," said lie, *' to express my tender interest in Laura's sorrow. Love, who was my guide, has engraven for ever on my heart her looks and expressions." — " Tears stood in her eyes ; those eyes radiant as tlie sun. 'Sh€ joined patience with sorrow, and the divine harmony of virtue with every burst of woe." Among the festivals which were given about this period by the pope, in honour of the king of Bo- ' hernia, and Charles, prince of Moravia, liIs son, the city of Avignon gave a magnificent ball, at which the beauties of the province were assembled. Charles, a gallant prince, sought among the ladles, who graced the entertainment, for Laura, to whom the genius of her lover had given so much celebrity. R 2 So-l- LAUl^A SADE. Having at length discovered her, he passed by all those wliose rank or age gave them a title to pre- cedence, and, casting down his eyes, paid his homage to her, by boM'ing his head after the French fasliion. Every person was pleased at this mark of distinction paid to a lady to whose character it was justly due. Petrarch conceived from this circum- stance a high idea of the discernment of the prince, and a particular interest and sympathy in his favour. Laura had a friend, who, as far as virtue and honour would allow, was in the interest of her lover. She wished that he should be beloved, but wltli a pure and tender friendship. When she saw him desponding and cast down, she reanimated his spirits ; and when he presumed too far, checked his confidence. She also used her influence with Laura in favour of Petrarch. One day, having represented to him the tenderness expressed in Laura's coun- tenance and behaviour, when his conduct had merited her regard: ' Licredulous!' added she, * and can you after this doubt of her affection ?' The constitution of Laura had been always deli- cate, and her health began to decline. Petrarch was touched and affected by her drooping state. * Heaven grant me,' said he, * to die before Laura, that I may never see so dreadful an event !' A complaint in her eyes, which was extremely painful. LAURA SADF.. SG5 happened to Laura this year, and threatened her siglit. Petrarch went often to sec her during her confine- ment: he found her one day cured of her complaiiit, which seemed by a certain sympathy to have passed into his own eyes. " I fixed my eyes on those of Laura," said he, " and, that moment, something like a shooting star darted from them into mine. I rejoice in this present from love : how delightful is it thus to cure the darling object of one's soul !" This intercourse with Laura, in which he ex- perienced so much pleasure, received an inter- ruption from the ofEcious impertinence of those persons who take a pleasure in separating hearts which friendship and affection have united. It was intimated to Laura, that Petrarch imposed upon her, and that she was not the real object of ; his attachment or his sonnets: under her name, it was added, he concealed a passion for another woman, who was the secret inspirer of his muse. Laura, too much interested in the intelligence that was communicated to her not to be credulous, took umbrage at the supposed duplicity of her lover, and withdrew herself wholly from him. " My joys," said he, " were like the bright days of winter, of flattering aspect, but of short duration." This . cirtrumstanee sufTiciently proves that Laura was far from indifferent to tlie attentions of Petrarch, a R 3 3(56 T^Al^RA SADF. sensibility wiucli she tried to conceal in tlie bottom- of her heart, and to the iorced suppression of which,- and the difficulties of her situation, her declining health might be in some degree attributable. Her character appears with far greater interest and dig- nity upon tlie supposition of this sensibility, and the sacrifice of feeling to principle, than when she is considered as a vain coquet, trifling, for tlie gra- tification of her vanity, with the happiness of a man of worth, who truly loved her. She was, how- ever, too reasonable not to allow herself to be con- vinced of the innocence of her lover of the crime laid to his charge, and to refuse to readmit him to li^r confidence and esteem. The restlessness of Petrarch again recurred ; he thought of leaving Avignon, and of revisiting Italy : the love of his country, and his dislike to Avignon, balanced in his heart his passion for Laura : with these, other motives combined to determine his de- parture. He passed a part of the autumn in pre* paration at Vaucluse, whence he went to Avignon, to take leave of Laura, whom he found at an as- sembly, which she often frequented. ** Her air," said he, " was more touching than usual. She was dressed perfectly plain, without pearls or any gay colours. Though she was not melancholy, fc'he did not appear with her usual cheerfulness. She sung not, as usual, lior did she speak with that LAURA S\l)H. s(>; sweetness which channcd every one. She was serious and thoughttul : she Ijad the air of a per on M-ho fears an evil, of the nature of wliith he is ignorant. I souglit in her looks, in taking my leave of her, a consolation for my own sutTerings. Her eyes had an expression which I had never before beheld. in them. I deposited to their keeping my heart and my thoughts, as to faithful friends, on whom I could depend. Her altered ilrcss and air, her countenance, a certain concern mixed with grief which I perceived in her aspect, predicted the sorrows that threatened me." touched with the appearance and manners of Laura, Petrarcii could, with difficulty, restrain his tears ; while Laura seemed scarcely equal to sustain the idea of, perhaps, an eternal separation from so true and devoted a friend. When the hour of his departure arrived; she regarded him with a look so tender, pure, and affecting, as had nearly subdued tlie re- solution for which he had so painfully struggled. " Must I never," says he, " see again that beautiful face, those kind looks which relieve the tender heart ?" The situation in which Petrarch left Laura, on his departure from Avignon, tilled his mind witU inquietude, and haunted his imagination with ter- rible forebodings. The plague, which at that R 4 368 LAURA SADE. period ravaged Europe, and which carried off many of his friends, added to his anxiety. His corre- jpondcnts informed him, in their letters, that hh beautiful mistress was so changed since his absence, as scarcely to be known by those wlio were not in the habit of constantly seeing her. " Heretofore," said he, " I saw her often in my dreams. Her angelic vision then consoled me ; but at present it overwhelms and affiicts me. I think I see in her ' aspect compassion mixed with grief. I think I hear her thus speak to me : * Recal tliat night, when, forced to part from you, I left you bathed in tears ; I was not able to tell you then, nor would I have done so, but I will tell you at present, and you may believe me, you shall see me no more upon earth.' What a dreadful vision I Shall 1 learn only from dreams an account so interesting to mc ? Shall she herself come to announce it .'* No : it cannot be. Heaven and nature forbid ! — Uncertain of my state, I sigh, I write, I fear, I hope : I am no longer what I was : 1 resemble a man who walks in a path of which he is not sure. I open my ears, but no one speaks of her I love : my soul floats between fear and hope : cruel departure ! Why, if I am so soon to lose her, why separate myself from her ?" On the 6th of April, 1348, Petrarch was at Verona, his mind occupied by these dark presages, when, in a dream towards the morning, he seemed LAURA SADE. 3G9 to behold Laura, and held with her a long con- versation. " Her appearance," said he, " was like that of the spring, and her head was crowned with oriental pearls. As she drew near to mc she sighed, and gave me a hand which had long been tlic object of my tenderest wishes. * Do you recollect,' she asked, * her, \\lio, by engaging tlie affections of your youth, led you from the common road of life ?.* While she spoke tliese words, which were accom- panied with an air of modesty and earnestness, she sat down under a laurel and a beech, on the side of a brook, and commanded me to place myself by her." Having informed her lover that she was no longer an inhabitant of this world, and reproved liim for his grief ; " ' To the spotless soul,' continued ilie, * death is the deliverance from a darksome prison : it is no more th'an a sigh, or a short passage from one life to another. In the flower of my youth, when you loved me most, and when life was decked out in all its charms, then was it bitter, compared with the sweetness of my death. I felt, at this moment, more joy, than an exile returning to his wished-for country. There was but one idea that afflicted me. I was to leave you. I was inoved •with compassion.' * Ah !' replied I, * in tlie name of that truth, by which you were governed while on earth, and which now you more clearly 870 LAURA SADE. distinguish, in the bosom of him to whom all things are present, tell me, I conjure you, whether Jove gave birth to this compassion ? Those rigours mixed with softness, those tender angers, and those deli-^ cious reconciliations, which were written in your eyes, have, for ever, kept my heart in uncertainty and doubt.' Scarce had I ceased to speak, when I beheld those heavenly smiles which have at aU times been the messengers of peace. * You have ever,' said she with a sigh, * possessed my heart, and shall continue to possess it. But I was obliged to teinper the violence of your passion by the move- ments of my countenance. It was necessary to keep you in ignorance. A good mother is never more solicitous respecting her cliikl, than when she appears to be most in anger with him.. How often have I said to myself, Petrarch does not love, he burns with a violent passion, which I must endea- -vour to regulate. But, ahs ! this was a difficult task for one whose fears and affections were likewise engaged. He must not, I said, be acquainted with ^he state of my heart. He admires so much what ". he sees without, that I must conceal iVom his know- ledge what passes within. This has bten the only artifice which I have used.- Be not oiTended. It ■was a rein necessary to keep you in tiie right road. There was no other method by which I could pre- serve our souls. A thousand times has my court- LAURA SADt;. o^, tenance been lighted up with anger, v^liilc my hear< hits glowed with love ; but it was my dctormineU resolution, that reason, not love, should hold tho sovereignty. Wiien I saw you cast down witli sorrow, I gave you a look of consolation. Wiion.you were on the brink of dc^pair, my glnaccs were siiU more tender ; I addressed you with a softer air, a-nJ sootheu you vvitii a kiua word : my apprehensions evc" '--tid the tone of my voice ; you might sec th' >ressed on my countenance. When you teoK-L., |. >;v, auvi ;our eyes were bathea in lears^ I said, he is very ill, he will certainly die it I ukt not pity on him. It was then that y-ou had every Succour wliich virtue could give, and then was you restored again to yourself. Sometimes you were like the iiery horse, fretted with the spur j it was then ne- cessary that you should feel the bridle, and be managed with the bit. buch have been the innocent aninces iby which I have led you on, without stain to my hb- nour.' *Ah!' said I, with a faultering voice, *my eyes_bedewed with tears, ' such scntimeiits, had I but courage to believe them, would amply recbmpense all my sufferings.' ' Faithless man !' said she, a IJttVe angrily, * what motive can I have for this dedaratlorl, had it not been the true cause of that reserve and di- stance of wiiich you so often complained ? lu all tlanigs else we were agreed y and honour and virtue wfere ^he bonds of our affection. Our love w»s n*utu.-\I; ^t S:-2 LAURA SADE. least from th# time that I was convinced of your Ittacliment. While one discovered, the other con- C«al<;d the flame j tliis was the only difference be-, tU'oen us. You were hoarse with crying Mercy I Help ! while I opened not my mouth. Fear and modesty permitted me not to reveal my sentiments. The fiame which is confined burns more fiercely than that which is at liberty. Recollect the day when we were alone, and when you presented to me your sonnets, singing, at tlie same time. This ^s all my love dare say. 1 received them with kind* ness J and, after such a proof, could you doubt my ^flfectlon ? Was not this removing the veil ? My heart was yours, but I chose to be mistress of my .eyes. This you thought unjust ; and yet, witlx what right could you complain ? Were you not possessed of the nobler part? Those eyes, which Jiave 30 often been withdrawn, because you nicrited this, severity, have they not been restored fo you a thcJuaand times ? How often have they regarded, you -111- ith tenderness ? and would, at all timejij/have .dom so, had I not dreaded the extravagauc^^^l" ayoCr passion. But the morning advances ; the suii c»fi. ^AM^rglng from the oceaji j it is \sith regret that I . fell jcu wf must now be separated. If you have •i%'f\y x^^'"g more to say to me, be quick, and regur ' to Icsc a friend and com- 37t LAURA SADE. paiilon, the soul of our innocent pleasures, -wha consoled us in our chagrins, and whose example was to us a living lesson. In losing her we lose all. Heaven takes her hence as a treasure of which we were not worthy.' Though not insensible to the distress of her friends, her last moments M-^erc occu- pied by sublimer considerations. She expired gently, and witi-out struggle, like a lamp whose oil is gr;j- dually wa.^ted. She appeared after her death as one who slumbeis.; death had not discomposed the serenity of her features. " Her road to ht.aven," says f ecrarch, " was not ^o seek in death ; she had long kno.vn and walked in i.s paths." She died about six in the morr:-ng, April 6th, 1348. Her body was, on the same day, at vespers, carried to the church of the Franciscans, and interred in the chapel de la Croix, built by Hugues de Sade, her husband, close to the chapel of St. Ann, which had been erected by her father. In the year 15.33, the remains of Laura were found there, with an Italian sonnet of Petrarch's j a circum- stance which proved that the Laura of Petrarch was the same with Laura de Noves, wife of Hugues de Sade. It appears by her will, that, after some pious legacies, she left her husband her heir, to whom she had borne ten children, six boys and four girls. She was not happy in her nuptials, and experienced some trouble with her cliildren. She lost her eldes^, LAURA SADE. 37^ son in the flower of his age, and her eldest dau;^hter gave pain to a mother so nicely sensible to her honour, by misconduct in her marriage state. Modesty was the chairacteristic of Laura, whom tieither her beauty, her birth, nor the fame she de- rived from the passion of Petrarch, could render vain or assuming. In her dress she was peculiarly ele- gant and magnificent, particularly in the ornaments of her head, and in tlie tasteful manner in which she disposed her hair: she sometimes wore a coronet of silver or gold, and sometimes, to vary her ap- pearance, wreathes of natural flowers. Petrarch speaks of two rich dresses which she wore ; one of purple, edged with azure, and embioidcred witli roses, in which he compares her to the Phoenix * ; the other enriched with gold and jewels. This magnificence in her attire seems to have been adopted in conformity to her rr...k, and to the wishes of her family, rather than to any particular pleasure which she took in displaying her charms. She was pecu- liarly reserved in her behaviour towards the men, In a city in which the manners were dissolute and corrupt, and where great delicacy and caution was, oji that account, the more necessary. An old lady, in her presence, once said, that life was preferable ♦ Naliirallfcts describe the FhcEnix with purple feathirs, 4nd a blue tail, strewed over with roses. 376 LAURA SADE. even to honour ; a sentiment which Laura rebuked v.-itli becoming indignation. « The grief of Lu- cretia/ she declared, * ouglit to have rendered a poinard unnecessary.' But, notwithstanding tlie severity of her principles, her manners were cour- teous and elegant ; she mingled with socitty, and in gay circles, wliere she knew how to unite wisdom and virtue with the graces, and to give even to austerity a charm. Her education seems not to have been superior to that of the ladies of her times, who were r:.rely tauglit either to rend or write. Those who knew how to read, and who were sel- dom to be found but in convents, . were esteemed prodigies of erudition, and treated with peculiar distinction. Petrarch, speaking of Laura, says, " that her words had t'se dignity of nature, which raised her above her education; and that her voice was a source of continual enchantment, soft, angelic, and divine; tijat it could appease the wrath, dissipate the clouds, and calm the tempests, of the soul." Her mind was elevated, her temper sweet, and her life uniform and simple. Her health appears to have been prematurely weakened by domestic cha-» grins, and, probably, from an attachment which duty forbade her to encourage, and which, in secret, preyed on her heart. The grief of Petrarch for her loss,, susceptible LAURA SADE. 377 miaJs may conceive. " I dare not tliink of n»y condition," says he, "■ much less can I speak of it." He passed several days, without nourish- ment, abandoned to the most poignant sorrow. On the MS. of Virgil (ornamented with paintings, by Simon de Sienna), Petrarch's favourite book, he wrote the following lines : '* Laura, iliusirlous by her own virtues, and long celebrated in my verses, appeared to my eyes, for the first time, die 6th of April, 1327, at Avignon, in the church of St. Clair, at the first hour of the day : I was then in my youth. In the same city, on the same day, and at the same hour, in the year 134^, this luminary disappeared from our world. I was then at Verona, ignorant of my wretched situation. That chaste and beautiful body was buried the same day, after vespers, in the church of the Cordeliers : her soul returned to its native heaven. To retrace the melancholy remembrance of .this great loss, I have, with a pleasure mixed with bitterness, written it in a book to which I often refer. This loss convinces me, that there is no longer any thing worthy of livii*g for. Since- the strongest cord of my life is broken, with the grace of God, I shall easily re- nounce a world, where my cares have been deceit- ful, and my hopes vain and perishing." From il.K' L'ifi- (jf Pctmrcb, tramluk^l by Mrs. Dob-OfU •TS ] SAPPHO. Sappho, so celebrated for her impabbiontd aiul elegant poetry, was a native of Mitylene, in the isle cf Lesbos. She lived in the forty-second Olympiad, six hundred and ten years before the Christian jera. She composed a great number of odes, elegies, epigrams, epithahimiums, &c. and received from her i contemporaries the title of the tenth muse. But few of her numerous nroductions have descended to posterity ; yet those few justify the panegyrics which have been bestowed upon her. Her Hymn to V^enus was preserved by Dionysus of Halicarnassus, who inserted it in his works as an example of per- fection. Her well-known amatory ode was pre- served by Longinus, as a specimen of equal excel- lence. Her poetry was hfeld in great and just esteem by the ancients. " In Greece," says Tana- quiiius Faber, " no productions were esteemed more elegant, exquisite, and beautiful, than those of Sappho." Mitylene boasted of the honour of her birth : in testimony of their respect for her memory, the Mitylenians stamped their coin v»ith her image. The Romans afterwards erected a statue of porphyry to her honour. Both ancients and moderns have vied with each other in enthusiastic admira- tion of her genius and talents. Vostius affirms, SAPPiiO. 37<> d).it none of the Greek poets excelled Snppho for the sweetness of her verse : he adds, that she took 3S her model the style of Archiloclius, the severity of which she softened. Critics, liislorians, Jiiul poets, have, in every age, united in h; v priusc. Catullus endeavoured to imitate the verse of Sappho, but with inferior success : nature, tenderness, and pashion, breathe through all her productions. She was married young to Cercala, one of the richest iiihablLunts of the isle of Andros, by wiioni she had a daughter, named Cleis. The parentage of Sappho is uncertain j she had three brothers, one of whom, called Charaxus *, she reproves for his in- fatuation with Rhodope or Dorlcha, a celebrated courtezan. She lost her husband not many years ^fter their marriage, and determined against second nuptials. She unhappily conceived a passion for Phacn, a beau- tiful youth, whom she followed into Sicily, where, as it is believed, she composed the Hymn to Venus. It is doubtful whether Phaon, of whom she complains with so much eloquence, was insensible to her tender- ness or unfaithful to his vows : the latter, according tp Ovid, appears to have been the case. Unable to recal her wandering lover, or to move his obdurate heart, she determined, by a perilous expedient, to put ^ Charaxus sold Lesbian wines in JIgypt. $80 SAPrHO. ail end to her sufTcrings and mortification, and to extinguish, with her Hfe, her unfortunate passion. Foi* this purpose she threw herself from the promontory of Leucas into the sea. This pro- montory, entitL'd the lover's leap, was resorted to by those who had suffered disappointment in their affections, as an efFoctual cure for their sorrows. According to tradition, though the self- devoted victims should escape with life, which was scarcely possible, they would experience from the leap a cure for their passion. Sappho is said to have been the first woman who tried the dangerous experiment, and perished in tlie trial. An expression of Sappho's is recorded by Aris- totle, to prove what the stoics affected to deny, tliat death is an evil. ** The gods," said Sappho, " have judged it so j otherwise they would them- selves die." ' Whether death is to be considered as an evil, must depend upon the degree of enjoyment which attends life : privation of good must always be evil ; release from suffering desirable. Sappho herself acted upon this principle. Alcccus, a contemporary poet, conceived a passion- for Sappho j he wrote to her : " I wish to explaia myself," said he, *' but shame restrains me.'* " Your countenance would not Wush," replied she, *' if your heart were not culpable." Sappho pro- fessed to reconcile the love of pleasure and the love SAPPHO. 331 of virtue. " WItliout virtue," said she, " notliing Ts so dangerous as riches : happiness consi-its in tlie union of both." " This person," she would aljo say, " is distinguished by his figure; that by his virtues : the one appears beautiful at first vievi' ; tlic other not less so on a second." It is possible that tliG licentiousness imputed to Sappho may be a calumny : the extreme sensibility of the Greeks, and the animated language in which th(iy were, on all occasions, accustomed to express their feelings, may mislead a modern reader. Persons of licen- tious manners are seldom capable of the strong individual attachment which proved fatal to Sappho : neither is it, by any means, always a true criterion to judge of a writer by his works-; still less of a poet, who professes to give the reins to his imaglu- ^ation. After the death of her husband, Sappho devoted herself to letters, and undertook to inspire the Les- bian women with a taste for literature : many fo- reigners were, with her fair countrywomen, among her disciples. The Lesbian poetess was, like all persons of talents (luomen more especially), exposed to envy and slander : having neglected to conciliate her enemies, she provoked them by contempt and • irony. Persecuted, and at length compelled to fly ,her country, she found an asylum in Sicily, where ;it was proposed to erect a statue to her honour. SS2 ALEXANDRA SCaLA. Her poems, composed in a metre of which she wa^ herself the inventrcss, abounded in a variety of novel and happy expressions, witli which she is said to have enriched her native language. Of all the Grecian women who cultivated poetry, not one equalled Sappho ; of men, very {cw, if any, sur- passed her. She painted from nature and from ge- nuine sensibility ; her style was flowing and harmo- nious, her sentiments tender and voluptuous. From her descriptions of the symptoms and emotions of love, which were exquisite and unrivalled, the physician, Erasistratus, discovered the cause of the sickness of Antiochus, who was enamoured of his step-mother, Stratonice. In the Prytaneum of Syracuse was a beautiful statue of Sappho, the work of Silanion. £nj'/e*j Historical Dictionary — Biographlutn Famlneunt) (Sfc. U'c. ALEXANDRA SCALA. Alexandra was the daugliter of Bartholomew Scala, a learned Florentine in the fifteenth century, who, by his talents, raised himself from a low origin to rank and honours. Alexandra, who dis- played early a superior capacity, received from her father a learned education, in wlilch she made an extraordinary proficiency. She married Michael ALEXANDRA SCAI.A. ^83 Murullus, a man of letters, a scholar, and a poet. The motive ascribed to Murullus in his choice of a bride is somewhat curious and singular. " He was not satisfied with being master of the Greek tongue, unless he could join to it the Roman elo- quence •, for which reason he married, at Florence, Alexandra Scala, a young woman of talents and learning *." Politian, notwithstanding a literary animosity be- tween himself and the father of Alexandra, which had been maintained with mutal bitterness, cele- brated her praise in Greek verse ; to which she replied in the same language, acknowledging lier sense of his civilities. These verses appeared in print. MaruUus does not seem to have repented of his choice of a learned wife : among his poems are several written in her praise, both before and after marriage. Of one of these poems the following is a translation : " My Scala, while I mark and trace Your every charm, and every grace, I own such beauty to be rare ; Yet others may be found as fau". But, when your heay'nly charms I see, From ail immodest tincture free, Then, let me perish, but I find Scala the Phoenix of her kind- * Paul Jovius, Elo. cap. x^jviii. 3U ANNA MARIA SCI I U KM AN While, last, as presidonl of wit, I see you with the muses sit; Scala, no more a Phccnix, is A goddess mixed with goddesses." Alexandra Scala died in 1506. Baylei Historical Dictionary. ANNA MARIA SCHURMAN. The learned and ingenious Anna Maria Schur- man was born at Cologn, Nov. 5tb, I6o7. Her parents were descended from noble protestant fa- milies. Anna Maria discovered from her early child- hood extraordinary ingenuity. At six years of age she cut, with her scissars, without pattern or mo- del, a variety of curious figures in paper. Two years afterwards, she learned in a few days to de- sign flowers with great perfection ; and, in her eleventh year, accjuired, in three hours, the art of embroidering. She afterwards received instruc- tions in music, in painting, in sculpture, and in cnfrraving ; in all of which she was admirably suc- cessful. It is observed, by Mr. Evelyn, in his History of Calcography, *' That the very know- ing Anna Maria Schurman is skilled in this art, with innumerable others, even for a prodigy of lier sex !" Her hand-writing, specimens of which have been prestrvcd by the curious in their cabi- ANNA MAIUA SCIirRM.W. Ojs.i nets, was in ;ill laiiguap;cs inimitably boaiuihil. Mr. Joby, ill bis journey to Muiistcr, speaks of tbc beauty of her peuniansliip in Greek, Ilfl)r».\v, Syriac, Arabic, and French, of M-liich lie liad been an eye-witness : he also nienlions lier skill in miniature-painting ; and in drawing, with the point of a diamond, portraits upon glass: she painted lier own picture. She possessed the art of imitating pearls, whicli could not be distin- guished from tlie originals, but by piercing them with a needle. The powers of her understanding were not in- ferior to her in^^enuity. At elcA^en years of age, being occasionally present at the lessons of her brothers, she frequently set them right by a Avhisper, when examined in their Latin exercises. Her father, observing her genius for literature, resolved to cultivate a capacity so uncommon : a foundation was thus laid for her future acquire- ments. Her proficiency in the Hebrew, Cireek, and Lntin lanouaores, in Avhich she wrote and spoke fluently, astonished the learned. She n;ade great progress also in the oriental languages, the Arabic, Ethiopic, Chaldee, and Syriac. With the living languages, English, Italian, and French, she Avas not less conversant. She studied the sciences with cqi il success ; geography, astro- VOL. VI. « GS6 ANNA MARIA SCHURMAN. nomy, and physics. Her temper having early acquired a devotional cast, she at length ex- clianged for theology the more liberal pursuit of learning. Her father had, during her infancy, settled at •Utreclit, whence, for the improvement of his children, he removed to Franeker; where, in 1623, he died. On this event, his widow returned to Utrecht, where Anna Maria continued to devote herself to lier studies. Her predilection for let- ters prevented her from engaging in more ac- tive life, and induced her to decline an advanta- geous establishment. Mr. Cots, pensionary of Holland, and a celebrated poet, who, when she was only fourteen years of age, had written verses in her praise, offered her his hand and heart. Her modesty, no less singular than her know- lediie, rendered her desirous of burying her ac- quirements in obscimt}' : it was in despite of her inclination that Rivetus, Spauheim, and Vossius, brouorht her forward to notice. To these may be added, Salmasius, Huygens, and Beverovicius, •who, holding Avith her a literary correspondence, i^pread her fame through foreign countries. Her reputation, thus extended, procured her letters from Balzac, Gasscndi, IVIerccnnus, Rochart, Con- tart, and other men of eminence : while she was visited by princesses, and persons of the fust dis- ANNA MAlllA SCAUUMAN. 3S7 ■tinction, cardinal Ricliclieu also honoured her ^vlth inarks of his esteem. About the year 1650 her relip;ious sontiincnt<; inidcrwent a revolution. Having ck-clined at- tendance on public ^vorship, she performed her devotions in private. It v as reported that she meant to embrace popery. The truth was, she had attached herself to Labadie, the celebrated quictist, whose principles slw embraced, and "wJiom she accompanied wherever he went. She, resided with him for some time at Altona, in Hol- «tein, where she attended him at his death, in 1674. She retired afterwards to Wiewart, in Friesland, where she was visited liy ^V'illiam Pcnn, in 1677. She died at ^Viewart, tiic following year, May 5th, 1678. She chose for her device the Avords of St. Ignatius, " Amo}' mens crmifixus fjf?," i.e. " My love is crucified." Her works are, " De vita^ liumauie terniino," Ultrajact, 1639. " Dissertatio de Ingenii mulic- bris ad doctrinam &. meliores literas aptitudinc," Lugd. Bat. 1641. These pieces, with letters in Greek, Hebrew, Latin, and French, to her learned correspondents, were printed at leydcn, 1648, ifi I2mo. under the title of " A. M. a Schurman Opuscula, Hebnca, Graca, Latina, Gallica; prosaica & nietrica," enlarged in the odiiion of s 2 3SS MADELIEXE DE SCUDERY. Utrecht, 1652. She wrote likewise, " Eukloria, scu mehoris partis clectio." This work, a defence of her attachment to Labadie, was, Avhile she re- sided witli him, printed at Aitona, 1673. Biographium Famineum—The Female Worthies* MADELIENE DE SCUDERY. Madeliene DE ScuDERY, descended fiom an ancient and honourable house, was born at Havre de Grace, 1607. Educated with care under a sensible mother, she Avas distinguished while in her childhood for intellectual acuteness, for a lively imagination, and a just and delicate taste. In thfe endowments of her person, nature had been less liberal. By her wit, and the disadvantages of her figure, she obtained the name of Sappho, whose genius she emulated, with greater purity of manners. She came early to Paris, whci-c her talents excited attention, and procured her ad- niittant^e into the first literary circles. At the Hotel de Rambouillet, the centre of wit and knoAvledge, she was admitted a member, and soon celebrated as one of its brightest ornaments. Her fortunt being limited, necessity first induced her to turn her thoughts to the press. Romances were the taste of the age, to which mademoiselle de Scudery gave a new and more refined tiu-n. madelirne di: scudl:rv. nsj) Sentiments of honour, of licroism, uu.l of virtue, M-ere substituted for dissolute scenes and descrip- tions of intrigue ; female manners were jiour- trayed with delicacy and chasteness, and the pas- sions refined from their grossness. ihr hooks, which formed a new era in that species of writ- infT, were bought with avidity, and read eagerly by persons of all ranks. To the name of Scudery , which her brother had already rendered celebrated, Madeliene added new lustre. 'J'hc acaden)y of the Ricovrati, at Padua, complimented her with a place in their society, in w hich she succeeded .tlie learned Helena Cornaro. Every other acade- my, in Avhich Avomen were admitted, became am- bitious of enrollinsy her amonq; their members : while her merit and reputation procured her from all ranks and orders of people the most flatter- ing testimonies of esteem and admiration. From the prince of Padcrborn, l)ishop of Munstcr, she received, with a medal, a present of his works. Christina, queen of Sweden, with v.hom slio corresponded, sent her her picture, and settled on her a pension. Cardinal Mazarine left her'liy his will a handsome annuity ; as did also the chancellor Boucherat ; and Lewis XIV. at the solicitation of madame de Maintenon, in 1683, settled on her a pension of 2000 crowns, wliich s 3 390 MADELIENE DE SCUDERY. was punctually paid. In a special audience, ap- pointed by the monarch to receive her acknox^- ledgments for this donation, he paid her many ilatterinp; compliments. A curious accident bef'cl this lady in a journey which she made ^ith her brother. At a great distance from Paris, their conversation one even- ing, at an inn, turned upon a romance which they were then jointly composing, to the hero of which they had given tlie title of prince Mazare. ' What shall we do with prince Mazare ?' said mademoi- selle Scudery to her brother : ' is it not better that he should fall by poison, rather than by the poinard r' * It is not time yet,' replied her com- panion, * for that business ; when it is necessary, v/e can dispatch him as Ave please ; but at pre- >eut we have not quite done with him !' Twa merchants in the next chamber, overhearing this conversation, concluded they had formed a con- spiracy for the murder of some prince, whose real name they disguised under that of Mazare, Full of this important discovery, they imparted their suspicions to the host and hostess, when it was unanimouslv determined to inform the po- lice officer of what had happened. The officer, happ}' to shew his dihgence and activity, put the travellers immediately under an arrest, and hud them couducted, with a strong escort, to Puns- MADELIENE DE SCUDErvV. sqi It was not without difficulty and expence that they procured their liberation, and permission for the future to hold an unlimited right and power over all the princes and personages in the legends of fiction. At Paris, the house of mademoiselle Scudery was the court of the muses, where all the talent and genius in the capital assembled. She died at the advanced age of ninety-four, 1701, of a rheu- matic fever. Two churches contended for the honour of her remains, a point at length decided by the authority of the cardinal de Noailles, to wliom the dispute was referred. Her Vt'orks were numerous : it is said by M. Coster, that she composed eighty volumes, an undoubted proof of great fertility of invention. She also acquired the first prize of eloquence in the academy of Paris. Her stories were generally founded on facts, disguised and intermingled with fiction. In her " Cyrus" is drawn the character o Louis do Bourbon, prince of Conde. In the ro- mance of " Clelie," many circumstances are re- jated which occurred about that period in the court of France. Her narratives are tedious, and her de- scriptions prolix ; but the praise of ingenuity, of elevated sentiment, and of purifying and cnno- s 4 .00 iiisdj 392 ANNE DE SEGUIER. bling that species of writing, cannot be denied to her. The Female Worthies^ or Memoirs of the most illhs- trious Ladies of all yiges. Nations t ilfc. — /Inn.. Ti.iihitsse's Sketch of the Lives and IVritiiigs-, "^ c. ANNE DE SEGUIER. Anne, daughter to Pierre Seguier ( whose fa- mily gave to France so many illustrious magis- trates), lord of Verriere, lieutenant-criminal au chatelet de Paris, married Francis du Prat, baroo de Thiers, to whom she bore two daughters, Anne and Philipine, who were educated in the court of Henry III. Anne de Seguier inherited the talents of her family, and devoted her leisure to the cultivation of sacred poetry. Her poems are preceded by a prose dialogue between Virtue, Honour, Pleasui-e, Fortune, and Death. Her daughters emulated their mother in the cultiva- tion of their minds, and were celebrated for their skill in the, Greek and Latin lanijuafjes, for their knowledge, and for their attainments in general lite rat m*e. Dictionnaire Histcrique, ^c. — -/Inn Thickness'e^ s Sketch of the Lives and HYttings of the Ladies of France, [ 3C).i ] SEMIRAMIS. The account of tho wondrvful action^ oi Ninuii and Semiraniis, the period of whoso existence and reign it would be difficult to detorminc, abounds in absurdity and contradiction. Scniiramis-, ac- cording to historians, was the wife of an officer, in the army of Ninus, king of Assyria, who, attracted by her beauty and artilices, unirried her, after the decease of her husband. JIa\ing gained over to her interest tlie principal men of the state, Seniiramis, it is said, prevaiJcd ou Ninus to invest her with the sovereign power for five davs. A decree was accordingly issued that, during this period, the nation should implicidy obey the commands of the queen. Semiraniis began the exercise of the authority imprudently entrusted to her by causing her husband to be put to death, that she might secure to licrsclf the sovereignt}'. Tiiis account is denied by some liistorians, but all are agreed that she succeeded Ninus in the empire ; when, ambitious ot inunor- talising her name, she built Babylon in one year, and employed tv;o millions of men in accomplish- ing so stupendous and magnificent a work. Her s< i- tuewaserected inthe famoustcmple ofHierapuli , where divine honours were paid to her memory. 3 5 394. SEMIRAMIS. Other writers are of opinion, that the preced- ing: circumstances Have, without any other found- ation, boen extracted from terms improperly understood. Semiramis, according to these, sig- nifies a people called Semarim, a title assumed? by the ancient Babylonians from Semarim, whose badge, a dove (expressed Semramas), was used' as an object of worslii]), and considered to be the same as Rliea, the mother of the gods. It was a. common mode with the ancients to call a tribe or family by the name of its founder, and a na- tion by the head of the line. A\'hen the Kine- vites performed a great action, it Avas ascribed to Isiinus, supposed founder of Ninevah. Tims, a> by Niuus the Ninevites are to be vmderstood, so* by Semiramus is meant a people called Semarim.- In the history of those personages are recorded" the great actions of the two nations : historian* have thus been involved in difficulties and con- tradictions, by limiting to the life of individuals' an historical series of ages. All that is atti-ibuted to Semiramus and Ninus was actually performed fey Semarim, and the Ninivites, who conqucrcci the Modes and Bactrians, and extended their do- minions. 1 hese events, which took place ages after the foundation of the kingdoms, began an- lied the Avorks attributed to Ninus and Seniiraniis. " IJe- .- Sides Babv Ion, which they built, there are," says Strabo, *' almost over the v/hole face of the globe, vast mounds of earth*, Avails, and ram- parts, attributed to Nnius and Semiramis, in which were subterraneous passages of communi- cation, banks for water, and staircases of stone: also vast canals to dir^^ct the course of river';, with lakes to receive them ; likewise highways and bridi/es of Avondevful structure. They built the famous terraces at Babylon, and the beauti- ful gardens at Ecbatana : they discovered the art of weaving cotton, an invention atuibuted to those of their family who passed into Kgypt. The Samarim of Egypt and of Babylonia were of the same family, sons of Chus, who came and settled among the Mizraim, under the name of shepherds." By some historians, Semiramis is represented as a woman and a princess, who reigned in Ba- bylon ; by others as a deity. She was, says Athe- * These were high altars, .in which the people jaci.ftewi to the siur. 396 SEMIRAMIS. iiagoras, esteemed t}»e dauglitcr of Dercetusy' the same as the Sun'a Dca, Rhea, &c. Thus by many Rhea, Isis, Astartd, Aiargaiim, and SemU rami's, are one and the same deity. We have the testimony of Lucian, that they Avere so account- ed by the Syrians of HierapoUs, ulio regarded them as different symbols relatinc: to the same object. Semiramis was said to have been changed into a dove, because she was under tliat form de- picted and worshipped. Hence it appears that Semiramis was merely an emblem, the name com- pounded of Sama-Kamas, or Kamis, which signi- fied the divine token, the type of jjrovidence ; or as a military ensign, interpreted, with some lati- tude, the standard of the Most High. The em- blem consisted of the figure of a dove, probably encircled with the Iris, which is frequently re- presented with the dove. All who A\ent under the standard, or worshipped this emblem, were styled Semarim. The title of Samarim, or Se- miramus, did not relate to one person, but to many, and was particularly assumed by princes. The Cuthitcs, settled about Cochin and Madura, in India, and the great kings of Calecut, were styled Samarim, even in later times, when the countries were visited by the English and Portu- guese. It is reported of this ideal personage, that she was exposed among the rocl■ ■■^M U M ■ I I- M. .1 ^ .1.1 . ■. — ■ i- -. — ■ ■ ■ ■ ■ 1^ * The president Bouhicr. LADY ARABELLA SEYMOUR. I03 I.ongbeat libraries. Her affinity to the crown rnv'olv-ed lier in perpetual misfortunes. Tt ap- .j pears, from a passa<^e in Mr. Ogleby's Nei^oeia- tions in Spain, in 1596, that she ^vas under re- I straint during the latter period of tlie rchyu of 1 Uzabeth. He observes, that the queen of Enp;- land refused to deliver her up to the kint^ of Scots, who purposed marrying her to the duke of Lenox, in Scotland, with an intention, l)aving I at that time no issue, of making the duke his heir and successor. The pope also formed a design I cf raising her to the throne of England, by cs- I pousing her to cardinal Farnese, brother to the I duke of Parma. This project seems to have been favoured by Henry IV. of France, from an ap- prehension lest England, when united to Scotland, under the same monarch, should become too powerful. Soon after the accession of James, a conspiracy was entered into by some English lords, through jealousy of the Scots, to kill the kino- and bestow the crown on Arabella. This transaction, which was discovered and the con- spirators punished, apjiears to have occasioned the confinement of Arabella to her own house, and to have ultimately proved destructive both to her health and fortimcs. She was, however, restored to favour, and received from the king, as aaew-year's gift, a service of plate, worth 200L. 404 LADY ARABELLA SEYMOUR. and a tliousand marks to pay }ier debts, Avith a yearly addition to lier income. She was soon after, Avithout the consent of James, privately married to IMr. William Seymour, second son to the earl of Hertford, afterwards earl and marquis of Hertford, and at length restored to the duke- apcl. Ballard's British Ladies— History of England^ t^c. LADIES ANNE, MARGARET, AND JANE SEYMOUR. These ladies, sisters, were celebrated for their ]earnine died at Blois, in the south of France, 1767. Ne'M Biogrubkical Dict'K>''.arf T 2 r 412 ] SOPHRONIA. SoPHRONiA, a name given to the lady of a Ro- man governor, conimended by Eusebius, and other writers, for her courage. and chastity. The tyrant, jMaxentius, was in the habit of sending his scddiers into the houses of his subjects, to bring forcibly to Liin ihe wives or daugiiters of the citizens, whose beauty or accomi hshments had captivated his li- centious fincy. A permission having been extorted from the iiusband of Sophronia, the soldiers brought to her the royal summons. Under pretence of adorning her person to tppcar before the emperoi', Sophronia was permitted to retire alone to her chamber, where !-he plunged a sword into her bo- som ; justly preferring death to submitting to the brutal Ills ot a despot. The Female Worthies^ ^c. SULPICIA. SuLPiciA, or SuLPiTiA, a Roman lady, daugh- ter of Sulpicius Parterculus, and wife to Fulvius Flaccus, is celebrated for the purity of her manners. Great dissoluteness having prevailed among the women of Rome, the books of the sybils were con- sulted for a remedy to these disorders, when, from COUNTESS OF SUNDERLAND. 4i:J tlie report made by those appointed to lUc ofTicc, it was decreed by the senate, that a statue should be erected to Venus Vertkordta, or tlie converter of Iiearts, and that the most virtuous of the Roman ladies should consecrate the ,'tatue of the goddess. For this purpose, an hundred women wcic tiist ic- lected i from this number ten were chosen, ail of whom were unanimous in appointing Sulpicia for the sacred office. I'liis event took place in the year 639 of Rome. It do;.s not appear that the lionour conferred upon Sulpicia jirovcd efficacious in the reform of female manners. A ttm|)orary incitement to laudable ambition was quickly over- powered in the luxury and corruption of the times^ which continued to increase, till Julius Cassar, in a revolution of the state, made himself master ot the commonwealth. The moral and political barometer of nations will ever rise and fall in exact proportions. Boyle s Historical Dictionary — Biographium Fxmincunu DOROTHY, COUNTESS Ot^ SUNOERLAND. Dorothy, daughter of Robert Sidney, eail of Leicester, married Henry lord Spencer, of Worm- leighton, during his minority. On the 8th ot June, 1643, he was created earl of Sunderland, and, in the same year, killed at the first battle of Newbury, T 3 «4 COUNTESS DE LA SUZE. in the twenty-third year of his age. His widow af- terwards gave her hand to Robert Smythe, esq. of the Bounds, in the parish of Bidborough, in Kent, whom she also survived. One son was the fruit of her second marriage, Robert Smythe, governor of Dover castle in the reign of Charles II. This lady- was the sacliarissa of Waller : she was an amiable woman, and fond of retirement. Having met Wal- ler one day, when she was far advanced in life, she ' asked him ' when he would write such fine verses upon her again ?' ' When your ladyship,' he re- plied, ' is as young again.' She survived her hus- band forty years, and was buried with him, in the same vault, at Brington, in Northamptonshire, Feb, . 25, 1683-4. Cranget-'s Biographical History of England. THE COUNTESS DE LA SUZE. Born in Paris, 1618, daughter of the count de Coligni, a marshal of France, and grand-daughter ©f the famous admiral Coligni, this lady was hrst married to Thomas Hamilton, a Scotch nobleman, and after his decease to the count de la Suze, with ■whom she led a wretched life. His unhappy tem- per, and extreme jealousy, induced him to seclude from society a woman who was formed to be its delight and ornament. Shut up in a country-house, at a great distance from the capital, the countess, COUNTESS DE LA SUZE. 415 nnpaticnt of constraint, dctcrmineJ, as a means of eluding the tyranny of her husband (who professed the huguenot faith), to abjure her reUgion, and take 'shelter in the catholic church. It was on this oc- casion said by Christina of Sweden, that Henrietta de la Snze changed her religion, that she might csca|)e the society of her husband both in this world and the next. This schism for a time appearing to aggravate the misery of her situation, she solicited a divorce, and, to piocure the consent of the count, offered him 25000 crowns. The terms were accepted, and the marriage dissolved by the parliament. In conse- quence of this event the pecuniary aflairs of tlie countess became involved in embarrassment, an evil light in comparison with those she had escaped, and to which she submitted with fortitude. On this subject a whimsical anecdote is related. One morn- ing, at eiglit o'clock, an execution was brought into her house. Being informed by her wumjn of this circumstance, she desired to speak with the officer. Having not yet risen, the man was intro- duced into her bed-chamber. ' Sir,' said she, ' I have had very little sleep the past night, and i must entreat your patience an hour or two longer.' * Certainly, madam,' replied the officer, politely, and immediately withdrew. The countess then T 4 4i(j COUNTESS DE LA SUZE. compojed herself to sleep, and awoke not till ten o'clock, when she arose and dressed to fulfil an en- gagement to dinner. She thanked the officer for liis civility, as she passed out of her apartment, and, tranquilly hastening .to htr a])pointment, left him master of the house. Having a suit at law with madame de Chatillon, madame de la Suze pleaded her cause before the par- liament of Paris. These two ladies meeting one day in tlie court, n^onsicur de la Feuilladc, who ac- companied the former, thus addressed the latter, who was escorted by Bci.serude and several other poets of reputation, * You, m-idam, have rhyme on your side, and we have reason.' * It cannot be said, then,' replied die countess, with an air of con- temp!^, * tliac we plead without rhyme or reason.' Madame de la Suze, unfortunate in her domestic connections, became melancholy and attached to so- litude. She indulged her feelings in plaintive and elegiuc effusions, iu\\ of tenderness and passion. Her thoughts are said to have been just and elevated, and her language poetical, but her rhymes inharmonious. Her songs, madrigals, and odes, were inferior to her elegies, which abounded in delicate and fine turns of sentiment. Her poems are printed in a colleciion in four vols. 12mo. with those of Pelisson and ma- dame de Scudery. She died at Paris, esteemed ai;d lamented, m 1673. MARY SYE)KEY. 417 She was the subject of many eulo^lums. Ma- damoiselle de Scudery, in her romance of Clclia, thus describes her : '* Hesiode, slcepinc; upon Par- nassus, sees tlie muses in a dream, who shew to him the poets in their order of succession. ' Be- hold,' says CaUiope, speaking of the countess dc la Suze, ' behold a woman who, witli the form of Pal- las, the beauty, the softness, tiae expression, and the air of Venus, possesses yet more wit than beauty, though adorned by a thousand charms.'" Chailcval, one of the most celebrated wits of his age, addressed to madame de la Suze a copy of verses, in which he highly extols her genius, and compares her to Sappho. Biographium Fcemhieum — The Female Worth'tti, l^c. — kfiti Tbickneffc's Sketch of the Lii'cs and irnt'mssofthe Ladies of France — Dictionnaire Historique dcs Fcmnt.s Celebres. MARY SYDNEY, COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE. Martt, daughter of sir Henry Sydney, knight of the Garter, lord deputy of Ireland, and lord president of Wales, and of his wife the lady Mary, eldest daughter of John duke of Northumberland, was born about the middle of the sixteenth century, and lived during the reigns of Elizabeth and of James. Sir Philip Sydney, the celebrated author of the . T 5 . 418 MARY SYDNEY. Arcadia, was brother to this lady, who, in 157c, married Henry earl of Pembroke. Three children were the fruit of this marriage ; William, who suc- ceeded to the titles and estates of his father, and from whom the present family is descended ; Philip and Anne, who died young. These nuptials were projected by Robert DuJlev, earl of Leicester, uncle to the countess, whose fortune, on this occasion, he increased. The countess of Pembroke had received a liberal education, and was distinguished among the literary characters of the age for a highly cultivated mind and superior talents. Congenial qualities and pur- suits united her with her brother, sir Philip Sydney, in bonds of strict friendship. Sir Philip dedicated to his beloved sister his Arcadia, under the title of *' The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia." To her also Mr. Abraham Fraunce devoted his poetic and literary labours. The countess possessed a talent for poetical composition, which she assiduously cultivated. She translated from the Hebrew inta English vgTSe many of the Psalms, whichj bound in Velvet, are said to be preserved in the libiary at Wil- ton. She is represented in her picture hokling ia her hand a book of Psalms. She also translated and published '* A Discourse of Life and Death, writ- ten in French by Philip Morncy, done into English by the Countess of Pembroke, dated May 13, 1590, MARY S\T)NEY. 41y Wilton : printed at London for William Ponsonbv* 1600, 12mo." Likewise, " The Tragcdic of Au- tonie : done into English bv the Countess of Pem- broke, I'Jmo. London, 1,5!)5." This little work contains, though not paged, fifty-four leaves. She loved learning, and was a patroness of letters. Dr. MoutFct was allowed by her a yearly pension : her liberality and her taste for letters are also spoken of by Mr. Giles Jacob. She survived her husband t^^enly years, and, hav- ing lived to an advanced age, died at her house in Aldersgate-strect, London, Sept. 25, 1602. She was interred with the Pembroke family, in die chan- cel of the cathedral at Salisbury, without any mo- nun\ent. The following lines, designed as an in- scription for her tomb, were written by the celc- bfated Ben Johnson : '* Underneath this sable herse, Lies the subject of all verse ; - Sydney's sister, Pembroke's mother : Death, ere thou hast killd another, Fair, and learn'd, and good as shc,^ Time shall throw a dart at tlice. Marble piles let no man raise Tq her name, for after-daies .Some kind woman, born as she, Reading this, like Niobe, Shall turn marble, and become Both her mourner, and hvr tpnvb ". 429 MARY SYDNEY. Sir Francis Osborn, in his Memoirs of the Reign of James, thus speaks of the countess of Pembroke : •' She was tliat sister of sir Philip Sydney to whom he addressed his Arcadia, and of whom he iiad no other advantage than what he received from the partial benevolence of fortune (i. e. nature) in mak- ing him a man, which yet she did, in some judg- ments, recompence in beauty, her pen being nothing short of his, as I am ready to attest, so far as so in- ferior a reason may be taken, having seen incom- parable letters of hers. But lest I should seem to trespass upon truth, which few do unsuborned (as 1 protest I am, unless by her rl^etoric), I shall leave the world her epitaph, in which the author doiii manifest himself a poet, in all things but untrutli." Wood* ascribes to sir Philip Sydney the trans- lation of the Psalms, which he says are in manu- script in the library of the carl of Pembroke, at Wil- ton, bound in crimson velvet, and left by the coun- tess ; some Psalms by whom are however printed in Mr. Hanington's Nugas Antif]uaE, 3 vols. 12mo. Ballard's British Ladies — Biogrtiphium Fxniineiim., 6<.c. "* Athen. Oxon. vol. I. p. 184. [ 4'Jl ] TANAQUIL. Tanaquil, wife to Tarquinius Pilscus, king of Rome, was bom at Tarquinii, in Tuscanv. She married Lucumon, whose fatlicr bcinc expelled from Corinth, his native city, fled to Tarquinii: his wealth, which was conlidcrabic, was inherited by his son. Lucumon, who, in espousing Tanaquil, became allied to the noblest families in Tarquinii, flattered himself witii being raised to the first dignities of the city : this am- bition was defeated by his birth and foreign ex- traction. Tanaquil, humiliated by losing her rank, and incensed at the indignities suffered by her hus- band, determined to quit her native city, and to seek a place where she would be less subjected to morti- fication. She pressed her husband to go to Rome, where, without respect to adventitious circumstances, preferment waited on merit. Lucumon listened to her representations, and consented to her wishes. A presage of good fortune is said to have at- tended them on their journey. As they arrived at mount Janiculus, before they entered Rome, an eagle gently alighted upon their chariot, and, taking off the cap of Lucumon, hovered for some time over the carriage : at length, with a loud out- cry, he restored the cap to the head of its master, and 422 TANAQUIL. took Ills flight. Taiiaquil, embracing her husband, congratulated him on this incident, which she as- sured him forboded great fortune. Elated with hope, thev entered Rome, where Lucumon assumed the name of Tarquinius. Having gained the esteem of the Romans, he insinuated himself into the favour of the king, who advanced him to the highest ofiices. He at length aspired to the throne, and succeeded in his ambition : he reigned thirty-seven years, and in the thirty-eighth was assassinated in his palace. Tanaquil suffered not herself to be overwhelmed by this blow, however severe : by her address and influence she secured the succession toher son-in-law, Servius Tullius, whose elevation she had before pre- dicted. Servius Tuilius was born and educated in the palace of the king. A flame, according to the legend, was seen one day hovering over his head as he slept : the attendants, alarmed, were about to extinguish it, but Tanaquil prevented them, and, taking her husband aside, told him that this child would one day support the royal family in their ad- versity, and that care ought to he taken of his edu- cation. When the infant awoke, the flarne disap- peaied. The advice of Tanaquil was followed; Servius received a princely education, and espoused the daughter of his benefactor. The father of the prince, it is believed, was Servius Tullius, who was slain in defending his principality of Corniculum, a- TANAQUIL. 4«$ town of Italy, besieged and taken by Tarquiniu5. His mother, who was taken captive in a state of pregnancy, gave birth to a son in the palace of Tarquinlus, to whom the youih succeeded. The memory of Tanaqnil, whose history is thus mingled with fable, was long held in veneration at Rome, where the work of her hands was sacredly preserved. Varro, a contemporary with Cicero, assures us, that he had seen, in the temple of Sangus, the distafF-spindle of Tanaquil, whh the wool with which she had been spinning: also, that a royal robe which she had wrought, and which was worn by Servius Tullius, was preserved in the temjilc of Fortune. Pliny adds, that, on this account, young women were, at their nuptials, followed by a person bearinsr the distaff and spindle with wool and yarn. He affirms likewise, that Tanaquil was the first wlio wove the garments which were given to the youth of Rome when they attained the age of manhood, and to the maidens on their espousals. Though illustrious as a queen and as a politician, Tanaquil, as these emblems seem to imply, neg- lected not the humbler duties of domestic life. Great virtues were ascribed fo her girdle. The Romans had a tradition, that Tanaquil having made important discoveries in medicine, had enclosed or incorporated with her girdle certain drugs or remedies, which the sick were solicitous to procure. Tins gird.e 424. TELESILIA. was placed around lier statue in the temple of Sar>- cus, a Roman deity known by the name of Dius Fidius. Tarquinius, or Tarquin, was less known to fame than his wife, by whom it appears he ac- quired the regal dignity. •' The admirable virtues of that queen," says St. Jerom, " are too deeply impressed upon the memory of all ages ever to be forgotten." If some satirists (as Juvenal; have ridiculed Tarquin for the ascendancy which his wife possessed over his mind, it should be remembered, that to this ascendancy he was indebted for his good fortune. Bayle s Historical Dictionary — Biographium Fcsmmeum. TELESILIA, A noble poetess of Argos, who being advised by the oracle (which she consulted respecting her health) to the study of the muses*, attained in a short time such excellence, as to animate, by the power of her verse, the Argive women to repel, under her con- duct, Cleomenes the Spartan king, and afterwards king Demaratus, from the siege of Pamphiliacum, with great loss. * This prescription properly intimates, that by the acti- vity of the miad the body is invigorated. C 42^ j ^ THE A NO. A TRIPLE name of considerable celebrity. The h!st ot this name was Tlieano Locrentis, a native ot the city of Locii, aud surnamcd M-.lica, fujin the melody of her songs ajid lyric poems. The second was a poetess of Crete, said by some histo- rians to have been the wife of Pythagoras. TIic third, Tiieano Thuria, or Metapotino, the wife of Carystius. or, according to others, of Braniiuusof Cretona, and daugl iter of the poet Lycophroii. 'I'hc three are mentioned by Suidas. There arc three epistles by Thcano (but which of th« 'Ihcanos is not determined) published, with the epistles ot se- veral ancient Greek authors, at Venice, by Aldus. MRS. THOMAS. The life of Mrs- Thomas, known to the public by the poetical name of Curinna, affo'ds an in- teresting picture, and displays a issue of caLmitics that can scarcely fail to excite the sympathy and commiseration of the reader. Born in IGIS, she seems to have inherited from her father, wh'j was far advanced in life, and whose health had been long infirm, an unh.ppy constitution, rendered yet more delicate and feeble by the injudicious tenderness wi'.!» 426 MRS. THOMAS. which she was nurtured. From her infancy she was afflicted with fevers and defluxions; bur, with these physical disadvantages, she possessed a gav andHvely temper, and gave earlv promise of a vigorous intel- lect. Betore she had completed her second year, the death of her father, of whose circumstances his family, from his expensive manner of living, had- formed an erroneous calculation, involved them in embarrassment and distress. Her mother had, at the age of eighteen, from motives of ambition and ava- rice, sacrificed her youth and beauty to infirmity and age: but en the decease of her husband, it was not without difficulty that she was enabled to defray the expences of an ostentatious funeral. Having, in this reverse of her situation, disposed of her house in townjand another in Essex, she prudently retired, with her infant daugh.tcr, and the small remnant of her effects, into economical lodgings in the ct^untry. In this situation she untortunateiy formed an ac- quaintance with a pretender to alchymy, by whom, under the pieicnce of preparing an apparatus for the discovery of the philosopher's stone, or the art of transmuting metals into gold, she sutfered herself to be defrauded of three hundred pounds. In the mo- ment of the expected projection, the works were blown up, and tiie golden dreams of the credulous widow rudely dissipated. The projector had, in the intervals of his labour^ MRS. THOMAS. 4:7 officiated as tutor to ihe young Corinna, whom he instructed m the rudiments of Latin, aiiihmciic, and tiie mathematics, for which she discovertd a paiti- cular predilection. The widow was for some limc so much affected by the dissolution of her cmpcrical visions, added to her loss and mortiticatiun, that she suffered her health to be impaired by the indulg- ence of her grief : time, at length, softening the keen sense of her folly, she determined to make those exertions for herself and her child which were become more than ever necessary. Having made application to the friends and clients of her laie lius- band, and received a promise of their services, she took a house in Bloomsbuiy, where, by economy and a genteel appearance, she concealed the state ot her finances. Being one day visited by the duke of Montague, lie advised her to let a part of her house. She ap- peared not averse to this idea, but objected to receiv- ing ordinary lodgers, for which she conceived her former habits had unficted her: yet she intimated, that she should not object to accommodating a re- spectable family. The duke ottlrcd to become himself her tenant. * Be assured,' said he, observing her smile incredulously, ' I am serious. I want more freedom than my rank will allow mc at home ; I could wish occasionally to come here unrestrained, with some honest fellows of my acquaintance, whoso 428 MRS. THOMAS. society I love, and eat a bit of mutton.' Tiie ar- rangement, under which the duke concealed deeper views, was immediately concluded upon : it was agreed that her noble lodger should pass at Blooms- bury for a Mr. Freeman, of Herifoidshire. In a few days a dinner was ordered for himself and his friends, under the familiar appellations of Jack and Tom, Will and Ned, plain honest coun- try gentlemen. At the time appointed the widow was introduced, not withoiu surprise, to the duke of Devonshire, lords Buckingham and Di)rset, a vis- count and his son, William Dutcon Colt. Several meetings had taken place, when the hostess was in- formed by her noble guest, who had conceived a high and just opinion of her integrity, that the sub- ject of these conferences was a projected revolution in the state. This event being at length effected, the rendezvous was broken up, and the widow, on part- ing with her guests, received a promise of obtaining either a pension, or a place in the household, as a recompence of her zeal and services, and a compen- sation for the loss of tiie shattered wreck of her for- tune by the closing of the Exchequer. The dreams of the alchymisr, and the courtiers' promises, proved alike illusive: in the change of measures and circumstances the widow was quickly forgotten. The duke of Moniague, it is true, con- tinued to make ilattering professions of service i and MRS. THOMAS. \2'J when his late hostess solicited him, as captain of tlic band ot" j-.ensioners, to besto>v a post on a Mr. Gwynnet, a young gcntlcmin who had long ad- dressed her daughter, actually assented to her request, on condition that the bride elect should apply to hiin in person. The guileless mother overwhelmed lier generous benefactor wiih grateful acknowledgments, and instantly hastened to inform her daughter of their flattering prospects, when, to her extreme sur- prise, she received from Corinna, who had been accustomed to yield to her commands an implicit obedience, a peremptory refusal to avail herself of the bounty of the noble duke. Compelled at length to explain the motives for a conduct so unreasonable and extraordinary, the young lady confessed that his grace had, as a recompence for the hospitality and fidelity he had uniformly experienced under their roof, attempted to allure her from the paths of chastity. To this she added, that in the condition he had an- nexed to his services to her lover, she had but too just cause to fear a renewal of his dishonourable purposes. The feelings of a mother upon such an occasion require no description: equally unnecessary is it to comment upon die generous conduct of the courtier. The mind of Corinna had been highlv cultivated by a perusal of the best authors, while, as lier taste icfined, her sentiments became delicate and elevated. 430 MRS. THOMAS. and her character sirongly tinctured with tliose vir- tues which " The sons of interest deem romance." Their circumstances becoming daily more per- plexed and involved, she icmonstra ed with her lover on the inequaity of their fortunes and prospects, and the imprudence of the connection which he solicited. T'he attachment of Mr. Gwynner, wiio ■was already in a great degree independent of his family, was incrcjsed by the delicacy and disin- terestediiCss of his mistress ; nor was it long before he gained the consent of his father to an union in which his happiness was so deeply involved. With this sanction he returned to London, to claim the reward of his affection and fidelity. Mrs. Thomas being at this time in an infirm state of health, her amiable daughter refused, in her own better prospects, to abandon her mother to the care of strangers. She replied to the solicitations of her lover, that as she had not thought sixteen years too long a period to wait for him, she hoped he would not consider six months as tedious, in expectation of receiving, at the end of that time, the recompence of his generous constancy. * Six months at present, my Corinna,' he replied, with a sigh, * are more than the sixteen years that are passed — you now defer our union, and God will put it off for ever.' His words were prophetic. The next day he re- MRS. THOMAS. 491 turned Into the country and made his will, by which he bequeathed to Corinna six hundred pounds: he sickened shortly after, and expired April h.tii, 1711. To express the feelings of iiis misticss on this cvcni language is inadequate :— ' Sorrow,' said she, » has been my portion ever since.' The deed of conveyance, by which the father of Mr. Gwynnet had empowered his son to dispose of his effects, with the will which he had in conse- quence made, were suppressed by his brother. Co- rinna was impelled to seek a legal resource. Her adversary, not satisfied with the injury he had al- ready done her in defrauding her of her right, added baseness to injustice, endeavouring, by the vilest means, to suborn persons to blast the character of tlic innocent victim of his rapacity ; but, in this instance, to the credit of human nature be it spoken, he could find no agent, or probably his bribes were not suffi- ciently high, to aid his barbarous and atrocious purpose. Corinna, from respect to the memory of her deceased lover, offered terms of accommodation, and, on condition of receiving two hundred pounds imme- diately, and two hundred more at the end of the year, consented to relinquish the remainder of her claim. The first payment was accordingly made, which she instantly divided among the creditors of her mother. When the second payment became 432 MRS. THOMAS. due, Mr. G. bid her defiance, and stood a suit on his own bond, whicli was carried on through four terms, from court to court, and at lengtli brought to the bar of the house of lords. Here Gwynnet, aware of the infamy which awaited him, thought proper to stop and pay the money before tlie cause was brought to a hearing. Corinna had, in the course of the suit, been obliged to sign an instru- ment to empower the lawyers to receive the money, and pay themselves the costs. The consequences may be foreseen : thirteen pounds sixteen shillings was the residue which these conscientious gentlemen, who sell justice very dear, paid into her hands. Reduced by this event to the necessity of retiring from her creditors to obscurity and want, fhe was betrayed by a pretended friend, and thrown into pri- son. But the measure of her misfortunes was not yet filled up. In April, 1711, she accidentally swal- lowed, while speaking hastily, the middle bone of the wing of a fowl, which being of a large size, the bone was more than three inches in length. For the first few days she felt no inconvenience from this accident; at length she became sensible to a weight and oppression at her stomach, and was seized with a dysentery, attended with violent and constant pain, fainting fits and convulsions, which were fol- jowed by a malignant fever. For two years these deplorable sufferings continued to harass her without MRS. T110MA9. i^f •ntennlssion, and baffled the skill of tlie (^irulty She was at length ordered to Haih, where s!ic expe- rienced a temporary relief, and where slit-cuntinu(d for some years in a state of comparative hralth and v i-c, though involved by an unjust executor in an cight- vears' suit of law. Deprived from repeated acts of cruelty and injus- tice of the tneans of su|)port, she suffered a close imprisonment, in want even of the i-.ecessarics of life, and for two years was obliged to lie on the boards. During this period she experienced no in- convenience from the bone she had sualliwcd. Bdton recovering her liberty, and bej;inning to take the exercise of which she had been so long deprived, her stomach aud head began to swell, and ra])itlly increased to an alarming *ize. After having tiieJ in vain the efficacy of medicine, her ca.sc was pro- nounced to be an incurable droj'sy. Nature, at this crisis, unexpectedly relieved itbclf ; in twelve hours she voided or threw up about five gallons of water, aud for seme days experienced a considerable miti- gation of her sufferings ; but the water gathering again, she was afflicted witli a perpetual hectic aiu! sense of suffocation, Tliese successive and ciiiel calamities did not shield her from the petulance ct vanity and the shafti of malignity. Mr. Pope had once paid her a visit, in company with Henry Cromwel, esq. whoiC let- ^OL- VI, V 4^t THVxMELE. ters, with some of Mr. Pope\s, afterwards fell acci- dentally into her hands. On the death of Henry Cromwel, Curi, ihc bookseller, found means to get fiom her these letters, which he immediately committed to the press. The enraged wit avengecl himself of this injury, magnified by sclf-lo\e into an enormous crime, by placing Corinna in ludicrous circumstances in the Dunciad. After her liberation from confinement, Mrs. Thomas resided in a small and humble lodging in Fleet-street, wheie she died, February, 1730, in the fifty-sixth year of her age. She was interred in the church of St. Bride's. Her productions, thcugh not entitled to rank in a high class of poetical compositions, possess soft- ness and delicacy. They were publithed after her death by Mr. Curl, with two volumes of letters which passed between her and Mr. Gwynnet. Bicgraphium Fam'tnevm^ l^c. THYMELE. A MUSICAL composer, and a poetess, mentioned by Martial, and rej;uted to h .ve been the first who in- troduced 'nto the scene a kind of dance, called by the Greek , fn-m this ciicumstancc, Thcmclinos. From Thymelc also, an altar, used in the ancient theatres, is supposed to have taken its name. C ^35 ] CATHERINE TISHEM. This lady, who about the middle of the sixtct:v'» ©entury married Guiltherus Grutcr, a hurgonu- ster of Antwerp, to whom {.he bore a son, James Grutcr, celebrated for his erudition and his voliimi- nous productions, is said to have been an English- woman. Being persecuted, on the account of her religion, by the duchess of Parma, governess of the Netherlands, she took refuge in England, with her son, in 1565. It is observed to her honour, by Bal_ tliasor Venator, that slie was her son's cliief in- structor ; and it is certain that she bore the cliaractcr of one of the mofet learned women of tlie age. She was ac«.|uainted both with the ancient and modern languages, and read G;ilen in Greek, which few physicians were then able to do. She also super- intended the studies of licr son during his residence at Cambridge, whence he went to Leyden in 1 JT.*. Biograph'ium Favt'ncum . ELIZABETH TOLLET. Elizabeth, daughter of George Toilet, esq, commissioner of the navy in the reigns of \\i!llam and of Anne, was born in IGlH. Her talents wcic assiduously cultivated by hci father, under whwc U 2 iXy ELIZABETH TOLLET. iupeilntciulance she icceivcil cvcrv advantage of cilucatioiu She spoke fluemly and correctly tlic Latin, Italian, and French languages ; she was con- versant in history, cultivated poetry, and studied the inathematic?. Siic had great tasie and skill in music, and excelled in drawing and designing. She was •exemplary in her conduct and in the relative duties of Jife. Tlie former periods of lier life were passed in the Tower, where her father had a liouse ; the latter a* Stratford and Westham. She died February ist, 1754, and was buried at Westham. In 1735 a vo- hime of her poems was printed, among which ap- peared a musical drama, entitled " Susanna, or Innocence Preserved." She was favoured with the friendship of sir Isaac Newton, who was much pleased with some of her first essays. Several of her poems are on philosophical subjects, and display profound thinking. Her Latin poems are said to be written with classical taste. She would not suffer her productions to appear till after her decease. Her estate, which was considerable, she left to her youngest nephew. Her eldest nephew, George Toilet, of Beiley in StafFordshire (previously of Lincoln's Inn), was known as the author of Notes on Shakspcare. He died October 21, 1779. TVMICIIA, A LacccWmonlan luly, who became the wife of T^Ivllias, a native of Croronc. Slic is plucoy Jamljlicus, in his Life of Pythagoras, tirst \\\ ihc list of female Pythagoreans. When sumiuoncvl, witli her liusband, befiHc tlic tyrant Dionys-us, he proffered to them honours and fortune, fm condition that they should reveal lo hi:n tlic mysteries of ihcir sect. His offers being rejected with co.itempt, he drew Myllias aside, and promi'">ed to him an honour- able deliverance if he would only reveal to him AJiy the Pythagoreans would rad^er sulFcr dcaili than trample over a field of brans, 'iiic sturdy disciple of Pythagoras replied, that as his sect prufcircd death to treading upon beans, so would he raJ liis successor, while (he ashes of her hubb:uul, auJ of liis benefactor, were yet warm, aiul \\\ii\c (he Sorrow of her heart wasyctcxprcss-.-Jby her mourn- ing vestments.' S!ic also ventured to aiKl, * That she could place but litile confidence in the professions of a man whose ciucl inconstancy was capable of repudiating a faithful and affectionate wife.' This repulse converted the love of the tyrant inra fury ; and, having witnesses and juJg- s always at h s comniand, he found it not difB:u't to Cover his rage and vexation under a legal exterior, and to assiult at once the peace and the fame of his destined victim. By a horrible abuse of justice, the estates of Va- leria were confiscated, her domestics devotca to the torture, and her friends, among whom were several respectable matrons, condemned to death. The princess herself, on a false accusation of adultery^ was, with her mother Prisca, sentenced to exile, . ignominiously hurried from place to place, and at length confined to a sequestered \illage, in the de- serts of Syria, where their shame and distress were exposed to the provinces of the Enst, which had dur- ing thirty years respected their dignity. ' Diocletian, the father of Valeria, who, having abdicated the purple, had retired to a private con- dition in Dahnatia, his native country, made se- veral ineffectual efforts to alleviate the misfortunes 44J -.VALERIA. of his daugliier ; iwul entrcatcU .Maxitriin, that, as a iast acknowledgment for an empire resigneil, he worild allow her to share wiih him his reueat, and to clvjse ilie eyes of her afllicted fatlicr. . Since hd could no longer command, his supplications pro- duced noeiFeccj tlie pride of the tyrant was gratified by the humiliation of the man to whom he owed tiie power of insuiiiiig him, whose prayers were re- ceived with coldness, and answered with scorn, and whose dau£.iicer was treated as a criminal. The d-e;:th of Maximin seemed ::t lengdi to pro- mise the princesses a more favourable destiny. The vigilance of tlieir guard having relaxed in the public disordeis, thev cor.trivcd to 'itect their escape, and repaired, thot'gii in disguise a'ld with precaution, to the court of Licir.ius, who succeeded to the empire, and whose conduct for the first few days of his reign had revived their confidence. But the blocdy execu- tions which quickly t'l Mowed filled them with horror and .Tstonisiimcnt, and convinced them that the throne was filled by a monster, not less inhuman than him by whom he had been preceded. Valeria, still ac- coinpanied by her mcher, consulted her safetv by a precipitate flight : concealed in plebeian habits, they wandered for fifteen montlis through the provinces of the empire. At Thessalonica they were at length discovered,- and tlie sentence of death, already pronounced, in- LA VALUER FT. 4^]> flictcd upon them : tlicii bodies, having Ikcn be- headed, were thrown into the sea. 'I'hc prt.plc gazed at the tragical spectacle, hut were cotTH)cilcair, were altogether captivating." To her person and face Choisy applies the following line : " And grace still more charming than beauty." ** That La Valliere (says Anquetil in his Memoirs) who was so engaging, so winning, so tender, and so much ashamed of her tenderness ; who would h;;ve loved Lewis for his own sake had he been but a private man ; and who sacrificed to her affection for him her honour and conscientious scruples, with bitter regret and remorse." The king is said to have first conceived a passion for her, from having accidentally heard her, t"iom the back of an arbour, confessing to one of her companions, the emotions which she felt in his presence> and the impressiot> which he had made on her heart. The certainty ©f fii.ding, what he had long sought in vain, a^heaxt attached to him for bis own sake^ ?iUracted him to^ LA VALLlF.Ut:. 413 ivards her. Other circumstances also coinbiucil to draw closer the unian between thcin. I'hihp ilukc of Oileai^s* had espoused Henrietta of England, in whose society, from a similar turn of mmd and scnii- menr, the king t lok grc;U dcligh*, and at whose apart- ments he hrsi. saw La Valhcrc. Monsieur bctamc jealous of his brother's attentions lo his witc, and complained to the queen-mother, who remon- strated \A ith her son on the occasion : to avoid the lectures of the queen, and the joalousy of monsieur» it was concerted between madame and the king, that the latter should alfcct a passion for one of her maids of honour. Ma'lcmoiselie La Vallicre was for her simplicity, her gentleness, and her artless character, selected for the purpose. Jleniietta jLr- tered herself, that should the monarch actually be- come attached to her, it would not be difficult) whenever she should think proper, to divert his in- clinations. Such is the account of madame Dc U Fayette. According to others, while the king frequented tl>e apartments of madame and the countess dc Soisson^, in order to obtain a glance of La Vallierc» these ladies conside ed his attentions as addressed only to themselves: they interpreted in the same maimer the feasts, the tournaments, and the balls, ot * MoEsicur, tie king's brother. 4i4. LA VALLIERE. which La Vallierc was the real object, and for whlcli her heart, that understood that of her lover, thanked him. In the distribution of ribands, feathers, toys, diamonds, and expensive articles of dress, among the ladies of the court, they suspected not that the monarch, by this lavish generosity, sougiu only to present to his mistress what othervi'ise she would have refused to receive. This modest re- serve was long maintained by La Vallicre, who, a stranger to ambiiion, and not less timid and scrupu- lous than tender, avoided the monarch, while slic che- rished in her heart an affection for the man. At a review, the king, who watched her with a jealous eye, observed her smile on a young man, who sa- luted her familiarly in return. The same evening Lewis enquired, in a tone of disquietude and anger, the name of tlie person whom she had thus distin- cuished. La Valliere discovered some confusion at this address, but at length replied that it was her brother who had saluted her. The monarch, on re- ceiving this information, heaped on him favours and honours : it was this gentleman who was father to the first duke De la V^alliere. Fouquet, the superintendant of the finance, whose profligacy was equalled only by his prodigality in his pleasures, was captivated by the charms of La Vallierc, to whom he caused it to be intimated, that he had at her service twenty tliousand pistoles. LA VALLIERE. ii- This offer, which was ta-ated with becoming dij- dain, was thought to have accelerated the U\\ of ihc ijispector. Proofs at length exhibited themsehcs of the weak- ness of La VaUiere, who had yielded lo love wlut interest and ambition had demanded in vain: hum- bled at her situation, she retired in confusion from the public eye, and injured her health bv confine- ment, to avoid those observations which fillctl her with remorse and shame. Her penitence, her an- guish, and her despair, cmbiiiered the triumph ot her lover, who was harassed at the same time bv ihc jealousy of the young queen, and the reproaches of his mother. The connection of Lewis with La Valiicre was but yet imperfectly rumoured, when, by her own imprudence and scruples, it became revealed to the public. In a ht of repentance and despondencv, min- gled with jealousy, from slight and accidental ciicuin- stances, she, one day, quitted the court, and shut herself up in a convent at St. Cloud. The kin^', when apprised of what had passed, without listening to the reproofs of his mother, who remonstrated with him on his conduct, seized the first horse (hat Game to hand, and, on full speed, rode after his mis- tress. Having ordered the convent to he opened to him, he expostulated with the lady, reproached and importuned her, prevailed over her pious resolutions, and carried her back with him in triumph to court. iie L.V VALLIERE. * Adieu, sister,' said "-he to tlie nun who opened the gate for her, as, with a fluttering heart and swiaw ining eyes, she passed the threshold (jf the cloister ; * you shall soon see me again !' During the most intoxicating moments of her passion, ner pleasures were mingled with contrition, and resolutions to expiate, by the severity of the future, ti.e fraihy of the present moment. From the time that La Valliere, shunning the pub-- lie gaze, lived in retirement, the king mixed but little with the circles of the court. The ladies, piqued at his conducfj determined to detach him from his mistress, for which purpose they sought to sow discord in the royal family. They contrived, by a stratagem, to inform the young queen of tiie tri- umph of Iicr rival, in the hope that she would com- ptain to the king's mother, and that by their joint attacks they would oblige hiin to abandon La Valliere; or that, ashamed of exciting uneasiness in the family of her lover, she would he. self return to the convent. A rorgcd letter, fabricated for this purpose, u ith an intention that it should fall into the hands of the- queen, was, through an accident, delivered to Lewis> who, astonished at the perfidy of the transaction, and unable to gu^ss at the agents, applied for in- formation to amani;itHe plot of the ladies, and wh& artfully contrived to fix the suspicions of the mo«. narch on madtime de Nav^iilcs^ who had not long LA VALI.irRE. 4-17 since incurred his displeasure hy the severe propriety and rectiiude of her c-Kduct. The duchess of Navaillcs had been lady of ho- nour to the queen, in which situation she hail watched over the conduct of the youui; ladies* commiited to her charge. Some steps which the king had taken, led her to suspect him of designs which she considered it her duiy to prevent. She addressed him on the occasion, and remonstrated respecting the impropriety of his behaviour, in terms it once firm and respectful. Lewis shewed at first no di^;pleasure at these lectures ; he, however, became at le; gth dissatisfied by precautions (hat continuallv frustrated and interfered with his inchna- tions. He expressed this dissatisfactirin, but with a politeness and delicacy that gave the lady no cause to fear his resentment. His vexation after some time growing stronger, he hinted to the duchess that she was risking his displeasure, and forbade her to interfere so officiously in .vhat respected the maids of honour. By his command, several methods were proposed to her of preserving appearances, Without apposing his wishes. The duclicss re- plied magnanimously to these representations, that, without persisting in the Sirict discharge of her duty, she could not fitlfil her obligations ; and that • Maids of honour. 4*8 LA VALLIERE. so long as his majesty should be pleased to continue her ill her office, she should certainly exert the same vigilance. The king thoroiigl.ly irritated by this an- swer, bade her reflect on what she might suffer from his resenimenr, and, as she rcgaidcd iier own in- terest, to bew are of disobt ying him. * 1 have, sire,' returned she nobly, * fully considered this subject; I perceive clearly the disadvantages which the loss of your favour may produce to me. It is to your ma- jesty that both my husband and myself owe our rank and fortune ; he, the lieutenancy of the light liorse and the government of Havre ; and I, my place in her majesty's iiousehold. You may de- prive us of these. But even such a prospect shall not induce me to alter my resolution of satisfvino- my principles by the discharge of my duty. 1 en- treat you, sire,' continued she, kneeling before him, * to look out for objects to gratify your de.^ires else- where than in the household of the queen,' The king replied with severity ; but, the next day, came up to the duchess, in the apartment of the queen-mo- ther, and took h«r kindly by the hand, jn token of reconciliation. But the proper reflections of the monarch on this incident, and his good dispositions^ were dissipated and perverted by the raillery of the countess of Soissons, an intriguing and unprinci- pled woman, who was desirous of superseding the duchess in her office. By this lady the honourable LAVALMERE. Aif conJuct or matUme tie Navailks was Uramlcd as .i pieteucc, and thepaticncc ofLc.vis, uliu suHcicdln-T to lay a restraint on liis pleasures, ircaiid wiili ridi- cule. Assisted by the pas^iou8 and tlic vanity ol' the king, and intent on humbling her rival, she ;v.c- vailed by her insinuations over his better rcsjlu- tions, and laid a train for the fall of the duthess. In the mean time, ,madame de Navaillcs, fearful, in a situation of so much delicacy, of trusting wholly to her owji judgment, solicited the advice of a vir- tuous and learned man, who contirmed her in hci duty, and determined her agiinst a criminal com- plaisance to the monarch. " I saw her," s.ns ma- dame de Motteville, from whose Memoirs ihis ac- count is extracted, " mider the impression of that ad- vice. 1 was witness of her anxiety and dsirtss. i>hc shed many tears, and feh the utmost agony at tlic hard alternative, before she could determine on fol- lowmg counsel so dangerous to iier worldly interest." Her resolution being at length fixed, she no lunger preserved any measures, but caused all the private passages, by which Lewis might ste.il into the apartments of the maids of honour, to be barricaded with iron grates. The consequences which she expected from this conduct did not immediately fol- lovv ; the king satisfied himself with depiiving her vi her office of governess, which he conferred on her more accotDmodating enciny. The courtiers were divid.d 4r?ibf LA VALLIERE. in their opinions on this subject : by some the conduct of tlie duchess was blamed, as an imprudence which made pubHc the foibles of majesty ; by others it was liighly applauded ; but all agreed in doing justice to the rectitude of her intentions*. It was upon this bdy that the cabal against La Vallierc, of which the countess of Soissons was the piincipal instrument, prompted the vengeance of the monarch to falh The king, with a mind poisoned by the insinuations ; ihat were artfully dibtilled into his ears, was per- suaded with little difficulty to punish a woman, who had more than once placed herself in opposition to hJs inclinations. The duke and duchess of Na- vailles were, in despite of the entreaties of the queen- mother, who pleaded their cause with her son, de- prived of all their employments, and exiled to their estates. But tlie malice of which they became the victims remained not unrecompensed. The bonds which unite the unprincipled are of an unstable nature; some intrigues among the cabal terminated in a rup- ture ; the kiog was informed of all that had passed, and tire countess of Soissons banished for ever from • This episode in the life of madame de la Vallierc is not irrelevant to the nature of the present work. The conduct of madame de Navailles, in a dissolute court, justly entitk* her to a rank among illustrious women. LA VALLIF.RE. .^n eotift^''Th"e"<3'okc and duchess of \availU-s wctc nof, ho^^'cvcr, recalled, although the mother of f.cwis solicited on Iier doath-hcd their recep- tion to favour. The monarcli contented himself with naming the duke governor of the district cf Aiinis, Brouage, and Rochclle, and, some yeari after, without liaving the favour demanded, crcatrJ him a marshal of France. After the pcrtidv to which he had been a witness, it was remarked that T.cwis became suspicious, reserved, and jealous cf those who surrounded him. " Had kings'* c^scr\cs Anquetil in his Memoirs, " none about ihcmbutmcn of virtue, even though that virtue were obstinately rigid, and did they but know the worth of such men, they would be less frequently exposed to those per- plexities which continually harass them, and whicli surround a throne." The death of the queen-mother, who expired In Jan. 1666, and whose influence had in some mea- sure restrained the levities of the court, was sincerely lamented by her son. But love healed his afflic- tions, and consoled him for his loss: La Vallicre, in obedience to her lover, and from tenderness to her children, ventured once more to appear in public, and accepted the title of duchess, with the huuours annexed to the rank. Made.mni^cHc de Blois, her daughter, and Ai. de Veman.-ois, nt sou, were brought up opcniy unucr the eye ot then n;oiucr» i'>2 LA VALUE RE. La V'alliere is accused, and not witliout cause, of having treated with disrespect the queen, to whose court she belonged. Mana Teresa, following the king on a journey towauJs the frontierii, forbade any person to go before her, iliat she might lierscU hjve t;)C pleasure of coining up first to her husband. La Vailiere, inii)rudently contemning this order, made her carriage withdraw from the line of procession, and cross t!ie fields, that she might hist read) the monarch. The queen, incensed at this temeiity, was about to iiave her stepped ; but the ladies of her t;ain, laying before her the probable consequences of such a step, and prcpcrly blaming the condixi of the favourite, prevailed on her to let it pass. * For my part,' observed one lady ^, * Gud keep me ivoin becoming mistress to his majesty ! Were I so un- fortunate, I should never have the effrontery to ap- pear in the presence of his queen.' Madame de Montespan, daughter to the duke de Mortemart, had obtained, by the interest of her hus- band with monsieur, the place of a lady of the pa- lace. Her beauty, though faultlessly perfect, added to an extraordniury share of wit and address, did not for some time attract the notice of the amorous mo- narch. The tongue cf the Afortmrnrts was a pro- * The celebrated madaine do Montespan, who foon fuc- cecded to the situation of La Vailiere. LA VALUER R. nv^ verbial exp:ession at court, tlic whole family Iktioi' distinguished for tl\e felicity of their languagr. Ma- dame de Montespaii iiad formed a h ihit of pav! her evenings with the queen, wlicn she was waiunj; on tlie king. Lewis "vvas inscnsihlv attracted to- wards her by her powers of eniertaiimicnt, her ta- lent of mimicry, her address in relating a storv, the poignancy of her icplie';, and tlie satirical turn of her conversation. The queen, confiding in the pio- fessions of the lady, observed without alarm this growing intimacy, wliich iiad already become the theme of the court. La Valliere, whose discern- ment affection had quickened, was not ignorant of what was passing, far less could she ob sensibly; but love taught her resignation, and at length made her suffer with ju. tience the avowed pieferencc to her rival. A dosiic to please the king made Ikt carry licr complaisan< e yet farther, even to ornament with her own hand* the woman who had robbed her of his affection. Madame de Montcspan, incapable of generous sym- pathy, abused her triumph, and added insult to cruelty. Affecting to admire the taste and dexterity of the humbled La Vailiere, she frequently declared maliciously, that she could never be pleased with her dress unless assisted by this unfortunate woman, who shewed the utmost solicitude to please her. Lewis knew that it was only as a pretence still to linger in his presence, that La Vallicrc paid these at- tentions to her rival : he saw the seciet inquietude which consumed her, but he saw it with little emo- tion : sensuality had hardened his heart. Ai» exprc*- sion of her uneasiness once escaped La Vallicrc, in the presence of another lady, who, with her, wit- aessed the dalliance of the monarch with his new favourite. ' When any thing occurs,' said she, * among the Carmelites to give me pain, 1 w»:. then think uf what these people have made me suffer.* But the peiiod ajjproachtd when, by a ast heroic cflPort, she broke from her fetters, und bade a hnal 456 LA VALLIERE. adieu to the court. She had long deliberated re- specting this measure, the execution of which had been delayed by various obstacles. The devotees advised her to set a signal example cf penitence: the more moderate wished her merely to retire to a cloister, without taking the vows. Her mother, an ambitious woman, was desirous that her daughcr, still retaining her rank and household, should live with her and educate her own children. Tiie king, who esteemed not the mother, doubted whether La Val- liere would be safe under her protection : and La VaU liere herself timidlv believed that she needed, to at- tach her irrevocably to virtue, some powerlul obliga- tion. It was then proposed, that if she assumed die veil, she should make choice of an order in which she might be raised to the dignities consistent with the retirement of a cloister. 'Alas!' replied she, * having shewn myself unable to regulate my own conduct, shall I presume to direct that of others?* Propositions of marriage were offered to her ; but St. Simon attributes to the king the proud delicacy, * that she who had once been his, should never after belong to any but God,' Rendered selfish by the indulgence of his inclinations, and by his devotion to the object of a new passion, he consigned, without compunction, to a convent, in the bloom of her youth and beauty, the victim of his caprice. In this decision she clieerfully iicquiesccd. LA VALLIERE. i37 Ou the 1 9th ot April, L.Ti, she icccivcd the f.uc- wel compliments of the court (' Happy region !' ex- claims madame de Sevigna, ' where the uufortuiutc are so soon forgoitea !') and suppt-d at madumc 6c Montespaii's. The next morning, after hearing mass in the king's chapel, she threw herself into her carriage, and proceeded, at tliirty yeats of age, with her beauty yet unimpaired, to bury hcrs-df in a cloister. The convent of the Carmelites was made choice of for her retrear. On tlie 4th of June, in the following year, she took the vows in the presence of tlie queen and the wiioie court, under the n:imc of sister Louisa, of the order of Mercy- She survived this sacrifice six-and-thirty years, devottd to the [Kr- formancc of the regular austerities of the conventual life, and not without tiie consolations which arise out of the tendor enthusiasm of a susceptible heart. Madame de Monlespan went sometimes to visit her. * Arc you really so happy,' said she to her one day, * as people tell?' * I am not haopy,' replied the gentle Car- melite, ' but content.* In the calm of ijie passions, or in the new direction which devotion had given to them, she probably found comparative repose. Mfidame de la Vallicre left in tlie world one daughter, mademoiselle De Blois, aflcrwaids married to the prince of C(.i ti ; and a son, Lewis of Bou hon, count de Vermandois, whom, accGrding to soinc, an VOL. VI. X loS LA VALLIERE. acute disrempcr cut off at the siege of Courtrai, m 16S3. 0:hcrs assert, that, having struck the dauphin in a dispute, lie was condemned to death, but snatched from his fate by the paternal kindness of the king, and conveyed secretly to the Bastille, where he was living in 1703, and known by the appellatioji of ihe viafi ivitb the iron tnask. But tiiis talc abounds ■with improbabilities. M. Bonnet was deputed to inform his mother of his decease. ' Alas, my God !' said she, prostrating herself before the cross, * must I weep for his death, before my tears have expiated his birth r' After the retreat of La Vallicrc, the king appeared wholly devoted to madamc de Montes- pan, whom jealousy instigated to use her influence with her lover to suppress the establishment of the queen's maids of honour. ' A dangerous cavern,' * says madame de Sevigne, * whence issued a hydra with heads constantly multiplying.' Their place was supplied with /adifs of homur^ a substitute \\hich did not prove particularly favourable to the morals of the court : in young hearts even vice is timid ; and over those yet unestal)lished in life the tenors of infamy have their full force. Madamc de Sevigne, »peaking of the duchess de Fontange, another transient tavouiite of the volup- tuous Lewis, thus contrasts her with La Valliere: *' She was so elated with the splendor of her situa- tion, that we may consider her character as the yzry VETURIA. 4,0 reverse of that gentle creature, who, like tlic huinblo violet, sought only to conceal her bcaiiiic*, and who, far from being vain of the honours contcricd upon her, bluslied iit the titles of a mistress, a mother, or a duchess. Never shall we again see her maidi " Jlnqwtil's Memoirs of the Court of Lewis XU' — Mar- chio}h'is de Scvigue's Lettirj, t^c, (jfr. ^'£TUUIA. Veturia, tlic mother of Coriolanus (who hai joined the Volsci), with the Roman matrons, pre vailed on her son to lay aside his resentment, and to return to the bosom of his country. The senate having requested that Veturia and her companion* would ask their reward, they only solicited permis- sion to build, at their oAn expencc, a temple to the Fortune of Women. This editice was, by the orders of the senate, erected on the spot where tiic circum- stance it was designed to commemorate had taken place. On its completion, Veturia was consecrated perpetual priestess. Rtmai Uuti'-j. X 2 MADEMOISELLE DE LA VIGNE. Anne de la Vigne, daughter to a physician -at Vernon^ was born 1 634. Celebrated for her poeti- cal taste and genius, she holds a distinguished place among French literary women. Her ode, entitled *' Monseigneur le Dauphin an Roi^'' obtained great reputation, and was praised by the poets and wits of the age. Soon after the publication of this piece, she re- ceived from an unknown hand a little box, con- taining a lyre richly enamelled, ornamented with gold ; and a complimentary ode accompanied this elegant present, in which were the following lines ; *' Re^ois done, belle heroine ! Une lyre qu' Appollon, Pour ce dessein te destine. 5ouvent son illustre son - A, lous une main divine, Charnie le sacre vallon : Trop hcureuse, qu'clle obtienne, De rcsonner sous ia tienne." Anne de la Vigne also addressed a congratulatory ode to mademoiselle de Scudery, on her obtaining the prize from the French Academy. The ode, with the reply of M. de Scudery, were published. The answer of mademoiselle de la Vigne to a g-allant MAfxY, COUNTESS OF. WARWICK. 46V jfetter adtlrcsscd to lur, iiom L^t Champs Et'$m sees *, on hor recovery from a dair^rrons sick- ness, was greatly admired, as \verc i other poems, written by this lady, of ctjual merit. Her father, a man ol" K-ariiiny;, and emmeni ia hi« |)rofession, v.ho liad a son un pm kr/Ufy wo* acciistoincd to say of his children — * Quaiul j*ja fiiit ma fille, je pensois faire mou fils; ck quaud j'ai fait mon lils, je pensois faire ma fdlc," This liuiy died in Paris in 1 G84. iJiciioniiuire Hijloriqutt i^c, — Ann Th'ukiuu<*i Sktuljt MARY, COUNTESS OF V/ARWICK. Mary was the thirteentli of the fifteen children of the great earl of Cork, founder of the illus- trious house of Boyle. Her mother was second wife to the earl, and daughter of sir Geoflry Fen- ton. Mary married Charles earl of Warwick, whom she survived five years. From Ikt hbcr- ality to the poor, the earl her husband was said to have left his estate to charitable uses. Thu fame of her hospitality and benevolence advanced the rent of the houses in h.-r neighbourhood, * The El\ :ia;i l-'iclds. \ Of confuscJ inlcllccls. 402 ELIZABETH JANE WESTON. ^vlicrc she was the common arlutress of all tlifYcr- ences. Her awards, by the jiulgment antl saga- citv which thev displayed, prevented many law- suits. The earl her husband, alluding to her economy and other admirable quiUities, Avas ac- customed to declare, that he would have chosen her, upon a mere prudential calculation, >vith five thousand pounds, in preference to any other avo- man with twenty thousand. She died April 12, 1678. Her funeral sermon was preached at Fei- nted in Essex, April 30th, 1678, by A. "Walker, D.D. rector of Fyfield, and published in Svo. ELIZABETH JANE WESTON. This lady, who was born about tlic beginning of the reign of Elizabeth, is supposed by Dr. Fuller to have been a branch of the ancient family of the Westons, of Sutton in Surrey. She ap- pears to have left England at an early age, and to have settled at Prague in Bohemia, She was skilled in the languages, particularly in the Latin, in which she wrote with elegance and correct- ness. She was greatly esteemed by learned fo- reigners. She is commended by Scaliger, and complimented by Nicholas May in a Latin epi- gram. She is placed by INIr. Evelyn, in his iVk- ANNE AVIlAlVluN. 4M misjf}iat(^, among loarniHl women ; ;iik1 by Mr. Philips amon^ tVuuilc pocis. Slu- is ruuktxl bv Mr. Fariiabv witL sir Thomiis M(>rf, ami ihi- lj.-,i Latin poets ot" the sixteenth tentiuv. Shu trans* latt'd several of t!ic fables of ,l!s.)p mto luitin verse. She also wrote a Latin p(»iiu in praise of typography, widi many poems ami epistles, on (lilVerent subjects, in the same lan-^uage, wliicli \vere collected and published. She married John I<,eoii, a gentleman belonging to the court ni the ciupcror ; and Avas living in luOJ, as appears from an epistle written by her, and dated Pra.'no, in that year. ANNE WHARTON, '^" Was the daughter and co-heircss of sir Henry Lee, of Ditchley in Oxfordshire, who, dying ■without a son, left his estate between his two dau'J^bters ; Anne, and the countess of Abingdon, The memory of the latter is celebrated by l)i ;- den, in a funeral panegyric ». ntitled " Eleonora." Anne, who was di.^tinguished for her poetical genius, was lirst wife to Thomas, afterwards marquis of Wharton, by whom she had no issue. Miiny of her poems are printed iu the collections 454 ANWE, COUNTESS OF WINCHELSEA. of Dryden and Nichols. The mother of John Wilmot, earl of Rochester, was her aunt. " TJiev were allied," sa^'s Mr. M'allcr, speaking of Ro- chester, " in gennis as in blood." Anne died at Adderbiuy, October 29th, 16S5, and was buried at Vv'inchenden the 1 0th of the follov.ino: Novem- ber. From a caveat entered ou the books of the Stationers'-company it appears, that she was the author of a play entitled " Love's Martyr, or Wit above Crowns." Biograpkium Faftiittcum, AX^?£, COUNTESS OF WINCHELSEA. Anne, daughter of sir William Kingsmill, of Sidmonton, Hants, kniglit, was maid of honour to the duchess of York, second wife to James II. She married Heneage, second son of Heneage earl of Wincbelsea. Her most celebrated pro- duction Avas a poem upon the Spleen, printed in *' A ncAv Miscellany of orininal Foems, on several Occasions," published by Mr. Charles Gildon, 1701. This poem gave birth to another, by Mr. Nicholas Piowe, entitled " An Epistle to Flavia, on the sight of two Pindaric Odes, on the Spleen and Vanity, Avritten by a Lady to her Friend." A collection of the countess's' poems was printed ZENOBIA, in London, together \vitli a triipcdy, never acuvl, entitled '* Aristomcnes." Anmiiber of lur pixin-* remain still nnpublisheil. She died without isi.ue, Auo-ust 5, 1720. Biographium Famlneum, ZENOBIA. Zenobia, tlie celebrated queen of Palmyra, ade- scendant from the Macedonian kings of Kgvpt, equalled her ancestor Cleopatra in beauty, ami surpassed her in every admirable and heroic qua- lity of mind. Her stature was majestic, her com- plexion dark, her teeth of a pearly whiteness, her larf>;e black eyes sparkled with fire, tempereti by an attractive sweetness. Her constitution was robust, lier habits chaste, temperate, and hardy, while she excelled in every martial exercise. n«.i strong understanding, improved by study, ren- dered her not less able in the cabinet tlian for- midable in the field. She was mi-^trcss of the Greek, the Syraic, and the Egyptian langua' s and not imskillcd in the Latin. She drew up for her own use an epitome of oriental history, an«l, under the tuition of the celebrated Longinus, familiarly compared the beauties of Homer and Pialo. X 5 466 ZENOBIA. Odenathus, a Saracen prince, >vl)om stle es- poused, had riiised liitnself from a private station to the dominion of the East : the friend and confi- panion of a hero, Zenobia greatby contributed to the important victories gained b}'^ her husband over the Persians, -which preserved to the Romans the empire of the East. In the intervals of war, she dehghtcd in accompanying Odenathus to the ichace, and pursued \vitli ardor the Hon and the panther of the desert. Inured to fatigue, and disdaining covered carriages, she was accn??- tomed to appear on horseback, in a mihtary habit, in which she frequently perlornied on foot long and toilsome marches, at the head of the troops. In the year 264 of Rome, when Odenathus, as the reward of his services, was made emperor bv Gal- lienus, the title of Augusta was conferred upon Zenobia. To the prudence and fortitude of Zenobia, Odenathus was, in a great measure, indebted far lis military successes : tlicir victories over thie Great King, whom tncy twice pursued tothegates of Ctesiphon, laid the basis of their united fame and power. The armies they commanded, and the provinces they saved, acknowledged no other sovereigns. Odenathus at length returning to the city of Emesa in Syria, after a successftil ex- pedition against the Gothic plunderers of AsrJ, ZENOEIA. 4^ "Tfas cut olY by Uonicst'ic tivuclicrv. lli^ iii'pbcw JVIironius, having, at tlic cluui-, iLiite*! las juvf,.,* betore that of his uncle, was reprunaiulcii by hint for his presumption : this rcpruDl' prevented liun not from rcpeiUing his temerity. OilenaUms, ».< A sovereign and a si)ortsman, incensed at this per- tiuHcitv, ordered his horso to be taken fioiu Miconius, a njark of ignounny amon-^:; barbanaus, and inflicted on him a sliort confmement. The otTence was quickly forgotten, bni the piiniih- uient was remembered : Miconiu-s, with a few (.hir- ing associates, assassinated his uncle m the uudst .of an entertainment, llerod, dm son of Odeiu- thus, perished with his fatlicr. . The assassin, by liis crime, (i»rsucd bv tit*- rMjrht- horse of Aurelian, she was overiuken, . |, and brought back to the emneror. Her (.i]utal, compelled to surrender, was treated by the con- queror with lenity. The anus, horses, canu-is, treasures of gold, of silver, of silk, and jui-vkjuh stones, were delivered to Aurelian, whi), leaving in Palmyra a garrison of arcliers, returned to Emesa witli the spoils ; where, at the end of a •war which restored to the em[)ire its revoUctl provinces, lie employed himself in the distribu- tion of rewards and punishments. The captive queen having been hroug'ji into the presence of the conqueror, he stendy de- manded of her, how she h1.1l presumed to rise in arms against the emperors of Home. * Because,' replied she, with mingled firmness and ro-i ••••t. * I disdained to consider as Roman on , Aureolus or Gailienus •:—}/0Uy alone, I acknow- led»e as my conqueror and sovereign.' In tlic hour of trial, it is ad led with • the courage of the heroine deserted her blino- at the clamours of the soldiers, who rjH-d loudly for her execution, she purchased 1 ; the sacrifice of her fame and of her frjends »-> whose counsels she imputed the obstinac) of her 474, ZENOBIA. resistance, ami on \vliose heads she drew down the venocancf ot" the emperor. Among- the vic- tims of this veakness, Avas the celebrated Lon- •fimis, whose learning' and sxenius failed to move the illiterate and barbarous Aurelian. The phi- losopher, Avithout uttering a complaint, calmly re- signed himself to liis fate, pitying his unhappy mibtress, and comforting his afllicte-d friends. On his return from the conquest of the Ri&t, the emperor, who had already crossed the streights which separate Europe from Asia, was incensed by the intelligence that the Palmyrcnians, hav- ing massacred the garrison, liad already raised the standard of revolt. Once more he turned his face towards Syria, and the city of Palmyra suffered the consequences of his rage. The in- nocent and the guilty, old men and w^omcn, children and peasants, citiaens and nobles, were involved in one undistinguisliing carnage. His savage fury at lengtli appeased, after directing his principal attention towards the re-estabhshment of a temple of the sun, he granted to the Avretcli- ed remnant of the people permission to rebuild and inhabit the city. To restore is less easy than to destroy. The city of Zenobia, the seat of arts and commerce, sunk into an obscure town, ai triflini>; fortrcfis, and, at length, a miserable vii« Jaijc. ZENOBrA. 4^3 Aurclian, on \n> u-tuin lo Homo, n^nvcd the honours of a trinruph, wliirh was ci-U-lirattxl wiili superior magnificence. Four-and-tuiinv ele- phants bepan the. cavalcade, foMowetl bv fmir ro3-al tigers, and two hundred euriDie; anunaU, from every climate ; sixteen Immlred (jlaiiiators, devoted to the barbarous amusement of theani|»bi- thcatrc, succeeded : after these were (U>|)l.ive«l the wealth of Asia, tlie arms and cn>i'^ns of con- quered nations, with the superb plate and ward- r-obe of the Syrian queen, disi>o^ed wuli arilvd negligence. Embassadors of Ktliiopia, Arabia, Persia, Bactriana, India, and China, clothed m ncli and singular habits, exhibited the power and fame of the Roman emperor; "who also exposed to the public the presents he had received, vith a num- ber of crowns of gold, the offerings of gratelid cities. A long train of captives, in barbarous pomp, reluctantly followed ? — G<)ths, VandaN, Sarmatians, Alenianni, Franks, Gauls, Syrians, and Egyptians, each nation di>tinguishcd by ap- pix)priate inscriptions. Ten martial heroines taken in arms, of the Gothic nation, on whom the title of Amazons was bestowed, suceeodvd. But, disregarding inferior captives, every eve ^^as fixed on the lovely Zenobia, who, confmed by golden fetters, a gold chain (sup|)ortod by a slave) encircling her neck, and almost tainting uadcc 476 ZENOBIA. tlic Avcight of her jewels, preceded on foot the mac'nificent chariot in ^vliioh slic honed to have enterefl Rome. The chariots of Odenathus, and that of the Persian monarch, still more splendid, {oliowed. Next came Aurelian, drawn by four elephants*. The most illustrious of the senate^ the army, and tlie people, closed the proces- sion. The pride of Anrclian having thus ii^nobly in- dulged itself in insulting his vanfpished enemies, he displayed in his future conduct a generosity Btore worthy of a conqueror. He presented to Zenobia an elegant villa at Tibur (or Tivoli), twenty miles from the capital, where the Syi'ian heroine gradually sunk into tlie Roman matron : her daugliters contracted noble alliances, audlicr race was not extinct in the fifth century. Previous to her defeat by Aurelian, in the year 272, she interested herself in the theological con- troversies of the times, and, either from policy or principle, protected Paul of Samoscta, the cele- brated philosophical unitarian, whom the council of Antioch had condenmed. Gibbon's Decline of the Rotnan Empire — Back's Histori- cal Dictionarj. * Or, according to some, four stags. THE END. T- Daviiony V.'hiU-Friars. ■VALUABLE AND STANDARD BOOKN REC/NILY PtULIliiru U Y RICHARD PIIILLirS, No. 71, St. Paul's Chiirch-ijard, LohJou. A UNIVERSAL HISTORY, Ancient anJ Modcb v, Cdtuprtliciidiiig a General View of the T- ]^ation. Kingdom, and Empire, on tlic ' ■ , litst Accounts of Time, to the General 1'c.icc ol 1801, la TvvLiny-five small Volumes. Hy WILLI ^"'^ '^'AVOR, LL.D. Vicar of Ilu-ley in Berkshire, ;md <. to the Earl*f Dumfries; Author of the Uriti'ih N- v5f Folu»ie luU! rcnthiite to be puhluhcd on tb: I rrj Month (till the tiventy-fivt "volumes are co'-. ji. in boards; or 3J 9/-/. in boards, upon co>:: T\\p Ennliih langujijc lias hi.hiiio Ix-cii w l«r v"iew of Universal Histuiy. It will be immcdiuti ly i competent juf!j>,c, Uat Bo,ssuct is too short :ind u Voltaire, whatever may be his d' tmriis in other ; unelaborate, and desultory; and that the griat L. _ . History is rather to be consulted like a Dictionary, than u^ I as an Analysis of the subject to which it rchtes. The . ■ present work has been solicitous to avoid the extrcnu and brevity ; to be distinct and comprehensive; i. that iiis work will prove a de.-ir.ii.lc acqurMti^n t^ Public Schools, to Ladic?, tj Circuh'.ting L\h\.. Collections, and, in general, to all Persons to ^. History, in sixty-six volumes, is cither t(X) volomin^u*, or :oo n- . pensive. *^i The Ancient History consists of nine volumes, in:J lit Modern of sixteen. The IVhole, or any pmtindm- ii' ■ be had complete or separate, in a great luiriety oj 1 . Tiie Hlb)TORY of ROME, from the V m dat. ~ City of Rome, till the Termination of the liaitcrn By WILLIAxM MAVOR, LL.D. In Three ' Royal i8mo, price 13s. 6J, in iuards, ir n paper, price Jos. 6d. in boards, illustrated wii.: ■- . "^The HISTORY of GREKCE, from the Ear'-- V till Its Reduction into a Reman Province. 1 olDallv ft r the Use of Schools, ard Youni; P Sexes! By the SAME AUTHOR. 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Conductors of Seminaries, wlu wi^li ro imiic religious nuiiuvtmn witli progrc-s in other knowledge, will find the preMiif w<»k lo It a suit.iblc compan'.on to the exi>lmg School B <'.'ki of Biit'^h a-id Ancient Biography, hi Families, its price, .ind the moderate lenRf;' o! each life, will occasion it to be preferred to mote exjMciitive Loolu oa the same subject. BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIRS of T^vo JIlm.kf.d ..f the FoiXDERs of the Frk.vch Repiblic, and it other Persons the most distinguished in the Progress of the Revo- lution, particularly of the CutKF Cossi'l., UoN\p\RTt, and of the principal Members of the present G ivernmcnt, A new edition, corrected -and revised, la Two Volumes, iimo. Price I2S. in boards. Booh jitst publis/ied lit/ R. Phillips. GEOGRAPHY. Jifi improved Sjjlim of Modem Geography^ fraSiically adaptd to the B'ifinefi of Schools, Price los. 6d. bound and lettered, dtcorated with Fifty-(iK beautiful and intercfting Copper-plates, reprefenting the M.inners, Cuftoms, and Drtfl'es, of all Nations, and il- luftrated with new and improved Maps. GEOGRAPHY for the USE of SCHOOLS, on a plan fo practical to Teachers, ant! io highly fiilcinating to Pupils, that it cannot fail to recommend itlelf to univetfal adoption, the moment it i-; fcen. It is divided into three parts : 1. A brief Grammar of Geography, drawn up as concifdy as pofiiblc, for tbc purpofe of being commiitt.d to memory. 2. The Ufeof the Globes, with a variety of Examples and Exercifes upon e?.ch Problem. 3. Fi:l!, ciicumtlantiai, and highly entertaining Accounts of the Manners, Cuftoms, Uredes, and Curiofuics, of all Nations ; illuftrated with fifty Copper-plates, and forming a Bcdy of Fadts which, for Entertainment and Inftruftion, are rot exceeded in the entire Compafs of Literature. To the whole are prefixed, an Account of the moft fuccefs- ful and rational Mode of teaching Geography, and plain Di. rt£lions for projecting and drawing all kinds of Maps. By the Rev. J. GOLDSMITH, A.M. Vicar of Dunnington, and formerly of Trinity College, Cambridge. The JUVENH^E PLUTARCH, consisting of the Lives of Extraordinary Children, and of Accounts of the Infancy and early Progress of Illustrious Men, intended to stimulate by example. Price 2s. 6d. bound. MEMOIRS of THE Late Mrs. ROBINSON, written by Herself. To which are sunjoined several valuable post- humous Pieces in Verse and Prose, in Fotir elegant Volumes, Foolscap, 8vo. price One Guinea in boards. The PICTURE of LONDON, for the present Year ; being; a correct Description of the British Metropolis, as a Gu\de to Foreigners, Strangers, &c. with Maps, &c. price 5-. m red. UNrvERsmr of calitornia library Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. REC'V^'^^'- UL :joP^ m 315 \ L 005 238 ; CT 3^02 H33f V.6 j>- 00 *^- ■V^r '^ i'J^